To assault such a position was in truth, as Alexander had declared it to be, a most daring and desperate resolution on the part of the States.  “Soldiers, citizens, and all,” said Parma, “they are obstinate as dogs to try their fortune.”

With wool-sacks, sand-bags, hurdles, planks, and other materials brought with them, the patriots now rapidly entrenched themselves in the position so brilliantly gained; while, without deferring for an instant the great purpose which they had come to effect, the sappers and miners fastened upon the ironbound soil of the dyke, tearing it with pick, mattock, and shovel, digging, delving, and throwing up the earth around them, busy as human beavers, instinctively engaged in a most congenial task.

But the beavers did not toil unmolested.  The large and determined force of Antwerpers and English, Hollanders and Zeelanders, guarded the fortifications as they were rapidly rising, and the pioneers as they were so manfully delving; but the enemy was not idle.  From Fort Saint James, next beyond Saint George, Camillo del Monte led a strong party to the rescue.  There was a tremendous action, foot to foot, breast to breast, with pike and pistol, sword and dagger.  Never since the beginning of the war had there been harder fighting than now upon that narrow isthmus.  “’Twas an affair of most brave obstinacy on both sides,” said Parma, who rarely used strong language.  “Soldiers, citizens, and all—­they were like mad bulldogs.”  Hollanders, Italians, Scotchmen, Spaniards, Englishmen, fell thick and fast.  The contest was about the entrenchments before they were completed, and especially around the sappers and miners, in whose picks and shovels lay the whole fate of Antwerp.  Many of the dyke-breakers were digging their own graves, and rolled, one after another, into the breach which they were so obstinately creating.  Upon that slender thread of land the hopes of many thousands were hanging.  To tear it asunder, to roll the ocean-waves up to Antwerp, and thus to snatch the great city triumphantly from the grasp of Philip—­to accomplish this, the three thousand had come forth that May morning.  To prevent it, to hold firmly that great treasure entrusted to them, was the determination of the Spaniards.  And so, closely pent and packed, discharging their carbines into each other’s faces, rolling, coiled together, down the slimy sides of the dyke into the black waters, struggling to and fro, while the cannon from the rebel fleet and from the royal forts mingled their roar with the sharp crack of the musketry, Catholics and patriots contended for an hour, while still, through all the confusion and uproar, the miners dug and delved.

At last the patriots were victorious.  They made good their entrenchments, drove the Spaniards, after much slaughter, back to the fort of Saint George on the one side, and of the Palisade on the other, and cleared the whole space between the two points.  The centre of the dyke was theirs; the great Kowenstyn, the only key by which the gates of Antwerp could be unlocked, was in the deliverers’ hands.  They pursued their victory, and attacked the Palisade Fort.  Gamboa, its commandant, was severely wounded; many other officers dead or dying; the outworks were in the hands of the Hollanders; the slender piles on which the fortress rested in the water were rudely shaken; the victory was almost complete.