The excitement soon became uncontrollable.  Before ten o’clock vast numbers of sectaries came pouring towards the Red Gate, which afforded the readiest egress to the scene of action; the drawbridge of the Ostrawell Gate having been destroyed the night before by command of Orange.  They came from every street and alley of the city.  Some were armed with lance, pike, or arquebus; some bore sledge-hammers; others had the partisans, battle-axes, and huge two-handed swords of the previous century; all were determined upon issuing forth to the rescue of their friends in the fields outside the town.  The wife of Tholouse, not yet aware of her husband’s death, although his defeat was obvious, flew from street to street, calling upon the Calvinists to save or to avenge their perishing brethren.

A terrible tumult prevailed.  Ten thousand men were already up and in arms.—­It was then that the Prince of Orange, who was sometimes described by his enemies as timid and pusillanimous by nature, showed the mettle he was made of.  His sense of duty no longer bade him defend the crown of Philip—­which thenceforth was to be entrusted to the hirelings of the Inquisition—­but the vast population of Antwerp, the women, the children, and the enormous wealth of the richest Deity in the world had been confided to his care, and he had accepted the responsibility.  Mounting his horse, he made his appearance instantly at the Red Gate, before as formidable a mob as man has ever faced.  He came there almost alone, without guards.  Hoogstraaten arrived soon afterwards with the same intention.  The Prince was received with howls of execration.  A thousand hoarse voices called him the Pope’s servant, minister of Antichrist, and lavished upon him many more epithets of the same nature.  His life was in imminent danger.  A furious clothier levelled an arquebus full at his breast.  “Die, treacherous villain?” he cried; “thou who art the cause that our brethren have perished thus miserably in yonder field.”  The loaded weapon was struck away by another hand in the crowd, while the Prince, neither daunted by the ferocious demonstrations against his life, nor enraged by the virulent abuse to which he was subjected, continued tranquilly, earnestly, imperatively to address the crowd.  William of Orange had that in his face and tongue “which men willingly call master-authority.”  With what other talisman could he, without violence and without soldiers, have quelled even for a moment ten thousand furious Calvinists, armed, enraged against his person, and thirsting for vengeance on Catholics.  The postern of the Red Gate had already been broken through before Orange and his colleague, Hoogstraaten, had arrived.  The most excited of the Calvinists were preparing to rush forth upon the enemy at Ostrawell.  The Prince, after he had gained the ear of the multitude, urged that the battle was now over, that the reformers were entirely cut to pieces, the enemy, retiring, and that a disorderly and ill-armed mob would be unable