Marlborough: His Life and Times, Volume II (Winston Churchill's Marlborough Collection Book 2) by Winston S. Churchill

Author:Winston S. Churchill
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
ISBN: 9780795329913
Publisher: RosettaBooks
Published: 2014-03-06T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

THE MARCH TO THE DANUBE

1704—MAY

The annals of the British Army contain no more heroic episode than this march from the North Sea to the Danube. The strategy which conceived, the secrecy and skill which performed, and the superb victory which crowned the enterprise have always ranked among the finest examples of the art of war. But a brighter and truer glory shines upon the Man than can be won by military genius alone. Never did lifeboat captain launch forth to the rescue of a ship in distress with more selfless devotion to duty. Not Wolfe before Quebec, not Nelson before Trafalgar, nursed a purer love of his country’s cause than Marlborough in this supreme passage in his career. The profound calculations which he made, both political and military, could only present a sum of dangers against which forethought could make no provision. All that gallant army that marched with him risked life and honour: but he alone bore the burden. It was for them to obey the lawful authorities. For him the task was to persuade, deceive, and defy them for their own salvation.

Marlborough was the champion of the entire confederacy, accountable for all time for the common cause and the general deliverance. He could not retire. He could not escape. To withdraw to peace and quiet, ease and affluence; to mingle in the vivid politics of the day; to live the interesting and varied life of an English duke, in days when dukes were dukes: nay, to be happy with Sarah, surrounded in the home he had built and was building at Holywell by children and grandchildren—all were temptations to be put aside. But for what? Ambition? Not certainly in any base sense. He had already all its material rewards. He was only a subject and a servant under a monarchy and patriciate and the House of Commons. He might be the greatest of servants. He could never be more. Monarchies and empires were dissolving or being framed upon the Continent. Perhaps they would be made or marred by his sword. But not for him the prizes of Napoleon, or in later times of cheaper types. His toils could only be for England, for that kind of law the English called freedom, for the Protestant religion, and always in the background for that figure, half mystic symbol and the rest cherished friend, the Queen. But these incentives were respectable. He had to respond to them no matter at what cost in peril or cares. They were also impersonal. A page in history, a niche in Valhalla, and a good conscience to have used well the gifts which God had given: these must be the sole reward of a moral and mental exertion which, for its comprehension and power, has not often been surpassed in history.

But Marlborough felt the greatest compulsion that can come to anyone—the responsibility of proprietorship. It had become his war. He was the hub of the wheel. He was bound to function. He had made the treaties.

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