Now it so chanced—­although there was no garrison in the town—­that forty Burgundian and Italian lancers, with about thirty foot-soldiers, had come in the day before to escort a train of merchandise.  The Seigneur de Haultepenne, governor of Breda, a famous royalist commander—­son of old Count Berlaymont, who first gave the name of “beggars” to the patriots-had accompanied them in the expedition.  The little troop were already about to mount their horses to depart, when they became aware of the sudden tumult.  Elmont, governor of the city, had also flown to the rescue, and had endeavoured to rally the burghers.  Not unmindful of their ancient warlike fame, they had obeyed his entreaties.  Elmont, with a strong party of armed citizens, joined himself to Haultepenne’s little band of lancers.  They fired a few shots at straggling parties of plunderers, and pursued others up some narrow streets.  They were but an handful in comparison with the number of the patriots, who had gained entrance to the city.  They were, however, compact, united, and resolute.  The assailants were scattered, disorderly, and bent only upon plunder.  When attacked by an armed and regular band, they were amazed.  They had been told that there was no garrison; and behold a choice phalanx of Spanish lancers, led on by one of the most famous of Philip’s Netherland chieftains.  They thought themselves betrayed by Kleerhagen, entrapped into a deliberately arranged ambush.  There was a panic.  The soldiers, dispersed and doubtful, could not be rallied.  Hohenlo, seeing that nothing was to be done with his five hundred, galloped furiously out of the gate, to bring in the rest of his troops who had remained outside the walls.  The prize of the wealthy city of Bois-le-Duc was too tempting to be lightly abandoned; but he had much better have thought of making himself master of it himself before he should present it as a prey to his followers.

During his absence the panic spread.  The States’ troops, bewildered, astonished, vigorously assaulted, turned their backs upon their enemies, and fled helter-skelter towards the gates, through which they had first gained admittance.  But unfortunately for them, so soon as the corporal had left his position, the wounded old gate-opener, in a dying condition, had crawled forth on his hands and knees from a dark hole in the tower, cut, with a pocket-knife, the ropes of the portcullis, and then given up the ghost.  Most effective was that blow struck by a dead man’s hand.  Down came the portcullis.  The flying plunderers were entrapped.  Close behind them came the excited burghers—­their antique Belgic ferocity now fully aroused—­firing away with carbine and matchlock, dealing about them with bludgeon and cutlass, and led merrily on by Haultepenne and Elmont armed in proof, at the head of their squadron of lancers.  The unfortunate patriots had risen very early in the morning only to shear the wolf.  Some were cut to pieces in the streets; others climbed