Of these great soldiers, John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough, or rather, as he was at the outbreak of the war, the Earl of Marlborough, was at once the most gifted with military genius and the most successful.  He was now fifty-two years of age, and one of the leading men at the Court of Queen Anne.  He had seen a fair amount of military service, and had earned the praise of William III, a judge of the first order in such matters.  But the England of that day could not be blamed if it failed to foresee the brilliancy of fame with which its general would ere long surround himself.

[Illustration:  Map Of Western Europe In The Time Of Queen Anne.  The shading represents the dominions of Louis XIV.]

He was known as a brave and an able officer, not much more, except that he was known also to be a great miser.  His wife, Sarah Jennings, now the Countess of Marlborough, was in high favour with the new Queen; indeed, she was at that time the most influential subject in the kingdom.

To Marlborough, then, was given the command of the combined English and Dutch forces.

It needs no telling that the declaration of war, a war in which the greater part of Europe would most likely be involved, caused no small consternation among those whose business was with the sea and with shipping.  Fairburn’s business necessitated that his single brig should be constantly running to and from London, and it was early rumoured that French cruisers and privateers were prowling about the North Sea and the Channel.  A schooner of considerable size, belonging to Squire Blackett, had, indeed, been chased, off the Norfolk coast, and had escaped only by the fact that it was lightly laden—­it was returning in ballast to the Tyne—­and by its superior sailing qualities.  Such things brought home to every collier the realities of the situation.  George’s mother grew alarmed.

“Who knows,” said the good woman, “whether the same Frenchman may not still be on the watch, and seize the Ouseburn Lassie and her cargo; and, worse than all, my dear boy on board of her?”

Her husband was not without his fears either, but George laughed at the notion of capture by a French vessel.

“I’ll go and have a talk with old Abbott, the skipper,” he said, “and see what he thinks about it.”

“Well, George, my lad,” the old salt said when the boy questioned him on the point, “it’s like this.  It’s not impossible we may get a Frenchy down on us.  But we shan’t strike our colours if there’s the least chance of doing anything by a bit of fighting.  The master’s a man of peace, but between you and me”—­the old fellow sank his voice to a whisper—­“I’ve got stowed away, unbeknown to him, four tidy little guns; real beauties they are, if small.  You shall help me to use ’em on the Mounseers, if they won’t leave us alone.”