Calvin Synod Herald, 1984 (84. évfolyam, 1-6. szám)

1984-06-01 / 3. szám

CALVIN SYNOD HERALD

— 4 —

REFORMÁTUSOK LAPJA

Seventeenth Miniature

«, ----------------------------------------------------“The winds and the waves shall obey my will”---------------------------------William of Orange-------------------------------“We will rather die an honourable death and leave a praiseworthy fame, than bend our necks and reduce our dear Fatherland to slavery.”

— William of Orange in his “Epistle” to Philip of Spain

The meadow-bordered ancient and pleasant little city of Delft lay quiet on the bank of the Schie on this third day of October, as if in a deep deadly slumber. Though is was only two o’clock in the early afternoon and the little town was richly clad in the wondrous wealth of color of its own peculiar autumn light, not a single man could be seen on any of the streets walking in the shade of the long rows of limes and poplars, and not a single boat could be discovered on any of the many canals intersecting the old little city in every direction. A peculiar silence hung over the town by bright day light that could not be experienced even by the deadliest hour of the night.

Even old Delft Street, the main thoroughfare, was all quiet and empty. Only in the large courtyard of Prinsenhof were seen a few halberdiers standing guard, and an officer with shining breastplate. The latter stood on the balcony, anxiously spying the skies in the direction of Leyden for the carrier-pigeon to appear, bringing for the Prince trembling waiting tidings of life or death from the long beseiged city. On the fate of this city depended the life or death of a nation.

Here in the Prinsenhof, the former cloister of St. Agatha, had William of Orange fixed his permanent residence among his faithful and brave Hollanders two years before. In 1572, he had been unanimously recognized to be the lawful Stadholder and idolized leader of a small but mighty nation, waging a life and death struggle for the freedom of conscience and liberty of the fatherland against the dark and bloody tyranny of Spain. From here “the Father of his country” directed battles and sieges, and formed and forged the fate of a future independent country.

Since the long and critical siege of Leyden, pigeons flew to and fro between Delft and Leyden. With the relief of Leyden everything hung in the balance, and the most critical hour of which had now arrived.

Groot Markt, the fine large square of the little city was just as quiet and empty as the rest of the town. At the end of the square stood the mighty Nieuwe Kerk, the former church of St. Ursula, with her 375 foot slender tower, and long arched Gothic windows. At the doorway of the church two halberdiers stood in spectacular uniforms. Between them on the steps lay waiting, the faithful dog of the Prince, that had saved his great Master’s life at Harmignies. There the Spaniards would have captured the Prince at night while he was asleep in his tent, if it had not been for his favorite dog, who had awakened him.

The halberdiers with their long halberds standing at the door, and the faithful dog on the steps signified that the Prince was inside the church. And the populace of Delft was also inside with “Father William.” The empty streets proved that the occasion must have been a tremendously important and an unusual one.

Dark and heavy storm clouds floated over the town with a tremendous speed, driven by a furious wind from over the ocean.

“Ixx)k at those clouds above and these poplars here below, cracking in the wind?” said one of the halberdiers at the church door, joyously to the other. “Look up to the tower; does not the vane indicate a westerly wind to you:”

“Maybe, in the end God will still be merciful to us!” returned the other, “Father William has done everything according to his means to succor Leyden. But now only God can help!’

“Admiral Boisot’s letter that arrived this morning does not encourage much enthusiasm; poor Leydeners will soon eat the last cat and rat in the city. They cannot hold out any longer. And if Leyden falls, everything falls!” rejoined the former.

“But God could still send a sudden, furious, westerly gale, in the very last hour,” returned the latter with much confidence. “Father William has always trusted all his campaigns to the Lord of the hosts. It can’t be that God should forsake him in this terrible hour of need.”

At that moment the words of a beseeching psalm sounded from the church, carried from inside by hundreds of voices speaking with tremendous force and heartbreaking supplications.

“Out of the depths I cry to Thee;

Lord, hear me, I implore Thee;

Bend down Thy gracious ear to me,

Let my prayer come before Thee!"

“Never before did any people sing this psalm so deeply from the heart and at such an hour of need as they do now,” remarked the first halberdier.

“Shielded by Thee, I stand secure;

Thy word is firm, Thy promise sure,"

And I rely upon Thee," went on the congregation inside.

“God cannot shut His ears to such a supplication!” said the second halberdier, turning aside his head to hide his tears from the other.

Leyden would have to be relieved, or else the whole wonderful campaign for freedom would be lost.

The lost battle of Mookerhyde not quite six months before, had fatally proved that Leyden could not be relieved by land. The Spaniards were tremendously strong on land, but not so strong on the sea. Though Leyden could not be shifted to the seashore, the sea could be sent to Leyden.

The Prince, therefore, conceived an enormous plan: to besiege the Spaniard besiegers with the pent-up waters of the North Sea, the Meuse, the Waal and the Rhine.

With the battle cry “better a drowned land than a lost land,” the patriots ruptured all dikes and opened all sluices and gates. Large parts of the land were submerged; Admiral Boisot on his flag ship, the “Ark of Delft”, followed by two hundred vessels manned by the desperate “Sea Beggars”, victoriously rolled on and on with the waves over the submerged land, among the chimney stacks of half-submerged farm houses, and the summits of tall poplars and lime trees.

Week after week passed; barrier after barrier was destroyed. The terrific “Sea Beggars” with the crescents in their caps bearing the inscription, “Rather Turkish than Popish”, rolled over nearer and nearer. The Spaniards, crying their “Pater Noster’s” and “Ave Maria’s”, were being compressed to an ever smaller and smaller field.

All outer forts had been taken in ferocious combats, but the strongest one yet remained.

Then the great disappointment came. The winds and the waves that had been so gracious thus far, refused to bear the victorious flotilla any further.

The water became too shallow and the wind adverse. The great flotilla now lay motionless. The aspect was gloomy, and hope began to sink.

Famine in Leyden was stalking. Men fought with dogs on the dunghills for long-buried pieces of food.

The heroic burgomaster uttered his pathetic cry: “Take my