While the jailer was still speaking, the sound of musketry was heard, and shouts and cries proceeding from our side of the town. “I must go and see what it is all about!” exclaimed the jailer, rushing out. We thought he had left the door open behind him, but, greatly to our disappointment, we found that, even though frightened, by instinct rather than intention he had bolted it.
The noise increased, and we felt almost certain, by the shouts and cries we heard, that the patriots had forced an entrance into the town. We thought, indeed it was no delusion, that we heard a voice proclaiming liberty to the Netherlands, and the cry of “Long live the Prince of Orange! long live our noble Stadtholder!” Again loud noises reached our ears, and thundering blows echoed through the building. There could be little doubt that the jail was being forced. Then came crashing sounds, as if doors were burst open. We endeavoured to force open our own door, for we knew not what might happen. Directly afterwards, a stifling smell of smoke found its way through the crevices of the door.
“We shall be baked alive!” exclaimed Jacob Naas. “We must force the door, even should we break our shoulders in the attempt! Here, you English John, dash at it with your head, if that is the hardest part of you.” We all shoved at the door together, but in vain. It resisted all our attempts. The smoke grew thicker and thicker. We could with difficulty breathe. Again and again we dashed at the door frantically. We were giving way to despair, when voices were heard. It seemed as if a body of men were rushing along the gallery, breaking open the doors of the cells.
We thought they were going to pass us by. We shouted—we shrieked—
“Here! here! my brave Beggars, my daring rovers, here are men shut up in this corner! Bring crowbars, or we and they shall be burnt together!”
The words, though spoken in Flemish, were uttered, I was certain, by an Englishman, and I thought I knew the voice. At that instant the door, which had so long resisted our efforts, gave way, and we rushed out, being seized instantly by the men who had come to our rescue; though, in the thick wreaths of smoke which curled round us, it was impossible to recognise their countenances. Confused, and almost stifled by the smoke, we did not see where we were going till we found ourselves in the open street, where the fresh air quickly revived us.
In the centre of the square, near the prison, stood on an elevated spot, a fierce-looking warrior, with a black casque, and a lofty plume on his head, a huge red beard projecting from his chin and covering his breast, his shaggy locks hanging down over his shoulders, and his moustache almost hiding his mouth. He rested on a huge richly-gilt double-edged sword. His very look was calculated to inspire terror. I asked some of the men round us who he was.
“That is our Admiral, De la Marck,” was the answer.
His appearance was just then more terrible than the words he was uttering. Indeed, he was assuring the people that no harm would be done them if they would yield willing obedience to the commands he might issue in the name of their Prince. A grim look of pleasure lighted up his countenance when at that instant the governor of the city was brought before him, having been taken just as he was endeavouring to make his escape. While I was looking about me, my eye fell on the officer who had led the party to our rescue from the burning prison. He turned round at the same moment; I was not quite certain, yet I thought I could not be mistaken when, in the well-bearded, huge-whiskered, long-haired seaman I saw before me, I recognised my old friend A’Dale.
“A’Dale!” I shouted.