The Prince, however, did all that it was possible for man, so hampered, to do.  He was himself, while anxiously writing, hoping, and waiting for supplies of troops from Germany or France, doing his best with such volunteers as he could raise.  He was still established at Sassenheim, on the south of the city, while Sonoy with his slender forces was encamped on the north.  He now sent that general with as large a party as he could muster to attack the Diemerdyk.  His men entrenched themselves as strongly as they could between the Diemer and the Y, at the same time opening the sluices and breaking through the dyke.  During the absence of their commander, who had gone to Edam for reinforcements, they were attacked by a large force from Amsterdam.  A fierce amphibious contest took place, partly in boats, partly on the slippery causeway, partly in the water, resembling in character the frequent combats between the ancient Batavians and Romans during the wars of Civilis.  The patriots were eventually overpowered.

Sonoy, who was on his way to their rescue, was frustrated in his design by the unexpected faint-heartedness of the volunteers whom he had enlisted at Edam.  Braving a thousand perils, he advanced, almost unattended, in his little vessel, but only to witness the overthrow and expulsion of his band.  It was too late for him singly to attempt to rally the retreating troops.  They had fought well, but had been forced to yield before superior numbers, one individual of the little army having performed prodigies of valor.  John Haring, of Horn, had planted himself entirely alone upon the dyke, where it was so narrow between the Y on the one side and the Diemer Lake on the other, that two men could hardly stand abreast.  Here, armed with sword and shield, he had actually opposed and held in check one thousand of the enemy, during a period long enough to enable his own men, if they, had been willing, to rally, and effectively to repel the attack.  It was too late, the battle was too far lost to be restored; but still the brave soldier held the post, till, by his devotion, he had enabled all those of his compatriots who still remained in the entrenchments to make good their retreat.  He then plunged into the sea, and, untouched by spear or bullet, effected his escape.  Had he been a Greek or a Roman, an Horatius or a Chabrias, his name would have been famous in history—­his statue erected in the market-place; for the bold Dutchman on his dyke had manifested as much valor in a sacred cause as the most classic heroes of antiquity.

This unsuccessful attempt to cut off the communication between Amsterdam and the country strengthened the hopes of Alva.  Several hundreds of the patriots were killed or captured, and among the slain was Antony Oliver, the painter, through whose agency Louis of Nassau had been introduced into Mons. His head was cut off by two ensigns in Alva’s service, who received the price which had been set upon it