With the flight of Van den Bergh, all the cities which, under his guidance, had raised the standard of Orange, deserted the cause at once.  Friesland too, where Robles obtained a victory over six thousand patriots, again submitted to the yoke.  But if the ancient heart of the free Frisians was beating thus feebly, there was still spirit left among their brethren on the other side of the Zuyder Zee.  It was not while William of Orange was within her borders, nor while her sister provinces had proved recreant to him, that Holland would follow their base example.  No rebellion being left, except in the north-western extremities of the Netherlands, Don Frederic was ordered to proceed from Zutphen to Amsterdam, thence to undertake the conquest of Holland.  The little city of Naarden, on the coast of the Zuyder Zee, lay in his path, and had not yet formally submitted.  On the 22nd of November a company of one hundred troopers was sent to the city gates to demand its surrender.  The small garrison which had been left by the Prince was not disposed to resist, but the spirit of the burghers was stouter than, their walls.  They answered the summons by a declaration that they had thus far held the city for the King and the Prince of Orange, and, with God’s help, would continue so to do.  As the horsemen departed with this reply, a lunatic, called Adrian Krankhoeft, mounted the ramparts and, discharged a culverine among them.  No man was injured, but the words of defiance, and the shot fired by a madman’s hand, were destined to be fearfully answered.

Meanwhile, the inhabitants of the place, which was at best far from strong, and ill provided with arms, ammunition, or soldiers, despatched importunate messages to Sonoy, and to ether patriot generals nearest to them, soliciting reinforcements.  Their messengers came back almost empty handed.  They brought a little powder and a great many promises, but not a single man-at-arms, not a ducat, not a piece of artillery.  The most influential commanders, moreover, advised an honorable capitulation, if it were still possible.

Thus baffled, the burghers of the little city found their proud position quite untenable.  They accordingly, on the 1st of December, despatched the burgomaster and a senator to Amersfoort, to make terms, if possible, with Don Frederic.  When these envoys reached the place, they were refused admission to the general’s presence.  The army had already been ordered to move forward to Naarden, and they were directed to accompany the advance guard, and to expect their reply at the gates of their own city.  This command was sufficiently ominous.  The impression which it made upon them was confirmed by the warning voices of their friends in Amersfoort, who entreated them not to return to Naarden.  The advice was not lost upon one of the two envoys.  After they had advanced a little distance on their journey, the burgomaster Laurentszoon slid privately out of the sledge in which they were travelling, leaving his cloak behind him.  “Adieu; I think I will not venture back to Naarden at present,” said he, calmly, as he abandoned his companion to his fate.  The other, who could not so easily desert his children, his wife, and his fellow-citizens, in the hour of danger, went forward as calmly to share in their impending doom.