st entered it so triumphantly. This was the
turning point. The retreat was sounded, and the Spaniards fled to their
camp, leaving at least three hundred dead beneath the walls. Thus was a
second assault, made by an overwhelming force and led by the most
accomplished generals of Spain, signally and gloriously repelled by the
plain burghers of Harlem.

It became now almost evident that the city could be taken neither by
regular approaches nor by sudden attack. It was therefore resolved that
it should be reduced by famine. Still, as the winter wore on, the immense
army without the walls were as great sufferers by that scourge as the
population within. The soldiers fell in heaps before the diseases
engendered by intense cold and insufficient food, for, as usual in such
sieges, these deaths far outnumbered those inflicted by the enemy's hand.
The sufferings inside the city necessarily increased day by day, the
whole population being put on a strict allowance of food. Their supplies
were daily diminishing, and with the approach of the spring and the
thawing of the ice on the lake, there was danger that they would be
entirely cut off. If the possession of the water were lost, they must
yield or starve; and they doubted whether the Prince would be able to
organize a fleet. The gaunt spectre of Famine already rose before them
with a menace which could not be misunderstood. In their misery they
longed for the assaults of the Spaniards, that they might look in the
face of a less formidable foe. They paraded the ramparts daily, with
drums beating, colors flying, taunting the besiegers to renewed attempts.
To inflame the religious animosity of their antagonists, they attired
themselves in the splendid, gold-embroidered vestments of the priests,
which they took from the churches, and moved about in mock procession,
bearing aloft images bedizened in ecclesiastical finery, relics, and
other symbols, sacred in Catholic eyes, which they afterwards hurled from
the ramparts, or broke, with derisive shouts, into a thousand fragments.

It was, however, at that season earnestly debated by the enemy whether or
not to raise the siege. Don Frederic was clearly of opinion that enough
had been done for the honor of the Spanish arms. He was wearied with
seeing his men perish helplessly around him, and considered the prize too
paltry for the lives it must cost. His father thought differently.
Perhaps he recalled the siege of Metz, and the unceasing