and ball.  Thus, every human being in the city that could walk had become a soldier.  At last darkness fell upon the scene.  The trumpet of recal was sounded, and the Spaniards, utterly discomfited, retired from the walls, leaving at least one thousand dead in the trenches, while only thirteen burghers and twenty-four of the garrison lost their lives.  Thus was Alkmaar preserved for a little longer—­thus a large and well-appointed army signally defeated by a handful of men fighting for their firesides and altars.  Ensign Solis, who had mounted the breach for an instant, and miraculously escaped with life, after having been hurled from the battlements, reported that he had seen “neither helmet nor harness,” as he looked down into the city:  only some plain-looking people, generally dressed like fishermen.  Yet these plain-looking fishermen had defeated the veterans of Alva.

The citizens felt encouraged by the results of that day’s work.  Moreover, they already possessed such information concerning the condition of affairs in the camp of the enemy as gave them additional confidence.  A Spaniard, named Jeronimo, had been taken prisoner and brought into the city.  On receiving a promise of pardon, he had revealed many secrets concerning the position and intentions of the besieging army.  It is painful to add that the prisoner, notwithstanding his disclosures and the promise under which they had been made, was treacherously executed.  He begged hard for his life as he was led to the gallows, offering fresh revelations, which, however, after the ample communications already made, were esteemed superfluous.  Finding this of no avail, he promised his captors, with perfect simplicity, to go down on his knees and worship the Devil precisely as they did, if by so doing he might obtain mercy.  It may be supposed that such a proposition was not likely to gain additional favor for him in the eyes of these rigid Calvinists, and the poor wretch was accordingly hanged.

The day following the assault, a fresh cannonade was opened upon the city.  Seven hundred shots having been discharged, the attack was ordered.  It was in vain:  neither threats nor entreaties could induce the Spaniards, hitherto so indomitable, to mount the breach.  The place seemed to their imagination protected by more than mortal powers; otherwise how was it possible that a few half-starved fishermen could already have so triumphantly overthrown the time-honored legions of Spain.  It was thought, no doubt, that the Devil, whom they worshipped, would continue to protect his children.  Neither the entreaties nor the menaces of Don Frederic were of any avail.  Several soldiers allowed themselves to be run through the body by their own officers, rather than advance to the walls; and the assault was accordingly postponed to an indefinite period.