Spaniards from the position in which they were entrenching themselves.  On the other hand, Farnese declared that he had never in his life witnessed anything so unflinching as the courage of his troops; employed as they were in digging trenches where the soil was neither land nor water, exposed to inundation by the suddenly-opened sluices, to a plunging fire from the forts, and to perpetual hand-to-hand combats with an active and fearless foe, and yet pumping away in the coffer-dams-which they had invented by way of obtaining a standing-ground for their operations—­as steadily and sedately as if engaged in purely pacific employments.  The besieged here inspired by a courage equally remarkable.  The regular garrison was small enough, but the burghers were courageous, and even the women organized themselves into a band of pioneers.  This corps of Amazons, led by two female captains, rejoicing in the names of ‘May in the Heart’ and ‘Catherine the Rose,’ actually constructed an important redoubt between the citadel and the rampart, which received, in compliment to its builders, the appellation of ‘Fort Venus.’

The demands of the beleaguered garrison, however, upon the States and upon Leicester were most pressing.  Captain Hart swam thrice out of the city with letters to the States, to the governor-general, and to Queen Elizabeth; and the same perilous feat was performed several times by a Netherland officer.  The besieged meant to sell their lives dearly, but it was obviously impossible for them, with so slender a force, to resist a very long time.

“Our ground is great and our men not so many,” wrote Roger Williams to his sovereign, “but we trust in God and our valour to defend it. . . .  We mean, with God’s help, to make their downs red and black, and to let out every acre of our ground for a thousand of their lives, besides our own.”

The Welshman was no braggart, and had proved often enough that he was more given to performances than promises.  “We doubt not your Majesty will succour us,” he said, “for our honest mind and plain dealing toward your royal person and dear country;” adding, as a bit of timely advice, “Royal Majesty, believe not over much your peacemakers.  Had they their mind, they will not only undo your friend’s abroad, but, in the end, your royal estate.”

Certainly it was from no want of wholesome warning from wise statesmen and blunt soldiers that the Queen was venturing into that labyrinth of negotiation which might prove so treacherous.  Never had been so inopportune a moment for that princess to listen to the voice of him who was charming her so wisely, while he was at the same moment battering the place, which was to be the basis of his operations against her realm.  Her delay in sending forth Leicester, with at least a moderate contingent, to the rescue, was most pernicious.  The States—­ignorant of the Queen’s exact relations with Spain, and exaggerating her disingenuousness into absolute perfidy became on their own part exceedingly to blame.  There is no doubt whatever that both Hollanders and English men were playing into the hands of Parma as adroitly as if he had actually directed their movements.  Deep were the denunciations of Leicester and his partisans by the States’ party, and incessant the complaints of the English and Dutch troops shut up in Sluys against the inactivity or treachery of Maurice and Hohenlo.