The position of the Huguenot chiefs was full of peril; but they saw clearly that they were standing in the breach of Protestantism, and fighting not merely their own battle but the battle of the Reformed religion in every country. In Flanders Alva was not only trampling out Protestantism with his iron heel, but usurping the rights of the Prince of Orange. This was a matter that touched Condé nearly, for he too was thought worthy of the hatred of “the Demon of the South.” All the nobility indeed were, more or less, affected by any attack on the rights of the princes of the blood; but the majority willfully shut their eyes against it. The meeting at Bayonne was bearing fruit. In February, 1568, the Spanish Inquisition solemnly condemned all the inhabitants of the Netherlands to death as heretics--a few persons only being excepted by name. Nor was this condemnation a mere idle form, for ten days later Philip II. issued a proclamation, ratifying the sentence and ordering it to be carried into instant execution without regard to sex, age, or condition. The eloquent historian of the Dutch republic has told us how the king was obeyed, and unveiled the perfidious designs of the Spanish cabinet. These were strongly suspected by the French Huguenots, who had not the opportunity we possess of reading the secret dispatches of Philip and his ministers. But Condé and Coligny knew quite enough to make them suspicious: they knew that if the Flemish Protestants were crushed, their turn would come next; and they not only prevented the French government from assisting Alva, but by their attitude made the King of Spain unwilling to send the reinforcements to the Low Countries, which Alva so much needed to complete his crusade. Had they done no more than this, they would have earned the eternal gratitude of all Protestantism. By paralyzing Alva at this moment the Reformed religion on the Continent was saved. We may even go farther, and say that our own liberties were dependent on this Huguenot movement. The French leaders had heard that the Protestant Queen of England was threatened, that a bill of excommunication was to be fulminated against her, that a hundred daggers were preparing to be plunged into her heart. Though Elizabeth never cordially helped the Huguenots, and with her lofty monarchical notions looked coldly on them and the Flemings as rebels, yet a common enemy and a common danger drew them together, and for a time smoothed away all differences. She forwarded to Rochelle six pieces of artillery with their ammunition, and a sum of 100,000 angelots (50,000_l._) with a promise of more,[424] and permitted Henry Champernon,[425] a near kinsman of Sir Walter Raleigh, then only seventeen years old, to raise a troop of 100 gentlemen volunteers, with which he passed over into France. De Thou describes them as “a gallant company, nobly mounted and accoutred, having on their colors the motto: _Finem det mihi virtus_: