Nor was it in Holland and Zealand alone that the beacon fires of freedom were lighted.  City after city in Gelderland, Overyssel, and the See of Utrecht; all the important towns of Friesland, some sooner, some later, some without a struggle, some after a short siege, some with resistance by the functionaries of government, some by amicable compromise, accepted the garrisons of the Prince, and formally recognized his authority.  Out of the chaos which a long and preternatural tyranny had produced, the first struggling elements of a new and a better world began to appear.  It were superfluous to narrate the details which marked the sudden restoration of liberty in these various groups of cities.  Traits of generosity marked the change of government in some, circumstances of ferocity, disfigured the revolution in others.  The island of Walcheren, equally divided as it was between the two parties, was the scene of much truculent and diabolical warfare.  It is difficult to say whether the mutual hatred of race or the animosity of religious difference proved the deadlier venom.  The combats were perpetual and sanguinary, the prisoners on both sides instantly executed.  On more than one occasion; men were seen assisting to hang with their own hands and in cold blood their own brothers, who had been taken prisoners in the enemy’s ranks.  When the captives were too many to be hanged, they were tied back to back, two and two, and thus hurled into the sea.  The islanders found a fierce pleasure in these acts of cruelty.  A Spaniard had ceased to be human in their eyes.  On one occasion, a surgeon at Veer cut the heart from a Spanish prisoner, nailed it on a vessel’s prow; and invited the townsmen to come and fasten their teeth in it, which many did with savage satisfaction.

In other parts of the country the revolution was, on the whole, accomplished with comparative calmness.  Even traits of generosity were not uncommon.  The burgomaster of Gonda, long the supple slave of Alva and the Blood Council, fled for his life as the revolt broke forth in that city.  He took refuge in the house of a certain widow, and begged for a place of concealment.  The widow led him to a secret closet which served as a pantry.  “Shall I be secure there?” asked the fugitive functionary.  “O yes, sir Burgomaster,” replied the widow, “’t was in that very place that my husband lay concealed when you, accompanied by the officers of justice, were searching the house, that you might bring him to the scaffold for his religion.  Enter the pantry, your worship; I will be responsible for your safety.”  Thus faithfully did the humble widow of a hunted and murdered Calvinist protect the life of the magistrate who had brought desolation to her hearth.

Not all the conquests thus rapidly achieved in the cause of liberty were destined to endure, nor were any to be, retained without a struggle.  The little northern cluster of republics which had now restored its honor to the ancient Batavian name was destined, however, for a long and vigorous life.  From that bleak isthmus the light of freedom was to stream through many years upon struggling humanity in Europe; a guiding pharos across a stormy sea; and Harlem, Leyden, Alkmaar—­names hallowed by deeds of heroism such as have not often illustrated human annals, still breathe as trumpet-tongued and perpetual a defiance to despotism as Marathon, Thermopylae, or Salamis.