At last, the assembly being now sufficiently numerous, Jan Breydel mounted the top of a wagon, which by chance was standing in the street, and, flourishing his heavy pole-ax about his head, in a stentorian voice thus addressed the throng:
"Men of Bruges! the day has arrived when you must strike for life and liberty! Now we must show the traitors what we really are, and whether there is a pound of slave's-flesh to be found among us, whatever they may think. They have Master Deconinck in their dungeon; let us release him, if it cost us our blood. This is work for all the Guilds, and a right good treat for the Butchers. Now, comrades, up with your sleeves!"
And while his fellows were obeying the word of command, he himself stripped his sinewy arms to the shoulder, and sprang down from the wagon, crying:
"Forward! Deconinck forever!"
"Deconinck forever!" was the universal cry. "Forward! Forward!"
And, like the surging waves of a stormy ocean, the angry multitude rolled onward toward the Prince's Court. The streets resounded with the cry of "Death to the tyrants!" while the terrible clash of arms might be heard, mingled with the baying of the dogs, the heavy toll of the bells, and the roll of the drums; the citizens seemed possessed one and all with sudden fury.
At the first approach of their frantic assailants the guards of the Prince's Court fled in every direction, and left the building wholly undefended. But hurried as their flight was, it was not rapid enough to save them all; in an instant more than ten corpses lay on the ground in front of the palace.
Impatient of each moment's delay, and furious as an enraged lion, Breydel mounted the stairs by three steps at a time, and meeting a French servant in one of the passages, hurled him headlong among the people below, where the unhappy victim was received on the points of the "good-days," and instantly despatched with clubs and maces. Soon the whole building was filled with the people. Breydel had brought with him several of the smiths, and the doors of the dungeons were speedily broken open; but, to the dismay of the liberators, all were empty; Deconinck was nowhere to be found. Then they swore in their fury fearfully to avenge his death.
No sooner had the Clothworkers heard that their Dean had disappeared than their rage became perfectly ungovernable. Instead of making further search after him, they hurried off in detachments to the houses of the principal Lilyards, forced them open, and broke and destroyedeverything in them; but of the Lilyards themselves not a single man was to be found; they had all foreseen the visit, and had been too prudent to await their coming.
Just as Breydel was about to leave the palace, with thoughts full of despair and vengeance, an old gray-headed fuller came up to him, and said:
"Master Breydel, you know not how to search. There is another dungeon at the farther end of the building, as I have good reason to know; for at the time of the great disturbances, one mortal year of my life did I lie there. It is a deep underground hole; be pleased to follow me."
Accordingly, Breydel, with several others, followed the old man; and they passed on through many passages, till they reached a small iron door. Here their guide took a sledge-hammer from the hand of a smith who was with them, and with a stroke or two broke the lock; but the door still refused to open. Then, in a transport of impatience, Breydel snatched the hammer from the fuller, and struck the door such a blow that all the fastenings by which it was embedded in the wall became loose, the door fell from its place, and at once afforded them ready entrance into the dungeon.
In one corner stood Deconinck, fastened to the wall by a heavy chain. No sooner did Breydel perceive him, than in a transport of joy he sprang toward him, clasping him in his arms, as a brother that had been lost and was found again.
"Oh master!" he cried, "how happy is this hour to me! I knew not till now how much I loved you!"
“I thank you, my brave friend," was Deconinck's answer, while he cordially returned the Butcher's warm embrace; "I knew well that you would not leave me in the dungeon; I knew that Jan Breydel's was not the heart for that. No! he that would see a Fleming of the true metal, let him look at you!"
Then turning to the bystanders, he exclaimed, in a tone of feeling that touched the hearts of all who heard him:
"My brethren, this day you have delivered me from death! To you belongs my blood; to the cause of your freedom I devote every faculty of my being. Regard me no longer as one of your Deans of Guild, as a Clothworker living among you, but as a man that has sworn before God to make good your liberties against their foes. Here, in the dark vaults of these dungeons, let me record the irrevocable oath: My blood, my life, for my beloved country!"
A cry of "Long live Deconinck!" overpowered his voice, and long reechoed from the walls. From mouth to mouth the cry passed on, and soon resounded over the whole city. The very children lisped out:
"Long live Deconinck! long live Deconinck!"
A file soon relieved him of the chain with which he had been fastened to the wall, and the Dean of the
