Ages ago, when the
giants were numerous on the earth, there lived a big fellow named Antigonus.
That was not what his mother had called him, but some one told him of a Greek
general of that name; so he took this for his own. He was rough and cruel. His castle
was on the Scheldt River, where the city of Antwerp now stands. Many ships
sailed out of France and Holland, down this stream. They were loaded with
timber, flax, iron, cheese, fish, bread, linen, and other things made in the
country. It was by this trade that many merchants grew rich, and their children
had plenty of toys to play with. The river was very grand, deep, and wide. The
captains of the ships liked to sail on it, because there was no danger from
rocks, and the country through which it flowed was so pretty.
So every day, one
could see hundreds of white-sailed craft moving towards the sea, or coming in
from the ocean. Boys and girls came down to stand in their wooden shoes on the
banks, to see the vessels moving to and fro. The incoming ships brought sugar,
wine, oranges, lemons, olives and other good things to eat, and wool to make
warm clothes. Often craftsmen came from the wonderful countries in the south to
tell of the rich cities there, and help to build new and fine houses, and
splendid churches, and town halls. So all the Belgian people were happy.
But one day, this
wicked giant came into the country to stop the ships and make them pay him
money. He reared a strong castle on the river banks. It had four sides and high
walls, and deep down in the earth were dark, damp dungeons. One had to light a
candle to find his way to the horrid places.
What was it all
for? The people wondered, but they soon found out. The giant, with a big
knotted club, made out of an oak tree, strode through the town. He cried out to
all the people to assemble in the great open square.
“From this day
forth,” he roared, “no ship, whether up or down the river, shall pass by this
place, without my permission. Every captain must pay me toll, in money or
goods. Whoever refuses, shall have both his hands cut off and thrown into the
river.
“Hear ye all and
obey. Any one caught in helping a ship go by without paying toll, whether it be
night, or whether it be day, shall have his thumbs cut off and be put in the
dark dungeon for a month. Again I say, Obey!”
With this, the
giant swung and twirled his club aloft and then brought it down on a poor
countryman’s cart, smashing it into flinders. This was done to show his
strength.
So every day, when
the ships hove in sight, they were hailed from the giant’s castle and made to
pay heavy toll. Poor or rich, they had to hand over their money. If any captain
refused, he was brought ashore and made to kneel before a block and place one
hand upon the other. Then the giant swung his axe and cut off both hands, and
flung them into the river. If a ship master hesitated, because he had no money,
he was cast into a dungeon, until his friends paid his ransom.
Soon, on account
of this, the city got a bad name. The captains from France kept in, and the
ship men from Spain kept out. The merchants found their trade dwindling, and
they grew poorer every day. So some of them slipped out of the city and tried
to get the ships to sail in the night, and silently pass the giant’s castle.
But the giant’s
watchers, on the towers, were as wide awake as owls and greedy as hawks. They
pounced on the ship captains, chopped off their hands and tossed them into the
river. The townspeople, who were found on board, were thrown into the dungeons
and had their thumbs cut off.
So the prosperity
of the city was destroyed, for the foreign merchants were afraid to send their
ships into the giant’s country. The reputation of the city grew worse. It was
nicknamed by the Germans Hand Werpen, or Hand Throwing; while the Dutchmen called
it Antwerp, which meant the same thing. The Duke of Brabant, or Lord of the
land, came to the big fellow’s fortress and told him to stop. He even shook his
fist under the giant’s huge nose, and threatened to attack his castle and burn
it. But Antigonus only snapped his fingers, and laughed at him. He made his
castle still stronger and kept on hailing ships, throwing some of the crews
into dungeons and cutting off the hands of the captains, until the fish in the
river grew fat.
Now there was a
brave young fellow named Brabo, who lived in the province of Brabant. He was
proud of his country and her flag of yellow, black and red, and was loyal to
his lord. He studied the castle well and saw a window, where he could climb up
into the giant’s chamber.
Going to the Duke,
Brabo promised if his lord’s soldiers would storm the gates of the giant’s
castle, that he would seek out and fight the ruffian. While they battered down
the gates, he would climb the walls. “He’s nothing but a ‘bulle-wak'” (a bully
and a boaster), said Brabo, “and we ought to call him that, instead of
Antigonus.”
The Duke agreed.
On a dark night, one thousand of his best men-at-arms were marched with their
banners, but with no drums or trumpets, or anything that could make a noise and
alarm the watchmen.
Reaching a wood
full of big trees near the castle, they waited till after midnight. All the
dogs in the town and country, for five miles around, were seized and put into
barns, so as not to bark and wake the giant up. They were given plenty to eat,
so that they quickly fell asleep and were perfectly quiet.
At the given
signal, hundreds of men holding ship’s masts, or tree trunks, marched against
the gates. They punched and pounded and at last smashed the iron-bound timbers
and rushed in. After overcoming the garrison, they lighted candles, and
unlocking the dungeons, went down and set the poor half-starved captives free.
Some of them pale, haggard and thin as hop poles, could hardly stand. About the
same time, the barn doors where the dogs had been kept, were thrown open. In
full cry, a regiment of the animals, from puppies to hounds, were at once out,
barking, baying, and yelping, as if they knew what was going on and wanted to
see the fun.
But where was the
giant? None of the captains could find him. Not one of the prisoners or the
garrison could tell where he had hid.
But Brabo knew
that the big fellow, Antigonus, was not at all brave, but really only a bully
and a coward. So the lad was not afraid. Some of his comrades outside helped
him to set up a tall ladder against the wall. Then, while all the watchers and
men-at-arms inside, had gone away to defend the gates, Brabo climbed into the
castle, through a slit in the thick wall. This had been cut out, like a window,
for the bow-and-arrow men, and was usually occupied by a sentinel. Sword in
hand, Brabo made for the giant’s own room. Glaring at the youth, the big fellow
seized his club and brought it down with such force that it went through the
wooden floor. But Brabo dodged the blow and, in a trice, made a sweep with his
sword. Cutting off the giant’s head, he threw it out the window. It had hardly
touched the ground, before the dogs arrived. One of the largest of these ran
away with the trophy and the big, hairy noddle of the bully was never found
again.
But the giant’s
huge hands! Ah, they were cut off by Brabo, who stood on the very top of the
highest tower, while all below looked up and cheered. Brabo laid one big hand
on top of the other, as the giant used to do, when he cut off the hands of
captains. He took first the right hand and then the left hand and threw them,
one at a time, into the river.
A pretty sight now
revealed the fact that the people knew what had been going on and were proud of
Brabo’s valor. In a moment, every house in Antwerp showed lighted candles, and
the city was illuminated. Issuing from the gates came a company of maidens.
They were dressed in white, but their leader was robed in yellow, red, and
black, the colors of the Brabant flag. They all sang in chorus the praises of
Brabo their hero.
“Let us now drop
the term of disgrace to the city—that of the
Hand-Throwing and give it a new name,” said one of the leading men of
Antwerp.
“No,” said the chief ruler, “let us rather keep the name, and, more than ever,
invite all peaceful ships to come again, ‘an-‘t-werf’ (at the wharf), as of
old. Then, let the arms of Antwerp be two red hands above a castle.”
“Agreed,” cried
the citizens with a great shout. The Duke of Brabant approved and gave new
privileges to the city, on account of Brabo’s bravery. So, from high to low,
all rejoiced to honor their hero, who was richly rewarded.
After this,
thousands of ships, from many countries, loaded or unloaded their cargoes on
the wharves, or sailed peacefully by. Antwerp excelled all seaports and became
very rich again. Her people loved their native city so dearly, that they coined
the proverb “All the world is a ring, and Antwerp is the pearl set in it.”
To this day, in
the great square, rises the splendid bronze monument of Brabo the Brave. The
headless and handless hulk of the giant Antigonus lies sprawling, while on his
body rests Antwerp castle. Standing over all, at the top, is Brabo high in air.
He holds one of the hands of Antigonus, which he is about to toss into the
Scheldt River.
No people honor valor more than the Belgians. Themselves are to-day, as of old, among the bravest.