CHAPTER XII
CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS
In the year 1447, or about that time, there was born in the city of Genoa in Italy a boy named Christopher Columbus. He was the son of a wool weaver named Domenico Columbus, and spent his early boyhood in the dark and busy weaver's quarter of Genoa, always within hearing of the sound of the loom. His father was an industrious and hard-working man, and designed that Christopher should become a wool weaver like himself. It was a good business, he thought, and all his sons might enter it with credit and profit; and though they must work hard, they would have an honest business and an occupation for their lives.
But Christopher was an adventurous boy and preferred the crowded harbor and the busy docks of Genoa to the stuffy weaving room. In his spare time he was constantly beside the water, talking with the sailors from all parts of the earth and hearing wonderful tales of adventure that stirred his blood. The sea was a dangerous place in those days, for not only were the ships small and badly built so that they could only with the greatest difficulty weather the gales that beat in vain against the steel sides of our great ships to-day, but there were many outlaws and pirates who followed the sea and made every voyage a peril. There were dark-skinned Moslems or Moors who would swoop in their swift boats upon Christian craft to kill or capture all on board, selling their prisoners into the horrible slavery of the Far East. There were also fearful tales of serpents and dragons that lived in the far waters of the "Sea of Darkness," for so the Atlantic Ocean was known among the seafaring men of Italy, Spain and Portugal, and stories galore of gold and undiscovered land. And many of the more adventurous youths of those days became sailors to see with their own eyes the marvels that the mariners would describe, while splicing rope upon the docks.
When ten years old, however, Christopher was made to work in the wool shop and became his father's apprentice, with little free time from the loom to go about his own affairs. It is thought that he did not take kindly to this business and he may have run away, for a few years later we hear rumors of him in the University of Pavia, where, although a lad in his teens, he was greatly interested in the studies of geography and astronomy. He had already learned all that was then known about the science of navigation and the use of the few rude instruments with which mariners determined their position on the sea. He had also mastered the science of making maps and was so skilful at drawing them that he could earn his living by this means. He had taken his first trips as a sailor and visited many ports in the immediate vicinity of Genoa and perhaps he had gone even farther, for the love of adventure and of a wandering life were in his blood.
When a very young man the wanderings of Columbus brought him to Portugal, where he lived for a time, at Lisbon, with his brother Bartholomew, who already had made his home there and was drawing maps for a living. The Portuguese were the best sailors of Europe and the boldest explorers. Perhaps that was the reason why Columbus went to Portugal to live. But another story, later told by his son, says that he was attacked by pirates when in command of a vessel not far from the Portuguese coast, and saved his life by swimming to the shore.
While Columbus was drawing maps in Lisbon, he used to go to a church that was visited by a beautiful girl called the Lady Philippa, the cousin to no less a person than the Archbishop of Lisbon himself. Columbus fell in love with her and attended the church whenever he believed that it would be possible to see her there. She, in turn, began to look with kindness upon him and at last Columbus and the Lady Philippa were married and the marriage proved to be a very happy one.
Philippa's grandfather had himself been a bold sailor and an adventurous explorer and discovered the Madeira Islands, where his granddaughter owned some property. As she did not like the idea of having her husband work constantly making maps, the young couple went to live on the Madeira Islands at a place called Porto Santo, where Philippa's brother was Governor.
Porto Santo was on the edge of the Sea of Darkness and was full of the most terrible and mysterious tales concerning it. While a few learned men of the time began to think that the world was round, most of the sailors and even the scholars thought that it was flat and that by sailing westward on the Atlantic you would eventually fall off of the rim of the world. The west was also thought to be inhabited by fearful monsters. Sea serpents were there, of a size so great that they could easily crush a sailing vessel in their jaws; there were dragons and giant devil fish; in one place there was a burning belt, where the air was like molten flame and the sea a mass of fire; in another there lived evil spirits and demons, and a fate worse than death would befall any sailor that ventured there. If you sailed to the south, so the mariners believed, you would come to a land where the air was too hot to support life, while if you sailed to the north you would arrive at a clime so frigid that you would certainly freeze to death. The sailors believed these things because the air grew warmer as they ventured down the coast of Africa toward the equator, and colder when they sailed past England and the Scandinavian peninsula to the chill seas that border on the Arctic Circle.
While Columbus lived at Porto Santo, however, he heard other tales that interested him greatly and made him believe that the world was round and that all the legends of the Sea of Darkness were idle fancies—or at least that it would be possible to sail across this sea and come to the wonderful countries of India and China and Japan.
For the Governor of Porto Santo had told him of strange things that had been washed on shore when the wind had blown for many days from the west—of a cane so thick through that it would hold a gallon of wine, of a piece of wood carved in a manner that never had been seen before,—and once of a canoe, which had been made by hollowing out a giant tree, in which were the dead bodies of two strange men such as the European world had never seen,—yellow in color with flat, broad faces.
Columbus thought greatly about these things and studied again what little was known of the world's geography; and he became convinced that by sailing to the westward he would reach Japan and China, and determined to set out upon this marvelous and brave adventure.
First he went to the King of Portugal in whose dominions he had made his home, and asked the King for ships and men to undertake a trip that would make Portugal the richest and most powerful kingdom in the entire world,—for once the new lands were discovered, said Columbus, there would be gold for all and land a plenty,—to say nothing of the opportunity for carrying the religion of the Holy Catholic Church into far lands and saving the souls of the heathen.
The King of Portugal was greatly interested in Columbus' words, but he thought that Columbus was too greedy in what he demanded for himself, for the ambitious sailor desired a tenth part of all the profits that would be gained by his voyaging and wanted also to be considered as King in the countries that he would discover. Therefore, without saying anything about it to Columbus, the King of Portugal tried to cheat him out of the fruits of his great idea by secretly sending a sailing vessel with another captain on a voyage to that part of the ocean where Columbus thought that China and Japan could be found.
This boat sailed into the west for many days, but encountered terrible gales and turned back; and the captain, to save his face among the mariners, exaggerated the difficulties that he had encountered, declaring that it was idle nonsense to think that anything could be gained by sailing westward.
Columbus soon heard how the King had deceived him and determined to leave Portugal forever. In addition to the deceit that had been practised upon him in which others had so basely tried to rob him of the rewards of his great design, a far greater sorrow had come into his life by the death of his good wife, whom he had loved tenderly. So, with his little son, Diego, Columbus went to Spain, thinking that perhaps the Spanish King and Queen would listen to him, and give him ships and money to carry out his plan.
The King and Queen of Spain, or rather the rulers of the two related kingdoms of Castile and Aragon, were named Ferdinand and Isabella. A terrible war was going on between these Spanish kingdoms and the Moors, who had overrun Spain hundreds of years before. Queen Isabella, however, was deeply interested in the words of Columbus,—particularly because she was a devout Catholic, and desired to spread the Catholic religion in the Far East. She told Columbus that she was too busily engaged in fighting the Moors to help him then and that he must wait until the wars were finished when, she assured him, he should have the money and ships he needed to carry out his design for the glory of Spain and the Catholic faith.
But the war against the Moors lasted for years, and Columbus, vainly waiting at Court, seemed no nearer to getting the ships and crews that he so ardently desired than when in Portugal being cheated by the Portuguese King. He had no money, and in following the Court it was hard for him to earn anything to pay for his needs. His garments became worn and tattered,—so much so that he became known as "the man with the cloak full of holes." At one time he went into the army and battled against the Moors, but as he received no pay, he was compelled at last to take up his map drawing once again to earn enough money for food and clothing. Disappointed and discouraged he sent his brother Bartholomew to the Court of the King of England, but the ship was robbed by pirates and Bartholomew was obliged to return.
After compelling Columbus to wait for seven long years, the King and Queen of Spain went back on their word and refused to have anything to do with his adventure. Scientists had ridiculed it and told them that they might just as well cast their gold into the sea as to give it to Columbus. So the unhappy Columbus was compelled to leave Court, his hopes extinguished and plunged into the lowest depths of despair.
With him was his son who was now old enough to accompany him in his wanderings. Together they passed a monastery called La Rabida where Columbus paused to beg a mouthful of bread and a drink of water for his boy,—and here there came an absolute change in his fortunes, for here there dwelt a friar who had formerly been confessor to Queen Isabella with whom he still had a great deal of influence; and after going over Columbus' plans with a shipbuilder named Martin Pinzon and an astronomer named Hernandez, the good friar promised to ask the Queen to grant Columbus' request. At all speed he went to the Spanish Court and brought back word that Columbus was to receive another interview with the Queen, with the additional good news that he was to be of good heart in the meantime, for his request was to be granted. And Queen Isabella also sent Columbus a sum of money with which to buy decent raiment and pay his expenses in coming back to the Court.
In this way it befell that, after weary years of waiting, the great idea of Columbus was finally received, and he was allowed to set out on his wonderful voyage; and he was so sure of success that he almost seemed to see the new lands that lay thousands of miles across the Sea of Darkness.
Columbus went back to Court and made certain demands of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella that they finally consented to—namely that he was to be the "Admiral of the Ocean Sea"—for so he called the Atlantic—and should rule over all new lands that he discovered. One tenth of all future profits from these lands were to be his, and he alone should have the right to settle trade disputes that might arise. In addition to these things he was to receive one-eighth of the profit of his first voyage, as he was willing, and in fact his agreement with the Queen demanded, that he should pay one-eighth of the expenses of the venture.
Once the consent of the King and Queen had been given and the money provided, Columbus set about collecting his vessels and their crews. This last, however, was a difficult undertaking, for so many and terrible were the stories about the Sea of Darkness and the monsters that lived near the far edge of the world that the boldest mariners refused to venture with him on such an errand, and finally his crew was gathered by proclaiming in the jails that any criminal who accompanied him was to receive full pardon on his return to Spain—a means that filled his ships with the most worthless and evil men.
Three ships were provided. They were called theSanta Maria, thePintaand theNina,—the last of which was so small that it seemed in size little more than a modern life boat as it only had room for eighteen men. ThePintacarried twenty-seven men and was under the command of the same Martin Pinzon who had aided Columbus in gaining the ear of Queen Isabella—a man whom Columbus trusted completely, but who was to betray that trust long before Columbus returned from his perilous voyage. TheSanta Mariawas the largest of the three ships, and held fifty-seven men. This was Columbus' flagship.
At a seaport called Palos these vessels were made ready for their voyage and on the Third of August, 1492, they might have been seen with the sunlight gleaming on their white sails, on which were painted the huge red Crosses of the Catholic faith, as they made their way into the open sea and bore to the westward under a favoring breeze. They stopped at the Canary Islands, where food and water were taken aboard, and then, leaving behind them the entire civilized world, they sailed boldly out into the Sea of Darkness toward that far region where not only the Unknown but all the fears that superstitious seamen could invent awaited them.
It was not long before Columbus saw that among his crew of desperate ruffians and jailbirds there were many who would betray him on the first opportunity. On the way to the Canaries and while stopping there, the rudder of thePintawas twice broken; and now that the open sea was reached and they were sailing into the far west, the helmsmen tried to alter the course of the vessels so that they might not go any further. When Columbus slept, the men at the tillers of all three ships would steer into the northeast instead of the west, so that the vessels, unperceived, might turn upon their own course and eventually return to the Canary Islands and to Spain. But Columbus was too shrewd a sailor to be tricked by any such clumsy means and placed the few men that he could trust in charge of the helm. Fortunately for his design a breeze came from the eastward and bore them rapidly along their course. Columbus, moreover, did not let the men know how far they had sailed, but every day gave out a distance far less than what had actually been completed, so that his sailors might think themselves nearer to Spain than was the reality.
On the Thirteenth of September, however, something took place that caused even Columbus' bold heart to beat quicker with fear, for the compass, that infallible instrument of direction, which was trusted by the mariners of those days even more than it is in the present time, began to veer around from the north and no longer pointed steadily to the pole. Only a few of Columbus' men were aware of this, and Columbus strengthened their resolution by telling them that it was not the compass which was at fault,—but rather the Pole Star that was changing, so that the compass still pointed truly—and on and on they sailed into the west.
As days and weeks went by a great fear gripped the hearts of the sailors. Never had any men been so far from shore as they. Day after day they saw nothing but roaring waves and the empty sky. They believed that even if they turned their vessels about it would be almost impossible for them to return, and anger and bitterness arose in their hearts against their brave leader whose strong will and steady hand forced them to continue the perilous voyage.
At last, however, they began to see signs of land that cheered them greatly. Terns and sea gulls appeared about their vessel, diving for the scraps of food that they tossed overboard. One day some little birds that came from the land rested in their rigging and sang. With their hearts high they watched for land, but it did not appear. On and on they sailed and still nothing was to be seen but the wide sky and the watery horizon. But more signs of land soon appeared. A branch from a wild rose bush floated past. Weeds were seen in the water. A careful lookout was kept and a large reward was promised to that sailor who might first see land.
On the night of October eleventh, Columbus believed that he saw a light directly in front of his vessel. It moved, glimmered, and disappeared, only to appear again a moment later. Some of the lookouts also thought that they had seen it, and the watch for land became keener than ever. At about two in the morning the cry of land was raised. One of the sailors had seen a sandbar and a low line of land. At once the vessels anchored, and with beating hearts the sailors waited for the morning that was to be fraught with such tremendous adventures.
Sure enough the rising sun disclosed green hills from which the breeze brought a most delicious perfume and where, as they drew closer, the birds could be heard singing. And on the shore a crowd of savages was gazing with astonishment upon the mysterious ships that floated with sails furled on the smooth waters of the bay. Hardly able to speak for excitement and joy the sailors leaped into their rowboats. First of all was Columbus, richly appareled, with the banner of Spain in his hand. And as the prow of his boat grounded in the sand he sprang ashore and took possession of the land in the name of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella, unfurling the gorgeous banner to the breeze. Then he and his men kneeled and said a prayer of thankfulness, and they also planted in the earth a great wooden cross, to show that the new land had come under the power of the Christian Church.
The natives, who had gazed with wonder upon these actions, now approached timidly but with every sign of friendship, offering Columbus gifts of flowers and fruits and gay colored parrots, and lances tipped with bone and feather belts. They seemed to have no difficulty in understanding the sign language that the Spaniards used to make their wants understood, and they worshipped the newcomers as though they were more than human, and indeed their simple minds were convinced that these gorgeous strangers in velvet and armor were no less than superhuman beings.
By the sign language the savages made Columbus understand that there were other lands not far off, and he believed that he had arrived at India and could sail in the course of a few days to the rich countries of China and Japan. And he called the natives "Indians," as a token of his belief—a name that they and all the other natives of the American continent have borne to the present time. To his dying day Columbus believed that he had reached India and the Far East. How great would have been his astonishment had he known that another ocean nearly twice as broad as the one that he had crossed, lay between him and the Orient, and that he had come upon an entirely New World where no civilized men had ever set foot before!
Columbus named the island that he first set foot upon San Salvador. After he had remained there for some time he gathered his crews and set sail once more to discover other lands. He came to the island of Cuba and he discovered Haiti, but he thought that these were islands or part of the mainland of Japan, China or India, and so reported them in his writings. And now came his first bitter taste of the treachery that was to wreck his fortunes, for Martin Pinzon in command of thePintadeserted him to search for gold, sailing away in thePintato cruise where he pleased.
Then, through the carelessness of a helmsman, theSanta Mariawas wrecked upon a reef,—and Columbus was left with only theNina, which could carry at most eighteen men, to bear the news of his great discovery back across the ocean to the Kingdom of Spain. A native king, however, came to his aid and with his tribe helped Columbus to save everything that was aboard theSanta Maria, and trusting in his kindness Columbus decided to found a colony where the greater part of his followers could remain, while he with a few men sailed back to Spain in theNinato carry the word of what had been accomplished.
This was done and Columbus founded his colony after building a fort from the timbers of theSanta Maria; and he cautioned his men to treat the natives kindly and to respect in every way their rights and their property. Then, with a few men, he boarded theNinaand set sail for Spain.
On his way he encountered the treacherous Martin Pinzon in thePinta, and the voyage across the ocean recommenced. It was a terrible voyage, for a hurricane fell upon the tiny vessels and they were almost destroyed. The seas, said Columbus, ran first in one direction and then in another, and at times completely submerged his ships. Convinced that he was going to be drowned and that the news of his discovery would die with him, he placed an account of it in a water-tight keg which he tossed overboard with his own hands, preparing another one which he left upon the deck of the vessel to be floated off when it sank beneath the waves.
In the nick of time, however, the waves moderated, and after a weary voyage and many adventures Columbus dropped anchor in the harbor at Palos from which he had sailed months before. He then sent word to Ferdinand and Isabella of his discovery, and was received with the utmost pomp and ceremony. The King and Queen were overjoyed at his achievement and granted him honors which hitherto had never been allowed to any of their subjects. Columbus sat with them enthroned beneath a canopy of cloth of gold and he rode at the side of the King in a triumphal procession. He gave the King and Queen who had so greatly befriended him many gay-colored parrots and rich fruits and spices that he had brought with him from the west, and he showed Isabella a number of the Indians whom he had brought back across the sea. His fame quickly penetrated beyond Spain and the entire Christian world rang with the deeds he had accomplished and the wonders he had seen. And Columbus' triumph was in no way marred by the treachery of Martin Pinzon who once again had sought to betray his master and leader. For when the vessels reached Spain, Pinzon had hastened to send to the Queen word of their arrival and had represented the discovery as the result of his own courage and sagacity. He was, however, coldly received, and shortly afterward died beneath a cloud of disgrace that he richly deserved.
Then Queen Isabella bade Columbus prepare for another voyage to the west and add to his discoveries,—particularly to find gold that the Kingdom of Spain was in great need of. This time it was not difficult to raise a crew, and soon Columbus once more set sail into the west with many vessels under his command.
When he arrived at the spot where his colony had been founded he learned that terrible things had happened in his absence. The Spaniards had abused the unsuspecting natives until these had risen in revolt and attacked the fort, and of all the Spaniards that Columbus had left behind not a single man remained alive.
And this was only the beginning of the trouble that was to pursue Columbus until the end of his life. Quarreling and strife broke out among the men that were under him. When he sent a part of his fleet back to Spain his enemies and those who were jealous of his greatness hastened to spread evil reports about him that came to the ears of the King and Queen. Still, however, they continued to trust him, and when Columbus returned they sent him forth on a third voyage in which he was to bend all his efforts to find the mainland of Asia, which he believed lay only a short distance beyond the colony that he had founded.
On this voyage, however, strife broke out to such an extent among his followers and so many and so lawless were their ill deeds in their commander's absence—for the need of further discovery had forced Columbus to leave the governing of the colony in the hands of others than himself—that the King and Queen finally sent out a man named Bobadilla to succeed Columbus and take over his powers.
Bobadilla hated Columbus and forced upon him an indignity that it is pitiful to think of,—for the discoverer of the New World and the Admiral of the Ocean Sea was compelled to return to Spain wearing chains that had been locked upon his wrists at Bobadilla's orders.
When the Captain of the vessel that bore Columbus homeward was about to remove the fetters, Columbus haughtily refused to take them off, saying that he would not part with them until he had knelt in chains before his sovereigns and given them this proof of the ingratitude with which they had treated him. And Columbus at last came before Queen Isabella, ill in body and broken in mind from the hardships and indignities that he suffered.
When the Queen saw how her commands had been twisted and the shame that had come upon the man who had served her so splendidly, she wept and asked his forgiveness,—and Columbus wept also at the memory of what he had suffered.
Unhappily the full measure of Columbus' misfortune was yet to come. Queen Isabella died, and Ferdinand, who, at the best, had been no more than lukewarm toward the achievements of the great sailor, refused to take any further interest in Columbus or what might become of him. The pension that Columbus had earned was never given to him, nor did he get the share in the profits of his venture that rightfully should have been his. So ill that he could not walk, he entreated Ferdinand at least to pay his sailors for their last voyage,—but this was never done. Deserted, old and broken-hearted, Columbus, who had aged before his time as a result of his hard life, died in 1506 in a room where he had hung his chains as a sign of the ingratitude of his sovereign. He knew, however, that he had accomplished something that would make his name immortal and he died with this consolation. He did not know, however, that he had done something far mightier than his original design of crossing the Atlantic Ocean to Asia—namely that he had discovered a New World that was to give birth to a great nation, greater one thousandfold than the Spain that he had served.
CHAPTER XIII
WILLIAM THE SILENT
In the year 1560 two horsemen were riding in the Forest of Vincennes in France, followed by a splendid retinue. It could be seen from their costume and bearing that they were officials of high rank and large following—and indeed they were no less personages than Henry the Second, the King of France, and a Prince from the Netherlands named William of Orange, a powerfully built young man of commanding appearance and great nobility of demeanor.
The Netherlands which were ruled by the King of Spain, had been at war with France and William had been sent to the French court as a hostage while peace was being arranged. He was brave, generous, handsome and wealthy, and gained the respect and liking of all that knew him, wherever he happened to be. But his heart was as heavy as lead while the French King was talking to him, for Henry the Second was telling him of a secret scheme by which all people in the Netherlands who did not believe in the Catholic religion were to be wiped out by fire and sword.
"Everything has been arranged," said Henry triumphantly, "and the King of Spain has agreed with me to carry out the affair in the Low Countries as shall be done in France. The ancient edicts are to be brought forth again. The Holy Inquisition is to be revived in its greatest severity, and before long there will be no place in Spain, France or the Low Countries where a heretic may lay his head in safety."
Now Henry of France was very foolish when he spoke this way to Prince William of Orange. He believed that because the Prince had been commander of the army of King Philip of Spain that he was in the complete confidence of the Spanish King—but this was not the case. Although William had been brought up in the Catholic faith he was a Protestant at heart, and came from a Protestant family. He had only turned to the Catholic religion because it had been necessary for him to be of that faith to become the ruler of the Principality of Orange,—and even if his own father and mother had not been Protestants, William would never have consented to the hanging and burning of innocent people because they happened to believe in a religion that was slightly different from his own. His blood ran cold with horror when he heard what the King of France and the King of Spain were planning—but in spite of what he heard he had presence of mind enough to listen quietly without showing any sign of the rebellion and anger that were in his heart. He knew that he could aid the Protestants and the Netherlands far more if the powerful monarchs who were in league against them did not realize that they would have him to reckon with as one of their enemies, but from that time on Prince William determined not to rest until the last Spanish soldier had been driven from his country and the people were allowed to worship God in their own way.
Still William said nothing. He pretended to be greatly interested in the measures that he had learned of and expressed no disapproval of their severity. The King of France never learned what an error he had made. But William, from his attitude on this matter and the way that he conducted himself, gained the nickname of "William the Silent" which clung to him throughout his life and has been attached to him in history ever since.
William was well liked in the Netherlands or the "Low Countries" as they were then called. He was the son of a nobleman, Count William of Nassau, and succeeded to the principality of Orange on the death of his cousin Réné of Nassau who was killed in battle. Réné was an ardent Catholic, and stipulated that to gain the principality William would have to be brought up in the Catholic faith. So young William went to the Court of Charles the Fifth, Emperor of Spain and Germany, and became a page in Charles' establishment in the city of Brussels.
When a youth of eighteen William married a girl of high birth named Anne of Edgemont and lived happily with her until he went to the wars with the Spanish army. He did not like military life, but none the less he did so well that before he was twenty-one he was made a General. His record was creditable to the utmost, but through all his life William never showed any great military ability. He was slow to come to decisions and too deliberate to make a military leader of the highest order.
When William returned to the Netherlands after his sojourn in the French court he was made Governor of the principalities of Zeeland, Utrecht and Holland. And here, in his efforts to help the Protestants from the harsh decrees that were being carried out against them, he first came in collision with the cruel and cold-blooded Philip of Spain.
Philip believed in the instrument of justice called the Holy Inquisition and for years this had been in operation in his own kingdom of Spain. It was a body of Priests and wise men who judged and condemned all persons who were accused of heresy, as any difference from the Catholic religion was called. The punishments dealt out by the Holy Inquisition were most severe and brought great suffering. For the Inquisition employed the most inhuman tortures, not only for those who were convicted of guilt, but also for unfortunate people who were accused, maintaining that under torture nobody could refrain from telling the truth, nor conceal any wickedness that he had ever committed. As a result of this, confessions were often wrung from innocent people, who could not support the agony of torture, preferring to be punished for crimes they had not committed than to bear it. And this punishment was almost invariably to be hanged or burned alive at the stake.
At the time when William was put in control of the three small states that we have spoken of, Philip had left the Low Countries for Spain, and had placed the government of his dominions in the Netherlands in the hands of his half sister, Margaret the Duchess of Parma, and under her rule the cruel measures enacted by Philip against the Protestants were ruthlessly carried out.
As Governor under Philip, William was expected to apply these measures himself, and on one occasion was ordered to put to death certain people who were accused of heresy. Being unwilling to do this he sent them private warning, suffering them to escape before his men came to arrest them; and from this time on he followed a course of action that soon brought him into disfavor with the Duchess of Parma who suspected him of treachery and wrote to the King of Spain accusing William of many crimes.
Greater and greater grew the unrest and dissatisfaction throughout the Netherlands. And one curious sign of this was in the formation of a society of noblemen who called themselves "The Beggars." This organization had come about in the following manner. Three hundred or more noblemen had presented to Margaret a request that the Inquisition be abolished and the edicts against the Protestants revoked. Some of her advisors laughed at the request of the Flemish nobles, referring to them scornfully as "beggars," and the term came to their ears. At once they took the word for their watch cry and dressed themselves in the costume of beggars with wallets and begging bowls, declaring that they would not resume their ordinary dress until their requests had been granted. And this organization did a great deal to fan the opposition to Spain, which was increasing every day throughout the Netherlands, into a flame of rebellion.
Another disturbance soon took place that made the King of Spain more bitterly angry against the Low Countries than any other thing that could have happened. A storm against the Catholic faith swept through the country and churches were sacked and the holy images destroyed in every province. Mobs marched through the streets attired in the sacred vestments of the priests that they had torn from the altar. Stained glass windows were broken with stones; entire churches were ransacked and plundered of everything of value that they contained. The people at last had turned in revolt, and "the image breaking" as this rioting was called, was the first sign of it. And then, or shortly after, William the Silent became a Protestant.
Frightened by the signs of revolt Margaret pretended to consent to the wishes of the nobles and stated that the Inquisition should be abolished in the Netherlands and the edicts against the Protestant religion revoked. And she sent a secret letter to the King of Spain, informing him of what she had done.
Philip was determined on the most bitter vengeance, but until he could bring a powerful army into the Low Countries it suited him to have his subjects there believe that he had actually consented to their demands. So he pretended to agree to what Margaret had granted, and all through the Low Countries the bells rang and the bonfires burned in rejoicing that freedom from persecution had at last been gained.
But Philip had put a nobleman named the Duke of Alva in charge of the army that was to subdue the Netherlands, and could not have chosen a better or surer man to carry out his dark ends. The Duke of Alva was a monster of cruelty, implacable as iron, and possessed of a skill in warfare that few could equal. He had been ordered to seize William of Orange as well as other leaders and bring them to instant execution, and then so to punish the Netherlands that not a trace of the recent rioting or rebellion should remain.
The Netherlands were not then in a position to offer a strong resistance to such a highly organized, well trained army as the Duke of Alva's, but secret preparations were going through the country for a great struggle of which the recent rioting was only the smallest beginning. The Duke of Alva, proud soldier that he was, did not estimate the strength of the Lowlanders at its proper value. He boasted that he had tamed men of iron in his time and could easily tame the men of butter who were now opposed to him. And his first act was to carry out King Philip's demands against the noblemen who were chiefly implicated in the recent uprisings.
These were the Counts Egmont and Horn and rightly or wrongly William of Orange. William himself had been shrewd enough to fly to Germany. He knew Philip and he urged Counts Egmont and Horn to fly with him. But they, foolishly feeling secure in their own country, decided to remain where they were.
For a very brief time they thought they had decided rightly, for the Duke of Alva was courteous to them. He invited them to his house to dinner and made them his guests—but while they were eating his bread and drinking his wine, an armed guard surrounded his house and the two unfortunate nobles were arrested by the treacherous Spaniard and promptly thrown into prison. They never regained their liberty. After being held as captives for the better part of a year they met their fate courageously on the public scaffold where so many of the bravest and best heads of the Netherlands were falling by the Duke of Alva's orders.
A reign of terror then swept over the Netherlands that has had practically no equal in history. Alva was relentless as flint in every dealing with the people under his charge. To meet the numerous trials that were necessary under his regime he appointed what was called the Council of Troubles—a name that was quickly changed by the people themselves to the Council of Blood, for it never acquitted, never showed mercy. Prisoners were led before it and condemned in batches of a hundred or more at a time, and sometimes prisoners were delivered to the executioners without even the poor formality of a trial that this council afforded.
Nor was this all—for to fill his coffers the Duke of Alva established a system of taxation that if carried out would reduce to beggary every man, woman and child in the Low Countries.
William the Silent was not idle in Germany, where he had fled on the coming of this Spanish tyrant; he was engaged in raising money and enlisting the sympathy of German princes in the cause of his oppressed people. Aided by his brother Louis, who was a fine soldier, he worked day and night to raise an army to march against the Spaniards, and at last was able to send his forces into the Netherlands, while he himself remained with a small reserve ready to support them when necessary.
But although William's brother and the other leaders of his new army were fine soldiers, they failed against the brilliant military genius of the Duke of Alva. At first they seemed partly successful and won a minor victory at a place called Heiliger Lee,—but then the Duke of Alva himself marched against them at the head of a splendid army, and wiped out the forces of his adversary at Jemmingen, killing the wounded and taking no prisoners, but exterminating his foes wherever he met them. And among the dead was William's youngest brother, Adolphus, who had distinguished himself for his bravery.
Then William had to raise another force to supplant the one that had just been destroyed. The German princes were discouraged by his failure and were reluctant about giving their aid; and in his distress he turned to Queen Elizabeth of England, who sympathized with his cause, but could not do anything for him at that time.
At last, however, William succeeded in gathering another army that was even larger than the first one, and placing himself at its head he entered the Netherlands. He was, however, in great straits, for his soldiers were only German mercenaries and William lacked money to pay them. The Duke of Alva knew this and refused to fight, but constantly retreated, knowing well that mutiny would soon break out in William's forces and weaken him far more than any battle. And this proved to be the case. Serious trouble broke out among the German soldiers, and William at last had to disband the army and take refuge in France without money, credit or prestige. He had sold all his personal possessions to support the army and all was lost.
Where he had once been one of the richest noblemen in Europe, he was now so poor that he hardly knew where the next day's dinner was to come from. Alva had confiscated all his Netherland estates, and William had gone heavily into debt to raise his armies. Failure and poverty stared him in the face, and other misfortunes followed him. His first wife had died several years before, and his second wife, a German princess, now went insane.
Crushed on land, there was yet the possibility for William to do something for his oppressed country by attacking his enemies on the sea. It was not long before privateers in his name were harrying the Spanish vessels and swooping down upon the ports held by the Spaniards. These daring seamen took their name from the society that had been formed years before called the "Beggars." And William's sailors now called themselves "The Beggars of the Sea."
They found help and protection in the English ports, for Queen Elizabeth hated the Duke of Alva, and while not willing just then to go to war openly with Spain, she did all in her power to give assistance to Spain's enemies. She allowed the Beggars to obtain men and supplies from England, and did not hesitate to give them ammunition when they required it.
Then a first success came to William's cause like a faint ray of sunlight through heavy clouds, for the Beggars of the Sea captured the fortified town of Brill. And almost immediately after, encouraged by this initial success, the whole of the Netherlands which had been groaning under the Spanish rule rose in rebellion and claimed as their rightful ruler the Prince of Orange. Almost in a night the cities rose and cast off their Spanish yoke, and all through the Low Countries the flag of the Prince of Orange was uplifted.
Alva sent his troops to lay siege to the towns and recapture them, and there followed one of the most terrible periods of warfare that the world has ever known—certainly the most terrible that ever engulfed Belgium until the World War of our own day.
And now for the first time since his former defeat, the Prince of Orange was able to raise troops to fight once more against the Spaniards. He sent repeated appeals to the cities of the Low Countries, and prepared an army of some twenty thousand German mercenaries that was to be further strengthened by a French force under the French Admiral Coligny. William counted on Coligny's aid to defeat Alva, for Coligny was an ardent Protestant and had many men at his command.
But there befell another check to William's fortunes, and one that was almost fatal to his plans, for under the wicked Catherine de Medici the French Catholics in two days massacred almost every Protestant in France in a slaughter that was called the Massacre of St. Bartholomew. Admiral Coligny was among the victims, and all hope of support from that quarter was at an end.
Louis, the brother of William, was being besieged by the Duke of Alva in the city of Mons, and William marched to the relief of the town. He did not strike promptly enough, however, and was routed by a strategem on the part of the Spaniards. In the night a considerable force of the Spanish soldiers stole up to William's camp and fell upon his army, taking it completely by surprise. William himself barely escaped with his life, being awakened by a pet dog in the nick of time, and when the Spaniards were almost in his tent. Leaping to his horse, he galloped madly from the burning camp and escaped, but his army was cut to pieces. Then Alva continued the siege of Mons until Louis had to surrender. The Spaniards, however, for some strange reason allowed Louis to evacuate the town without interference and Louis fled to Dillenburg in Germany, the home of the Nassau family. But in spite of this new defeat and disappointment, the Lowland cities continued their resistance, and nowhere was this stronger than in the province of Holland.
The sieges that followed were among the most terrible in history for the beleaguered towns knew well they could expect no mercy if they were conquered, and held out to the last breath. Their inhabitants ate horses, dogs, old shoes—anything to fill their stomachs and stay the inroads of starvation. Plague broke out among them and in the Spanish forces as well. When the Spaniards captured a town they left not one stone upon another, and the burghers who had opposed them were massacred to a man.
But the Duke of Alva was growing old and suffering from ill health. The universal hatred in which he was held weighed on his spirit. He had written several times asking his recall from the Netherlands, and at last King Philip consented to his request and sent out a Governor named Requesens to take his place. All the Netherlands went wild with joy when the news spread that Alva was leaving and bells were rung and bonfires lit as for some national holiday.
In the meantime William had made his headquarters in the province of Holland and was conducting the war against the Spaniards from that point. The Spaniards were besieging the city of Leyden, which it was necessary for them to capture, but the Netherlanders cut the dykes that restrained the ocean and let the sea sweep over the land, for Leyden was reduced to starvation, and every day people were dying by hundreds within its walls. The rescuers sailed up to the town in ships as the Spaniards fled, bringing bread to the famished people.
William was now the ruler of Holland and had triumphed over the Spaniards. The war dragged after these terrible sieges and both sides would gladly have seen it ended; but the Lowlanders were in no temper to accept half measures. And in the Union of Utrecht, in which a number of the Lowland provinces united against Philip, an important step was taken toward throwing off the Spanish yoke.
William's life was in great danger, for King Philip had offered a reward of twenty-five thousand crowns in gold to any assassin who should strike him down. And although he was under fifty, he appeared like an old man, so great were the troubles with which he had been beset in the course of his life. He was the constant target for the bullet or the dagger of the assassin, and many dogged his tracks as a result of the Spanish proclamation against him.
The end that might have been expected came in the spring of 1584. Already William had once been severely wounded by a would-be murderer, and he was now to receive his death blow. A young man, who claimed to be a Protestant orphaned in the religious persecutions, sought aid from William's secretary, and William himself ordered that twelve crowns be given him. With this money the perfidious assassin bought firearms and ammunition, and gaining entrance to William's home fired three shots into his body. A few minutes later the "father of his country" lay dead.
The work that William had done was far reaching and had a permanent effect on the fortunes of his country. And to-day a song that was sung at the time in his honor is still the national anthem of the Kingdom of Holland. He was a man of a great heart and a great character; and his fame has lived and grown more lustrous up to the present day.