without a moment’s delay to Mansfeld’s head-quarters, at the head of all the force he could muster—­about two hundred strong.  With him came Cardona, Gonzales de Castro, Toralva, and other distinguished officers.  As they arrived, Capizucca was just setting forth for the field.  There arose a dispute for precedence between the Italians and the Spaniards.  Capizucca had first demanded the privilege of leading what seemed a forlorn hope, and was unwilling to yield his claim to the new comer.  On the other hand, the Spaniards were not disposed to follow where they felt entitled to lead.  The quarrel was growing warm, when Aquila, seizing his Italian rival by the hand, protested that it was not a moment for friends to wrangle for precedence.

“Shoulder to shoulder,” said he, “let us go into this business, and let our blows rather fall on our enemies’ heads than upon each other’s.”  This terminated the altercation.  The Italians and Spaniards—­in battle array as they were—­all dropped on their knees, offered a brief prayer to the Holy Virgin, and then, in the best possible spirits, set forth along the dyke.  Next to fort Stabroek—­whence they issued—­was the Palisade Fort, nearly a mile removed, which the patriots had nearly carried, and between which and St. George, another mile farther on, their whole force was established.

The troops under Capizucca and Aquila soon reached the Palisade, and attacked the besiegers, while the garrison, cheered by the unexpected relief, made a vigorous sortie.  There was a brief sharp contest, in which many were killed on both sides; but at last the patriots fell back upon their own entrenchments, and the fort was saved.  Its name was instantly changed to Fort Victory, and the royalists then prepared to charge the fortified camp of the rebels, in the centre of which the dyke-cutting operations were still in progress.  At the same moment, from the opposite end of the bulwark, a cry was heard along the whole line of the dyke.  From Fort Holy Cross, at the Scheldt end, the welcome intelligence was suddenly communicated—­as if by a magnetic impulse—­that Alexander was in the field!

It was true.  Having been up half the night, as usual, keeping watch along his bridge, where he was ever expecting a fatal attack, he had retired for a few hours’ rest in his camp at Beveren.  Aroused at day-break by the roar of the cannon, he had hastily thrown on his armour, mounted his horse, and, at the head of two hundred pikemen, set forth for the scene of action.  Detained on the bridge by a detachment of the Antwerp fleet, which had been ordered to make a diversion in that quarter, he had, after beating off their vessels with his boat-artillery, and charging Count Charles Mansfeld to heed well the brief injunction of old Peter Ernest, made all the haste he could to the Kowenstyn.  Arriving at Fort Holy Cross, he learned from Mondragon how the day was going.  Three thousand rebels, he learned, were established on the dyke, Fort Palisade was tottering,