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Rise of the Dutch Republic, the — Volume 17: 1570-72 by John Lothrop Motley
page 43 of 44 (97%)
would willingly have assured him, at least, a soldier's death, but he was
powerless to do so. He arrested him, that he might be protected from the
fury of the rabble, but Treslong, who now commanded in Flushing, was
especially incensed against the founder of the Antwerp citadel, and felt
a ferocious desire to avenge his brother's murder upon the body of his
destroyer's favourite. Pacheco was condemned to be hanged upon the very
day of his arrival. Having been brought forth from his prison, he begged
hard but not abjectly for his life. He offered a heavy ransom, but his
enemies were greedy for blood, not for money. It was, however, difficult
to find an executioner. The city hangman was absent, and the prejudice
of the country and the age against the vile profession had assuredly not
been diminished during the five horrible years of Alva's administration.
Even a condemned murderer, who lay in the town-gaol, refused to accept
his life in recompence for performing the office. It should never be
said, he observed, that his mother had given birth to a hangman. When
told, however, that the intended victim was a Spanish officer, the
malefactor consented to the task with alacrity, on condition that he
might afterwards kill any man who taunted him with the deed.

Arrived at the foot of the gallows, Pacheco complained bitterly of the
disgraceful death designed for him. He protested loudly that he came of
a house as noble as that of Egmont or Horn, and was entitled to as
honorable an execution as theirs had been. "The sword! the sword!" he
frantically exclaimed, as he struggled with those who guarded him. His
language was not understood, but the names of Egmont and Horn inflamed
still more highly the rage of the rabble, while his cry for the sword was
falsely interpreted by a rude fellow who had happened to possess himself
of Pacheco's rapier, at his capture, and who now paraded himself with it
at the gallows' foot. "Never fear for your sword, Seilor," cried this
ruffian; "your sword is safe enough, and in good hands. Up the ladder
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