with unrestrained power across the ruined dykes.

In the course of twenty-four hours, the fleet at North Aa, instead of
nine inches, had more than two feet of water. No time was lost. The
Kirk-way, which had been broken through according to the Prince's
instructions, was now completely overflowed, and the fleet sailed at
midnight, in the midst of the storm and darkness. A few sentinel vessels
of the enemy challenged them as they steadily rowed towards Zoeterwoude.
The answer was a flash from Boisot's cannon; lighting up the black waste
of waters. There was a fierce naval midnight battle; a strange spectacle
among the branches of those quiet orchards, and with the chimney stacks
of half-submerged farmhouses rising around the contending vessels. The
neighboring village of Zoeterwoude shook with the discharges of the
Zealanders' cannon, and the Spaniards assembled in that fortress knew
that the rebel Admiral was at last, afloat and on his course. The enemy's
vessels were soon sunk, their crews hurled into the waves. On went the
fleet, sweeping over the broad waters which lay between Zoeterwoude and
Zwieten. As they approached some shallows, which led into the great mere,
the Zealanders dashed into the sea, and with sheer strength shouldered
every vessel through. Two obstacles lay still in their path--the forts of
Zoeterwoude and Lammen, distant from the city five hundred and two
hundred and fifty yards respectively. Strong redoubts, both well supplied
with troops and artillery, they were likely to give a rough reception to
the light flotilla, but the panic; which had hitherto driven their foes
before the advancing patriots; had reached Zoeterwoude. Hardly was the
fleet in sight when the Spaniards in the early morning, poured out from
the fortress, and fled precipitately to the left, along a road which led
in a westerly direction towards the Hague. Their narrow path was rapidly
vanishing in the waves, and hundreds sank beneath the constantly
deepening and treacherous flood. The wild Zealanders, too, sprang from
their vessels upon the crumbling dyke and drove their retreating foes
into the sea. They hurled their harpoons at them, with an accuracy
acquired in many a polar chase; they plunged into the waves in the keen
pursuit, attacking them with boat-hook and dagger. The numbers who thus
fell beneath these corsairs, who neither gave nor took quarter, were
never counted, but probably not less than a thousand perished. The rest