fire, sack!—such were the hideous cries which rang through every quarter of the city as the savage horde advanced. Van Ende, with his German troops, had been stationed by the Marquis of Havré to defend the Saint Joris gate; but no sooner did the Spaniards under Vargas present themselves than he deserted to them instantly with his whole force. United with the Spanish cavalry, these traitorous defenders of Antwerp dashed in pursuit of those who had only been faint-hearted. Thus the burghers saw themselves attacked by many of their friends, deserted by more. Whom were they to trust? Nevertheless, Oberstein's Germans were brave and faithful, resisting to the last, and dying every man in his harness. The tide of battle flowed hither and thither, through every street and narrow lane. It poured along the magnificent Place de Meer, where there was an obstinate contest. In front of the famous Exchange, where in peaceful hours five thousand merchants met daily to arrange the commercial affairs of Christendom, there was a determined rally, a savage slaughter. The citizens and faithful Germans, in this broader space, made a stand against their pursuers. The tesselated marble pavement, the graceful cloister-like arcades, ran red with blood. The ill-armed burghers faced their enemies clad in complete panoply, but they could only die for their homes. The massacre at this point was enormous, the resistance at last overcome.

Meantime, the Spanish cavalry had cleft its way through the city. On the side farthest removed from the castle, along the Horse-market, opposite the New-town, the states' dragoons and the light horse of Beveren had been posted, and the flying masses of pursuers and pursued swept at last through this outer circle. Champagny was already there. He essayed, as his last hope, to rally the cavalry for a final stand, but the effort was fruitless. Already seized by the panic, they had attempted to rush from the city through the gate of Eeker. It was locked; they then turned and fled towards the Red-gate, where they were met face to face by Don Pedro Tassis, who charged upon them with his dragoons. Retreat seemed hopeless. A horseman in complete armour, with lance in rest, was seen to leap from the parapet of the outer wall into the moat below, whence, still on horseback, he escaped with life. Few were so fortunate. The confused mob of fugitives and conquerors, Spaniards, Walloons, Germans, burghers, struggling, shouting, striking, cursing, dying, swayed hither and thither like a stormy sea. Along the spacious Horse-market, the ugitives fled onwards towards the quays. Many fell beneath the swords

of the Spaniards, numbers were trodden to death by the hoofs of horses, still greater multitudes were hunted into the Scheld. Champagny, who had thought it possible, even at the last moment, to make a stand in the New-town, and to fortify the palace of the Hansa, saw himself deserted. With great daring and presence of mind, he effected his escape to the fleet of the Prince of Orange, in the river. The Marquis of Havré, of whom no deeds of valour on that eventful day have been recorded, was equally successful. The unlucky Oberstein, attempting to leap into a boat, missed his footing, and, oppressed by the weight of his armour, was drowned.

While the short November day was fast declining, a terrific combat still raged in the interior of the city. Various currents of conflict, forcing their separate way through many streets, had at last mingled in the Grande Place. Around this irregular, not very spacious square, stood the gorgeous Hôtel de Ville, and the tall, many-storeyed, fantasticallygabled, richly-decorated palaces of the guilds. Here a long struggle took place. It was terminated by the cavalry of Vargas, who, arriving through the gates of Saint Joris, accompanied by the traitor Van Ende, charged decisively into the mélée. The masses were broken, but multitudes of armed men found refuge in the buildings, and every house became a fortress. From every window and balcony a hot fire was poured into the square, as, pent in a corner, the burghers stood at last at bay. It was difficult to carry the houses by storm, but they were soon set on fire. A large number of sutlers and other varlets had accompanied the Spaniards from the citadel, bringing torches, faggots, tar-barrels, and other inflammable materials for the purpose of destroying the city. They set to work with joyous delight at their business of destruction, and soon that splendid hall was in a blaze. The fires became more numerous as the evening came on; the Spaniards bent on warming their chilled fingers by a goodly blaze that cold night. One thousand houses were in flames at the same time, and in many of them women and children were roasted alive. The shouts and yells of the Spaniards, as they beheld terrified faces looking forth from upper windows, and heard imploring words, can only be imagined: they applauded the fire as though it had been a living thing as it leapt from storey to storey, catching on protruding beams and gable ends, and dashing in through casement windows, found its prey. Sometimes a poor frail being, flying from the fire, would wildly leap into the street below, to be received on half a dozen spear heads-man, woman, or child finding no mercy from those baptized fiends.

Illuminated by the fires the river ran red as blood beside the city, and the deep sky blushed crimson. Above the flames—as yet untouched by fire, and destined to escape-arose the tall spire of the magnificent cathedral, casting its shadow across the last desperate conflict, and sounding its tender and melodious chimes like words of gentle prayer for that convulsed and dying city.

Behind the town-house, in a street called the Sugar Canal, Murder held high carnival. A few of the German soldiers were still fighting, and with energy and despair the City Margrave Goswyn Verreyck was dealing many a hearty blow, sending more than one Spaniard to their reckoning. Old burgomaster Van der Meere lay dead at the Margrave's feet, and he was soon to perish amid a heap of slain. But he fought bravely. It was the last fight. When he received the last stroke, Antwerp was at the feet of the foe. No further resistance was offered. The rest was murder.

Murder! it was shouted by the flames leaping to heaven as if imploring aid; it was murmured by the river as it fled away and told the story as it went to bending trees and grassy meadows, where the cattle woke up Murder! it was

from their quiet slumber, and fled in terror of the fire. heard in the tramp of feet, in the brutal jest, in the drunken song, in the black blasphemy of men, not drunk with wine, but blood.

Murder! it was committed in every frightful form, with bitter mocking and pain prolonged, as if to emulate the deeds of those who murdered Him whose image was boldly lifted over the scene. They drove whole multitudes into the river, and crushed the hands that clung to quay or laden barge; they burnt alive women and children, and echoed every cry with cruel mimicry; they hunted the aged, pricking them with lances to make sport, or lashed them till they implored for death; they tortured some poor wretches only as a pastime, others to make them reveal where lay their wealth.

A gentlewoman named Fabry, with her aged mother, had taken refuge in the cellar of her mansion. As the day was drawing to a close a band of plunderers entered, who after ransacking the house descended to the cellarage. Finding the door barred they forced it open with gunpowder. The mother, who was nearest the entrance, fell dead in the threshold. Stepping across her mangled body, the brigands sprang upon her daughter, loudly demanding the property which they believed to be concealed. They likewise insisted on being informed where the master of the house had taken refuge. Protestations

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of ignorance as to hidden treasure, or the whereabouts of her husband, who, for aught she knew, was lying dead in the streets, was of no avail. To make her more communicative they hanged her on a beam in the cellar, and after a few moments cut her down, before life was extinct. Still receiving no satisfactory reply, where no satisfactory reply was possible, they hanged her again. Again, after a brief interval, they gave her a second relapse, and a fresh interrogating. This barbarity they repeated several times, till they were satisfied there was nothing to be gained by it, while on the other hand they were losing much valuable time. Hoping to be more successful elsewhere, they left her hanging for the last time, and trooped off to fresher fields. Strange to relate, the person thus horribly tortured survived. A servant in her family, married to a Spanish soldier, providentially entered the house in time to rescue her perishing mistress. She was restored to existence, but never to reason. Her brain was hopelessly crazed, and she passed the remainder of her life wandering about her house or feebly digging in the garden for the buried treasure which she had been thus fiercely solicited to reveal.

massacre.

Another and even still more terrible incident occurred during the Two young persons connected with opulent families had been long betrothed. The marriage day had been fixed for the fatal fourth of November. The guests were assembled, the ceremony concluded, the nuptial banquet in progress, when the horrible outcries in the street, told that the Spaniards were upon them. Hour after hour of trembling expectation succeeded. At length a thundering at the gate announced the arrival of a band of brigands. Preceded by their captain, a large number of soldiers forced their way into the house, ransacking every chamber, no opposition being offered by the family and friends, too few and powerless to cope with this band of well-armed ruffians. Plate chests, wardrobes, desks, caskets of jewellery, were freely offered, eagerly accepted, but not found sufficient; and to make the luckless wretches furnish more than they possessed, the usual brutalities were employed.

The soldiers began by striking the bridegroom dead. The bride fell shrieking into her mother's arms, whence she was torn by the murderers, who immediately put the mother to death, and an indiscriminate massacre then followed the fruitless attempts to obtain by threats and torture treasure which did not exist. The bride, who was of remarkable beauty, Maddened by this last outrage, the father, who was the only man of the party left alive, rushed upon the Spaniards.

was carried off to the citadel.

Wresting a sword from one of the crew, the old man dealt with it so fiercely, that he stretched more than one enemy dead at his feet; but it is needless to add that he was soon despatched.

Meantime, while the party were concluding the plunder of the mansion, the bride was left in a lonely apartment of the fortress. Without wasting time in fruitless lamentation, she resolved to quit the life which a few hours had made so desolate. She had almost succeeded in hanging herself with a massive chain she wore, when her captor entered the apartment. Inflamed, not with lust, but with avariee, he rescued her from her perilous position. He then took possession of her chain and the other trinkets with which her wedding-dress was adorned, and caused her to be entirely stripped of her clothing. She was then scourged with rods till her beautiful body was bathed in blood, and at last alone, naked, nearly mad, was sent back into the city. Here the forlorn creature wandered up and down through the blazing street, among the heaps of dead and dying, till she was at last put out of her misery by a gang of soldiers.

Wholly given up to sack, golden Antwerp was soon plundered of all its boasted wealth. Much rich merchandize was destroyed in the fire which raged frightfully in the wealthiest quarter of the city. The property consumed was valued at six millions of money. This was totally lost to the brigands, who were made more fiercly bent on plunder, seeing so much snatched from them by the flames. They broke into the dwellings of the richest merchants, and rapidly appropriated everything on which they could lay their blood-stained hands—gold, silver, jewels, velvets, satins, brocades, laces, disappeared; four millions in hard cashalone were obtained by the soldiery; over ninety thousand guldens were found in one house, that of the widow of a wealthy burgher.

In this enormous robbery no class of people were respected. Foreign merchants, living under the express sanction and protection of the Spanish monarch, were plundered with as little reserve as Flemings. Ecclesiastics of the Roman Church were compelled to disgorge their wealth as freely. as Calvinists. The rich were made to contribute all their abundance, and the poor what could be wrung from their poverty. Neither paupers nor criminals were safe. Captain Caspar Ortis made a brilliant speculation by taking possession of the Stein, or city prison, whence he ransomed all the inmates who could find means to pay for their liberty. Robbers, murderers, even Anabaptists, were thus again let loose. Rarely has so small a band obtained in three days' robbery so large an amount of