“Musket-shot, cannon-balls, and bombshells were flying in all directions—rattling, roaring and bursting—night and day, without intermission. Three times did the Dutch soldiers make a sortie, but they were beaten back. Three mines were sprung by the besiegers, thousands of shot and shells were thrown, and the fortress was in many places set on fire. Old General Chassé held out bravely, but he was driven to great distress.”
“He should have surrendered. Where was the use of his standing out against such an army?”
“He did surrender, but not till he was reduced to extremity. His well of water was almost dry, his men diseased and worn out, his guns dismantled, and his powder-magazine blown up. The bomb-proof hospital, too, was set on fire, and the blazing beams threatened to fall in upon his sick soldiery. There was no hope left; and so the old general gave up the place.”
“Well! General Chassé could not have done more. Why, the place was battered almost to pieces!”
“It was. The following are instances of the gaiety of the French character:—On passing the angle of the boyau, or branch of a trench, leading into the second parallel, opposite St. Laurent, which was partially enfiladed from kiel, an infantry soldier was met, floundering through the mud under the weight of a heavy gabion. A shot struck the parapet, and, either from this or a false step, down fell the man and his burden into the mire. One of our countrymen would have risen, and his first impulse would have been to have wished the besieged and the service at a much hotter place than the head of the sap; but the conscript sprung up, shook himself, and exclaimed, with a smile, ‘Who says it is not a fine thing to be a soldier? I’ll enlist for ten years more from this day!’ and then, hoisting up his load, on he went. On another occasion, near the descent made in the ditch of the ravelin, the adjutant of the trenches was writing a memorandum: a shell pitched on the reverse of the trench, exploded, and covered him and his paper with a shower of sand. The officer slipped it off quietly with his hand, and said, ‘They are more polite than you, Messieurs; they sent me the sand-box.’ A round shot struck a gabion close to the Duke of Orleans, and buried itself in the ground, within a few inches of his person. The prince took off his hat, and bowing, said, ‘One ought to be polite to new acquaintances.’”
“It seems a very strange thing that any one can have the heart to speak so in the very middle of danger.”
“I will tell you of a curious circumstance. During the siege the theatre was converted into a place for observing the operations. The building being near Maline’s Gate, a sight might be obtained from it of part of the bastions, trenches, and batteries. The managers, therefore, profiting by the ardent desire of strangers to witness the novel spectacle, took off the roof of the building, and erected platforms for the accommodation of the curious, publishing the following handbill notice:—‘The public is informed that places are to be procured at the Théâtre des Variétés at Antwerp, for seeing the siege.’”
“What, did they make a show of the siege while hundreds of poor fellows were being killed?”
“Such was the case; and it only shows how coldly those who are selfishly wrapped up in their own interest, can regard the ruin and destruction of those around them. Always encourage, boys, a disposition to think of others as well as yourselves, to pity the distress that you cannot relieve, and to practise when you can the principles of humanity.”
