“In what direction shall we go?” asked one of the men. “We may chance to run our noses into the lion’s den. See, fires are blazing on all sides, and friends and foes are likely to treat us in the same fashion.” Van Arenberg, anxious for Jaqueline’s safety, and perhaps for his own, urged his crew to row away from the point where the engagement appeared to be raging most furiously. Already round shot and bullets came flying across the water, and a stray one might chance to hit the boat. The men appeared undecided which way to go, when one of them cried out, “There’s a boat astern! She may, perchance, be that of an enemy, and if so we shall to a certainty be knocked on the head.”
“Row then for your lives!” cried Van Arenberg, for he had equally to fear the Hollanders and Spaniards; the latter, not aware of his treachery, might, before he could show his pass, shoot him down or run him through with their pikes, while his own countrymen would treat him as a hated renegade. The crew, needing no second bidding, bent to their oars with all the strength they possessed. Their flight was, however, discovered by the boat they had seen, which immediately gave chase. Jaqueline believed that their pursuers were Spaniards, and was as eager to escape as the baron, but sturdily as the crew of the villagers whom he had hired plied their oars, the others came on faster. The night was so dark that it was impossible to distinguish objects ahead. At any moment they might find themselves stranded on the shore, or stopped by some impassable shallow. The baron now urged the men to be cautious, now to row with might and main.
Ever and anon the glare from the burning villages, and from fires on the dykes, showed that the boat in chase was gaining on them.
“It were far better to stop and fight,” cried the chief man of the crew. “As to escaping, there is no chance of that in the end, for the fellows astern have a much lighter boat than ours.”
“Fifty guilders if you beat them off,” cried the baron. “Lady, you must lie down at the bottom of the boat, or you may chance to be struck by a shot, or injured by the pikes of our pursuers, should they overtake us.”
“I fear less the weapons of our foes than I do your designs,” answered Jaqueline, with a tone of scorn, retaining her seat. There was little time to hold parley on the subject. In another moment the boat was alongside, and a voice in Dutch shouted, “Yield! inform us whither you are bound.”
“Treachery! treachery!” cried the baron. “They are Spaniards; we may yet escape them.”
But Jaqueline recognised the voice. “Karl,” she exclaimed, “save me, save me!” and she sprang towards the boat.
Van Arenberg would have prevented her reaching it, but his sword whirled from his hand, the next instant he was driven overboard by a thrust from a pike through his breast. A despairing cry was heard, and before the people could clutch his clothes he was swept away by the current. In a few words Jaqueline told of the outrage to which she had been subjected. Captain Van der Elst accounted for the circumstance of his having so providentially rescued her by saying that he had been sent to reconnoitre the enemy’s position, and supposing that the boat was manned by Spaniards he had given chase. She entreated that he would proceed in his duty.
“No harm can come to me while I am by your side,” she said, scarcely thinking of the interpretation which might be put upon the words she uttered. He pressed her hand. Having ordered the villagers’ boat to follow at a distance, warning them of the punishment they would receive should they attempt to escape, he continued on till he had performed the duty on which he had been despatched. Morning was approaching when he returned to the fleet, which had just broken through the second great dyke and destroyed the villages of Zoetermeer and Benthuyzen, and now borne on by the rising waters was advancing towards Leyden. Karl conveyed Jaqueline on board the admiral’s ship, manned by a savage-looking crew, the wild Beggars of the Sea. Ferocious, however, as they were to their foes, to her they were civil and courteous. Eight hundred of them, mostly Zealanders, manned the fleet. The greater number were scarred, hacked, and even maimed in the unceasing conflicts in which their lives had been passed, while they were renowned far and wide as much for their nautical skill as their ferocity. Their appearance was both eccentric and terrific; they wore crescents in their caps with the inscription, “Rather Turkish than Popish.” They were known never to give nor take quarter; they went to mortal combat only. They had sworn to spare neither noble nor simple, neither King, Kaiser, nor Pope, should they fall into their power. Each ship carried ten guns, and was propelled, the smaller by ten, the larger by eighteen oars, the whole fleet having on board 2,500 veterans, experienced both on land and water. Jaqueline was conducted to the admiral’s cabin; it boasted neither of magnificence nor elegance; indeed, very little of comfort, for the vessels had been fitted out for rough work, and no ladies had been expected on board. The stout old admiral welcomed his guest.