hers, leaped from the
windows to renew the combat below. The many tortuous, streets which led
down a slight descent from the rear of the Town house to the quays were
all one vast conflagration. On the other side, the magnificent cathedral,
separated from the Grande Place by a single row of buildings, was lighted
up, but not attacked by the flames. The tall spire cast its gigantic
shadow across the last desperate conflict. In the street called the Canal
au Sucre, immediately behind the Town-house, there was a fierce struggle,
a horrible massacre. A crowd of burghers; grave magistrates, and such of
the German soldiers as remained alive, still confronted the ferocious
Spaniards. There amid the flaming desolation, Goswyn Verreyck, the heroic
margrave of the city, fought with the energy of hatred and despair. The
burgomaster, Van der Meere, lay dead at his feet; senators, soldiers,
citizens, fell fast around him, and he sank at last upon a heap of slain.
With him effectual resistance ended. The remaining combatants were
butchered, or were slowly forced downward to perish in the Scheld. Women,
children, old men, were killed in countless numbers, and still, through
all this havoc, directly over the heads of the struggling throng,
suspended in mid-air above the din and smoke of the conflict, there
sounded, every half-quarter of every hour, as if in gentle mockery, from
the belfry of the cathedral, the tender and melodious chimes.

Never was there a more monstrous massacre, even in the blood-stained
history of the Netherlands. It was estimated that, in the course of this
and the two following days, not less than eight thousand human beings
were murdered. The Spaniards seemed to cast off even the vizard of
humanity. Hell seemed emptied of its fiends. Night fell upon the scene
before the soldiers were masters of the city; but worse horrors began
after the contest was ended. This army of brigands had come thither with
a definite, practical purpose, for it was not blood-thirst, nor lust, nor
revenge, which had impelled them, but it was avarice, greediness for
gold. For gold they had waded through all this blood and fire. Never had
men more simplicity of purpose, more directness in its execution. They
had conquered their India at last; its golden mines lay all before them,
and every sword should open a shaft. Riot and rape might be deferred;
even murder, though congenial to their taste, was only subsidiary to
their business. They had