Returning to the trenches in a state of wild intoxication, he accosted a knot of superior officers, informing them that they were but boys, and that he would show them how to carry the faubourg of Groningen on the instant.

He was answered that the faubourg, being walled and moated, could be taken only by escalade or battery.

Laughing loudly, he rushed forward toward the counterscarp, waving his sword, and brandishing on his left arm the cover of a butter firkin, which he had taken instead of his buckler.

He had advanced, however, but a step, when a bullet from the faubourg pierced his brain, and he fell dead without a word.
So perished one of the wild founders of the Netherland commonwealth--one of the little band of reckless adventurers who had captured the town of Brill in 1572, and thus laid the foundation stone of a great republic, which was to dictate its laws to the empire of Charles the Fifth.

He was in some sort a type.