Benedict, dripping as he was, jumped into the boat.
"Twenty florins," he said, "if we are in Dettingen in an hour. We have the current with us and I will row with you."
"That will be easy," said the boatman, "if you are sure you will keep your word."
"Wait a minute," said Benedict; throwing down his Styrian tunic and cap, and feeling in his pocket, "here are ten."
"Then, come on," said the boatman.
He took one oar, Benedict took the other: the boat impelled by four vigorous arms went rapidly down the river.
The struggle was still continuing; men and horses fell from the bridge into the stream. Benedict would have liked to stop and watch the spectacle, but time did not allow.
No one paid any attention to the little boat flying down stream. In five minutes the oarsmen were out of range and out of danger.
While passing a little wood on the edge of the river, called Joli-Buisson, he thought he saw Karl fighting desperately in the middle of a group of Prussians. But as the uniform of all the Styrians was alike, it might have been one of the infantry. Then Benedict fancied he saw a dog like Frisk in the throng, and he remembered that Frisk had followed Karl.
At the first bend of the river, they ceased to see anything of the battle. Further on, they saw the smoke of the burning houses in Aschaffenburg. Then at the little village of Lieder, everything disappeared. The boat flew down the river and quickly they passed Menaschoft, Stockstadt, Kleim, and Ostheim. After that the banks of the Main were deserted down to Mainflig. On the other bank, almost opposite, stood Dettingen.