to place them in a position where they would be obliged to fight or to perish.  At any rate, such was their present situation.  Instead of halting at Reyden, he had made his stand at Jemmingen, about four leagues distant from that place, and a little further down the river.  Alva discovered this important fact soon after his arrival at Reyden, and could not conceal his delight.  Already exulting at the error made by his adversary, in neglecting the important position which he now occupied himself, he was doubly delighted at learning the nature of the place which he had in preference selected.  He saw that Louis had completely entrapped himself.

Jemmingen was a small town on the left bank of the Ems.  The stream here very broad and deep, is rather a tide inlet than a river, being but a very few miles from the Dollart.  This circular bay, or ocean chasm, the result of the violent inundation of the 13th century, surrounds, with the river, a narrow peninsula.  In the corner of this peninsula, as in the bottom of a sack, Louis had posted his army.  His infantry, as usual, was drawn up in two large squares, and still contained ten thousand men.  The rear rested upon the village, the river was upon his left; his meagre force of cavalry upon the right.  In front were two very deep trenches.  The narrow road, which formed the only entrance to his camp, was guarded by a ravelin on each side, and by five pieces of artillery.

The Duke having reconnoitred the enemy in person, rode back, satisfied that no escape was possible.  The river was too deep and too wide for swimming or wading, and there were but very few boats.  Louis was shut up between twelve thousand Spanish veterans and the river Ems.  The rebel army, although not insufficient in point of numbers, was in a state of disorganization.  They were furious for money and reluctant to fight.  They broke out into open mutiny upon the very verge of battle, and swore that they would instantly disband, if the gold, which, as they believed, had been recently brought into the camp, were not immediately distributed among them.  Such was the state of things on the eventful morning of the 21st July.  All the expostulations of Count Louis seemed powerless.  His eloquence and his patience, both inferior to his valor, were soon exhausted.  He peremptorily, refused the money for which they clamored, giving the most cogent of all reasons, an empty coffer.  He demonstrated plainly that they were in that moment to make their election, whether to win a victory or to submit to a massacre.  Neither flight nor surrender was possible.  They knew how much quarter they could expect from the lances of the Spaniards or the waters of the Dollart.  Their only chance of salvation lay in their own swords.  The instinct of self-preservation, thus invoked, exerted a little of its natural effect.