Danube, men and
horses, officers and troopers together. Some escaped; but the greater
portion, who had sought to avoid an uncertain death on the field of
battle and honor, found a certain and shameful death in the river. The
poor marshal, after vainly endeavoring to stem this torrent of
despair, was obliged to surrender himself a prisoner of war with
several other general officers in his company. The defeat then became
complete. Of all the infantry the marshal had brought to the
assistance of the Elector, only two battalions escaped; eight and
twenty battalions were taken prisoners; and ten were entirely
destroyed!

The French, for many years, had never sustained any considerable
defeat; and in consequence, had looked upon themselves, and had been
regarded by other countries, almost as invincible. But now the charm
was broken.

After the battle, when Marshal Tallard was brought into the duke's
tent, the marshal exclaimed with emphasis, "Your grace has beaten the
best troops in the world!"

"I hope," quickly rejoined the duke, "that you except the troops which
defeated them."

The news caused great joy in England, except to a discontented party,
who considered that "it would no more weaken the power of the French
king, than taking a bucket of water out of a river." Marlborough's
answer, when he heard this, was, "If they will allow me to draw one or
two such buckets more, we may then let the river run quietly, and not
much apprehend its overflowing, and destroying its neighbors." Queen
Anne, however, as a monument of victory, commanded a splendid palace
to be built for the duke, at her own expense, to be called Blenheim.

It would fill a large volume to relate all the victories of the Duke
of Marlborough, none of which, however, exceeded the Battle of
Blenheim in importance. One, some years afterward, called the Battle
of Malplaquet, was a better contested fight, and perhaps ranks next;
in truth, after this battle, France never again ventured to meet
Marlborough in the field.

At three o'clock in the morning of September 11, 1709, the
confederated troops (for Eugene, with his army, was still with
Marlborough) began to raise their batteries, under cover of a thick
fog, which lasted till half-past seven. When it cleared away, the
armies found themselves close together, each having a perfect view of
the other. Marshal Villars commanded the French army. He was adored by
his troops, who placed unbounded confidence in