On the 2nd April the Polder Ravelin was carried by storm. It was a most
bloody action. Never were a few square feet of earth more recklessly
assailed, more resolutely maintained. The garrison did not surrender
the place, but they all laid down their lives in its defence. Scarcely
an individual of them all escaped, and the foe, who paid dearly with
heaps of dead and wounded for his prize, confessed that such serious work
as this had scarce been known before in any part of that great slaughter-
house, Flanders.

A few days later, Colonel Bievry, provisional commandant, was desperately
wounded in a sortie, and was carried off to Zeeland. The States-General
now appointed Jacques van der Meer, Baron of Berendrecht, to the post of
honour and of danger. A noble of Flanders, always devoted to the
republican cause; an experienced middle-aged officer, vigilant,
energetic, nervous; a slight wiry man, with a wizened little face, large
bright eyes, a meagre yellow beard, and thin sandy hair flowing down upon
his well-starched ruff, the new governor soon showed himself inferior to
none of his predecessors in audacity and alertness. It is difficult to
imagine a more irritating position in many respects than that of
commander in such an extraordinary leaguer. It was not a formal siege.
Famine, which ever impends over an invested place, and sickens the soul
with its nameless horrors, was not the great enemy to contend against
here. Nor was there the hideous alternative between starving through
obstinate resistance or massacre on submission, which had been the lot of
so many Dutch garrisons in the earlier stages of the war. Retreat by sea
was ever open to the Ostend garrison, and there was always an ample
supply of the best provisions and of all munitions of war. But they had
been unceasingly exposed to two tremendous enemies. During each winter
and spring the ocean often smote their bastions and bulwarks in an hour
of wrath till they fell together like children's toys, and it was always