On the 26th October, after a thorough investigation, followed by a full confession on the part of the culprits, the three were sentenced to death.  The decree was surely a most severe one.  They had been guilty of no actual crime, and only in case of high treason could an intention to commit a crime be considered, by the laws of the state, an offence punishable with death.  But it was exactly because it was important to make the crime high treason that the prisoners were condemned.  The offence was considered as a crime not against Leyden, but as an attempt to levy war upon a city which was a member of the States of Holland and of the United States.  If the States were sovereign, then this was a lesion of their sovereignty.  Moreover, the offence had been aggravated by the employment of United States’ troops against the commonwealth of the United States itself.  To cut off the heads of these prisoners was a sharp practical answer to the claims of sovereignty by Leicester, as representing the people, and a terrible warning to all who might, in future; be disposed to revive the theories of Deventer and Burgrave.

In the case of De Maulde the punishment seemed especially severe.  His fate excited universal sympathy, and great efforts were made to obtain his pardon.  He was a universal favourite; he was young; he was very handsome; his manners were attractive; he belonged to an ancient and honourable race.  His father, the Seigneur de Mansart, had done great services in the war of independence, had been an intimate friend of the great Prince of Orange, and had even advanced large sums of money to assist his noble efforts to liberate the country.  Two brothers of the young captain had fallen in the service of the republic.  He, too, had distinguished himself at Ostend, and his gallantry during the recent siege of Sluys had been in every mouth, and had excited the warm applause of so good a judge of soldiership as the veteran Roger Williams.  The scars of the wounds received in the desperate conflicts of that siege were fresh upon his breast.  He had not intended to commit treason, but, convinced by the sophistry of older soldiers than himself, as well as by learned deacons and theologians, he had imagined himself doing his duty, while obeying the Earl of Leicester.  If there were ever a time for mercy, this seemed one, and young Maurice of Nassau might have remembered, that even in the case of the assassins who had attempted the life of his father, that great-hearted man had lifted up his voice—­which seemed his dying one—­in favour of those who had sought his life.

But they authorities were inexorable.  There was no hope of a mitigation of punishment, but a last effort was made, under favour of a singular ancient custom, to save the life of De Maulde.  A young lady of noble family in Leyden—­Uytenbroek by name—­claimed the right of rescuing the condemned malefactor, from the axe, by appearing upon the scaffold, and offering to take him for her husband.