THE ROCK OF GIBRALTAR
THE ROCK OF GIBRALTAR
"This is better than lying on one's back in hospital, sir, and better than dodging about in a close-packed transport."
The words came from George Fairburn, as with his officer, Lieutenant Fieldsend, he stood surveying, from its northern vicinity, the far-famed Rock of Gibraltar. It was the summer of 1704. His doings since the day of his injuries in the dingle are soon recorded. After months of sickness and a winter of inaction, his service under Lord Galway had come to an end, much to his disgust at first. With others, he had been sent on board a vessel and carried round the coast of Spain to the neighbourhood of Barcelona, where Sir George Rooke was operating. The new troops had arrived too late. The Admiral, despairing of making any impression on the strongly-fortified Barcelona, was about to sail for home. On the way the idea had come to Sir George that the commanding fortress of Gibraltar would be worth trying for. He had accordingly landed a number of troops on the narrow isthmus of flat land that joins the rock and town of Gibraltar to the mainland.
"Yes, Fairburn," the lieutenant replied, with a laugh, "my Lord Galway foretold that you had work cut out for you. Here it is, I fancy, and plenty of it."
It was a striking sight on which the two friends looked—for though the one was but a private and the other a commissioned officer, yet by this time Fieldsend and Fairburn had begun their life-long friendship. Away in front of them towered the huge irregular mass called the Rock of Gibraltar, or, more commonly, simply "the Rock," with the little town clustered at its base and on its gentler slopes. To their right was the indentation in the coast known as the Bay of Gibraltar, which was protected by a long stone-built jetty, the Old Mole. From this protection ran a stout sea defence called the Line Wall, with two or three strong bastions. This wall ended at another projection, the New Mole. But neither the Line Wall nor the New Mole was visible from the spot where George and his superior stood. Filling all the narrow neck of connecting ground were the allied forces just landed, five thousand of them. Immediately in front stood the only outlet from the city on its north side, the Land Point gate.
"I wish they would settle the thing, and either let us get to work or else re-embark for home," George said, as he sat in what shade he could find to defend himself against the fierce blaze of the sun.
"I am with you there, Fairburn," the lieutenant agreed, with a yawn.
The speakers were alluding to the answer that was expected at any moment from the garrison within. A formal demand had been made to the Governor for the surrender of the fortress to the Archduke Charles, "the rightful King of Spain." This was on the twenty-first of July, 1704. The demand had been made on the part of the Allies by the Prince of Hesse-Darmstadt, who was present with three Dutch admirals and several Dutch ships. The English admirals concerned in the siege were, besides Sir George Rooke, the chief of them, Byng, Sir Cloudesley Shovel, and Leake. Many famous ships were in the Bay or rode off the Rock, including Rooke's own vessel, theRoyal Catherine, and Shovel's still more famousBarfleur.
The day wore to its close, the guards were posted, and the men prepared for rest. Then there came the long-expected answer from the Marquis de Salinas, the Governor of the fortress. It was a stout and dignified refusal. He and his men had sworn allegiance to King Philip, the old fellow said, and in Philip's name he held the town and Rock of Gibraltar, and would continue to hold them as long as he could.
"That looks like business," cried George, gleefully, to a little group of his comrades around, and the men smiled at the eager enthusiasm of the lad. The orders were passed round that the attack should begin with daybreak on the following morning, and the soldiers went to roost at once, with easy minds. It was believed that the attack would be but a harmless bit of child's-play, as it was more than suspected that the defending force within the town was very small, though how ridiculously small it really was none of the besiegers at the time even guessed.
"Turn out, mate," cried one of the soldiers, shaking George vigorously by the shoulder, and the boy sprang up to find everybody astir.
"How I do sleep in this hot country!" he yawned, to which the sergeant replied with a laugh, "It'll be hotter still before long, my lad, never fear."
It was a long time before the first shot was fired, however, the disposition of the troops and the guns not being complete. At length a movement was made. TheDorsetshire, with Captain Whitaker in command, was sent to capture a French privateer with twelve guns, which lay at the Old Mole, and the boom of cannon rose in the air.
Presently, from near the spot where Lieutenant Fieldsend and his little company were posted, a shot was fired into the fortifications; then another, and afterwards a third. Work had begun at last.
A puff, a boom in the distance, and there came screaming through the air a big round shot, striking the ground, ploughing it up, and covering those near with dust and dirt.
"Quite near enough, eh, sir?" George observed to his lieutenant, as they shook the earth from their clothing. "And, by Jove, there's another of them!" A second shot flew just overhead, to do its deadly work on the unfortunate men who stood immediately behind. George Fairburn's first task in the siege was to help to carry to the rear two or three badly wounded men. On the ground lay a couple who needed no surgeon.
As yet only a few preliminary shots had been fired into the fortress, but the defenders were evidently quite ready with their reply, and the order for a general attack rang out. Within a few minutes the fight was raging in terrible fashion. From land and sea alike the shot poured into the town; sailor and soldier joining, and often standing side by side. As George afterwards expressed it, "any man set his hand to any job there was to do." Sailors were to be seen on land in many places, while not a few soldiers helped with the firing on board the ships.
All that long morning, however, George Fairburn worked at the gun to which he had been assigned. Black with smoke, powder, dust, perspiration, the lad toiled among his companions. For an hour or two none of the enemy's shots fell very near the spot. But at length, and almost suddenly, the balls began to fly in too close proximity to be pleasant. Shot after shot fell within a yard or two of the gun, and not a few gallant fellows dropped to earth dead or wounded.
"By Jupiter!" cried the lieutenant, who was assisting, "they have got our measure at last! I wonder what it is that makes us so conspicuous."
Then, looking round, he beheld behind them, and not five yards distant, a small clump of elder on which some man had tossed the flaming red shirt he had thrown off in the broiling heat.
"Ah!" Fieldsend ejaculated, "there's the offender."
He sprang away and whipped the tell-tale garment from its bush. Just as he seized it another shot came, striking the gun in front, entirely disabling the weapon, and then bounding off. When the men, hastily scattered by the mishap, looked for the lieutenant, he was observed lying in front of the bush.
"Dead!" one of the fellows cried.
"No," answered George, whose keen eyes detected a movement of the officer's arm, "but he soon will be, if he is left lying there!" Another shot struck the bush, only just missing the body of the prostrate man. In a moment George darted forward towards the place, in spite of the loud warning shouts of his mates.
He reached the spot, seized Fieldsend by the shoulders, and by main force dragged him quickly a dozen yards to the right. It was a heavy task, but the lad was as sturdy a fellow of his years as one might have found in a week's march, and his efforts were rewarded with a cheer from his comrades.
While the shouts were still ringing, yet one more shot came, this time striking the exact spot where the lieutenant had a moment before been lying, and ploughing up the little elder bush by its roots.
"As plucky a job as ever I see!" cried the sergeant, running up with three or four others, and he slapped George on the back with a heartiness that made the lad wince.
The wounded man was hastily carried off the field.
"More stunned than hurt," reported the surgeon, "a nasty tap on the left shoulder; but he'll be all right in a day or so."
Within half an hour George Fairburn found himself on board theDorsetshire, to assist in the operations against the New Mole. The signal had come to Captain Whitaker to proceed against that place, and the ship was headed for the spot. To the surprise of those on board, they perceived two other ships in advance of them; they were theYarmouth, Captain Hicks, and theLennox, Captain Jumper, a gallant pair. Boats from the two vessels were perceived hastening to the shore. The crews landed, and almost immediately their feet touched ground a dense cloud was seen to fly up into the air, followed by a deafening explosion.
"A mine!" rose from a hundred throats, as theDorsetshiremen watched with straining eyes. It was true; two score gallant fellows were afterwards found lying on the fatal ground.
With a determined rush theDorsetshiremen fell upon the defenders, and George found himself engaged in a hand-to-hand encounter. It was all over in a few minutes; the handful of Spaniards could not stand against so powerful a force, and the New Mole was taken. Hot and exited, the men were carried against Jumper's Bastion, a strong work a little to the north of the New Mole, and that place, too, was rushed in an incredibly short space of time, and with scarcely any loss worth the naming. From this time George Fairburn kept no count of the long series of exciting incidents that followed each other, the assault having been carried to the Line Wall that stretched away northwards to the Old Mole.
The attack when at its height was a terrible affair. Sixteen English ships under the immediate command of Byng, and six Dutch men-of-war under Admiral Vanderdusen, faced the Line Wall, while three more English vessels were off the New Mole.
George found himself engaged in a hand-to-hand encounter.George found himself engaged in a hand-to-hand encounter.
George found himself engaged in a hand-to-hand encounter.George found himself engaged in a hand-to-hand encounter.
No place so meagrely manned with defenders as was Gibraltar could long stand such an attack, and at length the two Moles, and the long Line Wall between them, were in the hands of the Allies. Of all the attacking party none showed more vigorous and fearless dash than a certain lad of sturdy build, and Hicks himself perceived the fact.
"Who is that boy in your company?" he enquired of the sergeant.
"Name Fairburn, sir," was the reply; "all along he's been a hot member," to which the captain said with a smile, as he turned away, "He most certainly is."
The next day was a saints' day, and it was strongly suspected, and at length clearly perceived, that the Spanish sentinels had left their posts and gone off to mass. It would have been easy to carry the place at once, but the necessary storming had been done, and the allied commanders were only waiting for the besieged to give the signal of capitulation. The besiegers, soldiers and sailors, had nothing to do but chat.
Presently some of the sailors declared that it would be a prime joke to climb the heights and plant their flag there. The notion was taken up, and presently the temptation grew irresistible to certain of them, and with merry chuckles the fellows prepared for the task, an enterprise that was risky in the extreme.
"I'm one of you!" cried George Fairburn, as he followed the handful of sailors to the foot of the steep rock.
"And I!" chimed in yet another voice, and, to George's astonishment, Lieutenant Fieldsend ran up, his arm in a sling.
"Better go back, sir," exclaimed the lad, gazing up at the towering cliff in front of them.
"Better both on ye go back, I reckon," growled one of the sailors; "this ain't no job for a landsman."
Nothing heeding this rebuff, the two soldiers followed up the steep rock, George giving a hand at the worst spots to his friend and superior. Up, up, the scaling party mounted, the business becoming every moment more difficult and more full of danger. More than once the gallant fellows-in front paused and declared that further progress was impossible.
"Oh, go on!" called out George, impatiently, on one of these occasions, from below, where he was helping up the lieutenant, "or else let me come," he added, grumblingly.
The sailor lads needed no spur, however, and amid growing excitement the summit of their bit of cliff was perceived not far away. In the dash for the top the active lad passed his fellows in the race, catching up the foremost man, who held the flag. Seizing the staff, George Fairburn assisted in the actual planting of the colours. There, fluttering at the very summit of the Rock, was the English flag, its unfolding hailed with bursts of cheering, again and again repeated, from the throngs far below.
The deed was done, and from that day, the twenty-third of July, 1704, according to the old reckoning, the third of August by the new style, the British flag has floated from the Rock of Gibraltar.
Desperate efforts were made by the garrison to haul down the flag, but they all failed, and the Governor capitulated. The Prince of Hesse-Darmstadt was for claiming the fortress, but this Rooke would not have, and he promptly declared the Rock to be the possession of his august mistress, Queen Anne. Those of the defenders who were prepared to take the oath of allegiance to Charles III were permitted to remain, the rest for the most part retired to St. Roque.
The handful of harum-scarum fellows who had scaled the heights and planted the flag before long found themselves facing the great Admiral Sir George Rooke himself, on his quarter-deck, Lieutenant Fieldsend and George Fairburn being of the party. The admiral said a few words of commendation; few as they were, they were a full reward for all the efforts the little band had made. Rooke kept the lieutenant behind for a moment.
"What do you propose to do now, Mr. Lieutenant?" he inquired, with much kindly condescension; "our work is about finished, and we are proceeding home."
"By you leave, Sir George," the young man replied, with flushed face, "I should like to join his Grace the Duke in the Netherlands, and so would the lad Fairburn."
"Good," said the Admiral, approvingly, "we will see what can be done when we reach Portsmouth. I have heard something of the boy's doings. He will go far, if he is fortunate."
Accordingly, when, after a great fight with the French fleet under the formidable Count of Toulouse, off Malaga, a doubtful affair, the English ships reached home, the lieutenant and George at once offered for service under the Duke, and were accepted. They sailed away again, for the Netherlands, Fieldsend carrying in his pocket a few words of recommendation from Sir George to the commander-in-chief himself.
The year 1703 had been a sorry year for Marlborough. In the winter he had lost his son, the Marquis of Blandford, a promising youth, a Cambridge student. When the spring operations began, he had found himself hampered at every turn by the jealousies and oppositions of the Dutch rulers and their commanders. In despair, Marlborough had marched up the Rhine and taken Bonn. Meanwhile the French were striving to reach Vienna, there to attack the Emperor. Returning, the Duke was all eager to attack the great port and stronghold of Antwerp, the capture of which would be a heavy blow to Louis. He had, however, to content himself with seizing Huy, Limburg, and Guilders, a success more than counterbalanced by the defeat of the Emperor at Hochstädt, by the French and Bavarians. Disheartened and disgusted, Marlborough went home at the end of the summer, and it was only by the strong persuasion of Lord Godolphin, now at the helm of state, that he retained his command at all. As a set-off against all these disappointments, there were two matters for rejoicing. The alliance with Portugal has already been mentioned; now there came the accession to the Allies of Savoy, for the Duke of Savoy had quarrelled with Louis.
With intense interest, Lieutenant Fieldsend and George Fairburn heard, on landing in the Netherlands, of the great victory of Blenheim that had just been gained by the Allies under Marlborough, against the combined French and Bavarian forces, commanded by the famous generals Tallard and Marsin, and the two young soldiers hoped to learn more of the great fight when they reached the front.
"What a bit of ill-luck not to have been there in time, sir!" George exclaimed.
The boy had, during his stay in hospital at Lisbon, communicated with his parents at home, and, to his delight, had received their consent to his following the profession of a soldier. "It is useless to stand in the boy's way," the elder Fairburn had said, "though I could have wished he had taken up almost any other trade." So the lad had no hesitation in thus taking service in the army once more.
When the two, in company with others, reached head quarters, Lieutenant Fieldsend presented the letter he held from Sir George Rooke, and was received with the utmost pleasantness by the great Duke.
"Humph, Mr. Fieldsend," Marlborough began, when he had glanced over the contents of the short epistle. "You are a lucky young fellow to have got Sir George's good word. But where is the lad he speaks of—Fairburn, I see?"
"Just outside, your Grace," was the reply, and at a nod the lieutenant fetched George in.
The Duke scanned the boy's ruddy face and took note of his sturdy figure.
"My lad," he began, "you have begun early. Do you know what request Sir George makes in this note?"
"No, sir—my Lord Duke," George stammered in reply, his knees almost shaking under him.
"He recommends you for a commission as ensign," the Duke said quietly, the boy standing almost open-mouthed. "We will give you a short trial first, for as yet we don't know you. No doubt we soon shall." And the great man smiled.
He rapped smartly on the table and an aide-de-camp entered the tent, saluting.
"Here, Mr. Blackett," Marlborough gave the order, "take this lad to your captain, who will see that he is enrolled in your company."
The next moment George Fairburn was shaking the other hard by the hand, the astonishment on both sides too great to admit of a word between them.
BLENHEIM
BLENHEIM
"Now I can thank you, my dear Fairburn! We shall never forget it!" were the first words Blackett uttered, and he pressed George's hand once more in his warm grip.
"Forget what, Blackett?" the other asked in surprise, "and for what do you thank me?"
"Surely you have not forgotten it all, my dear fellow—Mary—the fire—your splendid rescue!"
"Ah!" cried George, "and you have been keeping that in mind all this time?"
"Not a doubt of that. As I have just said, and repeat, we can never forget it. From that day you became the dearest friend of our family, if you will let us call you so."
"Let you! Heaven knows I am more than delighted to be so. We are no longer silly schoolboys to fight for the merest trifle."
The reconciliation between the old rivals was complete, and the two boys chatted long together.
"But you are in a cavalry regiment, I see," remarked George presently, "and a lieutenant. I understood from my father's letter that you had joined a line regiment with an ensign's commission."
"So I did, my boy; but there are queer turns of fortune in war, and one of them came to me—only a week or two since, it was." And the lieutenant laughed pleasantly.
"Tell me how it was," said George, eagerly.
"It is like singing my own praises, Fairburn," the young officer went on, "but here goes. I'll put it in a score of words. All last year I went as Ensign Blackett, seeing bits of service here, there, and everywhere—at Bonn, on the Rhine, then at Huy, and again at Guelders—but there was no chance for me. But this summer, as we were marching here, not a man of us except the Duke himself, with a notion why we were coming this way at all, we stopped to storm the Schellenberg, a hill overlooking the Danube near Donauwörth. We were all dog tired—dead beat, in fact, for we had marched till we were almost blind. However, as it was the Duke's, day, he set us at it."
"Duke's day?" interrupted George, in surprise; "isn't every day the Duke's day?"
"It's a funny thing," went on Blackett, laughing, "but as a matter of fact at that time the Duke was taking alternate days of command with the Prince of Baden."
"A queer go!" the listener interjected.
"Well, to cut my tale short, we made two attacks on that hill, and both times were driven back. Things began to look like a drawn game, when up comes Louis, the Prince, you know, with a lot of his Germans, and at it we went again. In the thick of it, my colonel suddenly called out, 'Can you ride, Blackett?' 'Try me, sir,' I says. And he gave me a note for the Duke, telling me that he had not another officer left who could ride, all our fellows had been laid low or dispersed. I galloped off like the wind, on a big hard-mouthed brute. Just as I was nearing the spot where the Duke stood, a dozen Bavarians suddenly blocked my path and levelled their muskets. I was on a bit of a slope and above their heads, in a manner, so I kicked up my nag and in an instant I flew over them, guns and all. It was a clean jump, and not a shot hit me, by good luck. My horse managed to carry me on to the Duke, and then fell dead. The poor beggar had caught what had been intended for me. Well, now I've done. The Duke, who had seen it all, had me transferred to a cavalry regiment, with the rank of lieutenant, and here I am."
"Yes, and here am I, a private, talking in this off-hand sort of way to a commissioned officer."
"That's all right, Fairburn," laughed Blackett, "we haven't entered you yet. It'll be quite time enough to bother about that sort of thing then. Officially we shall have to be master and man; actually we shall be brothers."
Thus the ancient rivals became comrades in arms, and members of the same regiment, for George from that time was a cavalry man. His other friend, Fieldsend, was attached to a line regiment again.
Bit by bit Lieutenant Blackett, during the next days, contrived to give his friend a full and vivid account of the great battle of Blenheim, just won by the Allies. He was not a great hand at a tale, whatever he might be on the field, and we may piece together his story for him. His adventures and his doings in that memorable fight may well delay our tale for a little space.
That year Louis of France had determined to make a vigorous effort, or rather a series of efforts, and sent various armies to oppose the different members of the Grand Alliance. But his main plan was to attack the Empire, making Bavaria, the Elector of which was his only supporter in that part of the world, his advance post. For some time Louis had been secretly encouraging Hungary in the rebellion she was contemplating. He trusted, therefore, that the Emperor would find himself attacked by his Hungarian subjects to rearward, while he was engaged with the combined French and Bavarian forces in front. It was a very fine scheme.
But there was one man, and only one, who saw through it—Marlborough. At once the Duke set off southwards, carrying with him also a force of Dutchmen, deceiving their rulers by a ruse. He sent for the valiant Prince Eugene to meet him, and the two famous generals saw each other for the first time. Mutual admiration and friendship sprang up between them, to last through the rest of their lives. Prince Louis of Baden had given some trouble by wishing to share the command with Marlborough. Him they at last got rid of by sending him to take the important fortress of Ingolstadt, commanding the Danube. Marlborough's magnificent march from the Netherlands to the upper Danube is one of the finest things in military story.
Marlborough and Prince Eugene met with the French and Bavarian forces near the village of Blenheim, on the same river, and close to Hochstädt, the scene of the defeat of the allied troops the year before, and joyfully the leaders prepared to join battle. The commanders on the side of the enemy were Marshal Marsin, the Prince of Bavaria, and Marshal Tallard. The last of these had managed to slip past Eugene some time before and join his colleagues.
The order of battle on the side of the Allies was this. The right was commanded by Eugene, the left by Lord Cutts, a gallant officer, the centre, a vast body of cavalry mainly, by Marlborough himself. Opposed to Eugene were the Elector and Marsin, while Tallard faced the Duke, but on the farther bank of the little brook Nebel, which empties itself into the Danube just below. Tallard's centre was weak, as he had crowded no fewer than seventeen battalions into the village of Blenheim, on his extreme right and close to the bank of the great river.
"Now, gentlemen, to your posts." These words, quietly and pleasantly spoken by Marlborough, began the great battle of Blenheim. It was about midday, August 13, 1704. The Duke had been waiting till he heard that Prince Eugene was ready, and he had occupied the interval in breakfast and prayers. Every man of his division was provided with a good meal. He himself had attended divine service and had received the sacrament the evening before.
Lieutenant Blackett found himself one of a body of 8,000 cavalry, which were ordered to cross the Nebel so as to be within striking distance of Tallard's troops drawn up beyond the brook. This work of crossing was likely to be a long and tedious, not to say a difficult bit of business, the intervening ground being very boggy. Matthew was far towards the rear of this large body of horse, and it was evident that it would be hours before his turn came to cross. In company with hundreds of his comrades, he began to long for something more exciting.
The first division to get into serious action was that under the brave Lord Cutts, to the left of the allied forces. Cutts went by the nickname of Salamander, so indifferent was he to danger when under fire. This gallant leader led his men to attack the village of Blenheim. Twice the assault was made with the utmost vigour and determination; twice Cutts was driven back. The village was not only filled with an immense force of French, but was protected by a strong palisade.
A horseman was presently seen galloping towards the spot where the Duke was posted, and his movements were watched with interest by Blackett and others of the cavalry waiting their orders to cross.
"Seems to me he is wounded," the lieutenant observed to a man near him; to which the other replied, "Yes, he does seem wobbly, doesn't he?"
Hardly had the words been spoken when the advancing rider suddenly fell from his horse, which kept on, however, dragging his master along by the stirrup. Without a second's delay, Blackett threw his own beast across the track of the runaway steed, caught his head, and pulled him up. Then in a moment the youngster was down on the ground to the assistance of the poor fellow who had fallen.
"To the Duke!" the man cried, glancing at a note he held tightly clutched in his hand. "Quick!" he moaned; "I'm shot through the back, and done for!"
"Poor fellow!" murmured the lieutenant, and he seized the letter, sprang with a bound into his saddle, and was off like the wind, before his companions had quite realized what it all meant. Thus for the second time within a few days Matthew Blackett presented himself before his commander in the part of unofficial aide-de-camp. The Duke nodded as he recognized the lad, and, pencilling a few words of reply, said, "To Lord Cutts; then back to your post." And as Blackett rode off like the wind in a bee-line for Cutts's division, Marlborough murmured, "A fearless fox-hunter, I'll be bound." The order, it was afterwards found, was for Cutts to make no more attempts on Blenheim, but to hold himself in readiness when his services should again be requisitioned.
Meanwhile, Prince Eugene was having a lively time of it on the right wing. He began by leading a cavalry charge against the French and Bavarians, who were under the command of Marsin and the Elector respectively. In a few minutes he had forced back the front line and had captured a battery of six guns. On he sped to confront the second line, and the opposing forces met with a tremendous shock. For a moment all was doubtful, but the enemy stood their ground stoutly. Eugene could make no impression and had to fall back. By this time the scattered front line of the French had rallied, and, in spite of the Prince's desperate efforts, the battery was retaken. The danger to that division of the allied forces soon became extreme. To save the day, Eugene immediately galloped away in person, and returned presently, bringing a body of Prussian infantry he had in reserve. The help of these alone saved him from defeat.
At last! Blackett and his comrades were ordered to advance, and moved towards the Nebel. The ground was in a shockingly bad state. At its best marshy and water-logged, it was now a sea of mire. The worst spots had been bridged over, as it were, by the help of fascines, with here and there pontoons. By this time, however, many of these had been shifted from their places by the passage of so many thousands of horse, and the road became worse and worse as the burn was neared. In one place the men were compelled to come to a full stop, the ground being simply impassable.
"We cannot advance, gentlemen," cried the colonel commanding the regiment, "till we have done some repairs. Now for willing hands!"
Some of the officers glanced dubiously at the mud in which the horses were standing knee-deep, and they did not budge. Not so Matthew Blackett; with a bound he sprang to the ground, and waded through the mire, half of his long legs submerged, his brethren endeavouring to keep their countenances.
"That's the right way!" sang out the colonel in high commendation, and a little crowd of the men following the example of the young lieutenant, the work of repairing the road was soon in rapid progress, the colonel standing by to direct the operations. Other officers speedily came to help, rather ashamed to think that they had allowed the youngster to set them a lead.
"It's nothing," cried Matthew, cheerfully, as he toiled with a will. "Many's the time I've stood up to my waist in deadly-cold water digging out an old dog otter."
The lad's good-humour and willingness were infectious, and in a remarkably short space of time the track had been repaired. Then, with many a joke at each other's expense, the men remounted and pursued their journey, covered from head to foot with mire, but cheered by the colonel's approving, "It will serve for all the rest of the horse, my lads."
All this time the cavalry were wondering why Tallard took no steps to stop their passage, and none was more surprised than Marlborough himself. He did not at the time know that Tallard had left his centre weak, by sending so many men into the village on the right. Still less, of course, could the Duke know that Tallard was expecting a very easy victory. Be that as it may, the Marshal made no move till Marlborough had got a large part of his men across the stream and had formed his first line.
When Blackett arrived on the scene with his regiment he found that a force of Eugene's cavalry had taken the village of Oberglau, near the spot. A minute later, almost before the colonel had drawn up his men, there was a fierce shout, and there came thundering down upon the village, with almost irresistible shock, a body of the enemy.
"Irishmen, by Jove!" cried a man by Matthew's side. "They'll fight like demons!"
The attack, in truth, came from the Irish Brigade, a doughty body of Irishmen, exiles from their country, in the service of Louis. Before the Englishmen realized the situation the Irishmen had dashed clean through the force occupying Oberglau, and had taken up a position between the men and Eugene.
The confusion was extreme, and the allied troops could scarce be got to face the resistless Irishmen at all. Things looked desperate. The colonel of Blackett's regiment, seeing the state of things at Oberglau, as he toured it, shouted, "Go and tell the Duke, Mr. Blackett!" and away dashed Matthew once more to the General. He was a pretty spectacle, but he did not give the matter a thought, and his news prevented the Duke from paying much heed to the condition of the messenger.
"Lead the way," came the sharp order, and Blackett thundered on in front, the great commander with a body of men hard after him, to find the energetic and plucky colonel fallen badly wounded, and the regiment in difficulties. With a swoop, the reinforcements fell upon the Irishmen, and, almost for the first time, Matthew found himself engaged in a hand-to-hand encounter. He did not know how long the conflict lasted, but presently he found the enemy in full flight, his comrades cheering lustily around him. Marlborough's promptitude had saved the situation.
"You fought like a very fiend, Blackett," remarked the major, laughingly, a little later on, when for the moment operations had ceased, to which Matthew replied simply, "Did I, sir? I don't remember anything about it," whereat the major laughed again.
It was five in the afternoon, and there was a lull on the field. Up to the present neither side could be said to have gained any real advantage over the other. All the allied cavalry had crossed the stream, and the men wondered what would come next.
They were not left long in doubt. The order came to mass the horse in preparation for a grand charge. For a time the field was a scene of rapid and puzzling movement, but order was quickly evolved out of the seeming confusion.
Then the trumpet rang out, and there bore down upon Tallard a magnificent body of eight thousand cavalry. Boredown, we have written; the course was slightly upwards, as a matter of fact, from the stream. There was one check, and the Allies were stopped for a moment. Then like a whirlwind the horse dashed forward, at a tremendous speed.
It was too much. The French fired one volley, then turned and fled. On the Englishmen galloped, and in a few moments the enemy's line was cut in two. In two different directions the French cavalry ran, and Marlborough followed after that section which was making for Blenheim. It was a wild stampede, and Matthew Blackett, as he dashed after the retreating enemy, always considered it the most exciting episode in his life.
It did not last long. By great good fortune the lieutenant found himself one of those surrounding Marshal Tallard. Amidst a wild burst of applause the gallant Frenchman surrendered, and before he knew well what he was doing, Blackett was leading Tallard's horse by the bridle. The lad saw the Duke glance towards him as he dismounted to receive the gallant leader and invite him into his carriage.
The victory was practically won. There remained only the seventeen battalions in the village of Blenheim, and these, hemmed in on the one side, and bounded by the river on the other, gave little trouble. The poor fellows, in fact, were unable to stir, and many a man of them sprang into the river in his desperation, only to be hopelessly carried away by the swift current, and drowned.
It was a terrible scene of bloodshed, and it was an untold relief to the Englishmen when their gallant foes in the village gave in. One French regiment had actually burnt its colours to save them from being taken.
Thus ended the great fight of Blenheim, a fight in which the enemy had lost no fewer than forty out of their sixty thousand men. The Allies had had fifty thousand troops and had lost eleven thousand of them. The wonderful renown of the French army had received a mighty blow. No longer could Louis boast that his troops were invincible.
To Marlborough the victory brought the royal manor of Woodstock and the palace of Blenheim. To the humble Matthew Blackett it gave a place near the great Duke's own person, as we have seen.
COMRADES IN ARMS
COMRADES IN ARMS
It was always a puzzle to George Fairburn that the Duke had so unexpectedly assigned him to a cavalry regiment, and his friend Lieutenant Blackett could not help with the solution.
"I suppose it was just an accident," Matthew said with a laugh; "he saw a horse-soldier before him in the person of your servant here, and so turned you over to me. I'm mighty delighted, anyhow, that we are thrown together. We shall have a good time of it, I feel sure."
"We shall, if there's plenty to do," George assented with a smile.
There was plenty to do. At the very moment when the boy and Lieutenant Fieldsend arrived, the Duke had given orders to prepare for another long march, and within a couple of days George found himself one of a large body of troops heading for the Rhine valley. A halt was called before Landau, and the siege of this stronghold began. The affair proved to be a slow business, the attacking force being very short of military material. Days passed; the fortress stood firm, no apparent impression being made at all.
"I dare wager the Duke won't stand cooling at this job," remarked Matthew to George and Fieldsend one evening. The latter with his regiment was assisting in the siege, and he had already taken a great liking for Matthew Blackett, a liking Matthew was not slow to reciprocate.
The prophecy was not far wrong. Almost before dawn the very next morning Marlborough was marching, with twelve thousand men, largely cavalry, towards the Queich valley, across a bit of country that for badness could hardly be matched even in the wilds of Connemara. On man and horse tramped, till the ancient city of Trèves was reached. The Duke prepared for a siege, but he was saved the trouble. The garrison was far too weak to hold the place, and the place fell into his hands almost without a blow. George Fairburn grumbled at his luck, but was cheered by Matthew's laughing reply, "Don't seek to rush things too quickly, my dear lad; your time is coming."
It was. After ordering the siege of Traerbach, Marlborough flew back with a portion of his men to Landau, in his own breathless fashion, and before many hours were over Fairburn was as keenly interested in the siege as if he had never scampered all the way to Trèves and back again. A week or two passed by, and still the place held out, though it was plain the end was near.
One day a sudden assault was planned on a weak spot in the defences, a spot where some earlier damages had been ineffectively repaired. George, with a troop of cavalry on foot, under the orders of Lieutenant Blackett, suddenly started off at the double, spurred by their officer's "Come along, lads! through or over!" With a roar of delight the men, mostly young fellows, dashed toward the spot, regardless of the whistling bullets that flew around. In a breach of the defences, a place not more than four or five feet wide, stood a huge Frenchman, whirling his sword over his head. The attackers pulled up for a moment, all except George, who kept right on, till he was close upon the big fellow with the sword. The Frenchman lunged out fiercely at the lad, but the Englishman skipped out of the way like a cat. Then before the man could use his weapon again George had charged him head first, like a bull, his body bent double. With a shock his head came into contact with the fellow's knees, and in a moment the Frenchman had tumbled helplessly on his face. The rest of Blackett's little band dashed over the prostrate enemy and into the fortress. The stronghold was taken.
"Send Cornet Fairburn to me, Mr. Blackett," said the colonel that same evening, and much wondering the lieutenant obeyed.
"Cornet Fairburn sounds well," he remarked to George. "Wonder if the old colonel has made a mistake about it."
There was no mistake at all. When George Fairburn returned from his interview with his commanding officer, it was as Cornet, not as Trooper Fairburn. It was by the Duke's own order, it appeared. That night the three friends, all with commissions in their pockets now, made merry in company. Sir George Rooke's desire had been speedily realized, and George had taken his first step upwards.
Marlborough marched to meet the King of Prussia, whom he persuaded to send some eight thousand troops to the help of the Duke of Savoy, in Italy. Then he went home to receive his honours, and the memorable campaign of 1704 came to an end.
Marlborough was a statesman as well as a brilliant commander, and he had his work at home as well as abroad, a work the winters enabled him to deal with. He was now quite aware that his best friends, that is to say, the chief supporters of his war schemes, were the Whigs, and he was working more and more energetically to put their party in power. Harley and St. John took the place of more violent Tories, and in 1705 a coalition of Whigs and Tories, called the Junto, managed public affairs, more or less under Marlborough's direction. The Duchess still held her sway over the Queen, and the two ladies addressed each other as Mrs. Morley (the Queen) and Mrs. Freeman respectively. Already there were influences at work to undermine the power of the Marlboroughs, but their political downfall was not yet.
Scottish matters were giving a good deal of trouble to the English government. Two years before, in 1703, the Scotch Parliament had passed an Act of Security, the object of which was to proclaim a different sovereign from that of England, unless Scotland should be guaranteed her own religious establishment and her laws. Now this year, 1705, the Parliament in London placed severe restrictions on the Scotch trade with England, and ordered the Border towns to be fortified. The irritation between the two countries grew and grew, and war seemed within sight. A commission was accordingly appointed to consider the terms of an Act of Union, the greater portion of Scotland, however, being strongly opposed to any such union at all.
The spring of 1705 found the Allies active once more. The main interest centres in the Netherlands and in Spain. The Earl of Peterborough, who took the command in Spain, was one of the most extraordinary men of his time. His energy and activity were amazing, and he would dash about the Continent in a fashion that often astounded his friends and confounded his enemies. No man knew where Peterborough would next turn up. "In journeys he outrides the post," Dean Swift wrote of him, and the Dean goes on to say,
So wonderful his expedition,