With Marlborough to Malplaquet Part 12

Quickly the cavalry were got together for a charge.

"The old fellow doesn't intend the Frenchmen to slip away without fighting," the men remarked to one another.

Suddenly, almost before the whole body of horse was ready, Marlborough directed a charge to be made. For the first time our lieutenants found themselves not in the Duke's own division. The commander of the right wing, a very strong force, was Prince Eugene, who, having now nothing to do in Italy, had hurried northwards to join his friend. In such hot haste had the Prince travelled, indeed, that he had out-stripped his own army. Here was Prince Eugene, but not Prince Eugene's men. His wing at Oudenarde consisted entirely of English troops, while Marlborough's own wing was composed of men of various other nationalities.

Almost all writers on military tactics agree that the battle of Oudenarde was one of the most involved and intricate on record, and that it is well nigh impossible to give any detailed account of the puzzling movements. The leading points were these.

Marlborough's force crossed the Scheldt; then the opposing wing of the French left the high ground they occupied and swooped down upon him, endeavouring to force the Allies back into the river. A terrible hand-to-hand encounter followed, bayonet and sword alone being used for the most part in such cramped quarters. In the thick of it the Duke sent the Dutch general with a strong detachment to seize the vantage ground on the rise which the enemy had lately left. The move was successful, and the French found themselves between two fires.

It was growing dusk. Eugene and his men had forced back their opponents and were now following hard after them. Suddenly shots came flying in, and in the dimness of the departing day an advancing column was observed to be moving towards them. What could it mean? Apparently that the enemy had rallied and were once more facing them. It was an entirely unexpected change of front, but Eugene prepared to meet the shock once more. George Fairburn took a long look, shading his eyes with his hands.

"By Heaven, sir!" he said, addressing Colonel Rhodes, "they are our own men!"

"Impossible, Fairburn!" the colonel answered. But Blackett and others backed up George's opinion. The word ran quickly along the line that the shots came from friends, not from the foe, and some consternation prevailed.

The next moment, at a nod of a.s.sent from the colonel in answer to their eager request, Lieutenants Blackett and Fairburn were galloping madly across the intervening s.p.a.ce, each with his handkerchief fastened to the point of his sword, and both shouting and gesticulating. Bullets began to patter around them, but heedless they dashed on. It seemed impossible they could reach the advancing column alive.

Half the distance had been covered, when the two hors.e.m.e.n saw on their left a great body of troops tearing along towards them in furious haste. "The French!" George exclaimed; "there's no mistake about them!" On the two flew towards their friends, for the men towards whom they were speeding had by this time discovered their mistake and had ceased firing. It was a neck and neck race, and a very near thing. As the hors.e.m.e.n cleared the open s.p.a.ce and dashed safe into the arms of their friends, a huge rabble of demoralized French swept across the path they had just been following. No narrower escape had the two young fellows yet had.

The truth was at once evident. The Dutchman's division, having driven the enemy from the high ground, had wheeled, and was thus meeting the Prince's wing, which in its turn had advanced along a curving line.

Each body in the growing darkness had mistaken the other for the enemy. The plucky dash made by the two young fellows, though happily not in the end needed, nevertheless received high praise from their brother officers, and especially from the colonel himself.

For the next half-hour the fleeing French poured headlong through the gap across which the lieutenants had galloped, between the Dutchman's division and the Prince's. Darkness alone prevented the slaughter from being greater than it was. The numbers of those who fell on the field of Oudenarde, important as the battle was, were in fact far short of those killed at Blenheim or Ramillies.

What was there now to prevent Marlborough from marching straight on Paris itself? He was actually on the borders of France, victorious, the French army behind him. He was eager; the home Government would almost certainly have approved of the step. The heart of many a young fellow under the great leader beat high, when he thought of the mighty possibilities before him. But it was not to be. The Prince raised the strongest objections to the Duke's bold plan, and the Dutch were terrified at the bare thought of it. So Marlborough turned him to another task, the siege of the great stronghold of Lille. It may be observed in pa.s.sing that Vendome wanted to fight again the next day after Oudenarde, but Burgundy refused. Vendome in a rage declared that they must then retreat, adding, "and I know that you have long wished to do so," a bitter morsel for a royal duke to swallow.

Lille had been fortified by no less a person than the great master of the art, Vauban himself. In charge of its garrison was Marshal Boufflers, a splendid officer. Louis was as resolute to defend and keep the place as the Allies were to take it. The actual investment of the town was placed in the hands of Eugene, whose men had by this time arrived, while Marlborough covered him. The siege train brought up by the Duke and his generals stretched to a distance of thirteen miles.

Berwick and Vendome were at no great distance away.

The siege of Lille lasted a full two months, and few military operations have produced more splendid examples of individual dash and courage.

Blackett and his friend found themselves one day taking part in a risky bit of business. Throughout the siege there had been some difficulty in procuring provisions for the Allies, and supplies were drawn from Ostend. On this occasion an expected convoy had not arrived to time, and a reconnoitring party had accordingly been sent out to glean tidings of it. From a wooded knoll a glimpse of the missing train was caught, and at the same moment a large body of French was perceived approaching from the opposite direction. The Frenchmen had not yet seen the convoy, being distant from it some miles, the intervening country thickly studded with plantations. But in half an hour the two bodies would have met, and the provisions sorely needed would have fallen into the enemy's hands. It was a disconcerting pa.s.s, and George Fairburn set his wits to work.

"I have a plan!" he cried a moment later, and he hastily told it to the officer in command, Major Wilson. That gentleman gave an emphatic approval.

Behold then, a quarter of an hour later, a couple of young peasants at work in a hayfield down below. Stolidly they tossed the hay as they slowly crossed the field, giving no heed to the tramp of horses near.

A voice, authoritative and impatient, caused them to look round in wonderment, as a mounted officer came galloping up. He inquired of the peasants whether they had seen anything of the convoy, describing its probable appearance. The listeners grinned in response, and the face of one of them lit up with intelligence, as he made answer in voluble but countrified French.

"Where have you picked up such vile French?" inquired the officer.

"I'm from Dunkirk, please your honour," the man replied with another grin, to which the other muttered, "Ah! I suppose the French of Dunkirk is pretty bad!"

In another minute the yokels were leading the way through a plantation, along which ran a little stream. At one spot the water was very muddy, and the marks of hoofs were plentiful. "We are evidently close upon them," remarked the officer jubilantly, and at a brisk trot he and his men rode on, a gold louis jingling down at the feet of the peasants as the party dashed away.

"Now for it!" whispered George, for he and Matthew were the two rustics, "we can save the convoy. Our men, after trampling over the burn here, will have turned as we agreed. We shall find them in the next plantation."

He was right in his conjecture. The two regained their friends just as the head of the convoy hove in sight. To lead the train in a different direction, and to safety, was now easy. The supplies reached their destination.

"Ton my honour, young sirs," the Colonel exclaimed, when he learnt the story, "it was a smart trick, but a risky one--confoundedly risky, gentlemen!"

The fall of Lille reduced France to desperation. Louis was at his wits' end. To his credit, he sought earnestly to negotiate a peace for his unhappy and exhausted country. The terms offered by the Allies, however, were too exacting, and not a Frenchman but rose to the occasion; this, however, was in the following year. So the campaign ended, the enemy beaten and exhausted, but not in utter despair.

Captains Blackett and Fairburn were once more granted a term of leave when late autumn came round. From London, which George saw now for the first time, the two travelled all the way to Newcastle in the wonderful stage-coach which ran from the English to the Scotch capital.

In high spirits they hurried towards their native village. At the entrance to it they came all at once upon a gentleman walking in the company of three ladies.

"Fieldsend!" declared Matthew.

"Yes, by Jove!" cried George, "And with three ladies all to himself.

It's too much!"

CHAPTER XI

THE HARDEST FIGHT OF THEM ALL

There had been an attempted descent on the sh.o.r.es of Scotland in 1708, the Old Pretender, under the auspices of Louis XIV, seeking to land 4,000 men in the Firth of Forth. Admiral Byng with sixteen vessels was ready for the French expedition, and their fear of the redoubtable sailor kept the enemy from doing anything, so that this attempt came to less even than that which followed seven years later.

Politics about this time demanded much of Marlborough's care and thought. The power of the Whigs was still growing, Harley, St. John, and others of the moderate Tories giving way to such strong and active Whigs as Somers, Walpole, and Orford. It was in 1709 that a violent quarrel took place between "Mrs. Morley" and "Mrs. Freeman." The Queen was becoming more than ever dissatisfied with Marlborough's policy.

The overthrow of the Churchills was coming nearer.

Abroad matters did not improve. It was true that Stanhope, the English general, took Minorca. But the cause of Philip of Spain was now strong. When, therefore, the Whigs demanded that as a condition of peace Louis should turn his grandson out of Spain, Europe was astounded. The proposal was impossible, ludicrous. Philip prepared to go on with the conflict, saying, with fine spirit, "If I must continue the war, I will contend against my enemies rather than against my own family." Such was the state of things in the summer of 1709.

We have left a group of ladies and gentlemen standing in the lane all this time. Matthew had his sister in his arms in a moment, for one of the ladies was Mary Blackett.

"My sister," Fieldsend said, "and Miss Allan," by way of response to the inquiring looks of the newcomers. Then George and Matthew learnt many things that surprised them. They had had no news from home all the summer, the one letter that had been sent having miscarried.

Binfield Towers was once more occupied, Mr. Fairburn having found an excellent tenant for the place in Mr. Allan, the eminent shipping-merchant of London, the very man into whose office George was to have gone. The little group laughed merrily at the thought of the gallant Captain Fairburn wielding a long quill in a dingy office. Mr.

Allan, a widower, who had taken up his abode in the mansion, bringing with him his only daughter, Janet, had not been two months in the village before he had made an offer of marriage to the devoted Mrs.

Maynard, and the old lady was now mistress of Binfield Towers. Mary Blackett had thereupon taken at their word the affectionate offer of the Fairburns, and was now to them as a daughter. Nor was this all.

Fieldsend's old father had lately died, and the Major himself had succeeded to the baronetcy and had left the army. Brother and sister had accepted with pleasure the invitation that had come to them to spend a few weeks with the kindly Mr. and Mrs. Fairburn. Matthew was to make the same hospitable roof his abode.

"The good old dad will find it a bit of a squeeze," George ruminated, as he walked with the rest towards the family cottage. Cottage! He gave a jump when the home came into full view. It was a veritable mansion. The original nucleus was there, but so deftly added to and surrounded by a regular series of new wings, and so framed and embellished by wide lawn and flower-bed that George did not know this fine place. He remarked on the change when his mother came to his room at bedtime, to give him his good-night kiss as she had been wont to do in the days of old.

"Father wanted to make the place a bit more presentable now we have an officer son," the good dame explained, with simple and pardonable pride. "And we can afford it," she added, blushing like a shy schoolgirl as she made this whispered confession; "besides we had Mary to consider, too." It was all very charming, George thought.

The winter pa.s.sed all too quickly. Mr. Allan proved to be a capital neighbour, and had a great liking for young people about him. So there were pleasant times, at the Towers--dinners, b.a.l.l.s, shooting and hunting parties, and the like. All the eligible society of the country-side found its way to Binfield Towers. Yet somehow George Fairburn did not fall into a fit of the blues when Sir Mark Fieldsend took his sister back to their west-country home; in fact, strange to say, George rather rejoiced to see the back of the retired major, his old comrade-in-arms. Why this was so he would have found it hard to explain, for a more una.s.suming and agreeable fellow than the baronet it would not have been easy to find.

It was a real delight to everybody to hear how the Blackett pit was now prospering. Under Fairburn's management the colliery had made a clear profit of five thousand odd pounds in the course of a single year's working. It was astounding. "Mary and you will be rich folks again, my dears," the good Mrs. Fairburn remarked, in her own homely but kindly way, to the brother and sister, and Matthew felt a lump in his throat.

The wrench to George, when the time came for him and Matthew to return to the Continent, seemed somehow vastly greater than it had been on the two former occasions. However, once across the sea, he cast all else than his profession to the winds. He did not know it, of course, but the campaign that was coming was to prove to the Allies the most costly they had yet experienced. The negotiations for a peace had ended in nothing, and here was Marshal Villars, the only great French leader as yet unbeaten by Marlborough, ready with a force of no fewer than 110,000 men. True, many of his soldiers were raw recruits while those of his opponent were mostly seasoned veterans. True also, France was so crippled for money and munitions of war that it was rarely possible to give every man of the army a full breakfast. Yet Villars was a general that would have to be reckoned with, and this Marlborough well knew when he used every effort to swell the numbers of his troops in the Netherlands.

Marlborough's aim was that of the previous year, to force his way into France and to its capital. In order that such a step might be made possible, it was necessary that no stronghold should be left behind.

Accordingly the Allies set about reducing the three that still remained,--Mons, Valenciennes, and Tournai, not forgetting that they had also Villars to deal with. A beginning was made with Tournai, an enormously strong place, and reckoned to be of the best of all Vauban's works.

Marlborough employed stratagem, and it succeeded as usual. He made a pretence of advancing, and Villars, to strengthen his force, withdrew a number of troops from Tournai. Then the Duke, with a swift night movement, invested the town. The garrison made a stout defence, and our two captains had their work cut out for them. Never in all his career had George Fairburn been so careless of his own safety, his brother officers declared. It was not that he despised danger, or was ignorant of its existence; he simply did not think of it, his mind being occupied solely with the problem of reducing this impregnable fortress.