He returned to the table and took up the pen.
“I must make some answer to that pamphlet, Advice to every Faithful Hollander, there are accusations there must not be overlooked. Their High Mightinesses will do me that justice, to silence some of these lying tongues—remind me, Van Ouvenaller … many thousand copies have been sold, here alone——”
He spoke proudly and frowned a little. His clerk knew that the malice, detraction, and bitterness surrounding him harassed his noble spirit sorely. He walked like an unarmed man among gathered spears that might any moment be turned against his heart.
“And is this all we have to do to-night, Mynheer?” asked the clerk.
“Yes.”
Van Ouvenaller began to put up the papers in the dispatch bag; when he rose he walked stiffly, by reason of his long sitting.
John de Witt’s pen travelled rapidly over the smooth paper. Once he began his eager spirit did not lack for means of expression, his unwearied soul held his tired body to the task.
His letter to Jerome Beverningh ended thus—
“We must consider Amsterdam as the heart of the State, by which succour may be carried to all its members; so that, under God’s guidance, we may fight against the enemy for our country to the last man, and with Dutch constancy.”