The words of the stout burgomaster inspired a new courage in the hearts of those who heard him, and a shout of applause and defiance arose from the famishing but enthusiastic crowd.  They left the place, after exchanging new vows of fidelity with their magistrate, and again ascended tower and battlement to watch for the coming fleet.  From the ramparts they hurled renewed defiance at the enemy.  “Ye call us rat-eaters and dog-eaters,” they cried, “and it is true.  So long, then, as ye hear dog bark or cat mew within the walls, ye may know that the city holds out.  And when all has perished but ourselves, be sure that we will each devour our left arms, retaining our right to defend our women, our liberty, and our religion, against the foreign tyrant.  Should God, in his wrath, doom us to destruction, and deny us all relief, even then will we maintain ourselves for ever against your entrance.  When the last hour has come, with our own hands we will set fire to the city and perish, men, women, and children together in the flames, rather than suffer our homes to be polluted and our liberties to be crushed.”  Such words of defiance, thundered daily from the battlements, sufficiently informed Valdez as to his chance of conquering the city, either by force or fraud, but at the same time, he felt comparatively relieved by the inactivity of Boisot’s fleet, which still lay stranded at North Aa.  “As well,” shouted the Spaniards, derisively, to the citizens, “as well can the Prince of Orange pluck the stars from the sky as bring the ocean to the walls of Leyden for your relief.”

On the 28th of September, a dove flew into the city, bringing a letter from Admiral Boisot.  In this despatch, the position of the fleet at North Aa was described in encouraging terms, and the inhabitants were assured that, in a very few days at furthest, the long-expected relief would enter their gates.  The letter was read publicly upon the market-place, and the bells were rung for joy.  Nevertheless, on the morrow, the vanes pointed to the east, the waters, so far from rising, continued to sink, and Admiral Boisot was almost in despair.  He wrote to the Prince, that if the spring-tide, now to be expected, should not, together with a strong and favorable wind, come immediately to their relief, it would be in pain to attempt anything further, and that the expedition would, of necessity, be abandoned.  The tempest came to their relief.  A violent equinoctial gale, on the night of the 1st and 2nd of October, came storming from the north-west, shifting after a few hours full eight points, and then blowing still more violently from the south-west.  The waters of the North Sea were piled in vast masses upon the southern coast of Holland, and then dashed furiously landward, the ocean rising over the earth, and sweeping with unrestrained power across the ruined dykes.