Henty George Alfred
The Cornet of Horse: A Tale of Marlborough's Wars
Thinking that it was probable that he would be forced to fight immediately upon arriving, Marlborough had selected 530 picked men from each battalion, amounting to 6000 men, together with thirty squadrons of horse, as an advance guard; and close behind them followed three regiments of Imperial grenadiers, under Prince Louis. The total strength of this force was 10,500 men.
The French and Bavarian generals did not expect an attack, knowing the distance that the troops had marched, and therefore quietly continued their work of strengthening the entrenchments. The Duke of Marlborough, seeing the work upon which they were engaged, determined to attack at once, for, as he said to the Prince of Baden, who wished to allow the men a night's rest, "Every hour we delay will cost us a thousand men." Orders were therefore given for an instant assault upon the hill of Schellenberg. Not only was the position very strong in itself, but in front of it was a wood, so thick that no attack could be made through it. It was necessary, therefore, to attack by the flanks of the position, and one of these flanks was covered by the fire of the fortress of Donauwoerth.
"This is as bad as a siege," Rupert said, discontentedly, to his friend Dillon, for their squadron formed part of the advance. "We are always out of it."
"You are in a great hurry to get that bright cuirass of yours dented, Rupert; but I agree with you, the cavalry are always out of it. There go the infantry."
In splendid order the 6000 picked men moved forward against the face of the enemy's position, extending from the wood to the covered way of the fortress; but when they arrived within range of grape, they were swept by so fearful a storm of shot that the line wavered. General Goor and his bravest officers were struck down, and the line fell into confusion.
The Bavarians seeing this, leapt from their entrenchment; and pursued their broken assailants with the bayonet; but when disordered by their rush, a battalion of English guards, which had kept its ground, poured so tremendous a fire into their flank that they fell back to their entrenchments.
"This looks serious," Dillon said, as the allies fell back. "The enemy are two to our one, and they have got all the advantage of position."
"There is the duke," Rupert exclaimed, "reforming them. There they go again, and he is leading them himself. What a terrible fire! Look how the officers of the staff are dropping! Oh, if the duke should himself be hit! See, the infantry are slackening their advance in spite of the shouts of their officers. They are wavering! Oh, how dreadful; here they come back again."
"The duke is going to try again, Rupert. See how he is waving his hand and exhorting the men to a fresh attack.
"That's right, lads, that's right.
"They have formed again; there they go."
Again the troops wavered and broke under the terrible rain of bullets; and this time the Bavarians in great force leapt from their entrenchments, and pounced down upon the broken line.
"Prepare to charge!" shouted General Lumley, who commanded the cavalry. "Forward, trot, gallop, charge!"
With a cheer the cavalry, chafed at their long inaction while their comrades were suffering so terribly, dashed forward, and threw themselves furiously upon the Bavarians, driving them headlong back to their lines, and then falling back under a tremendous fire, which rolled over men and horses in numbers.
At this moment a cheer broke from the dispirited infantry, as the heads of the three regiments of Imperial grenadiers, led by the Prince of Baden, arrived on the ground. These, without halting, moved forward towards the extreme left of the enemy's position–which had been left to some extent unguarded, many of the troops having been called off to repulse Marlborough's attack–pushed back two battalions of French infantry, and entered the works.
General D'Arco, the French commanding officer, withdrew some of his men from the centre to hold the Prince of Baden in check; and Marlborough profited by the confusion so caused to endeavour, for the fourth time, to carry the hill. His force was however, now fearfully weakened; and General Lumley, after conferring with him for a moment, rode back to the cavalry.
"The 5th dragoons will dismount and join the infantry," he said.
In a moment every soldier was on his feet; and five minutes later the regiment, marching side by side with the infantry, advanced up the hill.
This time the assault was successful. The enemy, confused by the fact that the allies had already forced their line on the left, wavered. Their fire was wild and ineffectual; and with a tremendous cheer the allies scaled the height and burst into the works. Close behind them General Lumley led his cavalry, who made their way through the gaps in the entrenchments, and fell upon the fugitives with dreadful slaughter. The French and Bavarians fled to a bridge across the Danube below Donauwoerth, which, choked by their weight, gave way, and great numbers were drowned. The rest retreated through Donauwoerth, their rear being gallantly covered by General D'Arco, with a small body of troops who held together. Sixteen guns and thirteen standards fell into the victors' hands.
The loss of the allies, considering the force that they brought into the field–for the main army had not arrived when the victory was decided–was extraordinary, for out of a total of 10,500 men, including cavalry, they lost 1500 killed, and 4000 wounded, or more than half their force; and the greater part of these were English, for upon them fell the whole brunt of the fighting.
The enemy suffered comparatively little in the battle, but great numbers were killed in the pursuit or drowned in the Danube. Still greater numbers of Bavarians scattered to their homes; and out of 12000 men, only 3000 joined the army on the other side of the Danube.
The Elector of Bavaria fell back with his army to Augsburg, under the cannon of which fortress he encamped, in a position too strong to be attacked. His strong places all fell into the hands of the allies; and every effort was made to induce him to break off from his alliance with France. The elector, however, relying upon the aid of Marshal Tallard, who was advancing with 45,000 men to his assistance, refused to listen to any terms; and the allied powers ordered Marlborough to harry his country, and so force him into submission by the misery of his subjects.
Such an order was most repugnant to the duke, who was one of the most humane of men, and who by the uniform kind treatment of his prisoners, not only did much to mitigate the horrors of the war in which he was engaged, but set an example which has since his time been followed by all civilized armies. He had, however, no resource but to obey orders; and the cavalry of the allies were sent to carry fire through Bavaria. No less than 300 towns and villages were destroyed in this barbarous warfare.
This duty was abhorrent to Rupert, who waited on the duke, and begged him as the greatest of favours to attach him for a short time to the staff, in order that he might not be obliged to accompany his regiment. The duke–who had already offered Rupert an appointment on his staff, an offer he had gratefully declined, as he preferred to do duty with his regiment–at once acceded to his request, and he was thus spared the horror of seeing the agony of the unhappy peasantry and townspeople, at the destruction of their houses. Rupert, in his rides with messages across the country, saw enough to make him heartsick at the distress into which the people of the country were plunged.
One day when riding, followed by Hugh, he came upon a sad group. By a hut which had recently been burned, after some resistance, as was shown by the dead body of a Hessian trooper, a peasant knelt by the body of his wife. A dead child of some five years old lay by, and a baby kicked and cried by the side of its mother. The peasant looked up with an air of bewildered grief, and on seeing the British uniform sprang to his feet, and with a fierce but despairing gesture placed himself as if to defend his children to the last.
Rupert drew his rein.
"I would not hurt you, my poor fellow," he said in Dutch.
The man did not understand, but the gentleness of the tone showed him that no harm was meant, and he again flung himself down by his wife.
"I do not think that she is dead, Hugh," Rupert said. "Hold my horse, I will soon see."
So saying, he dismounted and knelt by the woman. There was a wound on her forehead, and her face was covered with blood. Rupert ran to a stream that trickled by the side of the road, dipped his handkerchief in water, and returning, wiped the blood from the face and wound.
"It is a pistol bullet, I imagine," he said to him; "but I do not think the ball has entered her head; it has, I think, glanced off. Fasten the horses up to that rail, Hugh, get some water in your hands, and dash it in her face."
The peasant paid no attention to what was being done, but sat absorbed in grief; mechanically patting the child beside him.
"That's it, Hugh. Now another. I do believe she is only stunned. Give me that flask of spirits out of my holster."
Hugh again dashed water in the woman's face, and Rupert distinctly saw a quiver in her eyelid as he did so. Then forcing open her teeth, he poured a little spirit into her mouth, and was in a minute rewarded by a gasping sigh.
"She lives," he exclaimed, shaking the peasant by the shoulder.
The man looked round stupidly, but Rupert pointed to his wife, and again poured some spirits between her lips. This time she made a slight movement and opened her eyes. The peasant gave a wild scream of delight, and poured forth a volume of words, of which Rupert understood nothing; but the peasant kneeling beside him, bent his forehead till it touched the ground, and then kissed the lappet of his coat–an action expressive of the intensity of his gratitude.
Rupert continued his efforts until the woman was able to sit up, and look round with a frightened and bewildered air. When her eye caught her husband, she burst into tears; and as Hugh raised the baby and placed it in her arms she clasped it tightly, and rocked to and fro, sobbing convulsively.
"Look, Hugh, see if you can find something like a spade in that little garden. Let us bury this poor little child."
Hugh soon found a spade, and dug a little grave in the corner of a garden under the shade of an old tree.
Then the lads returned to the spot where the husband and wife, quiet now, were sitting hand in hand crying together. Rupert made a sign to him to lift the body of his little girl, and then led the way to the little grave. The father laid her in, and then fell on his knees by it with his wife, and prayed in a loud voice, broken with sobs. Rupert and Hugh stood by uncovered, until the peasant had finished. Then the little grave was filled in; and Rupert, pointing to the ruined house, placed five gold pieces in the woman's hand. Then they mounted their horses again and rode on, the man and his wife both kneeling by the roadside praying for blessings on their heads.
A week later, Rupert again had occasion to pass through the village, and dismounted and walked to the little grave. A rough cross had been placed at one end, and some flowers lay strewn upon it. Rupert picked a few of the roses which were blooming neglected near, and laid them on the grave, and then rode on, sighing at the horrors which war inflicts on an innocent population.
This time their route lay through a thickly wooded mountain, to a town beyond, where one of the cavalry regiments had its headquarters. Rupert was the bearer of orders for it to return to headquarters, as a general movement of the army was to take place. The road was a mere track, hilly and wild, and the lads rode with pistols cocked, in case of any sudden attack by deserters or stragglers from the Bavarian army. The journey was, however, performed without adventure; and having delivered their orders, they at once started on their homeward way.
Chapter 13: Blenheim
Although the sun had not set when Rupert and Hugh rode into the forest on their return journey, they had not been long among the trees when the light began to fade. The foliage met overhead, and although above the sky seemed still bright, the change was distinctly felt in the gloom of the forest. The ride had been a long one, and Rupert feared to press his horse, consequently they wound but slowly up the hill, and by the time they reached its crest, it was night.
"This is unpleasant, Hugh, for I can scarcely see my horse's head; and as there are several tracks crossing this, we are likely enough to go wrong."
"I think, Master Rupert, we had better dismount and lead our horses. We shall break our necks if they tread on a stone on this rocky path."
For half an hour they walked on in silence, then Hugh said, "I think we are going wrong, Master Rupert, for we are not descending now; and we ought to have been at the foot of the hill, if we had been right, by this time."
"I am afraid you are right, Hugh. In that case we had better make up our minds to halt where we are till morning. It is no use wandering on, and knocking up the horses. It seems rather lighter just ahead, as if the trees opened a little; we may find a better place to halt."
In another minute they stood in a small clearing. The stars were shining brightly; and after the dense darkness of the forest, they were able to see clearly in the open. It was a clearing of some sixty feet diameter, and in the middle stood, by the path, a hut.
"Stay where you are, Hugh, with the horses. I will go quietly forward. If the place is occupied, we will go back. We can't expect hospitality in Bavaria."
The hut proved to be empty. The door hung loosely on its hinges, and clearly the place was deserted.
Rupert called Hugh up, and fastening the horses outside, the lads entered.
"Shall we light a fire, Master Rupert?"
"No, Hugh; at any rate unless we see that the shutters and door will close tightly. There may be scores of deserters in the wood, and we had better run no risk. The night is not cold. We will just sit down against the wall till morning. Before we do, though, we will look round, outside the hut. If it has been lately inhabited, there may be a few vegetables or something the horses can munch."
Nothing, however, was found.
"We will take it by turns to watch, Hugh. I will take first watch; when I am sleepy I will wake you."
Without a word Hugh unstrapped his cloak, felt for a level piece of ground in the hut, and with his cloak for his pillow, was soon asleep.
Rupert sat down on the log of a tree, that lay outside the hut, and leaned against its wall. For two hours he sat, and thought over the adventures and the prospects of the war, and then gradually a drowsiness crept over him, and he fell fast asleep.
His waking was not pleasant. Indeed, he was hardly aware that he was awake; for he first came to the consciousness that he was lying on the ground, with a number of wild-looking figures around him, some of whom bore torches, while Hugh, held by two of them, was close by.
It was Hugh's voice, indeed, that first recalled him to a consciousness of what had happened.
"Master Rupert, Master Rupert!" he exclaimed. "Tell me that you are not killed!"
"No, I am not killed, Hugh," Rupert said, raising himself on his elbow. "But it would have served me right if I had been, for going to sleep on my watch."
One of their captors now stooped down, seized Rupert by the shoulder, and gave him a rough kick to intimate that he was to get up.
"I am sorry, Hugh, that I have sacrificed your life as well as my own by my folly, for I have no doubt these fellows mean to kill us. They are charcoal burners, as rough a lot as there exists in Europe, and now naturally half mad at the flames they see all over the land."
In the meantime, a dialogue was going on between their captors as to the best and most suitable method of putting them to death.
"They are fond of burning houses," one said at last, "let them try how they like it. Let us make a blaze here, and toss them in, and let them roast in their own shells."
The proposal was received with a shout of approval. Some of them scattered in the forest, and soon returned laden with dry branches and small logs, which were piled up in a great heap against the hut, which was itself constructed of rough-hewn logs. The heap of dry wood was then lighted, and ere long a great sheet of flame arose, the logs and the shingles of the roof caught, and ere many minutes the hut was a pile of fire.
"They're going to throw us in there, Hugh."
"God's will be done, Master Rupert; but I should like to have died sword in hand."
"And I too, Hugh. I wish I could snatch at a weapon and die fighting; but this man holds my hands like a vise, and those heavy axes of theirs would make short work of us. Well, the fire will not take an instant, Hugh; it will be a momentary death to be thrown into that mass of flame. Say a prayer to God, Hugh, for those at home, for it is all up with us now."
The blaze of fire had attracted other bodies of charcoal burners and others, and their captors only delayed to obtain as large a number of spectators as possible for their act of vengeance.
The fire was now at its height, and even the savage charcoal burners felt a grudging admiration for the calm demeanour, and fearless, if pale faces, with which these lads faced death. There was, however, no change of purpose. The horrors that had been perpetrated on the plains had extinguished the last spark of pity from their breasts, and the deed that they were about to do seemed to them one of just and praiseworthy retribution.
The man who acted as leader gave the word, and the powerful woodsmen lifted the two lads as if they had been bundles of straw, and advanced towards the hut.
"Goodbye, Master Rupert!"
"Goodbye, Hugh. May God receive"–when a terrible scream rent the air, and a wild shout.
Then from the back of the crowd, two figures who had just arrived at the spot burst their way. With piercing cries a woman with a baby in her arms flung herself down on the ground on her knees, between Rupert and the flames, and clasping the legs of the men who held him, arrested their movement; while the man, with a huge club swinging round his head, planted himself also in the way, shouting at the top of his voice.
A mighty uproar arose; and then the leader obtained silence enough to hear the cause of the interruption.
Then the man began, and told the tale of the restoration to life and consciousness of his wife, and of the burial of his child, with an eloquence and pathos that moved many of his rough audience to tears; and when he had finished, his wife, who had been sobbing on her knees while he spoke, rose to her feet, and told how that morning, as she went down from the wood towards her little one's grave, she saw Rupert ride up and dismount, and how when she reached the place she found fresh-gathered flowers laid on her darling's grave.
A dead hush fell upon the whole assembly. Without a word the leader of the charcoal burners strode away into the forest, and returned in another minute with the two horses. Rupert and Hugh wrung the hands of the peasants to whom they owed their lives, and leapt into the saddle.
The leader took a torch and strode on ahead along the path, to show them their way; and the crowd, who had hitherto stood still and silent, broke into a shout of farewell and blessing.
It was some time before either Rupert or Hugh spoke. The emotion had been too great for them. That terrible, half hour facing death–the sudden revulsion at their wonderful deliverance–completely prostrated them, and they felt exhausted and weak, as if after some great exertion. On the previous occasions in which they had seen great danger together–at the mill of Dettingheim, the fight on the Dykes, the scuttling of the boat–they had been actively engaged. Their energies were fully employed, and they had had no time to think. Now they had faced death in all his terrors, but without the power of action; and both felt they would far rather go through the three first risks again, than endure five minutes of that terrible watching the fire burn up.
Hugh was the first to speak when, nearly an hour after starting, they emerged from the wood into the plain at the foot of the hill.
"My mother used to say, Master Rupert, that curses, like chickens, came home to roost, and surely we have proved it's the case with blessings. Who would have thought that that little act of kindness was to save our lives?"
"No, indeed, Hugh. Let it be a lesson to us to do good always when we can."
At this moment they reached the main road from which that over the hill branched off. Their guide paused, pointed in the direction they were to go, and with a "Godspeed you," in his own language, extinguished his torch on the road, turned, and strode back by the path that they had come by.
The lads patted their horses, and glad to be again on level ground, the animals went on at a sharp canter along the road. Two hours later they reached camp.
The Duke of Marlborough had already laid siege to the fortress of Ingoldstadt, the siege operations being conducted by Prince Louis of Baden with a portion of his troops, while the main army covered the siege. But early in August the Elector of Bavaria left Augsburg with his army, and, altogether abandoning his dominions, marched to join Marshal Tallard, who was now coming up.
Marlborough at once broke up his camp, leaving Prince Louis to continue the siege of Ingoldstadt, and collecting as many of his troops as he could, marched with all speed in the same direction; as Prince Eugene, who, with his army, had marched in a parallel line with the French, now ran the risk of being crushed by their united force.
By dint of great exertion, Marlborough joined the prince with his cavalry on the tenth of August, and the infantry came up next day.
The two great armies now faced each other, their numerical force being not unequal, the French being about 60,000 strong; and the allies 66,000. In other respects, however, the advantage lay wholly with the enemy. They had ninety guns, while the allies had but fifty-one; while out of the 60,000 troops under Marshal Tallard 45,000 were the best troops France could produce. The allied army was a motley assembly, composed of nearly equal numbers of English, Prussians, Danes, Wurtemburghers, Dutch, Hanoverians, and Hessians. But although not more numerous than the troops of other nationalities, it was felt by all that the brunt of the battle would fall upon the British.
These had, throughout the three campaigns, shown fighting qualities of so high a character, that the whole army had come to look upon them as their mainstay in battle. The heavy loss which had taken place among these, the flower of his troops, at the assault of Schlessingen greatly decreased the fighting power of Marlborough's army.
The weakness caused by the miscellaneous character of the army was so much felt, that Marlborough was urged to draw off, and not to tempt fortune under such unfavourable circumstances.
Marshal Villeroi was, however, within a few days march with a large force, and Marlborough felt that if he effected a junction with Tallard, Austria was lost. It was therefore necessary, at all hazards, to fight at once.
The French position was an exceedingly strong one. Their right rested on the Danube; and the village of Blenheim, close to its bank, was held by twenty-six battalions and twelve squadrons, all native French troops.
Their left was equally protected from attack by a range of hills, impregnable for guns or cavalry. In the centre of their line, between their flanks, was the village of Oberglau, in and around which lay thirty battalions of infantry, among whom was the fine Irish regiments.
From Blenheim to Oberglau, and thence on to Lutzingen, at the foot of the hills, the French line occupied somewhat rising ground, in front of them was the rivulet of the Nebel running through low swampy ground, very difficult for the passage of troops.
Prince Maximilian commanded the French left, where the Bavarians were posted, Marshal Marsin the line on to Oberglau and the village itself, Marshal Tallard the main body thence to the Danube.
The French marshals, strong in the belief of the prowess of their troops, equal in number, greatly superior in artillery, and possessing an extremely strong position, scarcely paid sufficient attention to what would happen in the event of a defeat. The infantry being posted very strongly in the three villages, which were very carefully entrenched and barricaded, insufficient attention was paid to the long line of communications between them, which was principally held by the numerous cavalry. This was their weak point, for it was clear that if the allies should get across the rivulets and swamps and break through the cavalry line, the infantry would be separated and unable to reunite, and the strong force in Blenheim would run a risk of being surrounded without a possibility of retreat, as the Danube was unfordable.
Upon the side of the allies the troops were divided into two distinct armies. That under Prince Eugene, consisting of eighteen battalions of infantry and seventy-four squadrons of horse, was to attack the French left. The main army under the duke, consisting of forty-eight battalions and eighty-six squadrons, was to attack the centre and right.
The British contingent of fourteen battalions and fourteen squadrons formed part of Marlborough's command.
It was arranged that Prince Eugene should commence the attack, and that when he had crossed the rivulets in front of the French left, Marlborough should advance and attempt to carry out the plan he had laid out, namely, to cut the French line between Oberglau and Blenheim.
Prince Eugene's advance took the French by surprise. So confident were the marshals in the strength of their position and the belief of the superiority of their troops over the polyglot army of Marlborough, that they had made up their minds that he was about to retreat.
The morning was misty, and Eugene's advance reached the French pickets before they were perceived.
Their difficulties now began. The rivulets were deep, the ground treacherous; fascines had to be laid down, and the rivulets filled up, before guns could get over; and even when across they could but feebly answer the French artillery, which from the higher ground commanded their whole line; thus the allies lost 2000 men before Eugene got the army he commanded across the marshes. Then at half past twelve he sent word to Marlborough that he was ready.
While the cannon roar had been incessant on their right, the main army remained motionless, and divine service was performed at the head of every regiment and squadron.
The moment the aide-de-camp arrived with the news that Prince Eugene was in readiness, the artillery of Marlborough's army opened fire, and the infantry, followed closely by their cavalry, advanced to the attack.
The British division, under Lord Cutts, as the most trustworthy, had assigned to them a direct attack upon the strong position of Blenheim, and they advanced unwaveringly under a storm of fire, crossed the swamps and the Nebel, and advanced towards Blenheim.
General Rowe led the front line, consisting of five English battalions and four Hessians, and he was supported by Lord Cutts with eleven battalions and fifteen squadrons.
Advancing through a heavy artillery fire, General Rowe's troops had arrived within thirty yards of the palisade before the French infantry opened fire. Then a tremendous volley was poured into the allies, and a great number of men and officers fell. Still they moved forward, and Rowe, marching in line with his men, struck the palisade with his sword before he gave the order to fire. Then desperately the British strove to knock down the palisade and attack their enemy with the bayonet, but the structure was too strong, and the gallant force melted away under the withering fire kept up by the great force of French infantry which occupied the village.
Half Rowe's force fell, he himself was badly wounded, most of his officers down, when some squadrons of French horse fell upon their flank, threw them into confusion, and took the colours of the regiment.
The Hessians, who so far had been in reserve, fell upon the French, and retook the colours.
Fresh squadrons of French cavalry came up, and General Lumley sent some squadrons of cavalry across to Rowe's assistance. Then, with a cheer, the dragoons rode at the French, who were twice their strength. In an instant every one was engaged in a fierce conflict, cutting, slashing, and using their points.
The French gave way under the onslaught, but fresh squadrons came up from their side, a heavy musketry fire broke out from the enclosure round Blenheim, and leaving many of their number behind them, the British horse and foot fell back to the stream.
Marlborough, seeing that Blenheim could not be taken, now resolved upon making his great effort to break the French line midway between Oberglau and Blenheim.
On the stream at this part stood the village of Unterglau, having a stone bridge across the Nebel. This was but weakly held by the French, who, upon seeing the allies advancing at full speed, fired the village to check the advance, and then fell back.
General Churchill's division rushed through the burning village, crossed the bridge, and began to open out on both sides. Then the duke gave the order for the whole cavalry to advance. Headed by the English dragoons, they came down in good order through the concentrated fire of the enemy's batteries to the edge of the stream; but the difficulties here were immense. The stream was divided into several branches, with swampy meadows between them, and only by throwing down fascines could a footing be obtained for the horses.
