their grasp, and he knew that Henry Welbeck would fight with the same resolve. Hidden behind the sergeant's characteristic moans lay the wholehearted commitment of a professional soldier. When battle was joined, Henry Welbeck would not hold back. Like his friend, he would wish to be involved in the fiercest action.
Daniel emitted a sudden laugh. 'I was just thinking,' he said. 'How nice it would be to see the look on Marshal Tallard's face when he realises we are coming!'
Edward Marston
Soldier of Fortune
During his time as French ambassador at the Court of St James's, Camille d'Hostun, Comte de Tallard, had been immensely popular in England. He was known for his lavish hospitality, for the opulence with which he surrounded himself and for his diplomatic skills. He and Marlborough had met a number of times at social events and got on well together. Now that he held a marshal's baton, however, he accorded his rival no more than a cold respect. Even on a campaign, he liked to eat the best food and drink the finest wines. As a man who enjoyed his sleep, he was not pleased to be roused from his comfortable bed with the news that the enemy was approaching.
Notwithstanding his reputation as a diplomat and as a soldier, Tallard was not an imposing figure and his short-sightedness was so bad that it was joked about behind his back. Even with a telescope, he could not discern the true meaning in the approach of the Confederate cavalry. He believed that the show of force was merely a distraction to allow the main Allied army to creep away to safety with its tail between its legs. The despatch he dashed off to Louis XIV confirmed this belief — ' They can now be seen drawn up at the head of their camp, and it appears they will march today. Word in the country is that they are going to Nordlingen. If that is so, they will leave us between them and the Danube, and consequently they will have difficulty in sustaining the places that they have taken in Bavaria.'
Shortly after his messenger had ridden off, Tallard was forced to realise his blunder. It was barely seven o'clock when he received reports that the entire enemy army was heading in his direction. He was stunned. Summoning Marshal Marsin and the Elector of Bavaria, he led them up the church tower in Blenheim so that they could get a better view of the enemy's movements. The three commanders tried to divine the significance of what they saw. Having underestimated Marlborough's boldness, Tallard now went on to misinterpret it.
'He must have acquired reinforcements,' he concluded. 'Even in his rashest moment, the Duke of Marlborough would not contemplate an attack on us unless he had greater numbers at his disposal. And there's another worrying development,' he went on. 'There are rumours that the Margrave of Baden is on his way here to add his support. That would markedly strengthen the enemy and we know to our cost what a fearless general Baden is. No, gentlemen, only one course is open to us. We must fight a defensive action.'
His companions agreed with his decision. They understood the importance of holding both flanks of the Franco-Bavarian lines. No matter how large the enemy forces, they had faith in their strong defensive positions. One of them was around the village of Blenheim.
Edward Marston
Soldier of Fortune
When they were two miles from Blenheim, the Confederate army split into two wings. With 36,000 troops, Marlborough intended to attack on the left against a French army under Tallard of almost equal size. Prince Eugene of Savoy, at the head of 16,000 men, was ordered to attack on the right against the forces of Marshal Marsin and the Elector. He was thus taking on a combined army of 24,000. Unknown to Tallard, he had far more men in the field than Marlborough. Where the Allied army did have clear superiority was in the number of their cavalry squadrons.
As in most battles, the opening shots were fired by the artillery. The French right wing discharged the first cannon balls and a British soldier was the initial casualty. Colonel Blood, the artillery commander, was told by Marlborough to choose his counter-batteries. When these had been inspected and approved by the Duke, the bombardment began with a vengeance, cannon booming on both sides for the best part of four hours. The thunderous exchange of fire was so ear- splitting that, it was later learnt, the Margrave of Baden could hear it forty miles away in Ingolstadt.
Daniel Rawson was proud of his battalion. They had to wait patiently for hours until Prince Eugene and his men had looped around to the position from which they could attack. Throughout this time, the French bombardment continued with unceasing ferocity. Like all the other battalions, Daniel's had been ordered to sit or lie on the ground to escape the worst of the deafening cannonade. They were motionless targets but they did not flinch or run as the cannonballs and howitzer shells rained upon them. They had been schooled by men like Sergeant Welbeck to obey orders under fire. Daniel noted with gratification that even when some were killed outright or received critical injuries the soldiers around them did not lose their nerve.
There was another cause for delay. Before they could close with the enemy, the Confederate army had to cross the Nebel stream, a tributary of the Danube. There were few places where soldiers could cross in numbers. While the brigades waited, therefore, pioneers went on ahead to level the banks of the stream, to build causeways out of fascines, to repair the old stone bridge torn down by the French and to erect new bridges made of tin pontoons. It was well after noon when the order was finally given and the infantry rose to their feet and moved forward with their bayonets fixed.
Daniel's battalion was under the command of Brigadier- General Rowe who had warned his men that no shot should be fired until he had struck the enemy barricade with his sword. By one o'clock, they began to wade across the Nebel, aided by the fact that the ground fell slightly from around Blenheim, giving them protection to re-form their ranks before marching towards the village. When they were 300 yards away, they lay down to await the arrival of the Hessians under Major-General Wilkes, and a pair of guns. As soon as the cannon were in position, they pounded the French barricades.
Marching on foot, Archibald, Lord Rowe, led his men forward in the teeth of unrelenting artillery fire. When they got within thirty yards of the palisade, they were hit by a first volley from French musketeers. British soldiers crashed to the ground on every side but the drums kept beating and the battalions held their shape as they moved inexorably forward in their serried ranks. Rowe reached the outer palisade, but, as he struck it with his sword, he was shot from close range. The lieutenant-colonel and major who ran to his aid were also cut down by enemy fire.
The fusillade was returned by the advancing brigade, their flintlock muskets popping across a wide front before being reloaded for a second discharge. Though many French soldiers were hit by the onslaught, they still outnumbered the attackers and they were shooting from behind barricades at unprotected targets. Having lost their commander and under withering fire, the first line of Rowe's brigade eventually fell back. The French cavalry posted to the left of Blenheim were quick to exploit the signs of disarray. General Zurlauben led out three squadrons of the Gens d'Armes of the Royal Household cavalry.
They charged at the exposed flank of Rowe's own regiment and, as it struggled to form a square, they fired their pistols then used their flashing swords to hack a way through the disordered red uniforms. To the horror of the British soldiers, their regimental colours were seized. Elated by their success, the horsemen continued to slash and stab at will. They were so confident of success that they did not notice the Hessians being deployed to their flank and rear. It was only when deadly volleys rang out that they realised the danger they were in.
Driving the Gens d'Armes before them, the disciplined ranks of Hessians spread confusion among the cavalry. Some horses bolted, many crashed to the ground as they were hit by musket balls or gored with bayonets, and an endless succession of riders were toppled from their saddles. The unthinkable had happened. Elite French cavalry squadrons had been trounced by Hessian infantry. Daniel Rawson's battalion swiftly rallied and joined in the attack. Fighting on foot, he used his sword to cut and thrust. When a French blade whistled down at him, he parried it expertly then reached up quickly with his other hand to haul the rider from his mount. Before the man could even begin to defend himself, Daniel had stabbed him through the stomach.
Pulling his sword out, he left his victim writhing in agony and ran across to the riderless horse now looking around in bewilderment amid the melee. Within a second, Daniel was in the saddle, turning the animal in a circle until he saw what he wanted. He dug in his heels and rode towards the plundered regimental colours that were being held high by a French cavalry officer. It was a humiliation that could not be borne. Daniel had to kill two more riders and wound a third before he got close to the captured colours. Though Hessian soldiers converged on the man holding his trophy to block his escape, Daniel got to him first.
He was enraged that a Frenchman should be brandishing the colours of a British regiment. It was an
