[Illustration: The Rescue of Marlborough.]
Before the Duke had fairly gained his seat in the saddle, a ball with
a rustling hum carried off the head of the unfortunate colonel. It was
an appalling sight, and George Fairburn was forced to turn away his
eyes.
The crisis was too serious, however, to waste time in vain regrets.
Without the loss of a moment Marlborough led the charge upon the
enemy. The famous Household Brigade fell back, and the village of
Ramillies was taken. Then another fierce struggle, but a brief one,
and the Tomb of Ottomond was secured, the position which commanded the
whole field. The battle was almost at an end.
There remained only the village of Anderkirk in its marshy hollow, and
Marlborough called together his forces from the various parts of the
confused field. Another charge was sounded, the last. The enemy turned
and fled. Ramillies was won.
The victory, quite as important in its way as Blenheim, had been
gained in a little over three hours. The loss on the side of the
Allies was hardly four thousand; that of the French and Bavarians, in
killed, wounded, and prisoners, was four times as great. All the
enemy's guns, six only excepted, fell into the hands of the victors.
There was one heavy drawback to the pride which the young Lieutenant
Fairburn naturally felt at having had a humble share in the great
victory.
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