“Monsieur the Admiral of Arragon,” said the stadholder in French, “is more fortunate than many of his army.  He has been desiring these four years to see Holland.  Now he will make his entrance there without striking a blow.”  The gibe was perhaps deficient in delicacy towards a fallen foe, but a man who had passed a whole winter in murdering his prisoners in cold blood might be satisfied if he were stung only by a sharp sarcasm or two, when he had himself become a captive.

Others asked him demurely what he thought of these awkward apprentices of Holland and Zeeland, who were good enough at fighting behind dykes and ramparts of cities, but who never ventured to face a Spanish army in the open field.  Mendoza sustained himself with equanimity however, and found plenty of answers.  He discussed the battle with coolness, blamed the archduke for throwing the whole of his force prematurely into the contest, and applauded the prudence of Maurice in keeping his reserves in hand.  He ascribed a great share of the result to the States’ artillery, which had been well placed upon wooden platforms and well served, while the archduke’s cannon, sinking in the sands, had been of comparatively little use.  Especially he expressed a warm admiration for the heroism of Maurice in sending away his ships, and in thus leaving himself and his soldiers no alternative but death or triumph.

While they still sat at table many of the standards taken from the enemy were brought in and exhibited; the stadholder and others amusing themselves with reading the inscriptions and devices emblazoned upon them.

And thus on the 2nd July, 1600, the army of the States-General, led by Maurice of Nassau, had utterly defeated Albert of Austria.

["Enfin l’affaire vint auix mains et fut combattu bien furieusement de deux costes l’espace de deux heures.  Enfin Dieu par sa grace voulut que la victoire demeura de more coste.”  Such were the simple words in which Maurice announced to his cousin Lewis William his victory in the most important battle that had been fought for half a century.  Not even General Ulysses Grant could be more modest in the hour of immense triumph.]

Strange to say—­on another 2nd July, three centuries and two years before, a former Albert of Austria had overthrown the emperor Adolphus of Nassau, who had then lost both crown and life in the memorable battle of Worms.  The imperial shade of Maurice’s ancestor had been signally appeased.

In Ostend, as may well be imagined, ineffable joy had succeeded to the horrible gloom in which the day had been passed, ever since the tidings had been received of Ernest’s overthrow.