accosted a knot of superior officers, informing them that they were but boys, and that he would show them how to carry the faubourg of Groningen on the instant.  He was answered that the faubourg, being walled and moated, could be taken only by escalade or battery.  Laughing loudly, he rushed forward toward the counterscarp, waving his sword, and brandishing on his left arm the cover of a butter firkin, which he had taken instead of his buckler.  He had advanced, however, but a step, when a bullet from the faubourg pierced his brain, and he fell dead without a word.

So perished one of the wild founders of the Netherland commonwealth—­one of the little band of reckless adventurers who had captured the town of Brill in 1572, and thus laid the foundation stone of a great republic, which was to dictate its laws to the empire of Charles the Fifth.  He was in some sort a type.  His character was emblematical of the worst side of the liberating movement.  Desperate, lawless, ferocious—­a robber on land, a pirate by sea—­he had rendered great service in the cause of his fatherland, and had done it much disgrace.  By the evil deeds of men like himself, the fair face of liberty had been profaned at its first appearance.  Born of a respectable family, he had been noted, when a student in this very Groningen where he had now found his grave, for the youthful profligacy of his character.  After dissipating his partrimony, he had taken to the sea, the legalized piracy of the mortal struggle with Spain offering a welcome refuge to spendthrifts like himself.  In common with many a banished noble of ancient birth and broken fortunes, the riotous student became a successful corsair, and it is probable that his prizes were made as well among the friends as the enemies of his country.  He amassed in a short time one hundred thousand crowns—­no contemptible fortune in those days.  He assisted La Marck in the memorable attack upon Brill, but behaved badly and took to flight when Mondragon made his memorable expedition to relieve Tergoes.  He had subsequently been imprisoned, with La Marck for insubordination, and during his confinement had dissipated a large part of his fortune.  In 1574, after the violation of the Ghent treaty, he had returned to, his piratical pursuits, and having prospered again as rapidly as he had done during his former cruises, had been glad to exchange the ocean for more honorable service on shore.  The result was the tragic yet almost ludicrous termination which we have narrated.  He left a handsome property, the result of his various piracies, or, according to the usual euphemism, prizes.  He often expressed regret at the number of traders whom he had cast into the sea, complaining, in particular, of one victim whom he had thrown overboard, who would never sink, but who for years long ever floated in his wake, and stared him in the face whenever he looked over his vessel’s side.  A gambler, a profligate, a pirate, he had yet rendered service to the cause of freedom, and his name—­sullying the purer and nobler ones of other founders of the commonwealth—­“is enrolled in the capitol.”