approached a crisis within the beleaguered city. Daily
skirmishes, without decisive result; had taken place outside the walls.
At last, on the 18th of September, after a steady cannonade of nearly
twelve hours, Don Frederic, at three in the afternoon, ordered an
assault. Notwithstanding his seven months' experience at Harlem, he still
believed it certain that he should carry Alkmaar by storm. The attack
took place at once upon the Frisian gate and upon the red tower on the
opposite side. 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 Harlem, 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. Thus, every human being in the city that
could walk had become a soldier. At last darkness fell upon the scene.
The trumpet of recal was sounded, and the Spaniards, utterly discomfited,
retired from the walls, leaving at least one thousand dead in the
trenches, while only thirteen burghers and twenty-four of the garrison
lost their lives. Thus was Alkmaar preserved for a little longer--thus a
large and well-appointed army signally defeated by a handful of men
fighting for their firesides and altars. Ensign Solis, who had mounted
the breach for an instant, and miracu