But this summer, as we were
marching here, not a man of us except the Duke himself, with a notion
why we were coming this way at all, we stopped to storm the
Schellenberg, a hill overlooking the Danube near Donauwoerth. We were
all dog tired--dead beat, in fact, for we had marched till we were
almost blind. However, as it was the Duke's, day, he set us at it."
"Duke's day?" interrupted George, in surprise; "isn't every day the
Duke's day?"
"It's a funny thing," went on Blackett, laughing, "but as a matter of
fact at that time the Duke was taking alternate days of command with
the Prince of Baden."
"A queer go!" the listener interjected.
"Well, to cut my tale short, we made two attacks on that hill, and
both times were driven back. Things began to look like a drawn game,
when up comes Louis, the Prince, you know, with a lot of his Germans,
and at it we went again. In the thick of it, my colonel suddenly
called out, 'Can you ride, Blackett?' 'Try me, sir,' I says. And he
gave me a note for the Duke, telling me that he had not another
officer left who could ride, all our fellows had been laid low or
dispersed. I galloped off like the wind, on a big hard-mouthed brute.
Just as I was nearing the spot where the Duke stood, a dozen Bavarians
suddenly blocked my path and levelled their muskets.
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