The opportunity had at last arrived for the stadholder to strike a blow before the season closed.  Bankruptcy and mutiny had reduced his enemy to impotence in the very season of his greatest probable success.  On the 24th October Maurice came before Lochem, which he recaptured in five days.  Next in the order of Spinola’s victories was Groll, which the stadholder at once besieged.  He had almost fifteen thousand infantry and three thousand horse.  A career of brief triumph before winter should close in upon those damping fields, seemed now assured.  But the rain, which during nearly the whole campaign had been his potent ally, had of late been playing him false.  The swollen Yssel, during a brief period of dry weather, had sunk so low in certain shallows as not to be navigable for his transports, and after his trains of artillery and munitions had been dragged wearily overland as far as Groll, the deluge had returned in such force, that physical necessity as well as considerations of humanity compelled him to defer his entrenching operations until the weather should moderate.  As there seemed no further danger to be apprehended from the broken, mutinous, and dispersed forces of the enemy, the siege operations were conducted in a leisurely manner.  What was the astonishment, therefore, among the soldiers, when a rumour flew about the camp in the early days of November that the indomitable Spinola was again advancing upon them!  It was perfectly true.  With extraordinary perseverance he had gathered up six or seven thousand infantry and twelve companies of horse—­all the remnants of the splendid armies with which he had taken the field at midsummer—­and was now marching to the relief of Groll, besieged as it was by a force at least doubly as numerous as his own.  It was represented to the stadholder, however, that an impassable morass lay between him and the enemy, and that there would therefore be time enough to complete his entrenchments before Spinola could put his foolhardy attempt into execution.  But the Catholic general, marching faster than rumour itself, had crossed the impracticable swamp almost before a spadeful of earth had been turned in the republican camp.  His advance was in sight even while the incredulous were sneering at the absurdity of his supposed project.  Informed by scouts of the weakest point in the stadholder’s extended lines, Spinola was directing himself thither with beautiful precision.  Maurice hastily contracted both his wings, and concentrated himself in the village of Lebel.  At last the moment had come for a decisive struggle.  There could be little doubt of the result.  All the advantage was with the republican army.  The Catholics had arrived in front of the enemy fatigued by forced marches through quagmires, in horrible weather, over roads deemed impassable.  The States’ troops were fresh, posted on ground of their own choosing, and partially entrenched.  To the astonishment, even to the horror of the most eager portion of the army, the stadholder deliberately, and despite the groans of his soldiers, refused the combat, and gave immediate orders for raising the siege and abandoning the field.