It was nominally a coalition against France; at the bottom of it all was religious antagonism, and this notwithstanding the nature of the alliance. The Dutch wanted to preserve their frontiers, to protect their faith. The Imperial army wanted to check French aggression and support the Austrian candidature to the Spanish throne; while the alliance of Bavaria with France left the heart of Germany open to these allies. The defeat of the Emperor would destroy the Austrian hopes, and therefore the French, under Tallard, moved towards the valley of the Danube. Hence it was that Marlborough, grasping the situation and seeing the importance of the defeat of the main Franco-Bavarian army, decided on concentrating the allied forces in the valley of the Danube, as Napoleon did later at Ulm.[20]

Thus, after some unimportant tactical and strategical operations, the opposing armies found themselves approaching each other near the village of Blenheim, or Blindheim, between Dillingen and Donauwerth, on the north bank of the great river.

The road between these places is crossed by two streams running into the Danube. West of the first is Hochstadt, the usual name given to the battle by foreign writers; on the second, the Nebel, and close to the Danube, was “Blindheim,” with Unterglauheim, on a marshy space a short distance up the stream, and midway between the Danube and the wooded heights in which these small tributary streams rise. Between the rivulets lie parallel ledges of no great height; but, owing to the period of the year, the streamlet was practically passable—except possibly to cavalry and artillery—in most places. West of the Nebel were the Franco-Bavarians, and Tallard had viewed his front of battle as reduced to a series of defiles by the nature of the wet ground in front, and had moreover retired so far from the stream as to leave plenty of room for an assaulting column to deploy after it had crossed the comparatively insignificant obstacle. Thinking the centre naturally strong, Tallard therefore occupied Blenheim, which was strong enough almost to take care of itself, with twenty-six battalions and twelve squadrons.

Formation of the Lines of Battle at Blenheim 13th August 1704.

The centre was practically composed of cavalry, eighty squadrons, and seven battalions. The left was held by Marsin from Oberglauheim farther up the Nebel to the wooded hill lands in strength with fourteen battalions (including the Irish Brigade) and thirty-six squadrons. On the east bank of the rivulet, Marlborough, arriving first, had to wait for his ally Eugene, and decided on holding or containing the enemy’s right with Cutts’ hard-fighting regiment; and, waiting for the similar attack by his ally on the enemy’s left, kept in hand a centre of 8000 cavalry in two lines in front and a force of infantry in second line behind. His artillery were posted to cover the passage of the stream, over which extra pontoon bridges had been thrown. So he waited until Eugene was ready to engage.

This happened about 1 p.m., and the battle on this side was hotly contested to the end, with varying results; indeed, the Irish Brigade assailed the infantry of Marlborough’s right centre with serious results, until checked, and finally Marsin was able to retreat in good order. Meanwhile, on the other flank, Cutts had been able to “contain” Blenheim, and then, about 5 p.m., Marlborough’s centre crossed between the villages of Unter and Oberglauheim, and, supported as far as possible by guns, vigorously attacked and broke the centre of the defence, and the battle was practically over. For the separation of the wings obliged Marsin to fall back on Dillingen; and Blenheim, with twenty-four battalions and twelve squadrons, was compelled to surrender.

The Allied loss came to about 5000 killed and 8000 wounded. Of the French, 12,000 were killed and 14,000 made prisoners; while all the cannon and stores, some 300 colours, the general commanding, and 12,000 officers, were captured.

The “advice to officers,” printed at Perth in 1795, tells a quaint story of the conduct of the men of the 15th Foot during the battle. One of the senior officers, who knew he was unpopular because of his severity with his men, turned round to them before getting under fire, and confessed he had been to blame, and begged to fall by the hands of the French, not theirs. “March on, sir,” replied a grenadier; “the enemy is before us, and we have something else to do than think of you now.” On the French giving way, the major took off his hat and cried, “Huzzah, gentlemen!—the day is our own”; and, so saying, he fell dead, pierced through the brain; whether even then accidentally or otherwise by some of his own men or by the enemy, will never be known. But the death of officers by other bullets than those of the enemy is no new thing, if past stories and tradition be true.

The victory had a twofold aspect. On the one side the political effect was enormous. It had checked for ever the idea of universal dominion which may have been in Louis’ mind. More than this, but for it the whole face of Europe might have been politically altered. Protestantism might have once more been overridden by Roman Catholicism; Stuarts and not Guelphs might have reigned in England; the growth of commercial enterprise and religious freedom might have received a serious check; and, to quote Alison without fully endorsing his views, it is possible that “the Colonial Empire of England might have withered away and perished, as that of Spain has done in the grasp of the Inquisition. The Anglo-Saxon race would have been arrested in its mission to overspread the earth and subdue it. The centralised despotism of the Roman Empire would have been renewed in Continental Europe. The chains of Romish tyranny, and with them the general infidelity of France before the Revolution, would have extinguished or prevented thought in the British Islands.” These are strong views and possibly exaggerated; but whatever danger might have accrued from French aggression, the victory of Blenheim effectually stopped it. On the other hand, from a military standpoint the battle shows a curious change in tactics, which forms a sort of link with those of the time preceding it and those that followed. The actual order of battle shows how little, even then, the true employment of the mounted arms with respect to the infantry was understood. For example, Tallard had sent, besides a crowd of infantry, into the confined village space of Blenheim, where the few could check the many, some twelve dragoon squadrons to be dismounted and fight on foot. He did not, evidently, understand or grasp the proportion of footmen necessary for mere passive defence, or the value of the defensive when the protective nature of the cover afforded by such a place was taken into account.