Meantime, the Prince of Orange, from his head-quarters at Sassenheim, on the southern extremity of the mere, made a fresh effort to throw succor into the place.  Two thousand men, with seven field-pieces, and many wagon-loads of munitions, were sent forward under Batenburg.  This officer had replaced De la Marck, whom the Prince had at last deprived of his commission.  The reckless and unprincipled freebooter was no longer to serve a cause which was more sullied by his barbarity than it could be advanced by his desperate valor.  Batenburg’s expedition was, however, not more successful than the one made by his predecessor.  The troops, after reaching the vicinity of the city, lost their way in the thick mists, which almost perpetually enveloped the scene.  Cannons were fired, fog-bells were rung, and beacon fires were lighted on the ramparts, but the party was irretrievably lost.  The Spaniards fell upon them before they could find their way to the city.  Many were put to the sword, others made their escape in different directions; a very few succeeded in entering Harlem.  Batenburg brought off a remnant of the forces, but all the provisions so much needed were lost, and the little army entirely destroyed.

De Koning, the second in command, was among the prisoners.  The Spaniards cut off his head and threw it over the walls into the city, with this inscription:  “This is the head of Captain de Koning, who is on his way with reinforcements for the good city of Harlem.”  The citizens retorted with a practical jest, which was still more barbarous.  They cut off the heads of eleven prisoners and put them into a barrel, which they threw into the Spanish camp.  A Label upon the barrel contained these words:  “Deliver these ten heads to Duke Alva in payment of his tenpenny tax, with one additional head for interest.”  With such ghastly merriment did besieged and besiegers vary the monotonous horror of that winter’s siege.  As the sallies and skirmishes were of daily occurrence, there was a constant supply of prisoners, upon whom both parties might exercise their ingenuity, so that the gallows in camp or city was perpetually garnished.

Since the assault of the 21st December, Don Frederic had been making his subterranean attack by regular approaches.  As fast, however, as the Spaniards mined, the citizens countermined.  Spaniard and Netherlander met daily in deadly combat within the bowels of the earth.  Desperate and frequent were the struggles within gangways so narrow that nothing but daggers could be used, so obscure that the dim lanterns hardly lighted the death-stroke.  They seemed the conflicts, not of men but of evil spirits.  Nor were these hand-to-hand battles all.  A shower of heads, limbs, mutilated trunks, the mangled remains of hundreds of human beings, often spouted from the earth as if from an invisible volcano.  The mines were sprung with unexampled frequency and determination.  Still the Spaniards toiled on with undiminished zeal, and still the besieged, undismayed, delved below their works, and checked their advance by sword, and spear, and horrible explosions.