Notwithstanding this discomfiture, the patriots kept up heart, and were incessantly making demonstrations against Parma’s works.  Their proceedings against the bridge, although energetic enough to keep the Spanish commander in a state of perpetual anxiety, were never so efficient however as on the memorable occasion when the Mantuan engineer and the Dutch watchmaker had exhausted all their ingenuity.  Nevertheless, the rebel barks swarmed all over the submerged territory, now threatening this post, and now that, and effecting their retreat at pleasure; for nearly the whole of Parma’s little armada was stationed at the two extremities of his bridge.  Many fire-ships were sent down from time to time, but Alexander had organized a systematic patrol of a few sentry-boats, armed with scythes and hooks, which rowed up and down in front of the rafts, and protected them against invasion.

Some little effect was occasionally produced, but there was on the whole more anxiety excited than damage actually inflicted.  The perturbation of spirit among the Spaniards when any of these ‘demon fine-ships,’ as they called them, appeared bearing down upon their bridge, was excessive.  It could not be forgotten, that the `Hope’ had sent into space a thousand of the best soldiers of the little army within one moment of time.

Such rapid proceedings had naturally left an uneasy impression on the minds of the survivors.  The fatigue of watching was enormous.  Hardly an officer or soldier among the besieging forces knew what it was to sleep.  There was a perpetual exchanging of signals and beacon-fires and rockets among the patriots—­not a day or night, when a concerted attack by the Antwerpers from above, and the Hollanders from below, with gun-boats and fire-ships, and floating mines, and other devil’s enginry, was not expected.

“We are always upon the alert,” wrote Parma, “with arms in our hands.  Every one must mount guard, myself as well as the rest, almost every night, and the better part of every day.”

He was quite aware that something was ever in preparation; and the nameless, almost sickening apprehension which existed among his stout-hearted veterans, was a proof that the Mantuan’s genius—­notwithstanding the disappointment as to the great result—­had not been exercised entirely in vain.  The image of the Antwerp devil-ships imprinted itself indelibly upon the Spanish mind, as of something preternatural, with which human valour could only contend at a disadvantage; and a day was not very far distant—­one of the memorable days of the world’s history, big with the fate of England, Spain, Holland, and all Christendom—­when the sight of a half-dozen blazing vessels, and the cry of “the Antwerp fireships,” was to decide the issue of a most momentous enterprise.  The blow struck by the obscure Italian against Antwerp bridge, although ineffective then, was to be most sensibly felt after a few years had passed, upon a wider field.