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,
When you have not the least suspicion,
He's with you like an apparition.
Add to this that the Earl was a charming man, full of courage and
enthusiasm, and able to command the unbounded affection of his troops,
and you have the born leader of men. Of Peterborough's brilliant
exploits in the Peninsula in 1705 a whole book might be written. His
chief attention was first given to the important town of Barcelona, a
place which had successfully withstood Rooke, and in the most
remarkable fashion he captured the strong fort of Monjuich, the
citadel of the town, with a force of only 1,200 foot and 200 horse.
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. The troops the Duke expected
did not come in; instead of the 90,000 he wanted, but 30,000 mustered.
"It is no go," Blackett said to his friend with a groan.
At this juncture the Emperor Leopold died, and the Archduke's elder
brother Joseph succeeded him.
"Spain is bound in the long run to drop into the hands of either
France or Austria," the two young officers agreed. Already the lads
were beginning to take an interest in great matters of state, as was
natural in the case of well-educated and intelligent youngsters. And
they felt that when either event should happen it would be a bad day
for the rest of Europe.
Baffled in his great scheme, Marlborough set his hand to another
important work. Across the province of Brabant in Flanders the French
held a wonderful belt of strongholds, stretching from Namur to
Antwerp. No invasion of France could possibly be made from the
Netherlands so long as Louis held this formidable line of defences.
Moreover, the near presence of these fortresses to Holland was a
standing threat to the Dutch, and, when Marlborough made known his
plans to them, they for once fell in with them.
Thus it happened that Lieutenant Blackett and his friend Cornet
Fairburn found themselves once more in the thick of war. They had had
a preliminary skirmish or two not long before--the retaking of Huy,
the frightening of Villeroy from Liége, and what not--but now
something more serious was afoot. That the task the Duke had set
himself was a difficult one, every man in his service knew, but they
knew also that he was not a commander likely to be dismayed by mere
difficulties. Villeroy, the leader of the French, had 70,000 troops
with him, a larger force than the Allies could get together.
It was near Tirlemont that Marlborough began his operations. The march
to the place went on till it was stopped by a small but awkward brook,
the Little Gheet, on the farther side of which the French were very
strongly posted in great numbers. So formidable an affair did the
crossing appear that the Dutch generals objected to the attempt being
made. Marlborough, usually the best-tempered of men, was in a rage,
and determined to push the attack in spite of them. It was the morning
of July 17, 1705.
"We are in for hard knocks to-day, if appearances go for anything,"
Blackett said quietly to George, as their regiment prepared, with the
other cavalry, to open the proceedings.
"So much the better," was George's laughing answer; "without hard
knocks there is no promotion, eh?"
All was ready; the bugle rang out the signal for the attack. The long
line of Marlborough's horse fronted the Gheet at no great distance
away, the field-pieces were in position, the infantry and reserves
somewhat to the rear. Beyond the stream, with the advantage of rising
ground, were planted the French guns, supported by a powerful host.
Away! The cavalry dashed onwards at a terrific pace. A sharp rattle of
musketry rang out, and in a moment a sprinkling of the advancing
troopers fell from their saddles. George Fairburn was already warming
to the work, and he sat his steed firmly. Then a ball struck the
gallant animal, and in an instant the rider was flung over its head.
The young cornet narrowly escaped being trampled to pieces by his
comrades as they swept by in full career. Up he sprang, however, a
trifle stunned for the moment, but otherwise no worse. Quickly
recovering his sword, which had flown from his grasp, he darted after
his more fortunate companions, and arrived breathless on the scene.
A fierce struggle for the passage of the river was going on, and
desperate fighting was taking place in the very bed of the stream, a
trifle lower down its course. For a time George endeavoured in vain to
find a way through the struggling mass of men and horses to the brink
of the Gheet; the press and the confusion were too great. Accordingly
he ran on behind the lines of horse, to find a place where he might
thrust himself in. Where his own comrades were he could not tell.
Bullets were flying thick around him as he ran, but he did not give
the matter a thought. It was characteristic of him all through his
life, indeed, that when his attention and interest were strongly
engaged on one matter he was all but oblivious to every other
consideration.
At length his chance appeared, and an opening presented itself.
Springing over the prostrate bodies of men and horses, he reached the
bank. To his surprise the stream seemed to be very deep. As a matter
of fact the waters were dammed lower down by the mass of fallen men
and animals lying across their bed. Without hesitation he dashed into
the flood, his sole thought being to get himself across and so into
the enemy's lines. With his sword held tightly between his teeth, the
boy officer swam, as many another lusty Peterite would have been able
to do. He reached mid stream.
Suddenly he became aware of a sharp pain in his left shoulder. A
moment later he grew faint. In vain he struggled to keep afloat; the
world grew dark to him, and he sank beneath the surface.
A tall fellow, fully six foot three in his stockings, if he was an
inch, had just managed to wade through the stream, his nose above the
surface, a comical sight, if anybody had had the time to notice it.
Looking back, this man saw George disappear, and without hesitation he
dashed into the water again. Reaching the spot, he groped about, and
then, with both hands clutching an inanimate form, he dragged his
burden to the bank.
"George, by Heaven!" he cried, as soon as he could get a glimpse of
the features. It was true; Matthew Blackett had saved his friend's
life at the risk of his own. And it had been a risk, for a dozen
bullets had splashed around him as he had hauled his heavy load along.
"Blackett!" exclaimed Fairburn, a moment or two later, when,
recovering, he opened his eyes. "Where's your horse?"
"Done for, poor wretch! And yours?"
"Shot under me, at the very first volley. And it was you who dragged
me out! I shall remember it! But here we are on the right side; come
on!"
The lads gripped each other warmly by the hand, and side by side
dashed on into the thick of the _mêlée_. A large number of the allied
cavalry had by this time made good their passage across, in spite of
the fiercest opposition on the part of the enemy. In vain Blackett
urged his companion to withdraw and get himself away with his wounded
arm. George would not budge an inch. It was only a flesh wound, it
afterwards appeared. So the two North-country lads stood by each
other. For an hour or more they were hotly engaged, the enemy falling
back inch by inch.
Then came ringing cheers. The French had abandoned the position; the
famous and hitherto impregnable line of defences had been broken. Our
heroes breathed more freely when a short respite came. But the
interval of rest was short. Colonel Rhodes, their commanding officer,
catching sight of the pair, as he was collecting his men again,
joyfully hailed them, and a minute later George and Matthew, provided
once more with mounts, were cantering with the rest to the renewed
attack. The enemy had made another stand some distance farther back.
Another struggle, and this second position was like wise carried, with
a grand sweep. Victory was at hand.
Suddenly a startling report ran through the English lines. The Duke
was missing! Where was the mighty General? was the question on every
lip. Somebody ran up and said a word to Colonel Rhodes. Instantly the
gallant officer and his men were galloping off to a distant part of
the field, the troopers wondering what was afoot. The explanation soon
appeared. Marlborough had become separated from the main body of his
army, and now, with but a very few men around him, was in imminent
danger of capture by the French troops, who were pouring thick upon
the spot.
Colonel Rhodes charged at the head of his regiment straight upon the
French, and a lane was cut through. It was a matter of a few minutes.
The Duke was saved, and the enemy retired in woeful disappointment.
The first to reach the Duke were Blackett and Fairburn, and the lads
were flushed with joy and pride when their distinguished leader,
looking at them with a smile, said, with all his old pleasantness of
manner, "Gentlemen, I thank you."
The Brabant line of strongholds was broken. Villeroy fell back, and
Marlborough had his will on the defences. No inconsiderable section of
the belt was rendered useless. No longer did an impassable barrier
stretch between the Netherlands and France. The importance of the
victory could hardly be overstated. As one writer has well pointed
out, "All Marlborough's operations had hitherto been carried on to the
outside of these lines; thenceforward they were all carried on within
them."
A day or two later the Duke came to inspect the regiment to which our
boys belonged, just as he was inspecting others. The men with their
officers were drawn up, and the General's eyes ran along the line.
Presently he spoke a word to the colonel in command of the regiment,
and, to their no small confusion, Lieutenant Blackett and Cornet
Fairburn were called out to the front.
"How old are you?" the Duke inquired, as the youths saluted.
"Nearly twenty, may it please your Grace." "Just turned nineteen, by
your Grace's leave." Such were the replies.
"Hum!" said the Duke thoughtfully, "you shall have your promotion in
due course. You are young, and can afford to wait for it." This to
Matthew. "As for you"--turning to George--"you have fairly earned your
lieutenancy." And he turned away.