The move
was successful, and the French found themselves between two fires.
It was growing dusk. Eugene and his men had forced back their
opponents and were now following hard after them. Suddenly shots came
flying in, and in the dimness of the departing day an advancing column
was observed to be moving towards them. What could it mean? Apparently
that the enemy had rallied and were once more facing them. It was an
entirely unexpected change of front, but Eugene prepared to meet the
shock once more. George Fairburn took a long look, shading his eyes
with his hands.
"By Heaven, sir!" he said, addressing Colonel Rhodes, "they are our
own men!"
"Impossible, Fairburn!" the colonel answered. But Blackett and others
backed up George's opinion. The word ran quickly along the line that
the shots came from friends, not from the foe, and some consternation
prevailed.
The next moment, at a nod of assent from the colonel in answer to
their eager request, Lieutenants Blackett and Fairburn were galloping
madly across the intervening space, each with his handkerchief
fastened to the point of his sword, and both shouting and
gesticulating. Bullets began to patter around them, but heedless they
dashed on. It seemed impossible they could reach the advancing column
alive.
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