This work had lasted a good hour and a half, when at last, on the fifth assault, a wild and mysterious apparition renewed the enthusiasm of the Spaniards.  The figure of the dead commander of the old Spanish Legion, Don Pedro Pacchi, who had fallen a few months before at the siege of Dendermonde was seen charging in front of his regiment, clad in his well-known armour, and using the gestures which had been habitual with him in life.  No satisfactory explanation was ever made of this singular delusion, but it was general throughout the ranks, and in that superstitious age was as effective as truth.  The wavering Spaniards rallied once more under the guidance of their phantom leader, and again charged the breast-work of the patriots.  Toralva, mounting upon the back of one of his soldiers, was first to vault into the entrenchments.  At the next instant he lay desperately wounded on the ground, but was close followed by Capizucca, sustained by a determined band.  The entrenchment was carried, but the furious conflict still continued.  At nearly the same moment, however, several of the patriot vessels were observed to cast off their moorings, and to be drifting away from the dyke.  A large number of the rest had been disabled by the hot fire, which by Alexander’s judicious orders had been directed upon the fleet.  The ebbing tide left no choice to the commander of the others but to retreat or to remain and fall into the enemy’s hands, should he gain the day.  Had they risked the dangerous alternative, it might have ensured the triumph of the whole enterprise, while their actual decision proved most disastrous in the end.

“We have conquered,” cried Alexander, stretching his arm towards the receding waters.  “The sea deserts the impious heretics.  Strike from them now their last hope, and cut off their retreat to the departing ships.”  The Spaniards were not slow to perceive their advantage, while the courage of the patriots at last began to ebb with the tide.  The day was lost.  In the hour of transitory triumph the leaders of the expedition had turned their backs on their followers, and now, after so much heroism had been exhibited, fortune too had averted her face.  The grim resistance changed to desperate panic, and a mad chase began along the blood-stained dyke.  Some were slain with spear and bullet, others were hunted into the sea, many were smothered in the ooze along the edge of the embankment.  The fugitives, making their way to the retreating vessels, were pursued by the Spaniards, who swam after them, with their swords in their teeth, and engaged them in mortal combat in the midst of the waves.

“And so we cut all their throats,” said Parma, “the rebels on every side remaining at our mercy, and I having no doubt that my soldiers would avenge the loss of their friends.”