On the 24th of May, he wrote to Sonoy, begging him to hold himself in readiness, as all was prepared within the city.  At the same time, he requested the governor to send him forthwith a “morion and a buckler of proof;” for, he intended to see the matter fairly through.  Sonoy answered encouragingly, and sent him the armor, as directed.  On the 28th of May, Bardez, with four confederates, went to the council-room, to remonstrate with the senate concerning the grievances which had been so often discussed.  At about mid-day, one of the confederates, upon leaving the council-room, stepped out for a moment upon the balcony, which looked towards the public square.  Standing there for a moment, he gravely removed his hat, and then as gravely replaced it upon his head.  This was a preconcerted signal.  At the next instant a sailor was seen to rush across the square, waving a flag in both hands.  “All ye who love the Prince of Orange, take heart and follow me!” he shouted.  In a moment the square was alive.  Soldiers and armed citizens suddenly sprang forth, as if from the bowels of the earth.  Bardez led a strong force directly into the council-chamber, and arrested every one of the astonished magistrates.  At the same time, his confederates had scoured the town and taken every friar in the city into custody.  Monks and senators were then marched solemnly down towards the quay, where a vessel was in readiness to receive them.  “To the gallows with them—­to the gallows with them!” shouted the populace, as they passed along.  “To the gibbet, whither they have brought many a good fellow before his time!” Such were the openly, expressed desires of their fellow-citizens, as these dignitaries and holy men proceeded to what they believed their doom.  Although treated respectfully by those who guarded them, they were filled with trepidation, for they believed the execrations of the populace the harbingers of their fate.  As they entered the vessel, they felt convinced that a watery death had been substituted for the gibbet.  Poor old Heinrich Dirckzoon, ex-burgomaster, pathetically rejected a couple of clean shirts which his careful wife had sent him by the hands of the housemaid.  “Take them away; take them home again,” said the rueful burgomaster; “I shall never need clean shirts again in this world.”  He entertained no doubt that it was the intention of his captors to scuttle the vessel as soon as they had put a little out to sea, and so to leave them to their fate.  No such tragic end was contemplated, however, and, in fact, never was a complete municipal revolution accomplished in so good-natured and jocose a manner.  The Catholic magistrates and friars escaped with their fright.  They were simply turned out of town, and forbidden, for their lives, ever to come back again.  After the vessel had proceeded a little distance from the city, they were all landed high and dry upon a dyke, and so left unharmed within the open country.