THE BLACK WATCH.

(ROYAL HIGHLANDERS.)

The following will prove to my readers that the gallant 42nd, or Black Watch, have often been foremost in our ranks on many a hard contested field. Their loyalty is undoubted, and their patriotism unconquerable. There are none more brave and none more reckless in danger than these loyal children of the snow-capped mountains of Scotland, bred among crags and peaks, and accustomed from children to endure, to struggle, and dare. They have all the impetuosity of the Celt and the courage of the Saxon. They have a thousand glorious memories, which would fire the blood of the dullest with a joyous ardour which could not be subdued. Shoulder to shoulder they will advance with levelled steel; shoulder to shoulder they will stand and face shot and shell; and shoulder to shoulder they will die where they stand, overpowered, but not defeated. They may be broken and crushed, but never subdued. Happy the nation that can boast such devout sons. In tracing the history of these hardy Highlanders, we must say a few words upon the Scots Greys, the 71st Highland Light Infantry, the 72nd Highlanders, 78th Highlanders, 79th Cameron Highlanders, 92nd Gordon Highlanders, 91st, and the 93rd Sutherland Highlanders.

We find that in all ages the Highlander has been a soldier. The keen music of the pibroch has had an irresistible influence upon him. The Highlanders formed the famous body guard of the Kings of France, and their fidelity was never mistrusted. More than once they turned the tide of victory in favour of the Fleur de lis. The French monarchs lavished honours upon them, and every private had conferred on him the rank and dignity of a gentleman. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries they composed the “Scotch Brigade” of the United Provinces, and often wresting victory from the best soldiers of Europe, the Highlanders were among the elite of the conquering armies of the “Lion of the North;” and on the bloody field of Lutzen they routed the enemy. They displayed their prowess too in the great campaigns of Louis XIV. There have been Highland companies in the service of the House of Hanover, but it was William Pitt who first constituted the Highlanders part of our regular military establishment. The first Highland regiment was embodied as the “Black Watch” in 1729. They then had but six companies. War breaking out with Spain in 1739, they were augmented to ten. Each had one captain, one lieutenant, one ensign, three sergeants, three corporals, two drummers, and one hundred privates. We find from their records that John, Earl of Crawford, was their first colonel. The old “Black Watch” embarked for Flanders in 1743, and joined King George II.’s army at Hanan, just too late for the battle of Dettingen. They first confronted the enemy in covering a reconnoitering party in front of Fontenoy. Courage had done its best, but it was a defeat for us. The retreat was covered by the remains of the Guards and Highlanders, so that they were the first on the field and last off. The Duke of Cumberland made special acknowledgment of their chivalrous devotion. Their loss was 136. Shortly afterwards the 42nd returned to England, and were quartered on the coast of Kent, to assist in repelling a threatened French invasion. The next time the Black Watch were employed was under Major-General James Abercromby against a strong French fort, named Ticanderoga. The fortification was of immense strength. The general, without waiting for reinforcements, began to attack with his gallant Highlanders, who sprang forward sweeping all before them with their claymores. But the fire from the fortress mowed them down whole companies at a time, and with reluctance their noble commander withdrew them. In this desperate fray the 42nd lost 647 officers, non-commissioned officers, and men. In 1758 the Black Watch received the distinction of the “Royal Highland Regiment of Foot,” and a second battalion of ten companies numbering 120 men each was raised. A portion of the regiment were at the storming of Martinique, and at the capture of Guadaloupe; and no troops, says Beatson, could have behaved with more courage. We shortly after find the two battalions in North America, under General Amherst, at the capture of Montreal, and the reduction of Canada in 1760. The British soldier had need be made of tough material, for he often has the two extremes to bear, of the cold Canadian winters and the tropical heats of the East or West Indian summers. We next trace the Highlanders to Cuba, where they greatly distinguished themselves, and later in the attack upon Havanna their conduct was all that could be desired. The Black Watch had much rough fighting, and with not much honour, against the wild and restless Indian tribes. It is not my intention to chronicle every movement of the Black Watch; suffice it to say that they took part in the whole of the War of American Independence. This was brought about by sheer mismanagement, for had our forefathers treated the Americans with justice they would have been now part and parcel of our glorious empire. Again, we find the 42nd brought face to face with our old hereditary enemy at New Vigo. It was here that the Black Watch captured four redoubts situated one above or one commanding the other. A remarkable incident occurred here which is worth recording. Capt. Stuart, afterwards Major-General, directed one of his men to remain behind to look after the men’s knapsacks. He obeyed, but his wife pushed forward to the assault. The enemy had been driven from the third redoubt and the captain was giving directions to push on to the fourth and last, when he (the captain) was tapped on the shoulder by this Amazon, who was standing with her clothes tucked up to her knees. She cried out, “Weel din, ma Heiland lads, weel din! See how they scamper!” “Come,” added she, “let us drive them from yonder hill.” She had been in the hottest fire, cheering and animating the men, and when the action was over was as active as any of the surgeons in attending upon the wounded. We would here remark that so long as Britain can produce such heroic mothers her sons will ever uphold her flag.

We next find the Black Watch, together with other Highland regiments, under their old and much respected commander, Sir Ralph Abercrombie, forcing a landing in Napoleon’s teeth, notwithstanding that he was backed up by his so-called “Invincible” legions. The Black Watch was one of the regiments under Sir John Moore. Sir John, with five thousand men, effected a landing. As this noble band neared the shore a storm of shot, shell, grape, and musketry crashed through them, but these gallant fellows landed, and formed into line. They then swept the sandy beach, and Napoleon’s pets were lifted from the field with the bayonet, and were scattered like chaff before the wind. Then the cavalry, clad in glittering steel, came down upon these brave men; but they were coolly met with shot and steel, and driven from the field. The intrepidity here displayed was worthy of their fame. The enemy fled in confusion to Alexandria. The remainder of our army then landed. The enemy took up a strong position on this now historic ground, and the armies of two greatest nations of modern times stood face to face to contend for the laurels of victory. It is not my intention to attempt to describe the terrible battle of Alexandria. Sir Ralph Abercrombie fell in the hour of victory. He had aroused the enthusiasm of the troops by a pithy address. “My brave Highlanders,” he said, “remember your country; remember your forefathers!” Like an arrow from a bow the line swept forward. The Black Watch with deadly steel broke through the masses of Napoleon’s chosen “Invincibles,” and swept them from the field. The old “Forty Twa’s” taught the enemy a terrible lesson, and largely helped to nail victory to our glorious old standard. Their loss was heavy, being 15 officers, 6 sergeants, and 295 men. The next engagement of importance in which the Black Watch takes a conspicuous part is that of Corunna, and right well they upheld their reputation. My readers must remember that this battle was fought under great disadvantage. The army under Sir John Moore had just halted, after a long retreat, enduring hardships which destroyed half the army. But the lion was now at bay, a battle must be fought and won, and although the whole army was in a state of utter destitution, they again proved to the boasting enemy, who were exulting in their strength, that the sons of Britain had not degenerated since the days of Blenheim. The enemy advanced in all the glory of war, but the sons of Albion stood immoveable and undaunted until they received the order to advance. Sir John Moore might well say, “Well done 50th.” Turning to the Black Watch, that noble hero exclaimed, “Highlanders, remember Egypt.” It was enough. They swept the pride of France from the field. But Sir John met a soldier’s death. He was struck by a cannon ball in the breast. Like Nelson, he lived long enough to know that he had gained a glorious victory. In his last moments he asked if the French were beaten. Being answered in the affirmative, he said he hoped the people of England would be satisfied, adding, “I hope my country will do me justice; say to my mother”—here his voice quite failed. “A brave man and a loving son.” After enquiring about friends who had been in the thick of the fight, he spoke kindly to all around him, and then gently passed away. Such was the termination of Sir John Moore’s career. It was indeed a “death of honour.” He has left a name which will always be gratefully remembered by England, and an example which her defenders will do well to imitate. Although their beloved chief was struck down, it did not damp the spirits of our noble-hearted soldiers. No; but woe to the enemy their steel could reach. After Sir John fell, the old 42nd sprang upon the foe with a wild shriek, and smote them with a terrible slaughter, and fully vindicated their reputation for heroic prowess. The victory here gained enabled the British army to embark without being further molested, so thoroughly had the terrible repulses of the preceding day inspired the French with respect for British valour. But the hero, Sir John Moore, was left alone in his glory. Not a word was spoken as they laid him in his grave, by torch-light, wrapped in his military cloak.

But our gallant and generous enemy erected a tomb with the following inscription:—

JOHN MOORE,
Leader of the English Armies,
Slain in battle, 1809.

But to return. At “grim Busaco” the old Black Watch fully maintained their reputation for intrepidity, handling the pets of Napoleon very roughly. But at Fuentes de OÑoro the Highlanders came out in their true colours. On this field they were as firm as the rocks of the mountains they hailed from. It was the 71st and 79th who particularly distinguished themselves. Side by side the 88th, Connaught Rangers, crossed bayonets with the Imperial Guards. The conquerors of Wagram, Jena, and Friedland had to bow before them, for they laid them on the ground with the rush of cold steel. An incident occurred here worth mentioning. The officer who carried the colours of the 79th fell dead. A sergeant at once called out with a loud voice, “An officer to bear the colours of the 79th.” One at once sprang forward, and was immediately shot down. “An officer to bear the colours” again shouted the sergeant. Another hero at once seized them, and was also killed. A third and fourth time the gallant sergeant called out, and as fast as the colours were raised the bearer fell dead or fatally wounded. The adjutant then rushed up, exclaiming, “The 79th shall never want one to carry its colours while I can stand,” and he carried them in safety throughout the glorious day. The fighting was of a terrible character, the bayonet being the chief weapon of combat. But the boasting enemy found out who were the best hands at using it. No quarter was given or taken, and the field remained in the hands of the sons of Albion. Among the rocks of the mountains of the Pyrenees the conduct of the Highlanders was sublime, and the heroism displayed by the 92nd was the object of admiration of all who could see them. Napier says the 92nd Highlanders were composed principally of Irishmen at this time, but with all due respect to him, we believe the gallant colonel has made a mistake, for from authentic records handed down to us we find at the time of their heroic deeds at the Pass of Puerta-de-Mary this noble regiment was composed as follows:—

Soult, the veteran Marshal of France, had been out-generalled and beaten at all points. In rage he called his countrymen cowards. “Cowards,” cried this noble veteran, “where are you flying to; you call yourselves Frenchmen; halt, and face the foe in the name of heaven.” Stung to the quick, they halted and formed, but melted like snow under the rays of a summer’s sun from a rush of Highland bayonets. All regiments engaged had freely used the bayonet, and the enemy appeared to have a wholesale dread of the once despised sons of Albion, and the heroic sons of the Green Isle.

We pass on to note that on the bloody fields of Neville, Nive, Orthes, and Toulouse the old “Forty Twa’s” nobly upheld the reputation acquired by their forefathers, and taught the French to respect our flag. Their conduct at Toulouse was beyond all praise, for if the enemy had forgotten His Majesty King George III., the 42nd Highlanders reminded them at Mont Blanc that they were still fighting under the flag they loved so well. The fight was a close one, but the Highlanders captured redoubt after redoubt, chasing the quailing enemy from the field in grand style. It was a good wind up to a long and bloody struggle, and the old 42nd were never once beaten.

The war being now over, the Highlanders returned home, covered with honours. Napoleon had been crushed by combined Europe, and was sent to the isle of Elba. He still retained his title of Emperor. His stay here was of short duration. He burst from his narrow prison, landed in the Gulf of St. Juan, near Frejus, in triumph, and set Europe once more in a blaze. It was well ordained by an all-wise Providence, for matters had come to such a pitch in the General Congress at Vienna, that the whole of Europe was just about to fly at one another’s throats squabbling over the spoil. The news that Napoleon had broken his pledge and had secretly left Elba re-united the disputants. An army was at once got together and placed under the command of the Duke of Wellington, and as fast as the regiments could be embarked they were sent off to the Netherlands. A portion of the troops was not at home but in America. The following Highland regiments particularly distinguished themselves on the fields of Quatre Bras and Waterloo: the Scots Grays, the Scots Fusilier Guards, the 1st Royals (now called the Lothian Regiment), 2nd battalion 42nd (Black Watch), 71st, 79th, and 92nd (Gordon Highlanders). They all nobly did their duty, as their losses will testify. Napoleon had not been idle; he knew well that he would have to combat the whole of Europe, and he quickly collected around his standard a strong army of grim veterans. During the short peace the prisons on the continent, and ours also, had been thrown open, and all prisoners of war released. Napoleon’s name had such a charm that the bravest of the brave ranged themselves under his standard. Marshals Ney, Soult, and Grouchy, and a number of others less known but not less brave; Count D’Erton, Count Rolle, Count Vandamme, Count Gerrard, Count Loban, Count Pagob, Excelmans, Kellerman, and Milhand—threw in their lots with this usurper, determined to conquer or die. We say again that the army that was routed from the field of Waterloo was composed of veterans who hardly knew what defeat was, except a portion which had confronted us in the Peninsula campaigns. The heroes of Marengo, Friedland, Austerlitz, Jena, Wagram, Borodino, Dresden, Bantzen, with some that had witnessed the conflagration of Moscow, and the rout from the field of Leipsic, all were bound in one common tie. Napoleon might well say of such a host, led by such leaders as the heroic Ney, “For every Frenchman who has a heart the moment has arrived to conquer or die.” His Imperial Guards mustered 12,870 infantry; they had conquered on almost every field on which Napoleon had fought. But the gauntlet was about to be thrown down at the feet of one who proved more than a match for these spoilt “Invincibles.” Meanwhile the British Government were straining every nerve to meet the coming conflict. Our forefathers stood nobly forth in this death-struggle, for, in addition to an enormous expenditure, all the continental nations had we to assist, or not a company, so to speak, could any of them put into the field to combat the terror of the world. All were nearly bankrupt. Russia received as a loan close upon £3,500,000, Austria nearly £2,000,000, Prussia nearly £2,500,000, and the smaller states, such as Spain, Portugal, Sweden, Italy, Holland, the Netherlands, and Hanover, received assistance from us to the tune of £2,800,000. Ireland was in great distress at the time, and we assisted her with the nice round sum of £7,277,000, at 1 per cent, interest; and my young readers must remember all this took place after we had continued a war with France, which was for very existence, for about twenty-one years.

The two great commanders who had vanquished every other antagonist were now for the first time to be brought into collision. The “conqueror of Europe” was now to measure swords with the “deliverer of Spain.” Mark the difference in these two great men. Napoleon was covetous of glory; Wellington was impressed with duty; Napoleon was reckless of slaughter, so long as he gained his purpose; Wellington was sparing of blood. He has been known to completely break down as he rode over a field of carnage. Napoleon was careless of his word, and anything but truthful when a deliberate falsehood would suit his purpose. Wellington was inviolate in faith. Napoleon’s wasting warfare converted allies into enemies; Wellington’s protecting discipline changed enemies into friends. The former fell because all Europe rose against him; the latter triumphed because all Europe joined to place itself under his guidance. There is not a proclamation of Napoleon to his army in which glory is not mentioned, or one in which duty is alluded to. There is not an order of Wellington’s to his troops in which duty is not inculcated, nor one in which glory is mentioned. Such were the two commanders who had centred upon the attention of the civilised world, and who decided the fate of Europe on the field of Waterloo.[37]

The 42nd, 79th, and 92nd Highlanders formed a part of Sir Thomas Picton’s division. Sir Thomas arrived on the field, after a long, hot, and exciting march, for Marshal Ney had attacked the Brunswickers and Belgians. The former fought well, but numbers already prevailed. The key of the position was in the possession of the enemy, the Marshal of France. The fire-eating Picton could see that they were in a terrible plight, but as soon as he caught sight of their huge columns the old veteran called out, “There are your enemies, men, beat them,” His division was composed of the following regiments: the 28th, 32nd, 42nd, 44th, 79th, 92nd, 95th, 1st and 3rd battalions—total, about 5000, including officers. The honour of old England was in their keeping, it was “do or die!” a handful against a host, for Marshal Ney had under his command 46,786 men and 116 guns. The terrible Cuirassiers, who had ridden over Russians, Austrians, Prussians, Spaniards, and Portuguese, came down like a whirlwind upon these devoted regiments, shaking their sabres in the air, confident of victory, and shouting with all their might, “Down with the English.” But our soldiers stood immovable as if rivetted to the earth. The French horsemen dashed headlong at our squares, but no opening could they find or force, and were compelled to retire with their ranks shattered. The key of the position must be won. It was won, and that in grand style. The bayonet was brought down, and the pipers struck up “The Campbells are coming.” They bade defiance to the enemy. This unequal fight lasted for several hours. The Cuirassiers and Lancers of the Guard repeatedly charged them with all the vehemence of fanatics. Sometimes the little band were attacked on all sides at once by the flower of the French cavalry; but it was unavailing. Hundreds of the bravest of the French bit the dust, and the remainder bolted like a well-greased “nigger.” The 42nd lost four commanders in as many minutes, viz., Col. Sir R. Macara, K.C.B., Lieut.-Colonel Dick, C.B., Major Davidson, and Major Campbell; but these losses notwithstanding, our soldiers nobly held their ground. The achievements of this band of heroes will live in the pages of history to the end of time. All honour to the brave!

Reinforcements were now coming up, and the eagle eye of Wellington was now on the field. It was no longer the death-struggle it had been. The Third Division and Guards soon put the finishing stroke upon Napoleon’s pets. The brunt of this desperate combat fell upon the Highlanders, as their loss will testify. In the 42nd, 18 officers and 288 men fell; in the 79th, 26 officers and 204 men; in the 92nd, 20 officers and 286 men; and we say all honour to the two battalions of Guards. To rescue the Highlanders from their critical position they fought as only Britons will fight, and their loss was as follows: 2nd battalion Grenadiers, 8 officers and 285 men; 3rd battalion Grenadiers, 9 officers and 262 men. Thus far we had acted principally upon the defensive, but with the divisions that were now coming up the Duke turned the tables. He ordered the whole line to advance, and he thus drove the impetuous Marshal Ney and his boasting legions from the field, and the victorious “thin red line” sank down amid dead and dying, friend and foe, for a few hours’ repose. Many of these veterans had marched close upon thirty miles, heavily laden, and had then decided a doubtful field in favour of the “flag that has braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze.” Our conquering commander knew well that he had yet to face the “terror of Europe.” But, reader, moral strength in war is to physical strength as three to one. The fight that was just over was only a skirmish compared to what was to follow. Napoleon had beaten Marshal BlÜcher at Ligny with great slaughter, and in order to keep up communication with the Prussian commander, Wellington retired to the memorable field of Waterloo. It is not my intention to go into the oft-told tale of Waterloo, but to keep as near my subject as possible. All did their duty nobly, and would again should the honour of the flag that every true Briton loves ever again be in danger. Unity is strength. Shoulder to shoulder we must advance with levelled steel, shoulder to shoulder we must stand and return flash for flash and shot for shot, and if Britons are true to themselves, shoulder to shoulder they will die, but never yield.

The armies that confronted each other on the plains of Waterloo were as different to each other as chalk is to cheese. The one all speaking the same language, all bound by one common tie, they all looked up to their great commander as invincible, and all exulting in their supposed invincibility, except that portion which had so often confronted us during the Peninsula campaigns. “Never,” said Napoleon, “had my troops been animated with such spirit; the earth seemed proud of being trodden by such combatants.” So confident of victory was this spoilt child of fortune, that in exultation he exclaimed, “I have them, these English.”[38] The odds were heavy against us. They were 80,000 men, with 250 guns, against 67,000 and 156 guns, but the great difference consisted in the quality of the troops. Wellington had over twenty thousand under his standards, many of them being, shall I say, doubtful friends-nay worse than that, they were traitors and cowards. The Belgians would not face the foe, but bolted clean off the field as fast as a dog with a tin kettle at his tail could go. It was a motley mass: British, Germans, Hanoverians, Brunswickers, Dutch, and Belgians—all speaking different languages. Marshal Soult respected the British, for he said he knew that they were the very devil in the fight, particularly in a close fight, and that they would die on the ground where they stood rather than retreat. Up to that time never was a nobler spectacle witnessed. The old veterans were struck with a feeling of awe as they gazed at each other. Picton’s heroes were soon called upon to hold the post of honour. D’Erlon’s men advanced bravely; they knew their beloved Emperor’s eyes were upon them, and, confident in their strength, they advanced; but the undaunted Picton was there to confront them, with the 42nd, 44th, 92nd, and Royal Scots. These noble fellows hurled in one volley and down came the queen of weapons, and the mighty column of the French was broken into fragments. The hero of many fights fell; the heroic Picton fell I say, waving on the Highlanders with the words, “Charge! Charge! Hurrah!” Then, as at Salamanca, the Union Brigade of heavy horse went straight at the reeling columns of the enemy, the Scots Grays shouting “Scotland for ever.” Some of the 42nd and 92nd caught up the fire, and clinging to the stirrups of the Grays, went in with them. It was this time “Down with the French,” for that column had a bad time of it. Three thousand prisoners and two eagles were taken; one of the eagles being captured by Sergeant Ewart of the Grays. It belonged to the 45th Invincibles; on it were inscribed the words, “Jena,” “Austerlitz,” “Wagram,” “Eylan,” and “Frieidland.” But this noble brigade did not stop at trifles; they dashed on and on, cutting down all that came in their way until they reached the terrible battery which had swept a number of their comrades down. The gunners were cut down at their guns; the horses hamstrung, and the tackle hacked to pieces, thus rendering some 40 guns useless for the remainder of the day. I think I hear my young readers say “Well done the Union Brigade.” Their commander, Gen. Sir W. Ponsonby fell, and the brigade lost half their number. We had two masters in the art of war face to face. Napoleon witnessed the terrible charge and its effects. He instantly ordered forward his, as he thought, matchless Cuirassiers. No power on earth seemed capable of withstanding them. Picton’s heroes at once threw themselves into squares, and the enemy came on with vehement cries of “Vive l’Empereur,” and “Down with the English;” but they were met with a fearful storm of lead which swept whole squadrons to mother earth. Our troops fought with desperation, and vain were all attempts of the French to break our infantry. The French with all their martial pride were compelled to retreat in disorder from the frightful strife. Our commanders would call out at times—“Steady, men, steady; our time will come yet.” At one time our great commander had to seek shelter from these terrible Cuirassiers inside the square of the 95th. “Stand fast, 95th,” said Wellington, “we must not be beaten, or what will they say of us in England.” “Never fear, sir, we are a match for them,” was the reply; and to their cost the French found it so. In and around Hougoumont the desperate strife raged for hours. Huge columns were repulsed time after time, and as fast as one was broken into fragments another took its place, all under the watchful eye of their beloved Emperor. The conduct of the Scots Fusilier Guards was beyond all praise. Here the Briton came out in his native lustre. Nothing could dismay him, for unbroken stood that line of red majestically firm; and all the boasting sons of Gaul could not capture that old farm house and orchard from the sons of Albion. Napoleon’s furious attacks had been baffled at all points. The Prussians were now coming up, and the French decided that one more effort on a grand scale must be made in order to drive these detestable English from the field. The old Guards were formed up, led by Marshal Ney; the Emperor came part of the way with them, and bade them God speed, but it was unavailing. They were met at the onset with that terrible weapon the bayonet, and grim-faced as they were they had to bow before the conquering British. They fought with desperation; they carried an empire at the points of their bayonets; but the sons of Albion, side by side with the loyal boys of the Green Isle, won the victory, and secured peace and plenty for forty years. The total loss of the Highland regiments during this sanguinary fighting was 165 officers and 2127 non-commissioned officers and men, out of a total strength of 5174.

Any impartial historian must award the highest praise to the “thin red line,” for including the King’s German Legion and Hanoverians, Wellington had only 52,000 upon whom he could rely to resist the attacks continued during seven long hours of 80,000 veterans, directed by Napoleon in person. These attacks were so vehement that no power on earth seemed capable of stopping them. But the stubborn pluck of the British on this field, as at Albuera, came out in all its brilliance. Shoulder to shoulder they advanced at Quatre Bras, determined to conquer or die. It was Albuera repeated, and on the red field of Waterloo they stood to be mowed down until their invincible chief ordered them to advance. Then it was “Scotland for ever.” They then smote the boasting legions of Napoleon, captured all their guns, and rolled them up in indescribable confusion, and largely helped to nail victory to our flag.

The 18th June, 1815, must as long as time shall last, or until swords are broken and made into ploughshares, be the proudest of all the many proud days of British martial glory. For Napoleon himself said afterwards, if he could have defeated Wellington at Waterloo, what would have availed all the multitudes of Russians, Austrians, Spaniards, or Prussians, who were crowding to the Rhine, the Alps, or the Pyrenees. He could have beaten them all in detail. But for humanity’s sake a merciful Providence ordered it otherwise. Victory on this occasion did not, as on many other fields, side with the strongest battalions, for the Atheist (Napoleon) found to his cost on this memorable and bloody field that there is a God that ruleth the armies of heaven and earth, and upon the strength of the sovereign power of God Britain depended, and does still depend, and we trust is not ashamed to acknowledge it. Every honest, thinking Briton will Say with the writer, “So mote it be.”

The victorious Highlanders marched on to Paris, where a British drum, bugle, or pibroch had not been heard for four hundred years. The tyrannical usurper was struck down, and guilty, haughty France had to eat a lot of “humble pie” made by a pastry cook whom they had so much despised, viz., John Bull, assisted by a number of the sons of the Emerald Isle—“Quis separabit.” Peace was now purchased by the blood of some thousands of the best and bravest of the sons of Britain. The victorious army remained in France until 1818, under the command of the immortal Duke who had so often led them from victory to victory, until the whole of Europe stood amazed at the doings of our soldiers. The Highlanders now returned home, to be almost killed with kindness. They were greeted by enthusiastic crowds, and in every town had cross fires to meet, not of shot, shell, or musketry, but of brandy, rum, gin, whisky, and ales, to say nothing of the broad-sides they got from pretty lasses; for on all the fields they had fought the pretty girls acknowledged the men in petticoats “second to none:” for

Britain had been blessed with peace for nearly forty years, when Russian perfidy brought about the Crimean War, and the 42nd Highlanders, or Black Watch, the 79th Cameron Highlanders, and the 93rd Sutherland Highlanders, with the Scots Grays and Scots Fusilier Guards, were called upon to rally round the British standard. Their conduct at the Alma was heroic. The great redoubt had been carried by the Light and Second Divisions. The Russians did not at all like the appearance of the giants in petticoats, for these stalwart regiments, the 42nd, 79th, and 93rd, advanced, knowing well they had a spotless fame bequeathed to them by their forefathers; and these noble regiments had made up their minds that it should not be tarnished. They were commanded by one who had often led them to victory—Sir Colin Campbell, K.C.B. His Highland blood was roused, and waving his sword high in the air he exclaimed, “We’ll have none but Highland bonnets here;” and right well did these noble regiments sweep all before them. The enemy did not wait for what they would have got, viz., the bayonet, but bolted; they did not like the appearance of these hardy mountaineers. We say again,

And none better deserved the love and gratitude of Britain. The honour of our flag was at stake. The enemy had boasted that he would drive us all into the sea, but their souls sank at the determined advance of our soldiers. We pass on to the plains of Balaklava, on which the thin red streak tipped with steel only two deep was too much for the boasting Muscovite. Sir Colin Campbell had drawn his Highlanders up, disdaining to form square to receive the advancing enemy’s cavalry. It was do or die. The 93rd opened a fire which emptied a number of the enemy’s saddles. By this time the Russians were in possession of our batteries; which in this instance, unfortunately, were not manned by British soldiers, but by the Turks, who fled from the enemy like hares before the hounds, and in their hasty flight from the field met a terrible foe, who attacked them with all the fury of a maniac. They in terror rushed through the camp of the 93rd Highlanders, shouting “Ship! ship!” A stalwart enraged woman, wife of one of the Highlanders, dashed out of her tent, armed with a good cudgel, and laid about her right and left without mercy. Selecting one of these cowards, the biggest she could find, this dame thrashed him right well, holding him with a grip of iron all the time. We think some of the faithful will have cause to remember this Christian woman as long as they live. This incident caused no small amusement in the 93rd, who had sterner duties before them. But with all due respect to our ally the Turks, it must be remembered that they were attacked by ten times their own number. Many of them fought well.

It was on this field that the Union Brigade of matchless cavalry, as at Waterloo, went at the foe. It was cavalry charging cavalry. These noble horsemen—under General Scarlett—advanced at a steady trot to meet a host more than ten times their number.

After the Russian cavalry had retired, that fire-eating old commander, the hero of a hundred fights, Sir Colin Campbell, rode up to the front of the Greys, with hat in hand, and exclaimed with pride, “Greys, gallant Greys, I am past sixty-one years; if I were young again I should be proud to be in your ranks; you are worthy of your forefathers.” The French officers were in admiration of the doings of the Heavy Brigade. They had watched the fight of a handful against a host, and exclaimed it was truly magnificent. The victory of the Heavy Brigade was the most glorious thing they had ever seen. The French commander sent a tribute of admiration to Lord Lucan, and Lord Raglan conveyed a message by an aide-de-camp in two syllables to General Scarlett—“Well done!”

As regards the remainder of the campaign, the Highlanders took their turn in the trenches from the spring of 1855 until the town fell, but our commanders kept them in reserve. We could have well done with their assistance on the blood-stained height of Inkermann, for had that noble brigade been with us the enemy would not have got off as cheaply as they did, although they paid well for a peep at our camp; and as far as the storming of the town was concerned, had they been by the side of us the enemy would have gone into the harbour at the point of the bayonet, or laid down their arms. The war, as far as fighting was concerned, ended with the fall of that far-famed town, Sebastopol, September 8th, 1855.

The Highlanders returned home for a short time, but peace was of brief duration. India, the brightest gem in her most gracious Majesty’s crown, was tottering. It was held in the hands of a few desperate men until assistance could reach them. These men might well claim the motto of Napoleon’s old Guard—“The Guards die but never surrender.” No regiment came out with more honour than the 78th Highlanders under the brave Sir H. Havelock. To give full particulars of all the fights—they fought in the first relief of Lucknow—would be to fill a large volume. Their conduct on every occasion was beyond all praise. They never waited to count the enemy. “There they are, men,” said that noble Christian hero on more than one field, “beat them.” It may be honestly said of that noble band, that they tried to do their duty, both in the relief and gallant defence of Lucknow. But help was on the way; the 42nd, 71st, 72nd, 79th, and 93rd were on march to assist in stamping out the last spark of rebellion. Suffice it to say that all engaged, both army and navy, nobly did their duty; the honour of our glorious old flag was at stake, and the Highland lads were determined to uphold it or die in the attempt.

In all our little wars or pic-nics in Abyssinia, 1868; Ashantee, 1874; Africa, 1879-80; Afghanistan, 1879-80; Egypt, 1882-4, they have ever proved more than a match for multitudinous fanatics. These noble fellows have won their spurs from nobler foes, armed with as good a weapon as their own; but it is not my intention to follow these gallant regiments through all the muddles the “grand old man” has got them into. Suffice it to say that the Zulus, Abyssinians, Ashantees, Afghans, Egyptians, and the wild fanatical Soudanese will respectfully remember the men in petticoats; and should our country get into any other muddle we feel confident these loyal-hearted sons of Scotland will ever do their duty. We now wish them, and the loyal boys of the Green Isle, a hearty “God speed.”

THE BRITISH ARMY, 1886.

The following table will prove of much interest to all who wish to trace the crimson records of our army. It will show all the battles and campaigns that have been fought from 1704 up to 1884, compiled from the Horse Guards Records, according to seniority:—

In tracing out the honours of our Infantry, to assist the reader we give their old titles and their new-fangled territorial distinctions.

N.B.—All the above infantry regiments have two battalions, and are linked together; but we now come to where our red tape gentlemen have thought fit to break up and do away with old regimental distinctions. Honours have likewise been transferred, so that regiments now have honours on their colours they knew nothing of. The 90th Regiment was not raised until the end of the last century.

The following shows about the average number of troops kept in India, Gibraltar, Malta, and Ireland:—

Index of Linked Battalions, to enable the reader to find out regiments that are struck off the Army List:—

In Memoriam—Charles George Gordon.

(Jan. 26, 1885.)

TWO DAYS TOO LATE!

[After the battle near Metemneh, Sir Charles Wilson pushed on to Khartoum in one of the steamers which General Gordon had sent down the Nile to meet our troops. But two days before his arrival—so it is said—Khartoum had been betrayed into the hands of the rebels, and its heroic defender had been slain.]

MEDALS.

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