made to bring provisions into the city, for the rioters had friends
without. Close to the city port, nearest to the Scheldt, a great
struggle took place. I was there, helping the rioters, whose cause I
had adopted. We had a savage encounter with the Austrians. Numbers
fell on both sides: I saw them lie bleeding for a moment: then a
volley of smoke obscured them; and when it cleared away, they were
dead--trampled upon or smothered, pressed down and hidden by the
freshly-wounded whom those last guns had brought low. And then a
gray-robed and grey-veiled figure came right across the flashing guns
and stooped over some one, whose life-blood was ebbing away;
sometimes it was to give him drink from cans which they carried slung
at their sides; sometimes I saw the cross held above a dying man, and
rapid prayers were being uttered, unheard by men in that hellish din
and clangour, but listened to by One above. I saw all this as in a
dream: the reality of that stern time was battle and carnage. But I
knew that these gray figures, their bare feet all wet with blood, and
their faces hidden by their veils, were the Poor Clares--sent forth
now because dire agony was abroad and imminent danger at hand.
Therefore, they left their cloistered shelter, and came into that
thick and evil melee.

Close to me--driven past me by the struggle of many fighters--came
the Antwerp burgess with the scarce-healed scar upon his face; and in
an instant more, he was thrown by the press upon the Austrian officer
Gisborne, and ere either had recovered the shock, the burgess had
recognized his opponent.

"Ha! the Englishman Gisborne!" he cried, and threw himself upon him
with redoubled fury. He had struck him hard--the Englishman was
down; when out of the smoke came a dark-gray figure, and threw