only when it was all but accomplished. William, who had retired
for a few days to Loo, learned, with surprise and extreme
vexation, that cavalry, infantry, artillery, bridges of boats,
were fast approaching the fated city by many converging routes. A
hundred thousand men had been brought together. All the
implements of war had been largely provided by Louvois, the first
of living administrators. The command was entrusted to Luxemburg,
the first of living generals. The scientific operations were
directed by Vauban, the first of living engineers. That nothing
might be wanting which could kindle emulation through all the
ranks of a gallant and loyal army, the magnificent King himself
had set out from Versailles for the camp. Yet William had still
some faint hope that it might be possible to raise the siege. He
flew to the Hague, put all the forces of the States General in
motion, and sent pressing messages to the German Princes. Within
three weeks after he had received the first hint of the danger,
he was in the neighbourhood of the besieged city, at the head of
near fifty thousand troops of different nations. To attack a
superior force commanded by such a captain as Luxemburg was a
bold, almost a desperate, enterprise. Yet William was so sensible
that the loss of Mons would be an almost irreparable disaster and
disgrace that he made up his mind to run the hazard. He was
convinced that the event of the siege would determine the policy
of the Courts of Stockholm and Copenhagen. Those Courts had
lately seemed inclined to join the coalition. If Mons fell, they
would certainly remain neutral; they might possibly become
hostile. "The risk," he wrote to Heinsius, "is great; yet I am
not without hope. I will do what can be done. The issue is in the
hands of God." On the very day on which this letter was written
Mons fell. The siege had been vigorously pressed. Lewis himself,