A close friendship existed between Maurice of Nassau and our gallant countryman, in spite of the latter’s near relationship to the obnoxious Leicester, who had warned his nephew to be prudent in his dealings with Maurice. ‘I find no treachery in the young man,’ was the reply, ‘only a bold and intelligent love of adventure.’ The two brave soldiers maintained their brotherhood in arms, until the fatal day when Sir Philip received his death-wound at the battle of Zutphen. His undaunted courage and proverbial humanity gained him the love and admiration of his allies and countrymen, and the respect of his enemies.
In 1587 Leicester was recalled by the Queen, and compelled to return to England. He was detested by the majority of the Dutch nation, who had by this time discovered his plots and treacherous schemes, and his departure cleared the way for the further display of Maurice’s political and military talents. He was nominated Governor Commander-in-chief of five out of the seven United Provinces which formed the Confederacy: and no one could surely have been better fitted for such responsible posts. In the early days of his government he was inclined to leave the reins in the hands of Barneveldt, while he devoted himself theoretically, as well as practically, to the study of war. His leisure hours were passed in forming combinations and executing manœuvres with pewter soldiers; in building up and battering down, in storming and carrying wooden blocks of mimic citadels; in fact, in arranging systems of attack, pursuit, retreat, and defence on his table, all of which he afterwards most effectually carried out on the field of actual warfare; while for hours together he would pore over the works of classical authors in the art of strategy.
Maurice introduced the strictest discipline into the army, but he was the friend and comrade of his soldiers, sharing their privations, and exacting for them, from the hands of the Government, the pay which had of late been but too irregularly disbursed. His clemency to his prisoners formed a brilliant contrast to the cruelties practised by most of the Generals of his time, barring one or two occasions, when driven to take reprisals. This he did, indeed, as a warning to the Spaniards not to deal hardly with the Dutch who had fallen into their hands. He was most severe on his own soldiers for disobedience of orders; and with his own hand he shot one of his men, who had been convicted of plundering a peasant.
The campaigns of 1590-92 against the Spanish troops were for the most part as successful as they were brilliant, and in 1596 an alliance, offensive and defensive, was concluded with France and England.
Maurice’s victories on the Rhine were so important as to induce the Spanish king to offer him most flattering terms, which were refused, and the war continued. We have neither space nor inclination to enter on the history of Maurice’s campaigns. How could we do so in our limited space, or attempt the military memoirs of a general who was said to have won three pitched battles, to have taken thirty-eight strong towns and forty-five castles, and to cause the enemy to raise twelve sieges—the great general of the age, ‘the chief captain of Christendom,’ as Queen Elizabeth called him—the rival in arms of the formidable Spinola?
Yet we cannot resist the temptation of alluding to one or two passages in his military life which have a picturesque or characteristic side to the occurrence.
The taking of Zutphen was one of those ingenious ruses de guerre in which Maurice delighted. One bright morning five or six peasants, with their wives, made their appearance under the walls of the town, laden with baskets of provisions,—no uncommon, yet a tempting sight. They sat down on the grass, and had not long to wait before several soldiers of the garrison came out, and began bartering for the contents of the said baskets. Suddenly a woman drew a pistol from under her petticoat, and shot the man dead who was haggling over the price of her eggs.
In a moment, the peasants, transformed into soldiers, sprang on the guard, overpowered, bound them, and took possession of the gate; while a large body of men, who had been lying in ambush, rushed to their assistance, and, following up the advantage, carried the place without the loss of a single man on their side.
Maurice of Orange, unlike the first Napoleon, was a great economiser of life, although so unchary of his own, that he was reprimanded in his youth by the States for rashly exposing himself to danger.
The Spaniards thought to depreciate his strategical talents by saying, ‘Qu’il ne sçavoit, que le méstier des taupes, de se tapir en terre;’ but he was as successful in open warfare as he was ingenious in stratagem. The taking of Nieuport, which for some time seemed a forlorn hope, was one of his most memorable victories. It resulted in the precipitate flight of the Archduke Albert (the governor of that portion of the Netherlands still under Spanish rule), and the entire rout of his army; and this at the very moment that the Infanta Isabella (Albert’s wife), reckoning without her host, was expecting to see the Prince of Orange brought into her presence—a prisoner. More than once during the battle the fortunes of the patriots seemed to tremble in the balance; but Maurice’s calmness never forsook him, and his devoted soldiery emulated their General in courage and determination. When assured that the day was gained, the hero, who had been unmoved in danger, was overcome by emotion. He leaped from his saddle, and, kneeling in the sand, raised his streaming eyes to heaven, exclaiming, ‘O God, what are we human creatures, to whom Thou hast brought such honour, and vouchsafed such a victory?’