Naarden’s crowning hour of agony was in 1572, since it had the misfortune to stand in the path of Don Frederic on his way from Zutphen, where not a citizen had been left alive, to Amsterdam.  The story of the surrender of the city to Don Romero under the pledge that life and property should be respected, and of the dastardly and fiendish disregard of this pledge by the Spaniards, is the most ghastly in the whole war.  From Motley I take the account of the tragedy:—­

“On the 22nd of November a company of one hundred troopers was sent to the city gates to demand its surrender.  The small garrison which had been left by the Prince was not disposed to resist, but the spirit of the burghers was stouter than their walls.  They answered the summons by a declaration that they had thus far held the city for the King and the Prince of Orange, and, with God’s help, would continue so to do.  As the horsemen departed with this reply, a lunatic, called Adrian Krankhoeft, mounted the ramparts, and discharged a culverine among them.  No man was injured, but the words of defiance, and the shot fired by a madman’s hand, were destined to be fearfully answered.

“Meanwhile, the inhabitants of the place, which was at best far from strong, and ill provided with arms, ammunition, or soldiers, despatched importunate messages to Sonoy, and to other patriot generals nearest to them, soliciting reinforcements.  Their messengers came back almost empty-handed.  They brought a little powder and a great many promises, but not a single man-at-arms, not a ducat, not a piece of artillery.  The most influential commanders, moreover, advised an honourable capitulation, if it were still possible.

“Thus baffled, the burghers of the little city found their proud position quite untenable.  They accordingly, on the 1st of December, despatched the burgomaster and a senator to Amersfoort, to make terms, if possible, with Don Frederic.  When these envoys reached the place, they were refused admission to the general’s presence.  The army had already been ordered to move forward to Naarden, and they were directed to accompany the advance guard, and to expect their reply at the gates of their own city.  This command was sufficently ominous.  The impression which it made upon them was confirmed by the warning voices of their friends in Amersfoort, who entreated them not to return to Naarden.  The advice was not lost upon one of the two envoys.  After they had advanced a little distance on their journey, the burgomaster, Laurentszoon, slid privately out of the sledge in which they were travelling, leaving his cloak behind him.  ’Adieu; I think I will not venture back to Naarden at present,’ said he calmly, as he abandoned his companion to his fate.  The other, who could not so easily desert his children, his wife, and his fellow-citizens in the hour of danger, went forward as calmly to share in their impending doom.