Leatherface: A Tale of Old Flanders

by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

  When Orange begged for money and men that he might continue the fightfor liberty, the goodly burghers of Ghent forgot their glorioustraditions and preferred to bend their neck to the yoke rather than riskthe fate of Mons and of Mechlin. But now that danger is within theirdoors, now that they and their wives and daughters are at the mercy ofthe same brutal soldiery whom Alva and de Vargas take pleasure indriving to bestial excesses and inhuman cruelties, now that they realisethat the fate of Mechlin is already inevitably theirs--their dormantcourage rises once more to its most sublime altitude. Die theymust--that they know!--how can they, within the enclosure of their owncity walls, stand up against the armies of Spain, which can at anymoment be brought up in their thousands to reinforce the tyrant'stroops? But at least they will die with muskets or pikes in theirhands, and their wives and daughters will be spared the supreme outragewhich they count worse than death.

  Thus close on five thousand volunteers file past their leaders thisnight in the refectory of St. Agneten and tender their oath ofallegiance to fight to the last man for Orange and liberty. On thefaces of those leaders--of Messire van Beveren, of Lievin van Deynse, ofLaurence van Rycke and Jan van Migrode, there is plainly writ thedetermination to keep up the fight to the end, and the knowledge thatthe end can only be death for them all.

  But in Mark van Rycke's deep-set eyes there is something more than meredetermination. There is a latent belief that God will intervene--thereis a curious exultation in their merry depths--a kind of triumphanthope: and those who stand before him and swear that they will fight forOrange and liberty with the last drop of their blood look him straightin the face for a moment and then turn away feeling less grim and morecourageous with a courage not altogether born of despair.

  The angel of liberty has unsheathed his sword and infused his holybreath into these men--easy-going burghers for the most part, untrainedsoldiers or even undisciplined rabble--who have dared to defy the mightof Alva.

  VII

  And when the first streak of dawn folds the night in its embrace andlifts from off the stricken city the veil of oblivion and of sleep, wesee some five thousand Orangists prepared to stand up before Alva'sforces which still number close on eight. The streets are littered withdead, with pikes and lances hastily cast aside, with muskets and plumedbonnets, with broken rubbish and wheelless wagons, and scraps of clothor shoes or leather belts.

  And in the cemetery of St. Jakab the flag of liberty still flaunts itsblazing orange in the pale morning light and around it men still rally,defiant and unconquered. The Guild House of the Tanners close by is inflames, and the tower of St. Jakab a crumbling ruin; the hostel of St.Juan ten Dullen is a charred mass of debris, and the houses that fronton the Vridachmart a fast crumbling heap of masonry and glass.

  The situation of the insurgents is more desperate than even Alva knows.Of their three captains, Pierre van Overbeque is dead, Jan van Migrodeseverely wounded, and Laurence van Rycke exhausted. Of their company ofhalberdiers, all the provosts except two have fallen. The investinglines around the Kasteel have five officers killed and twenty of theirartillerymen have fallen. Six hundred of their wounded encumber theVridachmart. The narrow streets which debouch upon the gates aredeserted save by the dead.

  But as soon as the rising day hath touched the ruined tower of St. Jakabwith its pale silvery light, Mark van Rycke, their commander, intrepidand undaunted, wakes the sleeping echoes with his cry: "Burghers ofGhent! to arms! we are not vanquished yet!"

  A volley of arrows from the crossbowmen upon the Waalpoort answers thedefiant cry: one arrow pierces a loose corner of Mark's doublet.

  "Van Rycke!" cries the provost who stands nearest to him, "spare thyselfin the name of God! What shall we do if you fall?"

  And Mark, unmoved, the fire of enthusiasm unquenched in his eyes, criesloudly in response:

  "Do? What alone can burghers of Ghent do in face of what lies beforethem if they give in? Do? Why, die like heroes--to the last man."

  His doublet hangs from him in rags, his hose is torn, his head bare, hisface black with powder. He grasps musket or crossbow, halberd, lance orpike, whichever is readiest to his hand, whichever company hath need ofa leader; a beam from the burning building has fallen within a yard ofhim and singed his hair: "Heroes of Ghent!" he cries, "which of you willthink of giving in?"

  The morning Angelus begins to ring. For a few minutes while the pureclear tones of the church bells reverberate above the din of waking menand clash of arms, Spaniards and Walloons and Flemings pause in theirhate and their fight in order to pray.

  Up in the council chamber of the Kasteel, Alva and de Vargas and del Rioon their knees mock the very God whom they invoke, and when the last"Amen!" has left their lips, Alva struggles to his feet and murmursfiercely:

  "And now for revenge!"

  Through the wide open windows, he gazes upon the spires and roofs of thebeautiful city which he hath sworn to destroy. Already many of theseare crumbling ruins, and from far away near the church of St. Jakab acolumn of black smoke rises upwards to the sky. The windows give uponan iron balcony which runs along the entire width of the Meeste-Toren:from this balcony an open staircase leads down into the castle-yard.The yard and vaulted cellars opposite are filled with horses, and thecorridors of the palace swarm with men. And as the Duke, anon, stepsout upon the balcony he sees before him the five breaches in thecastle-walls which testify to the power of the insurgents' culverins.He hears the groans of the wounded who lie all round the walls upon thelitters of straw, he sees the faces of innumerable dead, floatingwide-eyed upon the waters of the moat, and the carcasses of horses inthe yard which add to the horror of the scene by their pathetichideousness.

  And seeing all this, he hath not a thought of pity for all the innocentwhom he vows to punish along with the guilty.

  "Now for revenge!" he reiterates fiercely and shakes a clenched fisttoward the tower of St. Jakab, "and if only I had my Spaniards with me,we would have burned the town down before now."

  VIII

  The day drags on in the weary monotony of incessant firing, incessantfighting--constant attacks to be repulsed, numbers of wounded to beadded to those who already encumber the yard--numbers of dead to beadded to those who encumber the waters of the moat.

  The finest general the victorious Spanish armies have ever known isbesieged in his stronghold by a few hundred undisciplined, untaught,unseasoned rebel troops. What is happening beyond the wide tract ofopen ground which lies all round the Kasteel the Duke cannot get toknow. The Orangist lines are all round him screened by the buildingswhich face the further bank of the Schelde; and though his culverinshave turned the magnificent Vleeshhuis into a smoking ruin, those of theOrangists have made serious havoc in the castle walls.

  The last onslaught delivered a couple of hours after noonday resulted inthe crumbling together of three of the widest breaches already existing,making one huge yawning cavity, which has to be strongly andpersistently defended--a defence which exacts an enormous toll ofwounded and dead every time the Orangist artillery and musketry returnto the attack.

  "We cannot hold out till nightfall!" Captain de Avila criesdespairingly. "We have lost two hundred men in less than two hundredminutes. If we get no help we are undone!"

  "Help!" cries Alva fiercely, "where are we to get help from if thoseoafs at the city gates do not find us some?"

  On the north-east side of the Kasteel lies the open way toDendermonde--where Captain Gonzalo de Bracamonte is quartered with agarrison of five thousand men, and between that open way of salvation,and those who hold the Kasteel, there lies a league of spongy morass.The way through it is free from the Orangist musketry. Nature alonebars it, and does so effectually.

  Three times to-day has Alva tried to send runners through that way.Stripped to the skin they are lowered by ropes from the parapet, and atfirst find firm foothold at the base of the walls. From up above Alvaand his captains w
atch the naked men who walk on boldly, proud of theirachievement; their skins shine like metal beneath the grey, autumnal skyon which the smouldering ruins of a devastated city have painted acrimson tint. Alva watches them until they appear as mere black dotsupon the low horizon--tiny black specks that move for a while, slowlyalong, with arms swinging as the mud gets deeper and walking heavier.Then suddenly the speck ceases to move ... the arms are thrown up withfrantic wheelings and beatings of the air ... sometimes the speck willturn and move back slowly toward the castle, but more often than not itgrows shorter and shorter still, till even the tall armsdisappear--engulfed in the morass.

  Three times have men been sent out on this errand of death ... three orfour at a time ... twice has one man come back from those hideous,yawning jaws of a loathsome death--livid, covered with green slime,trembling in every limb as if stricken with ague. After that, menrefuse to go ... Alva commands and threatens ... another batch go off... another spectre returns from the shores of another world.... Thenthe men are obstinate ... to insist, to command, to threaten furtherwould provoke mutiny, and the stronghold once more lapses into utterisolation.

  The din of musketry from end to end of the city drowns every othersound, smoke from smouldering ruins obscures the view beyond theSchelde. What has happened in the centre of the city during all thesehours, whilst the high and mighty Lieutenant-Governor andCaptain-General of the Force of Occupation is a virtual prisoner in thehands of the rebels, he himself cannot possibly tell.

  "The rebels have lost more heavily than we have," says de Avila, whilsthe snatches a brief rest during the afternoon, "and they must be gettingshort of powder."

  "So are we," says Alva grimly.

  "Surely Captain Lodrono has come in touch with Captain Serbelloni bynow. It is inconceivable that the garrisons at the gate-houses can donothing."

  "Those Netherlanders are fighting like devils," says de Vargas with hisevil sneer, "they have nothing to lose ... they know that they aredoomed, every man, woman and child of them ... aye! if I had my way,every man who speaks the Flemish tongue."

  "Aye!" retorts Alva with a curse, "but in the meanwhile, if Serbellonior Lodrono have not sent a runner to Dendermonde, those Flemish loutswill carry this castle by storm, and when I am a prisoner in theirhands, they'll either slaughter us all or dictate their own terms."

  "Ah!" says Avila quietly, "they have not got the Kasteel yet."

  "How long can we hold out?" queries de Vargas, who at Alva's grimlyprophetic words, had become livid with fear.

  "Unless those rebels have lost more heavily than we hope, we cannot holdout more than another few hours. We still have three thousand men and agoodly stock of powder.... The breach we can defend with stones ofwhich there is a large store; we killed or wounded over a hundred ofthose louts at their last assault ... we can go on like this untilnightfall. But if at dawn they attack us again in full force--and welose many more men to-day ... why..."

  "Hold thy tongue," cried Alva fiercely, for at the senior captain'swords, many of the younger ones have exchanged quick, significantglances. "Shall I have to hang some of my captains so as to discouragethe men from playing the coward too?"

  IX

  The evening Angelus has just ceased to ring, and a man is ushered intothe presence of the Captain-General; he is naked, and his body iscovered with sticky mud and dripping with slime; his face is hardlyrecognisable through a thick mask of sweat and grime.

  "I come from Braepoort, Magnificence," he says in a low, quaking voice,for obviously he is all but exhausted. "I ran round the town, and struckinto the morass ... I am a man of Ghent ... I know a track ... that'swhy Captain Serbelloni sent me."

  "With what news?" queries Alva impatiently.

  "None too good, Magnificence," replies the man. "The commandants at thegates are sorely pressed ... I hailed the guard at the Bruegge andWaalpoorts as I passed ... they are isolated ... every one of them ...and each separately attacked by bands of rebels who fightdesperately.... The Braepoort cannot hold out much longer ... CaptainSerbelloni asks for help even before nightfall."

  "Help?" vociferates Alva savagely, "how can I send them help? We arebesieged in this accursed place; we cannot fight our way through therabble, unless some of those oafs at the city gates come to ourassistance. Help? 'Tis I want help here."

  "The gates are being bravely defended, Magnificence. But the rebelsstill hold the centre of the city. They have seized 'Sgravensteen. Twothousand Walloons have surrendered to them..."

  "Two thousand!" exclaims Alva with a fierce oath, "the miserablepoltroons."

  "At least three thousand rebels threaten the Kasteel."

  "I know that well enough," retorts Alva roughly. "They have made fivebreaches in our wall! ... the bandits! Help! 'tis I want help!" hereiterates with a loud curse.

  "Captain Serbelloni bade me tell your Highness that he hath sent toDendermonde for immediate reinforcements. He hoped your Highness wouldforgive him if he hath done wrong."

  Alva's eyes flash a look of satisfaction, but he makes no immediatecomment. Not even his colleagues--not even de Vargas hisintimate--should see how immense is his relief.

  "Did he send a mounted man," he asks after a while, "or two? Two wouldbe better in case a man gets hurt on the way."

  "The Captain sent three men, Magnificence. But they had to go on foot.We have no horses at the gates. The insurgents rounded them all in longbefore nightfall. But the men hope to pick up one or more on theirway."

  Alva, as is his wont, smothers a savage curse. The small body ofSpanish cavalry which he had with him in the town had been the first torun helter-skelter over the Ketel Brueghe into the Kasteel, whilst awhole squadron perished in the Schelde. One of those horses down therein the yard would mean reinforcements within a few hours.

  "When did the messenger start for Dendermonde?" he asks again.

  "When the Angelus began to ring at noon, Magnificence."

  "Why not before?"

  "The captain was undecided. He thought that every moment would bringhelp or orders from your Highness. He also tried to send messengers toCaptain Lodrono at the Waalpoort, but the messengers must all have beenintercepted and killed, for no help came from anywhere."

  "Dost know if the message which thy captain sent to Dendermonde wascouched in urgent terms?"

  "I believe so, Magnificence. The senor captain was growing veryanxious."

  Once more the Duke is silent; his brows contract in an anxious frown.His active brain is busy in making a mental calculation as to how soonthose reinforcements can arrive. "The men will have to walk toDendermonde," he muses, "and cannot get there before nightfall.... thecommandant may start at night ... but he may tarry till the morrow....It will be the end of the day before he and his men are here ... and inthe meanwhile..."

  "At the Braepoort?" he queries curtly, "how many of the guard have beenkilled?"

  "We had a hundred and twenty killed when I left, Magnificence, and overthree hundred lay wounded on the bridge. We have suffered heavily,"adds the man after a slight moment of hesitation--the hesitation of thebearer of evil tidings who dreads his listener's wrath.

  Alva remains silent for a moment or two, then he says abruptly: "Dostknow that I have half a mind to kill thee, for all the evil news whichthou hast brought?"

  Then he laughs loudly and long because the man, with a quick cry ofterror has made a sudden dash for the open window, and is brought backby the lance of the provost on guard upon the balcony. The pleasure ofstriking terror into the hearts of people has not yet palled upon hisMagnificence.

  "If I had a whole mind to kill thee," he continues, "thou wouldst haveno chance of escape. So cease thy trembling and ask the provost thereto give thee water to cleanse thyself, food to put inside thy belly andclothing wherewith to hide thy nakedness. Then come back before me.I'll give thee a chance to save thy life by doing a service to thyKing."

  He makes a sign to one of the provosts,
who seizes the man roughly bythe shoulders and incontinently bundles him out of the room.

  In the council chamber no one dares to speak. His Highness has becomemoody, and has sunk upon his high-backed chair where he remains inertand silent, wrapped in gloomy meditations, and when he is in one ofthose sullen moods no one dares to break in on his thoughts--no oneexcept senor de Vargas, and he too is as preoccupied as his chief.

  X

  "De Vargas!" says Alva abruptly after a while, "dost mind that to-morrowis not only Sunday, but the feast of the Blessed Redeemer and a holy dayof obligation?"

  "Aye, Monseigneur," replied de Vargas unctuously, "I am minded that ifwe do not go to Mass to-morrow, those of us who die unabsolved of thesin will go to hell."

  "The men are grumbling already," breaks in don Sancho de Avila, captainof the bodyguard. "They say they will not fight to-morrow if theycannot go to Mass."

  "Those Walloons..."

  "Not only the Walloons, Monseigneur," rejoins de Avila, "the Spaniardsare better Catholics than all these Netherlanders. They fear to diewith a mortal sin upon their soul."