be apprehended from the broken, mutinous, and dispersed
forces of the enemy, the siege operations were conducted
in a leisurely manner. What was the astonishment,
therefore, among the soldiers, when a rumour flew about
the camp in the early days of November that the indomitable
Spinola was again advancing upon them! It was
perfectly true. With extraordinary perseverance
he had gathered up six or seven thousand infantry and
twelve companies of horse—all the remnants
of the splendid armies with which he had taken the
field at midsummer—and was now marching
to the relief of Groll, besieged as it was by a force
at least doubly as numerous as his own. It was
represented to the stadholder, however, that an impassable
morass lay between him and the enemy, and that there
would therefore be time enough to complete his entrenchments
before Spinola could put his foolhardy attempt into
execution. But the Catholic general, marching
faster than rumour itself, had crossed the impracticable
swamp almost before a spadeful of earth had been turned
in the republican camp. His advance was in sight
even while the incredulous were sneering at the absurdity
of his supposed project. Informed by scouts of
the weakest point in the stadholder’s extended
lines, Spinola was directing himself thither with
beautiful precision. Maurice hastily contracted
both his wings, and concentrated himself in the village
of Lebel. At last the moment had come for a decisive
struggle. There could be little doubt of the
result. All the advantage was with the republican
army. The Catholics had arrived in front of the
enemy fatigued by forced marches through quagmires,
in horrible weather, over roads deemed impassable.
The States’ troops were fresh, posted on ground
of their own choosing, and partially entrenched.
To the astonishment, even to the horror of the most
eager portion of the army, the stadholder deliberately,
and despite the groans of his soldiers, refused the
combat, and gave immediate orders for raising the
siege and abandoning the field.
On the 12th of November he broke up his camp and withdrew
to a village called Zelem. On the same day the
marquis, having relieved the city, without paying
the expected price, retired in another direction, and
established what was left of his army in the province
of Munster. The campaign was closed. And
thus the great war which had run its stormy course
for nearly forty years, dribbled out of existence,
sinking away that rainy November in the dismal fens
of Zutphen. The long struggle for independence
had come, almost unperceived, to an end.
Peace had not arrived, but the work of the armies
was over for many a long year. Freedom and independence
were secured. A deed or two, never to be forgotten
by Netherland hearts, was yet to be done on the ocean,
before the long and intricate negotiations for peace
should begin, and the weary people permit themselves
to rejoice; but the prize was already won.