“We are in for hard knocks to-day, if appearances go for anything,” Blackett said quietly to George, as their regiment prepared, with the other cavalry, to open the proceedings.

“So much the better,” was George’s laughing answer; “without hard knocks there is no promotion, eh?”

All was ready; the bugle rang out the signal for the attack.  The long line of Marlborough’s horse fronted the Gheet at no great distance away, the field-pieces were in position, the infantry and reserves somewhat to the rear.  Beyond the stream, with the advantage of rising ground, were planted the French guns, supported by a powerful host.

Away!  The cavalry dashed onwards at a terrific pace.  A sharp rattle of musketry rang out, and in a moment a sprinkling of the advancing troopers fell from their saddles.  George Fairburn was already warming to the work, and he sat his steed firmly.  Then a ball struck the gallant animal, and in an instant the rider was flung over its head.  The young cornet narrowly escaped being trampled to pieces by his comrades as they swept by in full career.  Up he sprang, however, a trifle stunned for the moment, but otherwise no worse.  Quickly recovering his sword, which had flown from his grasp, he darted after his more fortunate companions, and arrived breathless on the scene.

A fierce struggle for the passage of the river was going on, and desperate fighting was taking place in the very bed of the stream, a trifle lower down its course.  For a time George endeavoured in vain to find a way through the struggling mass of men and horses to the brink of the Gheet; the press and the confusion were too great.  Accordingly he ran on behind the lines of horse, to find a place where he might thrust himself in.  Where his own comrades were he could not tell.  Bullets were flying thick around him as he ran, but he did not give the matter a thought.  It was characteristic of him all through his life, indeed, that when his attention and interest were strongly engaged on one matter he was all but oblivious to every other consideration.

At length his chance appeared, and an opening presented itself.  Springing over the prostrate bodies of men and horses, he reached the bank.  To his surprise the stream seemed to be very deep.  As a matter of fact the waters were dammed lower down by the mass of fallen men and animals lying across their bed.  Without hesitation he dashed into the flood, his sole thought being to get himself across and so into the enemy’s lines.  With his sword held tightly between his teeth, the boy officer swam, as many another lusty Peterite would have been able to do.  He reached mid stream.

Suddenly he became aware of a sharp pain in his left shoulder.  A moment later he grew faint.  In vain he struggled to keep afloat; the world grew dark to him, and he sank beneath the surface.

A tall fellow, fully six foot three in his stockings, if he was an inch, had just managed to wade through the stream, his nose above the surface, a comical sight, if anybody had had the time to notice it.  Looking back, this man saw George disappear, and without hesitation he dashed into the water again.  Reaching the spot, he groped about, and then, with both hands clutching an inanimate form, he dragged his burden to the bank.