the extraordinary excuse that he had overslept himself and that he feared the plot had been discovered.  It being too late to make any attempt that night, a meeting was arranged for the following evening.  No suspicion of treachery occurred to any of the party, although it became obvious that the skipper had grown faint-hearted.  He did not come on the next night to the appointed place but he sent two nephews, boatmen like himself, whom he described as dare-devils.

On Monday night, the 26th of February, the seventy went on board the vessel, which was apparently filled with blocks of turf, and packed themselves closely in the hold.  They moved slowly during a little time on their perilous voyage; for the winter wind, thick with fog and sleet, blew directly down the river, bringing along with it huge blocks of ice and scooping the water out of the dangerous shallows, so as to render the vessel at any moment liable to be stranded.  At last the navigation became impossible and they came to a standstill.  From Monday night till Thursday morning those seventy Hollanders lay packed like herrings in the hold of their little vessel, suffering from hunger, thirst, and deadly cold; yet not one of them attempted to escape or murmured a wish to abandon the enterprise.  Even when the third morning dawned there was no better prospect of proceeding; for the remorseless east wind still blew a gale against them, and the shoals which beset their path had become more dangerous than ever.  It was, however, absolutely necessary to recruit exhausted nature, unless the adventurers were to drop powerless on the threshold when they should at last arrive at their destination.  In all secrecy they went ashore at a lonely castle called Nordam, where they remained to refresh themselves until about eleven at night, when one of the boatmen came to them with the intelligence that the wind had changed and was now blowing freshly in from the sea.  Yet the voyage of a few leagues, on which they were embarked, lasted nearly two whole days longer.  On Saturday afternoon they passed through the last sluice, and at about three o’clock the last boom was shut behind them.  There was no retreat possible for them now.  The seventy were to take the strong castle and city of Breda or to lay down their lives, every man of them.  No quarter and short shrift—­such was their certain destiny, should that half-crippled, half-frozen little band not succeed in their task before another sunrise.

They were now in the outer harbour and not far from the Watergate which led into the inner castle-haven.  Presently an officer of the guard put off in a skiff and came on board the vessel.  He held a little conversation with the two boatmen, observed that the castle was—­much in want of full, took a survey of the turf with which the ship was apparently laden, and then lounged into the little cabin.  Here he was only separated by a sliding trap-door from the interior of the vessel.  Those inside could hear and see his every movement.  Had there been a single cough or sneeze from within, the true character of the cargo, then making its way into the castle, would have been discovered and every man would within ten minutes have been butchered.  But the officer, unsuspecting, soon took his departure, saying that he would send some men to warp the vessel into the castle dock.