rs, to go whither they would,
undisturbed. And thus the archdukes, after three years and seventy-seven
days of siege, obtained their prize. Three thousand men, in good health,
marched out of little Troy with the honours of war. The officers were
entertained by Spinola and his comrades at a magnificent banquet, in
recognition of the unexampled heroism with which the town had been
defended. Subsequently the whole force marched to the headquarters of the
States' army in and about Sluys. They were received by Prince Maurice,
who stood bareheaded and surrounded by his most distinguished officers;
to greet them and to shake them warmly by the hand. Surely no defeated
garrison ever deserved more respect from friend or foe.

The Archduke Albert and the Infants Isabella entered the place in
triumph, if triumph it could be called. It would be difficult to imagine
a more desolate scene. The artillery of the first years of the
seventeenth century was not the terrible enginry of destruction that it
has become in the last third of the nineteenth, but a cannonade,
continued so steadily and so long, had done its work. There were no
churches, no houses, no redoubts, no bastions, no walls, nothing but a
vague and confused mass of ruin. Spinola conducted his imperial guests
along the edge of extinct volcanoes, amid upturned cemeteries, through
quagmires which once were moats, over huge mounds of sand, and vast
shapeless masses of bricks and masonry, which had been forts. He
endeavoured to point out places where mines had been exploded, where
ravelins had been stormed, where the assailants had been successful, and
where they had been bloodily repulsed. But it was all loathsome, hideous
rubbish. There were no human habitations, no hovels, no casemates. The
inhabitants had burrowed at last in the earth, like the dumb creatures of
the swamps and forests. In every direction the dykes had burst, and the
sullen wash of the liberated waves, bearing hither and thither the
floating wreck of fascines and machinery, of planks and building
materials, sounded far and wide over what should have been dry land. The
great ship channel, with the unconquered Half-moon upon one side and the
incomplete batteries and platforms of Bucquoy on the other, still
defiantly opened its passage to the sea, and the retiring fleets of the
garrison were white in the offing. All around was the grey expanse of
stormy ocean, without a cape or a headland to break its monotony,