A party of the more faint-hearted even assailed the
heroic Adrian Van der Werf with threats and reproaches as he passed
through the streets.
"A crowd had gathered around him, as he reached a triangular place
in the centre of the town, into which many of the principal streets
emptied themselves, and upon one side of which stood the church of
St. Pancras, with its high brick tower surmounted by two pointed
turrets, and with two ancient lime trees at its entrance. There stood
the burgomaster, a tall, haggard, imposing figure, with dark visage,
and a tranquil but commanding eye. He waved his broad-leaved felt hat
for silence, and then exclaimed, in language which has been almost
literally preserved, 'What would ye, my friends? Why do ye murmur that
we do not break our vows and surrender our city to the Spaniards?--a
fate more horrible than the agony which she now endures. I tell you I
have made an oath to hold this city, and may God give me strength to
keep my oath! I can die but once; whether by your hands, the enemy's,
or by the hand of God. My own fate is indifferent to me, not so that
of the city intrusted to my care. I know that we shall starve if
not soon relieved; but starvation is preferable to the dishonoured
death which is the only alternative.
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