Beneath the vaults of that edifice, tradition said that a vast treasure was hidden, and the canons had been known to boast that this buried wealth would be sufficient to rebuild their temple more magnificently than ever, in case of its total destruction.  The Admiral had accordingly placed a strong guard in the church as soon as he arrived, and commenced very extensive excavations in search of this imaginary mine.  The Regent informed her brother that the Count was prosecuting this work with the view of appropriating whatever might be found to his own benefit.  As she knew that he was a ruined man, there seemed no more satisfactory mode of accounting for these proceedings.  Horn had, however, expressly stated to her that every penny which should come into his possession from that or any other source would carefully be restored to the rightful owners.  Nothing of consequence was ever found to justify the golden legends of the monks, but in the mean time the money-diggers gave great offence.  The canons, naturally alarmed for the safety of their fabulous treasure, had forced the guard, by surreptitiously obtaining the countersign from a certain official of the town.  A quarrel ensued which ended in the appearance of this personage, together with the commander of the military force on guard in the cathedral, before the banqueting company.  The Count, in the rough way habitual with him, gave the culprit a sound rebuke for his intermeddling, and threatened, in case the offence were repeated, to have him instantly bound, gagged, and forwarded to Brussels for further punishment.  The matter thus satisfactorily adjusted, the banquet proceeded, the merchants present being all delighted at seeing the said official, who was exceedingly, unpopular, “so well huffed by the Count.”  The excavations were continued for along time, until there seemed danger of destroying the foundation of the church, but only a few bits of money were discovered, with some other articles of small value.

Horn had taken his apartments in the city in order to be at hand to suppress any tumults, and to inspire confidence in the people.  He had come to a city where five sixths of the inhabitants—­were of the reformed religion, and he did not, therefore, think it judicious to attempt violently the suppression of their worship.  Upon his arrival he had issued a proclamation, ordering that all property which might have been pillaged from the religious houses should be instantly restored to the magistracy, under penalty that all who disobeyed the command should “be forthwith strangled at the gibbet.”  Nothing was brought back, however, for the simple reason that nothing had been stolen.  There was, therefore, no one to be strangled.