Part 6 (1/2)

But what of George's friends at home all this long while? When Fairburn learnt that his brig had not arrived in port, though she had been spoken in Boston Deeps by another collier which was returning to the Tyne, his heart misgave him. There had been a bad storm on the coast; it seemed only too likely that the _Ouseburn La.s.sie_ had gone down in it! When week after week pa.s.sed without news it seemed more and more likely that the vessel had foundered in the gale. News of captures by French privateers usually filtered through sooner or later; but for long there were no tidings of the _Ouseburn La.s.sie_.

The Blacketts did what they could to console the bereaved parents, but father and mother would not be comforted. At length, months afterwards, they learnt in a casual way that a collier had been captured off Yarmouth by a French privateer, about the time the _Ouseburn La.s.sie_ was making her trip; at least that was the construction the Yarmouth salts who saw the affair from the sh.o.r.e put upon the movements of the two vessels. So a ray of hope came to Fairburn and his wife.

”The lad will be somewhere in a French prison,” the father said, ”and some day he will be set free and come home to us again.”

The spring of 1703 brought Matthew Blackett's seventeenth birthday, and with it an ensign's commission in a well-reputed regiment of foot.

He already stood six feet one in his stockings, and mighty proud he felt when his lanky figure was clothed in his gay uniform.

”Perhaps I shall come across George in my wanderings,” he said, when he went to bid a very friendly adieu to the Fairburns. ”Won't it be jolly if we do meet!” And the parents were constrained to smile in spite of their sadness.

One of the commonest subjects of conversation in our days is the state of ”political parties,” and every child of school age can tell you which is ”the party in power.” Three hundred years ago such expressions would not have been understood at all, in their modern sense, and ”government by party” was a thing as yet undreamed of.

Usually the strongest man of his time, whether sovereign or subject, was the real ruler in England. Elizabeth, for instance, was the sole mistress in her own realm, though even she was greatly helped by the famous minister Burleigh. In later times a Strafford, a Laud, an Oliver Cromwell, a Clarendon presided over the destinies of England.

But in the second half of the seventeenth century there began that division of politicians into two sides or parties which has continued ever since. This division sprang, no doubt, from the civil wars between King and Parliament, between Cavalier and Roundhead. By the times of Queen Anne the terms Whig and Tory, replaced in our days for the most part by Liberal and Conservative, had come into common use, and no one who desires to understand the history of her reign can wholly neglect the movements of these two opposing parties in politics. For Marlborough--with his wife--may be said to be the last powerful statesman who ruled England without the formal and acknowledged help of party. Since then the ”party in power” has always, through its chief member, the Prime Minister, and his Cabinet, been the actual ruler in the State.

At the beginning of Anne's reign the Whigs were leading in matters of state, but presently Rochester and Nottingham, the former a very strong Tory, came into power. Later on, in 1703, the former was replaced by a more moderate Tory, Harley, and in the following year St. John succeeded Nottingham. The truth was, Marlborough, beginning to see that he was more likely to receive support in his great wars from the Whig side, was working gradually towards the placing of their party in office, though he himself had all along been a Tory. Thus it was that he tried to rule with a coalition, or a mixture of Whigs and Tories. This was in the year 1705, a little after the time to which this story has as yet been carried. But Marlborough and his d.u.c.h.ess were still the real power in the land.

We may rejoin George Fairburn, some three weeks after the day when he had been picked up by the Dutch transport. With others he had been landed in the Tagus, and at once drafted into one of the regiments under the Earl of Galway, a Frenchman by birth, but now, having been driven out of France by the persecutions he and the rest of the Protestants had had to endure, a general in the English army. George learned that Portugal had joined the Grand Alliance, in consequence of the Methuen Treaty between her and England, by which Portuguese wines were to be admitted into English ports at a lower customs duty than those of other countries. This step on the part of Portugal had greatly enraged the French King, and he had poured his troops into Spain. The Allies, therefore, were preparing to attack Spain from the eastern and the western sides of the Peninsula at the same time. So George and his comrades began their march eastward, while the gallant admiral Sir George Rooke was attacking Barcelona on the opposite coast.

It was a new life for the English lad, and the heavy marches in a hot climate tried him. But he was growing into a stout youth, and was not afraid of a bit of hard work.

”Besides,” he would say to himself, when disposed to grumble, ”am I not a soldier? And isn't that what I've always wanted to be? And I might have been chained up in a French prison still! A thousand times better be here, even in this scorching place.”

If it seemed odd to the lad that the English soldiers were commanded by a Frenchman, it was still stranger that the French forces they were marching to meet were under an Englishman. Yet so it was; the commander of Louis's army in Spain being the Duke of Berwick, a son of James II and Arabella Churchill, Marlborough's sister. The two generals were well matched, according to the opinion that prevailed among the troops.

Weeks pa.s.sed, and as yet George Fairburn had seen no actual fighting.

He was all eager to get into action, and was not much comforted by the declaration of the old sergeant under whom he marched.

”Bide your time, my lad,” the veteran would say, ”you will get your full share of fighting; enough to satisfy even a fire-eater such as I can see you're going to be.”

One evening, to his intense delight, the lad was sent forward with a skirmis.h.i.+ng party, a report having come in that the enemy was concealed somewhere in one of the wooded valleys of the neighbourhood.

After a cautious march of three or four miles, the little company, commanded by a lieutenant of foot, dropped down into a dingle, at the bottom of which ran a stream almost everywhere hidden by the thick growth of trees. The men were startled, on turning a corner in the break-neck path, to see below them the French flag flying from what appeared to be an old mill. Scattered about were the roofs of a dozen cottages, and at the doors could be perceived a number of soldiers lolling at their ease.

”The enemy, by Jove!” whispered George, who was leading in his usual eager fas.h.i.+on, pointing out the flag and the hamlet to the lieutenant.

”Wouldn't it be a good joke to whip off their flag from that old mill, sir!”

The officer laughed at the notion; he was not much more than a boy himself.

”My lad,” said he, ”we must know how many the enemy are first.”

”I'll climb to the roof there, and from it I can see right down into the village and command a view of everything in it.”

”Do you mean to say, youngster, that you would risk it?” the officer asked in surprise.

”Oh, wouldn't I, sir,” the lad replied with flushed face. ”Say the word, sir, please.”

The lieutenant nodded, saying, ”It's worth it. But be cautious.”