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Updated: May 27, 2025
I wonder what it is that makes us so conspicuous." Then, looking round, he beheld behind them, and not five yards distant, a small clump of elder on which some man had tossed the flaming red shirt he had thrown off in the broiling heat. "Ah!" Fieldsend ejaculated, "there's the offender." He sprang away and whipped the tell-tale garment from its bush.
At the very moment when the boy and Lieutenant Fieldsend arrived, the Duke had given orders to prepare for another long march, and within a couple of days George found himself one of a large body of troops heading for the Rhine valley. A halt was called before Landau, and the siege of this stronghold began.
The words came from George Fairburn, as with his officer, Lieutenant Fieldsend, he stood surveying, from its northern vicinity, the far-famed Rock of Gibraltar. It was the summer of 1704. His doings since the day of his injuries in the dingle are soon recorded. After months of sickness and a winter of inaction, his service under Lord Galway had come to an end, much to his disgust at first.
"I'm one of you!" cried George Fairburn, as he followed the handful of sailors to the foot of the steep rock. "And I!" chimed in yet another voice, and, to George's astonishment, Lieutenant Fieldsend ran up, his arm in a sling. "Better go back, sir," exclaimed the lad, gazing up at the towering cliff in front of them.
They sailed away again, for the Netherlands, Fieldsend carrying in his pocket a few words of recommendation from Sir George to the commander-in-chief himself. The year 1703 had been a sorry year for Marlborough. In the winter he had lost his son, the Marquis of Blandford, a promising youth, a Cambridge student.
The affair proved to be a slow business, the attacking force being very short of military material. Days passed; the fortress stood firm, no apparent impression being made at all. "I dare wager the Duke won't stand cooling at this job," remarked Matthew to George and Fieldsend one evening.
"My sister," Fieldsend said, "and Miss Allan," by way of response to the inquiring looks of the newcomers. Then George and Matthew learnt many things that surprised them. They had had no news from home all the summer, the one letter that had been sent having miscarried. Binfield Towers was once more occupied, Mr. Fairburn having found an excellent tenant for the place in Mr.
The handful of harum-scarum fellows who had scaled the heights and planted the flag before long found themselves facing the great Admiral Sir George Rooke himself, on his quarter-deck, Lieutenant Fieldsend and George Fairburn being of the party. The admiral said a few words of commendation; few as they were, they were a full reward for all the efforts the little band had made.
George spied his old friend Matthew at one window; at another, astonishing sight! stood no other than Fieldsend! His own father was at a third. At that moment the fellow below raised his blunderbuss and took deliberate aim at the old Squire, who, all unconscious of his danger, was endeavouring to address the mob from an upper window. The sight seemed to grip George by the throat.
But Lieutenant Fieldsend, who was destined to become his comrade on many a hard-fought field, and his warm friend for life, was always prepared to tell the full and correct story. "This is better than lying on one's back in hospital, sir, and better than dodging about in a close-packed transport."
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