ed clearly, by any eyes, however flat
to the head. And a terrible fact it is. Discordant Generals accuse one
another; hungry soldiers cannot be kept from plundering: for the horses
there is unripe rye in quantity; but what is there for the men? My poor
traditionary friends, of the Grey Dragoons, were wont (I have heard)
to be heart-rending on this point, in after years! Famine being urgent,
discipline is not possible, nor existence itself. For a week longer,
George, rather in obstinate hope than with any reasonable plan or
exertion, still tries it; finds, after repeated Councils of War, that
he will have to give it up, and go back to Hanau where his living
is. Wednesday night, 26th June, 1743, that is the final resolution,
inevitably come upon, without argument: and about one on Thursday
morning, the Army (in two columns, Austrians to vanward well away from
the River, English as rear-guard close on it) gets in motion to execute
said resolution,--if the Army can.

"If the Army can: but that is like to be a formidably difficult
business; with a Noailles watching every step of you, to-day and for
ten days back, in these sad circumstances. Eyes in him like a lynx, they
say; and great skill in war, only too cautious. Hardly is the Army gone
from Aschaffenburg, when Noailles, pushing across by the Bridge, seizes
that post,--no retreat now for us thitherward. His Majesty, who marches
in the rear division, has happily some artillery with him; repels the
assaults from behind, which might have been more serious otherwise. As
it is, there play cannon across the River upon him:--Why not bend to
right, and get out of range, asks the reader? The Spessart Hills rise,
high and woody, on the right; and there is in many places no marching
except within range. Noailles has Five effective Batteries, at the
various good points, on his side of the River:--and that is nothing to
what he has got ready for us, were we once at Dettingen, within wind
of his Two Bridges a little beyond! Noailles has us in a perfect
mouse-trap, SOURICIERE as he felinely calls it; and calculates on having
annihilation ready for us at Dettingen.

"Dettingen, short way above those Pontoons at Seligenstadt, is near
eight miles westward [NORTHwestward, but let us use the briefer term]
from Aschaffenburg: Dettingen is a poor peasant Village, of some size,
close on the Mayn, and on our side of it. A Brook, coming down from the
Spessart Mountains, falls into the Mayn ther