With Marlborough to Malplaquet: A Story of the Reign of Queen Anne

  Herbert Strang's Historical Series

  WITH MARLBOROUGH TO MALPLAQUET

  A Story of the Reign of Queen Anne

  by

  HERBERT STRANG

  and

  RICHARD STEADFellow of the Royal Historical Society

  With Four Illustrations in Colour and a Map

  LONDON

  1908

  NOW READY IN THIS SERIES.

  WITH THE BLACK PRINCE: a Story of the Reignof Edward III. By HERBERT STRANG and RICHARD STEAD.

  A MARINER OF ENGLAND: a Story of the Reign ofQueen Elizabeth. By the same authors.

  WITH MARLBOROUGH TO MALPLAQUET: a Story ofthe Reign of Queen Anne. By the same authors.

  Other volumes to follow.

  A mounted officer came galloping up. See Chapter X.]

  With Marlboroughto Malplaquet

  NOTE

  The object of this series is to encourage a taste for history amongboys and girls up to thirteen or fourteen years of age. An attempt hasbeen made to bring home to the young reader the principal events andmovements of the periods covered by the several volumes.

  If in these little stories historical fact treads somewhat closelyupon the heels of fiction, the authors would plead the excellence oftheir intentions and the limitations of their space.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I

  A BOUT AT SINGLESTICK

  CHAPTER II

  THE ATTACK ON THE COLLIERY

  CHAPTER III

  THE FIRE AT BINFIELD TOWERS

  CHAPTER IV

  THE RESCUE

  CHAPTER V

  GEORGE RECONNOITRES

  CHAPTER VI

  THE ROCK OF GIBRALTAR

  CHAPTER VII

  BLENHEIM

  CHAPTER VIII

  COMRADES IN ARMS

  CHAPTER IX

  ANNUS MIRABILIS

  CHAPTER X

  "OUR OWN MEN, SIR!"

  CHAPTER XI

  THE HARDEST FIGHT OF THEM ALL

  CHAPTER XII

  CONCLUSION

  HISTORICAL SUMMARY

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  A MOUNTED OFFICER CAME GALLOPING UP

  "NOW!" CAME THE ORDER

  GEORGE FOUND HIMSELF ENGAGED IN A HAND TO HAND ENCOUNTER

  THE RESCUE OF MARLBOROUGH

  MAP OF WESTERN EUROPE IN THE TIME OF QUEEN ANNE

  CHAPTER I

  A BOUT AT SINGLESTICK

  "Get thee down, laddie, I tell thee."

  This injunction, given for the third time, and in a broadnorth-country dialect, came from the guard of the York and Newcastlecoach, a strange new thing in England. A wonderful vehicle the Yorkand Newcastle coach, covering the eighty-six long miles between thetwo towns in the space of two-and-thirty hours, and as yet an objectof delight, and almost of awe, to the rustics of the villages andsmall towns on that portion of the Great North Road.

  It was the darkening of a stinging day in the latter part of December,in the year 1701--it wanted but forty-eight hours to ChristmasEve--when the coach pulled up at the principal inn of the then quietlittle country town of Darlington, a place which roused itself fromits general sleepiness only on market and fair days, or now, since themail-coach had begun to run, on the arrival or departure of themarvellous conveyance, whose rattle over the cobble-stones drew everyinhabitant of the main street to the door.

  No reply coming from the boy on the roof, the guard went on, "Eh, butthe lad must be frozen stark," and swinging himself up to the top ofthe coach, he seized the dilatory passenger by the arm, saying, "Now,my hearty, come your ways down; we gang na further to-day. Ye are asstiff as a frozen poker."

  "And no wonder," came a voice from below; "'tis not a day fit for manor dog to be out a minute longer than necessary. Bring the bairn in,Charley." The invitation came from a kindly and portly dame, thehostess, who had come to the door to welcome such passengers as mightbe disposed to put up for the night at the inn.

  "I don't think I can stir," the boy replied; "I'm about frozen."

  He spoke in low tones and as if but half awake. He was, in fact, justdropping into a doze.

  "Here, mates, catch hold," the guard cried, and without more ado thelad was lowered down to the little group of loafers who had come tosee the sight and to pick up any stray penny that might be available.A minute later George Fairburn was rapidly thawing before the rousingfire in the inn's best parlour, and was gulping down the cup of hotmulled ale the good-natured landlady had put into his trembling hands.

  "I'm all right, ma'am, now, and I'll go. Thank you and good night,ma'am."

  "Go, Fairburn?" cried another boy of about his own age, who satcomfortably in the arm-chair by the cosy chimney corner. "Surely youare not going to turn out again this bitter night?"

  "Indeed I am," was the somewhat ungracious reply; "my father is not arich man, and I'm not going to put him to needless expense."

  The other boy blushed, but the next moment his face resumed its usualpallor. He was tall for his fourteen years, but evidently notparticularly strong. He had, in truth, somewhat of a bookish look, andhis rounded shoulders already told of much poring over a student'stasks. Fairburn, on the other hand, though less tall, carried in hisface and form all the evidence of robust good health.

  "I've relatives somewhere in Darlington, Blackett," George explained,in a rather pleasanter tone, as if ashamed of his former surly speech,"and I'm going to hunt them up."

  "Look here, Fairburn," said the other, springing from his seat andplacing a patronizing hand on his companion's shoulder, "just makeyourself comfortable here with me for the night, and I'll settle thebill for both of us in the morning." He spoke rather grandly, jinglingthe coins in his pocket the while.

  "I can settle my own bills, thank you," answered Fairburn, a proud hotflush overspreading his face. And, seizing his little bag, the ladstrode from the room and out of the inn, shivering as the chillnortheasterly breeze caught him in the now dark and almost desertedstreet.

  "Confound the fellow with his purse-proud patronage!" he muttered ashe hurried along.

  "Bless me, why is he so touchy?" Blackett was asking himself at thesame moment. "We seem fated to quarrel, Fairburn's family and ours.Whose is the pride now, I wonder! Fairburn thinks a deal of hisindependence, as he calls it; I should call it simply pride, myself.But I might have known that he wouldn't accept my offer after hisrefusal of an inside place with me this morning, and after riding allthose miles from York to-day in the bitter cold. Heigh-ho, the quarrelwon't be of my seeking anyhow."

  These two lads were both sons of colliery owners, and both pupils ofthe ancient school of St. Peter of York, the most notable foundationnorth of the Humber. But there the likeness ended. Matthew Blackett'sfather was a rich man and descended from generations of rich men. Heowned a large colliery and employed many men and not a few ships. Hewas, moreover, a county magnate, and held his head high on Tyneside.In politics he was a strong supporter of the Tory party, and had neverbeen easy under the rule of Dutch William. He was proud and somewhatarrogant, yet not wanting his good points. George Fairburn, on theother hand, was the son of a much smaller man, of one, in truth, whohad by his energy and thrift become the proprietor of a small pit, ofwhich he himself acted as manager. The elder Fairburn was of a sturdyindependent character, his independence, however, sometimes assertingitself at the expense of his manners; that at least was the way Mr.Blackett put it. Fairburn had been thrown much in his boyhood amongthe Quakers, of which new sect there were several little groups in thenorthern
counties. He was a firm Whig, and as firm a hater of theexiled James II. He had made some sacrifice to send his boy to a goodschool, being a great believer in education, at a time when men of hisclass were little disposed to set much store by book learning.

  After breakfast by candlelight next morning the passengers for thecoach assembled at the door of the inn. Blackett was alreadycomfortably seated among his many and ample rugs and wraps when GeorgeFairburn appeared, accompanied by a woman who made an odd figure in anancient cloak many sizes too big for her, covering her from head tofoot. It had, in fact, originally been a soldier's cloak, and had seenmuch hard service in the continental campaigns under William III. Thegood dame was very demonstrative in her affection, and kissed Georgeagain and again on both cheeks, with good sounding smacks, ere shewould let him mount to the roof of the coach. Then she stood by thewindow and talked volubly in a rich northern brogue till the vehiclestarted, and even after, for George could see her gesticulations whenhe was far out of earshot.

  "It is bitter cold, bairn," she had said for the third or fourth time,"and I doubt thou wilt be more dead than alive when thy father seesthee at Newcastle. But don't forget that pasty; 'tis good, for I madeit myself. And there's the sup of summat comforting in the littlebottle; don't forget that."

  "Good-bye, aunt, and thank you over and over again," George calledfrom the top of the coach. "Don't stay any longer in the freezingcold. I'm all right."

  But the talkative and kindly old dame would not budge, and Blackettcould not help smiling quietly in his corner. "What a curious oldrustic!" he said to himself, "and she's the aunt, it appears." As forGeorge himself, he was thinking much the same thing. "A good soul," hemurmured to himself, "but, oh, so countrified!"

  Fairburn's limbs were pretty stiff by the time the grand old cathedraland the castle of Durham standing proudly on their cliff above theriver came in sight. There was an unwonted stir in the streets of thepicturesque little city. My lord the bishop with a very great trainwas coming for the Christmas high services.

  "Our bishop is a prince," explained the guard, who had had not alittle talk with George on the way. "There are squires and baronetsand lords in his train, and as for his servants and horses, why--" thegood fellow spread out his hands in his sheer inability to describethe magnificence of the bishops of Durham.

  "Yes," Fairburn made answer, "and I've heard or read that when a newbishop first comes to the see he is met at Croft bridge by all the bigmen of the county, who do homage to him as if he were a king."

  The guard stared at a youngster, an outside and therefore a poorpassenger too, who appeared so well informed, and then applied himselfvigorously to his horn.

  The afternoon was fast waning when the coach brought to its passengersthe first glimpse of the blackened old fortress of Newcastle and thelantern tower of St. Nicholas. Fairburn, almost as helpless as on theprevious afternoon, was speedily lifted down from his lofty perch bythe strong arms of his father.

  "Ah, my dear lad," the elder cried as he hugged George to his breast,"the mother has a store of good things ready for her bairn and forChristmas. And here is old Dapper ready to jog back with us and to hisown Christmas Eve supper. How do you do, sir?"

  These last words were addressed to a gentleman who had just driven upin a well-appointed family equipage.

  "I hope I see young Mr. Blackett well," Fairburn continued.

  "Ah! 'tis you, Mr. Fairburn," said the great man condescendingly."This is your boy? Looks a trifle cold, don't you think? 'Tis bitterweather for travelling outside."

  And with the curtest possible nod to the father, and no recognitionwhatever of the son, Mr. Blackett linked his arm in Matthew's andstrode away to his carriage.

  George flushed, his father looked annoyed; then his face cleared.

  "Come, lad," he said, "let us get along home."

  Thursday, Christmas Day, and the Friday following passed quietly buthappily in the little Fairburn family. The father was in excellentspirits, and he had much to tell his son of the prosperity that was atlast coming. Orders were being booked faster than the modest staff ofthe colliery could execute them. Best of all, Fairburn had securedseveral important contracts with London merchants; this, too, againstthe competition of the great Blackett pit.

  "The truth is," the elder explained, "Mr. Blackett is too big a man,and too easy-going to attend to his business as he should. But Isuppose he's rich enough and can afford to be a trifle slack."

  "Whereas my dad has energy and to spare," George put in with a smile,"and by that energy is taking the business out of the hands of thebigger man. The Blacketts won't be exactly pleased with us, eh?"

  "They are not. And, more, I hear the Blackett pit is working onlyshort time; it is more than likely that several of the men will haveto be discharged soon, and then will come more soreness."

  "We can't help that, dad," the boy commented, "it's a sort of war,this business competition, it seems to me, and all is fair in love andwar, as the saying goes."

  "True, my lad; yet I'm a peaceable man, and would fain enter into noquarrels."

  On the Saturday afternoon a neighbour brought word up to the housethat there was some sort of a squabble going on down at the riverside.

  "Better run along and see what is the matter, George," said themother. "Father's gone to the town and won't be back till suppertime."

  So the boy pulled on his cap, twisted a big scarf about his neck, andmade off to the Tyne, nearly a mile away.

  He found a tremendous hubbub on the wharf, men pulling and strugglingand cursing and fighting in vigorous fashion. What might be the rightor the wrong of the quarrel, George did not know, and he had not timeto inquire before he too was mixed up in the fray. The first thingthat met his eye, in truth, was one of the crew of the Fairburncollier brig lying helpless on his back and at the mercy of a fellowwho was showing him no favour, but was pounding away at the upturnedface with one of his fists, whilst with the other hand he held a firmgrip of his prostrate foeman.

  "Let him get up, coward!" the lad shouted as he rushed to the spot."Let him get up, I tell you, and fight it out fair and square."

  The fellow was by no means disposed to give up the advantage he hadobtained, however, and redoubled the vigour of his blows.

  He was a strong thickset collier, not an easy man to tackle; butwithout more ado George flung himself at the bully, and toppled himover, the side of his head coming into violent collision with therough planks of the landing-stage.

  "Up with you, Jack!" George cried, and, seizing the hand of theprostrate sailor, he jerked him to his feet. Jack, however, was oflittle more use when he had been helped up, and staggered about in adazed and aimless sort of way. He was, in truth, almost blind, hiseyes scarce visible at all, so severe had been his punishment, whilehis face streamed with blood.

  Meanwhile his antagonist had jumped to his feet, his face black withcoaldust and distorted with fury.

  "Two on ye!" he yelled with an oath, "then I must fend for myself,"and he seized a broken broom handle that was lying near.

  "A game of singlestick is it?" George replied gleefully, as he made asuccessful grab at another stick a couple of yards away. It was thehandle of a shovel; there were several broken tools lying about thequay.

  "Come on," said the boy, brandishing his short but heavy weapon, "thisis quite in my line, I can tell you!"

  It was a curious sight as the two rushed upon each other, so unequaldid the antagonists seem. Bill, the collier, was tall as well asstrongly built, and in the very prime of life; while George, though asturdy lad for his age, was many inches shorter, and appeared at firstsight an absurdly inadequate foeman.

  In a moment the sticks were clattering merrily together, the ladhesitating not a whit, for he felt sure that he was at least a matchfor the other. George Fairburn had ever been an adept at all schoolgames, and had spent many a leisure hour at singlestick. In vain didBill endeavour to bring down his stick with furious whack upon theyoungster's scalp; his blow was unfa
ilingly parried. It was soonevident to the man that the boy was playing with him, and when twiceor thrice he received a rap on his shoulder, his arm, his knuckleseven, his fury got quite beyond his control, and he struck out blindlyand viciously, forcing the lad backwards towards the edge of thewharf.

  But Fairburn was not to be taken in that style. Slipping agilely outof the way, he planted another blow, this time on his opponent's head.In a trice Bill threw down his cudgel and, raising his heavy boot,endeavoured to administer a vicious kick. It was time to take to moreeffective tactics, and while the man's leg was poised in the air,George put in a thwack that made his skull resound, and threw himquite off his already unstable balance. Bill fell to the ground andlay there stunned, a roar of laughter hailing the exploit, with shoutsof, "Thrashed by a lad; that's a grand come off for Bill Hutchinson!"

  George now had time to look about him. He found that the enemy,whoever they might be, had been beaten off, and the crew of theFairburn brig was in possession of the landing-stage.

  "What is it all about, Jack?" he inquired of the man to whose rescuehe had come.

  "Why," returned Jack, "they are some of Blackett's men. They tried toshove us from our berth here, after we had made fast, and bring intheir big schooner over there. Some of 'em are vexed, 'cos 'tis saidthere'll be no work for 'em soon. Your father's taking a lot ofBlackett's trade, you see."

  "Did they begin, Jack, or did you?"

  "Begin? Why, it was a kind of mixed-up job, I reckon. We'd both had adrop of Christmas ale, you see--a drop extra, I mean--and--why, thereit was."

  "Well, you'll be sailing for London in a day or two," said George."See that you keep out of the way of Blackett's men, or you'll findyourself in the lock-up and lose your place."

  Then he walked away.

  Mr. Fairburn was annoyed when he heard of the incident.

  "I don't like it, George," he said. "There's no reason why thereshould be bad blood between Blackett's men and mine; but if they aregoing to make disturbances like this I shall have to take serioussteps, and the coolness between Blackett and me will become an openenmity. 'As much as lieth in _you_,' says the Apostle, 'live peaceablywith all men;' but there's a limit, and if Mr. Blackett can't keep hismen in order, it will come to a fight between us."

  The brig started in a couple of days for London, in fulfilment of animportant contract that had for years fallen to Mr. Blackett, but nowhad been placed in the hands of his humbler but more energetic rival.Its departure was hailed by the shouts and threats of a gang of pitmenfrom the Blackett colliery, but nothing like another fight occurred,thanks to the vigilance of Fairburn the elder.