of the dangers which they were about to encounter, rather inflamed than diminished their ardor.  Their enthusiasm became unbounded, as he described the importance of the city which they were about to save, and alluded to the glory which would be won by those who thus courageously came forward to its rescue.  The time of about half ebb-tide having arrived, the veteran,—­preceded only by the guides and Plomaert, plunged gaily into the waves, followed by his army, almost in single file.  The water was never lowed khan the breast, often higher than the shoulder.  The distance to the island, three and a half leagues at least, was to be accomplished within at most, six hours, or the rising tide would overwhelm them for ever.  And thus, across the quaking and uncertain slime, which often refused them a footing, that adventurous band, five hours long, pursued their midnight march, sometimes swimming for their lives, and always struggling with the waves which every instant threatened to engulph them.

Before the tide had risen to more than half-flood, before the day had dawned, the army set foot on dry land again, at the village of Irseken.  Of the whole three thousand, only nine unlucky individuals had been drowned; so much had courage and discipline availed in that dark and perilous passage through the very bottom of the sea.  The Duke of Alva might well pronounce it one of the most brilliant and original achievements in the annals of war.  The beacon fires were immediately lighted upon the shore; as agreed upon, to inform Sancho d’Avila, who was anxiously awaiting the result at Bergen op Zoom, of the safe arrival of the troops.  A brief repose was then allowed.  At the approach of daylight, they set forth from Irseken, which lay about four leagues from Tergoes.  The news that a Spanish army had thus arisen from the depths of the sea, flew before them as they marched.  The besieging force commanded the water with their fleet, the land with their army; yet had these indomitable Spaniards found a path which was neither land nor water, and had thus stolen upon them in the silence of night.  A panic preceded them as they fell upon a foe much superior in number to their own force.  It was impossible for ’t Zeraerts to induce his soldiers to offer resistance.  The patriot army fled precipitately and ignominiously to their ships, hotly pursued by the Spaniards, who overtook and destroyed the whole of their rearguard before they could embark.  This done, the gallant little garrison which had so successfully held the city, was reinforced with the courageous veterans who had come to their relief his audacious project thus brilliantly accomplished, the “good old Mondragon,” as his soldiers called him, returned to the province of Brabant.