Barcelona itself fell for a time into the hands of Peterborough and
the Archduke Charles, now calling himself Charles III of Spain.
Success followed upon success, and whole provinces, Catalonia and
Valencia, were won over. So marvellous was the story of his doings,
indeed, that when, in the course of time, George Fairburn heard it, in
the distant Netherlands, he was disposed to wish he had remained in
Spain. Yet he had done very well, in that same year 1705, as we shall
see.
Almost from his resumption of the command in the early spring of that
year, Marlborough met with vexations and disappointments. He had
formed the great plan of invading France by way of the Moselle valley,
and our two heroes, who had heard whispers as to the work being cut
out for the Allies, were ready to dance with delight. They were still
frisky boys out of school, one may say. But the plan was opposed in
two quarters. First, the Dutch, statesmen and generals alike, threw
every obstacle in the way. They would not hear of the project. Then
Louis of Baden was in one of his worst sulky fits, and for a time
refused his help. When he did consent to go, he demanded a delay,
pleading that a wound he had received at the Schellenberg, in the
previous year, was not yet fully healed.
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