“Not much,” he said. “Three men going to be hung, two to be burned; the latter for attempting to assist a heretic prisoner to escape, the other, who had been a priest, for preaching heretical doctrines.” He looked at me very hard as he spoke.
“That may be,” I answered. “It is the fortune of war; we must all run risks if we are to achieve any important object.”
“Ay, ay, I see you know the world, young sir,” he answered.
I again plied him with questions about the prospect of escaping, but he only shook his head, repeating: “You would not ask me if you had seen the poor fellow burned yesterday.”
His argument was a powerful one. Though I did not like the thoughts of bringing the man into such fearful danger, I still could not resist the temptation of trying to induce him to help us in getting free. “If we escape, you will escape with us,” I observed; “so that the risk will not be greater to you than to us.”
Still the man shook his head, answering: “I have no fancy for burning!”
Once more we were left alone. The hours appeared very long. Though I had my two companions to talk to, they were so unhappy that they were little able to speak on any pleasant subject. At length the silence which had hitherto reigned in our prison was broken by loud shouts and cries, which proceeded from the streets beyond us. That something extraordinary was taking place we had little doubt, yet what it was we of course could not divine. At length at the usual hour the jailer made his appearance with our provisions, which were, as he had promised, far better than the usual prison fare. The man’s countenance also showed us that something had happened. I eagerly put the question to him.
“I don’t know what to say; I don’t know what to say,” he answered; “but I am not quite certain whether you will be outside this dungeon and I in before the day is over.”
“It is honest in you to say that, my friend,” I answered; “but how can that be?”
“Why, to confess the truth,” answered the man, “this morning at daybreak a strange fleet was seen coming up the river Meuse. No one could tell whence it came. Some thought it was a fleet of merchant vessels for Rotterdam: but the question was soon set at rest by my friend Peter Kopplestock, the ferryman, who, going on board one of the ships, found them to be no others than those fearful desperadoes and pirates—the Water Beggars. They sent him back to tell the magistrates that two hours would be allowed them to decide whether or not they would surrender the town, and accept the authority of De la Marck as Admiral of the Prince of Orange. That if they will do so, their lives will be spared; but if not, every man who attempts to resist will be put to the sword. Our Burgomaster is a mighty brave fellow, and so are our chief burghers, but they know very well what a desperate fellow the Admiral De la Marck is; and he has got some five or six thousand men, so Peter says, on board the fleet; and what can our citizens do to resist them? He says that he comes simply to free the land from the Tenth Penny, and to overthrow the tyranny of Duke Alva and his Spaniards. The magistrates, it seems to me, do not much like to face Admiral De la Marck, and so they have been busily employed in packing up ever since, and making their way out of the town.”