st and west, and more was
suspected than was actually known. It was felt that the foe was steadily
nibbling his way up to the counterscarp. Moreover, such was the emulation
among the Germans, Walloons, Italians, and Spaniards for precedence in
working across the canal, that a general assault and universal explosion
were considered at any instant possible. The governor sent Fleming to see
if all was right in the Porcupine, while he himself went to see if a new
battery, which he had just established to check the approaches of the
enemy towards the Polder Half-moon and Ravelin in a point very near the
counterscarp, was doing its duty. Being, as usual, anxious to reconnoitre
with his own eyes, he jumped upon the rampart. But there were
sharp-shooters in the enemy's trenches, and they were familiar with the
governor's rusty old doublet and haggard old face. Hardly had he climbed
upon the breastwork when a ball pierced his heart, and he fell dead
without a groan. There was a shout of triumph from the outside, while the
tidings soon spread sadness through the garrison, for all loved and
venerated the man. Philip Fleming, so soon as he learned the heavy news,
lost no time in unavailing regrets, but instantly sent a courier to
Prince Maurice; meantime summoning a council of superior officers, by
whom Colonel John van Loon was provisionally appointed commandant.

A stately, handsome man, a good officer, but without extensive
experience, he felt himself hardly equal to the immense responsibility of
the post, but yielding to the persuasions of his comrades, proceeded to
do his best. His first care was to secure the all-important Porcupine,
towards which the enemy had been slowly crawling with his galleries and
trenches. Four days after he had accepted the command he was anxiously
surveying that fortification, and endeavouring to obtain a view of the
enemy's works, when a cannon-ball struck him on the right leg, so that he
died the next day. Plainly the post of commandant of Ostend was no
sinecure. He was temporarily succeeded by Sergeant-Major Jacques de
Bievry, but the tumults and confusion incident upon this perpetual change
of head were becoming alarming. The enemy gave the garrison no rest night
nor day, and it had long become evident that the young volunteer, whose
name was so potent on the Genoa Exchange, was not a man of straw nor a
dawdler, however the superseded veterans might grumble. At any rate the
troops on either side