He found himself surrounded by an indignant and threatening mob.  The unfortunate Italian understood not a word of the opprobrious language addressed to him, but he easily comprehended that the authority of the Duke was overthrown.  Observing De Ryk, a distinguished partisan officer and privateersman of Amsterdam, whose reputation for bravery and generosity was known, to him, he approached him, and drawing a seal ring from his finger, kissed it, and handed it to the rebel chieftain.  By this dumbshow he gave him to understand that he relied upon his honor for the treatment due to a gentleman.  De Ryk understood the appeal, and would willingly have assured him, at least, a soldier’s death, but he was powerless to do so.  He arrested him, that he might be protected from the fury of the rabble, but Treslong, who now commanded in Flushing, was especially incensed against the founder of the Antwerp citadel, and felt a ferocious desire to avenge his brother’s murder upon the body of his destroyer’s favourite.  Pacheco was condemned to be hanged upon the very day of his arrival.  Having been brought forth from his prison, he begged hard but not abjectly for his life.  He offered a heavy ransom, but his enemies were greedy for blood, not for money.  It was, however, difficult to find an executioner.  The city hangman was absent, and the prejudice of the country and the age against the vile profession had assuredly not been diminished during the five horrible years of Alva’s administration.  Even a condemned murderer, who lay in the town-gaol, refused to accept his life in recompence for performing the office.  It should never be said, he observed, that his mother had given birth to a hangman.  When told, however, that the intended victim was a Spanish officer, the malefactor consented to the task with alacrity, on condition that he might afterwards kill any man who taunted him with the deed.

Arrived at the foot of the gallows, Pacheco complained bitterly of the disgraceful death designed for him.  He protested loudly that he came of a house as noble as that of Egmont or Horn, and was entitled to as honorable an execution as theirs had been.  “The sword! the sword!” he frantically exclaimed, as he struggled with those who guarded him.  His language was not understood, but the names of Egmont and Horn inflamed still more highly the rage of the rabble, while his cry for the sword was falsely interpreted by a rude fellow who had happened to possess himself of Pacheco’s rapier, at his capture, and who now paraded himself with it at the gallows’ foot.  “Never fear for your sword, Seilor,” cried this ruffian; “your sword is safe enough, and in good hands.  Up the ladder with you, Senor; you have no further use for your sword.”