CHAPTER XI
THE HARDEST FIGHT OF THEM ALL
There had been an attempted descent on the shores of Scotland in 1708,the Old Pretender, under the auspices of Louis XIV, seeking to land4,000 men in the Firth of Forth. Admiral Byng with sixteen vessels wasready for the French expedition, and their fear of the redoubtablesailor kept the enemy from doing anything, so that this attempt cameto less even than that which followed seven years later.
Politics about this time demanded much of Marlborough's care andthought. The power of the Whigs was still growing, Harley, St. John,and others of the moderate Tories giving way to such strong and activeWhigs as Somers, Walpole, and Orford. It was in 1709 that a violentquarrel took place between "Mrs. Morley" and "Mrs. Freeman." The Queenwas 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 Englishgeneral, took Minorca. But the cause of Philip of Spain was nowstrong. When, therefore, the Whigs demanded that as a condition ofpeace Louis should turn his grandson out of Spain, Europe wasastounded. The proposal was impossible, ludicrous. Philip prepared togo on with the conflict, saying, with fine spirit, "If I must continuethe war, I will contend against my enemies rather than against my ownfamily." Such was the state of things in the summer of 1709.
We have left a group of ladies and gentlemen standing in the lane allthis time. Matthew had his sister in his arms in a moment, for one ofthe ladies was Mary Blackett.
"My sister," Fieldsend said, "and Miss Allan," by way of response tothe inquiring looks of the newcomers. Then George and Matthew learntmany things that surprised them. They had had no news from home allthe summer, the one letter that had been sent having miscarried.Binfield Towers was once more occupied, Mr. Fairburn having found anexcellent tenant for the place in Mr. Allan, the eminentshipping-merchant of London, the very man into whose office George wasto have gone. The little group laughed merrily at the thought of thegallant Captain Fairburn wielding a long quill in a dingy office. Mr.Allan, a widower, who had taken up his abode in the mansion, bringingwith him his only daughter, Janet, had not been two months in thevillage before he had made an offer of marriage to the devoted Mrs.Maynard, and the old lady was now mistress of Binfield Towers. MaryBlackett had thereupon taken at their word the affectionate offer ofthe Fairburns, and was now to them as a daughter. Nor was this all.Fieldsend's old father had lately died, and the Major himself hadsucceeded to the baronetcy and had left the army. Brother and sisterhad accepted with pleasure the invitation that had come to them tospend a few weeks with the kindly Mr. and Mrs. Fairburn. Matthew wasto 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! Hegave a jump when the home came into full view. It was a veritablemansion. The original nucleus was there, but so deftly added to andsurrounded by a regular series of new wings, and so framed andembellished by wide lawn and flower-bed that George did not know thisfine place. He remarked on the change when his mother came to his roomat bedtime, to give him his good-night kiss as she had been wont to doin the days of old.
"Father wanted to make the place a bit more presentable now we have anofficer son," the good dame explained, with simple and pardonablepride. "And we can afford it," she added, blushing like a shyschoolgirl as she made this whispered confession; "besides we had Maryto consider, too." It was all very charming, George thought.
The winter passed all too quickly. Mr. Allan proved to be a capitalneighbour, and had a great liking for young people about him. So therewere pleasant times, at the Towers--dinners, balls, shooting andhunting parties, and the like. All the eligible society of thecountry-side found its way to Binfield Towers. Yet somehow GeorgeFairburn did not fall into a fit of the blues when Sir Mark Fieldsendtook his sister back to their west-country home; in fact, strange tosay, George rather rejoiced to see the back of the retired major, hisold comrade-in-arms. Why this was so he would have found it hard toexplain, for a more unassuming and agreeable fellow than the baronetit would not have been easy to find.
It was a real delight to everybody to hear how the Blackett pit wasnow prospering. Under Fairburn's management the colliery had made aclear profit of five thousand odd pounds in the course of a singleyear's working. It was astounding. "Mary and you will be rich folksagain, my dears," the good Mrs. Fairburn remarked, in her own homelybut kindly way, to the brother and sister, and Matthew felt a lump inhis throat.
The wrench to George, when the time came for him and Matthew to returnto the Continent, seemed somehow vastly greater than it had been onthe two former occasions. However, once across the sea, he cast allelse 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 mostcostly they had yet experienced. The negotiations for a peace hadended in nothing, and here was Marshal Villars, the only great Frenchleader as yet unbeaten by Marlborough, ready with a force of no fewerthan 110,000 men. True, many of his soldiers were raw recruits whilethose of his opponent were mostly seasoned veterans. True also, Francewas so crippled for money and munitions of war that it was rarelypossible to give every man of the army a full breakfast. Yet Villarswas a general that would have to be reckoned with, and thisMarlborough well knew when he used every effort to swell the numbersof his troops in the Netherlands.
Marlborough's aim was that of the previous year, to force his way intoFrance and to its capital. In order that such a step might be madepossible, it was necessary that no stronghold should be left behind.Accordingly the Allies set about reducing the three that stillremained,--Mons, Valenciennes, and Tournai, not forgetting that theyhad also Villars to deal with. A beginning was made with Tournai, anenormously strong place, and reckoned to be of the best of allVauban's works.
Marlborough employed stratagem, and it succeeded as usual. He made apretence of advancing, and Villars, to strengthen his force, withdrewa number of troops from Tournai. Then the Duke, with a swift nightmovement, invested the town. The garrison made a stout defence, andour two captains had their work cut out for them. Never in all hiscareer had George Fairburn been so careless of his own safety, hisbrother officers declared. It was not that he despised danger, or wasignorant of its existence; he simply did not think of it, his mindbeing occupied solely with the problem of reducing this impregnablefortress.
"Be not rash, gentlemen," Colonel Rhodes thought it advisable to sayto the younger men among his officers. "There are mines in alldirections, if rumour is to be believed. Do not expose yourselves toneedless risk. We are already losing heavily, and men are not to behad for the whistling." And privately the kindly old fellow--theyoungsters called him old, though he was still short of fifty--addedan extra word of caution to George. "You are a born soldier, Fairburn,but you never seem to be able to remember when you are in danger; youforget it like a thoughtless schoolboy. Well, now, for our sakes, ifnot for your own, take care of yourself, so far as it is possible,there's a good fellow." And with a kindly smile and a fatherly shakeof the hand, the colonel turned away. He had said the last word he wasever to say to George.
An hour later a terrific explosion was heard; a cloud of dust flewinto the air. A mine had been exploded, and the report came in thatmore than a hundred poor fellows of Marlborough's forces had perished.George Fairburn was more than ever determined to do what he could todiscover hidden mines.
That very afternoon a company of men, who had prosecuted their searchin spite of the deadly hail of bullets that came from a neighbouringbattery, found another mine, a particularly formidable affair. EagerlyGeorge Fairburn pressed forward, his friend Matthew close behind.Suddenly Colonel Rhodes dashed up, crying, "Fall back, for Heaven'ssake! There's another mine below this, I have just learnt. For yourlives!" And the brave man galloped off, his retreat followed by astartled rush for safety on the part of the men.
"Come along, George! What are
you after?" cried Matthew, observingthat his friend did not budge.
"I'm not going till I've settled this mine," Fairburn answered.
Even as they spoke the ground heaved with a mighty convulsion beneaththeir feet, and an appalling roar rent the air, the echo resoundingfar and near.
"Ah! You're feeling better? That's right."
George Fairburn opened his eyes and beheld the face of none other thanthe Duke himself gazing kindly down upon him! It was the evening afterthe fearful explosion, and Marlborough was making a tour of thehospital wards, where lay long rows of wounded men. George had beenunconscious, and the Duke's words were caused by the fact that theyoung man happened to open his eyes for the first time as the Generalpassed him. Before the sick man could answer a word, Marlborough hadpassed on, with a quiet remark to Major Wilson, "I know the lad's facewell."
"Where's Blackett?" George now inquired. The Major shook his head."And the Colonel?" Another mournful shake. George closed his eyesdazed, stupefied.
Three hundred poor fellows had perished in that double explosion.Colonel Rhodes's battered body had been picked up; Blackett's couldnot be distinguished, but doubtless the gallant lad was one of themass of victims whose remains were mangled beyond recognition.
Captain Fairburn took no further part in the siege of Tournai. After amonth of terrible fighting, all but the citadel was captured by theAllies, and five weeks saw that also in their possession.
There was a long glade or clearing between two extensive plantations.At the southern end of this glade, behind strong entrenchments, thegreat army of Villars was drawn up, every man eager to fight, forevery Frenchman believed in the Marshal's luck, and that his presencewould certainly bring them victory. Away to the north was Marlborough,equally eager to begin the combat, Eugene and the Dutch generals withhim. In deference to the wishes of the Prince the Duke had made thefatal mistake of waiting two days, and all that time the enemy hadbeen throwing up their formidable trenches. It was the famous field ofMalplaquet, the last on which Marlborough was fated to fight a pitchedbattle. The object of Villars was to prevent the Allies from takingMons, not far away, to northwards, the siege of which was in progress.Marlborough had lost heavily at Tournai; Villars, behind his defences,had suffered comparatively little. But on the other hand the Prince ofHesse had broken through the strong line of defence works which theFrench had rapidly and skilfully thrown up. Now, here, at Malplaquet,the Allies had a hard task before them. Villars held not only theglade but the woods on either side, and, moreover, sat in safetybehind his extensive entrenchments.
For some reason not well understood the Duke for the first time beganthe battle, though it would have seemed clearly his best policy toendeavour to draw Villars from the strong position he held. There waslittle in the way of fine tactics displayed, or even possible, oneither side; it was a question simply of sheer pluck and doggeddetermination. The Highlanders, for the first time, had joined thearmy of the Allies, and they and the famous Irish Brigade underVillars specially distinguished themselves, if any detachment can besaid to have gained special distinction in a fight where all showedsuch conspicuous gallantry.
Eugene was wounded behind the ear, but refused to withdraw and havehis wound dressed. "No," said he, "it will be time enough for thatwhen the fight is over." Villars was also badly hurt, yet he had achair brought, in which he sat to direct his men till he fainted.Boufflers, the hero of Lille, took his place.
Charge after charge was made by the Allies into the woods, anddesperate fighting took place. Once and again Marlborough's troopswere repulsed with awful loss; as often they returned to the attack.After four hours of heavy fighting the French fell back, and thevictory remained with the Allies.
Just before Villars sounded his retreat George Fairburn, who hadcharged and fought all the while with his usual forgetfulness ofhimself and of danger, found himself just outside the eastern edge ofthe wood Taisniere, in company with the others of his troop. He wasalmost exhausted with his efforts, and, besides, was hardly himselfagain yet, after his terrible experience at Tournai, and he sat for amoment half listlessly in his saddle. A cry near him drew hisattention, and, turning his head, he beheld Major Wilson in the act offalling from his charger. He had received a bullet in the leg. BeforeGeorge could get to this side, Wilson was on the ground, his horsegalloping away.
At the same instant a fierce shout was heard, and George saw dashingto the spot one of the redoubtable Irish Brigade. Like lightning theyoung captain leapt from his horse, lifted Wilson from the ground, andby main strength threw him across the animal, crying, "Off with you!"giving the horse a thump with his fist on the quarters to start himinto a gallop. Then, looking round, he found the Irishman bearing downupon him at desperate speed, and but a yard or two away.
In a trice Fairburn darted behind the trunk of a fine tree at hiselbow. It was an oak, from which ran out some magnificent limbsparallel with and at a distance of six or eight feet from the ground.Nothing heeding, the Irishman kept on, his sword ready for a mightystroke. Then instantly he was swept violently from his horse, andbackwards over the tail, his chest having come into contact with oneof the great boughs. All this had passed like a flash.
George made a grab at the bridle, but, missing it, fell sprawling tothe ground. Springing up, he found his fallen antagonist risen andupon him. "English dog!" roared the Irishman, and the next moment thetwo men were at it, both excited, both reckless.
How long they fought they never knew. Apparently the spot was desertedsave for themselves and sundry wounded who lay around. It was adesperate encounter. The Irishman had the advantage in height andstrength, Fairburn in youth and activity. In the matter ofswordsmanship there was little to choose between the two; in respectof courage nothing. It was to be a duel to the death.
The moments flew by, each man had received injuries, and the blood wasflowing freely. Still the swords flashed in the air. Then suddenly theIrishman's weapon snapped at the hilt, and the gallant fellow droppedat the same moment to the ground. Instantly George set his foot on theprostrate man's chest, and cried, "Now your life is at my mercy! Whatsay you?"
"If I must die, I must," the Irishman answered doggedly, "but," headded quickly, a sudden thought striking him, "take this first, andsee it put into the hands of the person mentioned on it, sir." Thetrooper pulled from his breast a piece of paper soiled and crumpled,and George, wondering much, took it at the man's hands. His foot stillon his fallen foe, Fairburn unfolded the dirty and tattered paper. Itwas the cover of a letter, and he read with staring eyes the addresson it, "To Captain M. Blackett,--Dragoons." The handwriting he wellknew; it was that of Mary Blackett.
"Great Heaven!" the reader cried, "where did you get this?"
"It was given me by a poor fellow, an officer, who escaped from thebig explosion at Tournai. He blundered by mistake into our lines, andour fellows were about to finish him--leastways one chap was, but Ilanded him one between his two eyes, and that stopped his game."
"And you saved the Englishman's life?"
"I did, sir; I thought it hard luck when the young fellow had justescaped that terrific blow up as he had, to put an end to him theminute after."
"Get up, for God's sake, man; you have saved the life of my dearestfriend!" And seizing the Irishman's arm, George pulled him to hisfeet, and wrung the hand hard in his own. "You are a fine fellow, aright fine fellow. What is your name? I shall never forget you."
"Sergeant Oborne, sir, at your service. But you have not read thepaper yet."
"True," and George deciphered the line or two written in pencil on theback of the paper. "I am alive and well, but a prisoner with theFrench. Be easy about me; I am well treated. M.B."
With Marlborough to Malplaquet: A Story of the Reign of Queen Anne Page 11
