There was one check, and the Allies were stopped for a
moment. Then like a whirlwind the horse dashed forward, at a
tremendous speed.
It was too much. The French fired one volley, then turned and fled. On
the Englishmen galloped, and in a few moments the enemy's line was cut
in two. In two different directions the French cavalry ran, and
Marlborough followed after that section which was making for Blenheim.
It was a wild stampede, and Matthew Blackett, as he dashed after the
retreating enemy, always considered it the most exciting episode in
his life.
It did not last long. By great good fortune the lieutenant found
himself one of those surrounding Marshal Tallard. Amidst a wild burst
of applause the gallant Frenchman surrendered, and before he knew well
what he was doing, Blackett was leading Tallard's horse by the bridle.
The lad saw the Duke glance towards him as he dismounted to receive
the gallant leader and invite him into his carriage.
The victory was practically won. There remained only the seventeen
battalions in the village of Blenheim, and these, hemmed in on the one
side, and bounded by the river on the other, gave little trouble. The
poor fellows, in fact, were unable to stir, and many a man of them
sprang into the river in his desperation, only to be hopelessly
carried away by the swift current, and drowned.
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