I and other Englishmen will approach
their boats in such sort, that we will force them to give their saker of
artillery upon us. If, your Excellency will give ear unto those false
lewd fellows (the Captain meant the States-General), you shall lose great
opportunity. Within ten or twelve days the enemy will make his bridge
from Kadzand unto St. Anne, and force you to hazard battle before you
succour this town. Let my Lord Willoughby and Sir William Russell land at
Terhoven, right against Kadzand, with 4000, and entrench hard by the
waterside, where their boats can carry them victual and munition. They
may approach by trenches without engaging any dangerous fight . . . . We
dare not show the estate of this town more than we have done by Captain
Herte. We must fight this night within our rampart in the fort. You may
sure the world here are no Hamerts, but valiant captains and valiant
soldiers, such as, with God's help, had rather be buried in the place
than be disgraced in any point that belongs to such a number of
men-of-war."

But in vain did the governor of the place, stout Arnold Froenevelt,
assisted by the rough and direct eloquence of Roger Williams, urge upon
the Earl of Leicester and the States-General the necessity and the
practicability of the plan proposed. The fleet never entered the harbour.
There was no William of Orange to save Antwerp and Sluys, as Leyden had
once been saved, and his son was not old enough to unravel the web of
intrigue by which he was surrounded, or to direct the whole energies of
the commonwealth towards an all-important end. Leicester had lost all
influence, all authority, nor were his military abilities equal to the
occasion, even if he had been cordially obeyed.

Ten days longer the perpetual battles on the ramparts and within the
mines continued, the plans conveyed by the bold swimmer, Captain Hart,
for saving the place were still unattempted, and the city was tottering
to its fall. "Had Captain Hart's words taken place," wrote Williams,
bitterly, "we had been succoured, or, if my letters had prevailed, our
pain had been, no peril: All wars are best executed in sight of the enemy
. . . . The last night of June (10th July, N. S.) the enemy entered the
ditches of our fort in three several places, continuing in fight in mine
and on rampart for the space of eight nights. The ninth; he battered us
furiously, made a breach of five score paces suitable for horse and man.
That day be attempt