On the 20th of August, Cornelius was to leave his prison for exile, and a fierce Orangist populace, incited to violence by the harangues of Tyckelaer, was rushing to the Buytenhof prepared to do murder, and fearful lest the prisoner should escape alive.  “To the gaol!  To the gaol!” yelled the mob.  But outside the prison was a line of cavalry drawn up under the command of Captain Tilly with orders to guard the Buytenhof, and while the populace stood in hesitation, not daring to attack the soldiers, John de Witt had quietly driven up to the prison, and had been admitted by the gaoler.

The shouts and clamour of the people could be heard within the prison as John de Witt, accompanied by Gryphus the gaoler, made his way to his brother’s cell.

Cornelius learnt there was no time to be lost, but there was a question of certain correspondence between John de Witt and M. de Louvois of France to be discussed.  These letters, entirely creditable though they were to the statesmanship of the Grand Pensionary, would have been accepted as evidence of treason by the maddened Orangists, and Cornelius, instead of burning them, had left them in the keeping of his godson, Van Baerle, a quiet, scholarly young man of Dordrecht, who was utterly unaware of the nature of the packet.

“They will kill us if these papers are found,” said John de Witt, and opening the window, they heard the mob shouting, “Death to traitors!”

In spite of fingers and wrists broken by the rack, Cornelius managed to write a note.

      DEAR GODSON:  Burn the packet I gave you, burn without opening
     or looking at it, so that you may not know the contents.  The
     secrets it contains bring death.  Burn it, and you will have
     saved both John and Cornelius.

     Farewell, from your affectionate

     CORNELIUS DE WITT.

Then a letter was given to Craeke, John de Witt’s faithful servant, who at once set off for Dordrecht, and within a few minutes the two brothers were driving away to the city gate.  Rosa, the gaoler’s daughter, unknown to her father, had opened the postern, and had herself bidden De Witt’s coachman drive round to the rear of the prison, and by this means the fury of the mob was, for the moment, evaded.

And now the clamour of the Orangists was at the prison door, for Tilly’s horse had withdrawn on an order signed by the deputies in the town hall, and the people were raging to get within the Buytenhof.

The mob burst open the great gate, and yelling, “Death to the traitors!  To the gallows with Cornelius de Witt!” poured in, only to find the prisoner had escaped.  But the escape was but from the prison, for the city gate was locked when the carriage of the De Witts drove up, locked by order of the deputies of the Town Hall, and a certain young man—­who was none other than William, Prince of Orange—­held the key.

Before another gate could be reached the mob, streaming from the Buytenhof, had overtaken the carriage, and the De Witts were at its mercy.