This was the Count’s last exploit.  He remained at Amsterdam some weeks longer, but the events which succeeded changed the Hector into a faithful vassal.  Before the 12th of April, he wrote to Egmont, begging his intercession with Margaret of Parma, and offering “carte blanche” as to terms, if he might only be allowed to make his peace with government.  It was, however, somewhat late in the day for the “great beggar” to make his submission.  No terms were accorded him, but he was allowed by the Duchess to enjoy his revenues provisionally, subject to the King’s pleasure.  Upon the 25th April, he entertained a select circle of friends at his hotel in Amsterdam, and then embarked at midnight for Embden.  A numerous procession of his adherents escorted him to the ship, bearing lighted torches, and singing bacchanalian songs.  He died within a year afterwards, of disappointment and hard drinking, at Castle Hardenberg, in Germany, after all his fretting and fury, and notwithstanding his vehement protestations to die a poor soldier at the feet of Louis Nassau.

That “good chevalier and good Christian,” as his brother affectionately called him, was in Germany, girding himself for the manly work which Providence had destined him to perform.  The life of Brederode, who had engaged in the early struggle, perhaps from the frivolous expectation of hearing himself called Count of Holland, as his ancestors had been, had contributed nothing to the cause of freedom, nor did his death occasion regret.  His disorderly band of followers dispersed in every direction upon the departure of their chief.  A vessel in which Batenburg, Galaina, and other nobles, with their men-at-arms, were escaping towards a German port, was carried into Harlingen, while those gentlemen, overpowered by sleep and wassail, were unaware of their danger, and delivered over to Count Meghem, by the treachery of their pilot.  The soldiers, were immediately hanged.  The noblemen were reserved to grace the first great scaffold which Alva was to erect upon the horse-market in Brussels.

The confederacy was entirely broken to pieces.  Of the chieftains to whom the people had been accustomed to look for support and encouragement, some had rallied to the government, some were in exile, some were in prison.  Montigny, closely watched in Spain, was virtually a captive, pining for the young bride to whom he had been wedded amid such brilliant festivities but a few months before his departure, and for the child which was never to look upon its father’s face.

His colleague, Marquis Berghen, more fortunate, was already dead.  The excellent Viglius seized the opportunity to put in a good word for Noircarmes, who had been grinding Tournay in the dust, and butchering the inhabitants of Valenciennes.  “We have heard of Berghen’s death,” wrote the President to his faithful Joachim.  “The Lord of Noircarmes, who has been his substitute in the governorship of Hainault, has given a specimen of what he can do.  Although I have no private intimacy with that nobleman, I can not help embracing him with all my benevolence.  Therefore, oh my Hopper, pray do your best to have him appointed governor.”