Two days went by, and a fugitive rode into the city, a worn and woundedman of Leyden, with horror stamped upon his face.
"What news?" cried the people in the market-place, recognising him.
"Mechlin! Mechlin!" he gasped. "I come from Mechlin."
"What of Mechlin and its citizens?" asked Pieter van de Werff, steppingforward.
"Don Frederic has taken it; the Spaniards have butchered them; everyone,old and young, men, women, and children, they are all butchered.I escaped, but for two leagues and more I heard the sound of thedeath-wail of Mechlin. Give me wine."
They gave him wine, and by slow degrees, in broken sentences, he toldthe tale of one of the most awful crimes ever committed in the nameof Christ by cruel man against God and his own fellows. It was writtenlarge in history: we need not repeat it here.
Then, when they knew the truth, up from that multitude of the menof Leyden went a roar of wrath, and a cry to vengeance for theirslaughtered kin. They took arms, each what he had, the burgher hissword, the fisherman his fish-spear, the boor his ox-goad or his pick;leaders sprang up to command them, and there arose a shout of "To thegates! To the Gevangenhuis! Free the prisoners!"
They surged round the hateful place, thousands of them. The drawbridgewas up, but they bridged the moat. Some shots were fired at them, thenthe defence ceased. They battered in the massive doors, and, when thesefell, rushed to the dens and loosed those who remained alive withinthem.
But they found no Spaniards, for by now Ramiro and his garrison hadvanished away, whither they knew not. A voice cried, "Dirk van Goorl,seek for Dirk van Goorl," and they came to the chamber overlooking thecourtyard, shouting, "Van Goorl, we are here!"
They broke in the door, and there they found him, lying upon his pallet,his hands clasped, his face upturned, smitten suddenly dead, not by man,but by the poison of the plague.
Unfed and untended, the end had overtaken him very swiftly.
BOOK THE THIRD
THE HARVESTING
Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch Page 53
