The Lion of Flanders. Vol. II. Fate

by the townsmen, and John Borluut had promised his aid. The matter was doubtful, and so the Flemings did not venture openly to accuse their brethren of Ghent of disloyalty; nevertheless, they entertained great suspicion of them, and not seldom gave free expression to their displeasure. In the evening, when the sun had already disappeared more than an hour behind the village of Moorseele, the laborers had dispersed themselves among the tents. Here and there was still heard a song, interrupted at intervals by the clapping of hands and the chink of drinking-glasses, and the concluding verse of which was caught up and enthusiastically repeated by a multitude of voices. In other tents was heard a confused murmur, which, when one listened attentively, resolved itself into an interchange of encouragements and exhortations. In the midst of the camp, at a little distance from the tents, a large fire was blazing, which illuminated a portion of the entrenchments with its ruddy glare. About ten men were appointed to keep it burning, who, from time to time, threw large branches of trees upon it; and then would be heard the voice of the captain, saying, "Gently, my men, gently; lay the branches carefully, and do not drive the sparks toward the camp."

A few steps from this fire was the tent of the camp sentinels. It was a covering of ox-hides, the framework of which rested on eight massive beams; the four sides were open, so that it commanded the camp in all directions.

It was Jan Breydel's duty to keep watch this night with fifty of his Butchers: they sat on little wooden stools round a table under the roof, which protected them from the dew and the rain; their axes shone in their hands like weapons of glowing flame. The sentinels they had sent out were seen in the gloom, striding slowly backward and forward. A large cask of wine and some tin cans stood on the table; and although drinking was not forbidden, one could see that they drank with unusual moderation, for they raised the cans but seldom to their lips. They laughed and chatted pleasantly together, to while away the time; each telling what splendid blows he meant to discharge on the Frenchmen in the coming battle.

'Well," said Breydel, "they may say, if they will, that the Flemings are not as good men as their fathers, now that such a camp as this has been got together by volunteers alone. Let the French come on, if they like, with their two-and-sixty thousand men. The more game, the finer hunt! They say we are nothing but a pack of ill-natured hounds. We will give them reason to pray that they mayn't get thoroughly well worried; for the hounds have right good teeth."

While the Butchers were roaring with laughter at the words of their Dean, a fine old Guildsman entered, whose gray beard attested his advanced age. One of them called out to him:

"And you, Jacob, do you think you can still manage to give a good bite?"

"My teeth may not be quite so good as yours," growled the old Butcher; "but for all that, the old dog has not forgotten how to use them. I am quite ready to stake twenty bottles of wine which of us two will give most Frenchmen a bloody grave."

"Bravo!" cried the others; "and we will join in drinking them out. Let us fetch them at once."

"Ho! ho!" interposed Breydel; "can't you keep yourselves quiet? Drink to-morrow, if you please; but whoever of you drinks to-night shall be shut up in Courtrai, and shall have no share in the fight."

This threat had a wonderful effect on the Butchers: their jests died away on their lips; they did not even dare to sing a song; the old Guildsman alone ventured to speak.

"By the beard of our Dean!" said he, "rather than suffer that, I would be roasted at this fire, like Messire St. Lawrence; for I can never expect to witness such another feast."

Breydel remarked that his threat had rather damped the spirits of his companions, for which he was sorry, as he was himself inclined to merriment. Anxious to restore their cheerfulness, he raised the cask, and, filling a bumper, he held up his can, and said:

"Well, my men, why are you so silent? There, take that, and drink that you may find your tongues. I am vexed to have spoken so to you. Do I not know you well? Do I not know that the true Butchers' blood flows in your veins? Well, then, here's to you, comrades!"

An expression of satisfaction burst from the company, and they broke out into a loud cheery laugh when they found that the threat of their Dean had no serious meaning.

"Drink again!" continued Breydel, filling his can afresh; "the cask is yours, and you may drink it to the dregs. Your comrades who are on guard shall have another supplied to them. Now we see that succors are arriving from every city, and that we are so strong, we may well be merry."

"I drink to the disgrace of the men of Ghent!" cried a Guildsman. "We have good reason to know that he who puts any trust in them leans on a broken staff. But it is no matter; they may stay at home now; and so our own good city of Bruges will have gained unshared the glory of the conflict and the liberation of our fatherland."

"Are they Flemings, those men of Ghent?" said another. "Does their heartbeat for freedom? Are there any butchers left in Ghent? Bruges forever I You have the true blood there."

''I do not know," added Breydel, ''why Count Guy so earnestly desires their arrival. Our camp is not overstocked with provisions, and it is scarcely prudent to invite more guests to the meal. Does the Count imagine that we shall lose the game? One can