Two choice regiments,
recently arrived from Lombardy, led the onset, rending the air with
their shouts, and confident of an easy victory. They were sustained
by what seemed an overwhelming force of disciplined troops. Yet
never, even in the recent history of Haarlem, had an attack been
received by more dauntless breasts. Every living man was on the walls,
The storming parties were assailed with cannon, with musketry, with
pistols. Boiling water, pitch and oil, molten lead, and unslaked lime,
were poured upon them every moment. Hundreds of tarred and burning
hoops were skilfully quoited around the necks of the soldiers, who
struggled in vain to extricate themselves from these fiery ruffs,
while as fast as any of the invaders planted foot upon the breach, they
were confronted face to face with sword and dagger by the burghers,
who hurled them headlong into the moat below.
"Thrice was the attack renewed with ever-increasing rage--thrice
repulsed with unflinching fortitude. The storm continued four hours
long. During all that period, not one of the defenders left his post,
till he dropped from it dead or wounded. The women and children,
unscared by the balls flying in every direction, or by the hand-to-hand
conflicts on the ramparts, passed steadily to and fro from the arsenals
to the fortifications, constantly supplying their fathers, husbands,
and brothers with powder and ball.
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