“Read over to me what you have there,” said John de Witt.
Both men looked exhausted. The work put upon the Grand Pensionary was more than he could do; he had sent for his cousin Vivien to help him in duties that began to accumulate beyond his strength, but until the arrival of the Pensionary of Dordt he had to put through his labours unaided.
Reinier Van Ouvenaller moved the candles so that they escaped the draught from the open window, for a slight breeze was rising.
“The Prince of Orange,” he read from his notes, “entered Utrecht yesterday, the people having overawed the magistrates. His Highness, who was sick of an aguish fever, had a scene with the town council, and, on their refusing to burn the suburbs or to make any defence, he abandoned them and fell back on Bodegraven, saying he would not risk his men in the defence of such selfish, unpatriotic people—he forced them to provision his forces, however. M. Beverningh writes in a despairing strain.”
John de Witt rested his elbow on the arm of his chair and his cheek in his palm; his gaze was turned on the peaceful darkness beyond the window.
M. Van Ouvenaller gave a little dry cough and resumed—
“Nota, that the Prince William lost many men in a desperate brush with the contingent of M. de Rochfort, and that Prince John Maurice protests that he cannot hold out much longer in Maestricht—more men if possible to be sent.
“Nota, that the several States demand their own troops for their particular protection, the great inconvenience of this to be put to Their Noble Mightinesses. Jealousy of other provinces that they pay men to defend Holland—but this must be; nota, that the Hague and Amsterdam are the chief towns and must be defended at any cost.”
John de Witt looked across the candles at his secretary.
“Add that the other States be reminded Holland bears the chief cost.”