Chapter XV: Concluding Chapter (2)

The enemy's loss was terrible: 28 generals, 2,540 officers, and 60,000 men fell. Prisoners: 1 king (of Saxony), 24 generals, 4,000 officers, 68,000 men; 350 guns, 900 ammunition waggons, eagles and standards by wholesale. The blowing up of the bridge saved the wreck of Napoleon's army; thousands were taken prisoners through it. But its destruction prevented the victorious allied cavalry from following up a beaten foe. The first-fruits of the victory was the sweeping of the French out of Germany, except those that were in the strong fortress. They all, to a man--now over 120,000 men--had to surrender in due course or die. The multitude of mouths soon ate up all their stores. Napoleon was now retiring with his half-famished, beaten, dejected army; three-fourths of those that had fought so bravely, then in life's morning march, had perished or were captives. The army was more like a huge funeral procession than a warlike army--pressing on, pensive and silent. Many of them envied the lot of those who had fallen, for then they would not have witnessed the degradation of France. The Allies were in close pursuit of Napoleon, who did not attempt to stop until he had put the Rhine between him and his enemies. At the same time, Wellington was nailing victory after victory to our standard in the south of France. There was a lot of humble pie for Napoleon to eat. Mrs. Bull was the cook, with Pat for an assistant, whose conduct had often been the admiration of all, when our old flag was in danger.

As we have said, the Allied armies were in close pursuit of Napoleon's legions, dejected and forlorn. 300,000 more men were demanded (food for powder) by Napoleon, but he was rolled up before the quarter of them could be brought up. The campaign of the great conqueror in France, in 1814, was sublime. With about 60,000 men, he kept at bay the huge armies of the Allies for months. Combat followed combat in rapid succession. If he could not strike out with that power he had done on former fields, on which his fame was built as an all-conquering general, he stung their huge armies terribly. The loss of the Allies was greater in this short campaign than Napoleon's whole strength. But the Allies, in majestic strength, were now fast approaching Paris. The conqueror's generalship was of no avail now. Guilty Paris was soon surrounded with an iron girdle, and tens of thousands, in their excitement, called upon their artillery to fire on Paris. But, no! the Emperor Alexander avenged mother Moscow by saving father Paris: and thus guilty, haughty Paris was saved from destruction in a true spirit of Christianity, which any thinking man must admire. But, in order to keep the Allies together, Mr. Bull had again to shell out with the nice little round sum of £12,000,000 sterling. That was the last stroke that pulled the usurper from the throne and sent him to the Isle of Elba, with the empty title of _Empereur_. Peace was now made with France. The tyrant was stricken down; but no indemnity had France to pay. Revolutionary France was humbled in the dust: her capital had been in the hands of her enemies, and her sons defeated on field after field; but their wives and daughters were respected. Infidelity had been conquered by Christianity. The whole of the Allied sovereigns, with their princes, marshals, and chief generals--some of the bravest of the brave--came to England after the peace of 1814, before returning to their own country, to do homage to our king, and to thank a free people, with a warm heart, personally, for their energy and indomitable perseverance: who had saved themselves by their firmness, and Europe by their example and generosity. But there were then, as now, thousands in Old England who knew well it was not our arm that saved us from bondage. She had an open Bible, and our forefathers were not at all ashamed to call God their Father: "O Lord, save Thy people, and bless Thine inheritance," went straight up to the throne of grace from thousands of honest hearts daily. They acknowledged then, as now, that they were His people, His "chosen people," His "inheritance." They acknowledged before a wicked world that they were His "servants," and that "none other fighteth for us but Thou, O God!"[51] And how could they say _they_ had won the victory, now the time had come the tyrant was struck down? To give God all the praise, all denominations openly thanked an All-wise God fervently for His powerful aid. It belongs to our historians to recount the festivities of that joyous period. The Emperor Alexander, on visiting the Arsenal at Woolwich, with its acres of cannon, shot, shell, and all kinds of warlike implements ready, exclaimed: "Why, this resembles the preparation of a great nation for the commencement of a war, rather than stores still remaining at the termination of a struggle for very existence for twenty-two years."

The following table will help my readers to see a little into the cost of war in blood, in France alone. Thousands, yea, hundreds of thousands of once happy homes were made miserable. No tongue can tell the amount of misery this terrible war had brought about. Mothers refused to be comforted, their darling boys being torn from their homes. Wives refused to be comforted for loved husbands torn from their bosoms. Thousands, and hundreds of thousands of orphans were left upon a cold world, all to gratify one man's ambition for power.

Taken by conscription from 1793 to 1813:

Totals.
1793 { 300,000
1793 { 1,200,000
1798 No dates { 200,000
1799 { 200,000
1801 { 30,000
1805 17th January 60,000
1805 24th September 80,000
1806 4th December 80,000
1807 7th April 80,000
1808 21st January 80,000
1808 10th September 160,000
1809 18th April 40,000
1809 5th October 36,000
1810 13th December 160,000
1811 20th December 120,000
1812 13th March 100,000
1812 1st September 137,000
1813 11th January 300,000
1813 3rd April 300,000
1813 24th August 100,000
1813 9th October 200,000
1813 15th November 140,000
1813 November 300,000
---------
Grand Total 4,403,000
---------

But these figures do not include hundreds of thousands of young men that were induced, by nice soft talk, to voluntarily join the army, to gain distinction under their beloved pet corporal, as they were wont to call Napoleon. Many of them did well, as nearly all his marshals rose from butchers, publicans, tinkers, or shoemakers; in fact, many of them from the lowest of the low. Their actions bespoke their origin as soon as they were in power, either in Germany, Spain, or Portugal.

Europe had been convulsed in a death-struggle, in the iron grasp of revolutionary France, for twenty-two years. The map of Europe was completely upset. Kingdoms were shaken to their foundations. New kingdoms were formed at pleasure, to suit the whims of this restless tyrant. Old England, with her unconquerable fleet, was the only Power which had escaped the ravages of war. A merciful God, who neither slumbers nor sleeps, had built a hedge round about us. "The prayer of a righteous man," we are told, "availeth much;" and thousands and tens of thousands of honest hearts, both publicly and privately, daily supplicated a throne of grace for His powerful aid: "From war, good Lord, deliver us." Napoleon was a wonderful man, with an eagle eye. He fastened victory after victory, triumph after triumph, to his standards. He was endowed with a large mind, an iron will, and a cold heart. Nelson was the first man that thwarted his plans. The destruction of his fleet at the Nile was a heavy blow. To replace that fleet, a secret treaty was entered into with the Danes. The whole of their fleet was to have been placed at the disposal of this iron-minded man, to assist in the invasion of our beloved isle. But again our God warded off the blow. Our Government were not napping; they found it all out just in time to despatch our one-eyed, one-armed hero, Nelson, to Copenhagen. The whole of the Danish fleet was demanded. It was a daring stroke; but, reader, sharp diseases require sharp remedies. It was life or death with us as a nation. The brave Danes would not comply, but fought for it, and lost all, except their honour. It was here that the darling hero of England put his glass to his blind eye, and said he could not see the signal. He did not want to see it. His answer to the distasteful signal was: "Nail my signal to the mast-head for closer action." Thus he crushed the enemy's fleet, and once more nailed victory to the flag which is second to none. Napoleon was mad with rage, to see his plans again frustrated by these detested Albions. The next crushing blow this dauntless hero gave the tyrant was at Trafalgar. It was a death-stroke to this eagle-eyed usurper. It swept his flag and his allies from the sea, and proclaimed to the nations of the earth that Britain ruled on sea. This triumph, my young readers must know, was purchased by our noble hero's life-blood. It was on the field of Austerlitz, with the Russians and their Allies completely crushed, that Napoleon said to those around him: "Gentlemen, all we want now are fleets and commerce." He had hardly pronounced the words, when he received the news of the annihilation of his fleets, and those of his allies, by Nelson at Trafalgar; and that the hero was dead. He was completely dumbfounded. His first words were: "Would to God that man had been dead ten years ago." Our darling hero was in life not immaculate; but it was evident to all thinking men that this dauntless hero was the instrument in the hands of God to combat infidelity. Our statesmen soon converted enemies into allies, and stuck to Napoleon like a good bull-dog until he was worried out, and landed in safety on the isle of Elba, under a faithful promise of peace and good-will to all. It was soon found that this tyrant could not slumber in the uneasy pomp at Elba. The whole of the representatives of Europe were now at Vienna, in Congress, squabbling over the spoil of dismembered Europe. When the astounding news of Napoleon's flight from Elba was announced to that body by Count Talleyrand, all disputes were at once thrown overboard. All were unanimous that this restless usurper should be crushed, with all those that supported him. No time was to be lost, for nearly all the French army had joined him. His name had such a charm, that tens of thousands of veterans, whom the prisons of the continent and ours had let loose, at once rushed to his standards. It was plain to all, that, in order to put him down, Europe must combine--that it would be a death-struggle. The old shouts of _Vive l'Empereur_ resounded across the frontier as a challenge to Europe. It was at once agreed that the British should furnish 125,000 men. Her magnificent fleets were to blockade all French ports, or destroy all that dare to put to sea. Prussia was to put into the field, within three months, 236,000 men; Austria, with as little delay as possible, 300,000 men; Russia, 225,000 men; the smaller German States, 150,000 men; Holland, 50,000 men; Spain and Portugal, 200,000 men. Thus Napoleon would have to combat Europe combined, with 1,286,000 men in arms--all in the pay of this glorious old isle. It cost us just one hundred and ten millions sterling to finally rid Europe of this tyrannical monster. It was plain to all that the British, supported by Prussia, were to be the advance guard of the hosts of Europe. It is not my intention to go into the oft-told tale of Waterloo; but a short explanation of Marshal Grouchy's movements, I hope, will set some right; together with some of the leading features of that historic red field. In plain language, Grouchy simply obeyed strictly Napoleon's instructions--he was well aware of the implicit obedience to orders which Napoleon exacted--without even attempting to form an opinion of his own. His orders were, to follow up the Prussians, to attack them, and never to lose sight of them. The terrible battle of Wavre was fought the same day as that of Waterloo. General Thielman's corps of Prussians fought it out to the bitter end, and kept Grouchy's men fully employed all day. It was not until seven p.m. that Grouchy received orders to manoeuvre on St. Lambert. Up to this, Grouchy's army had been repulsed and driven back no less than thirteen times during that terrible day. They fought from four a.m. till midnight, and then the bridge of Wavre remained in the hands of the Prussians. The slaughter was terrible. Marshal Blücher knew well that his rear was attacked; but that heroic old veteran knew also that it was not at Wavre that the fate of Europe was to be decided, but at Waterloo; and, with the true spirit of a general, he resolved to sacrifice Thielman's corps, if necessary, in order to destroy Napoleon's army at Waterloo. All minor objects had to stand in abeyance. The brave General Thielman not only kept Grouchy back, but beat him at all points. The terrible combats at Quatre Bras and Ligny had already shown up the quality of the troops under the different commanders. Napoleon's army was composed principally of veterans of a hundred fields; they were almost strangers to defeat. Victory had followed victory, and they felt confident their beloved pet corporal's star was still in the ascendant. They felt proud in once more following their all-conquering Emperor, who had so often led them on to victory.

As far as Quatre Bras was concerned, Napoleon's invincible pets were handled very roughly by Sir Thomas Picton's division and the Guards, and victory was once more nailed to our glorious old flag. My readers must not lose sight of the fact that Sir Thomas Picton had just completed a long dreary march of twenty-two miles. The Brunswickers were holding on manfully, well knowing that the thin red line was advancing to their assistance. Every regiment of Sir Thomas's division particularly distinguished itself. The conduct of the "Old Slashers" (28th) was sublime. They threw themselves into square as the cuirassiers were approaching. But, suddenly, all appeared to be lost: they were assailed on three sides at once. All was calm; not a voice was heard but that of Sir Thomas Picton, who was inside the square. This noble old hero called out, "Twenty-eighth! remember Egypt." The next word was from its Colonel: "Twenty-eighth! Ready--fire!" and down came the proud horsemen, or they were scattered in all directions. None but resolute, cool men, would ever have won that bloody field. The enemy had upwards of five thousand splendid horse on the field. We had none--nothing but a few guns and stubborn infantry. It was "do or die," until the Guards and other reinforcements came up. But it was plain to all that the brunt of the fighting would have to be borne by the British, Hanoverians, and Brunswickers. That rascal, Napoleon, was again victorious over the Prussians the same day at Ligny; but old Marshal Blücher, although defeated, was not subdued, as the sequel will prove. He retired in good order from the field of carnage, leaving nothing but heaps of slain for the victor. Although our conquering commander had defeated Marshal Ney, he was compelled to retire, as his flank was exposed to Napoleon's eagle eye by the retreat of the Prussians. On that night, our victorious General found means to have an interview with old Marshal Forward (Blücher). The great conqueror was yet to be met; heavy stakes were yet to be fought for; the great contest of twenty-two years was yet to be decided. It was worth a "brush." It was liberty against military despotic slavery; infidelity against Christianity. Our commander well knew that, in point of numbers and experience, his army was much inferior to that of the enemy. He had only about 50,000 upon whom he could rely, and most of them consisted of recruits who had never seen a shot fired. Wellington estimated the enemy at about 80,000 or 90,000 men, after deducting their loss in the two battles just fought. He informed the fire-eating old Blücher of his victory over Marshal Ney, and that he would accept battle with the conqueror of Europe on the plains of Waterloo, if he (Blücher) would only promise to support him with one or two corps. The dauntless old hero at once promised to support His Grace, not with one or two corps, but with his whole army; that he would be on the field, on Napoleon's flank, by one o'clock, and that the two armies would crush the restless tyrant. It was enough; Blücher had pledged his word in honour. The spoilt child of fortune had now two resolute men to face, who, with all their followers, might die, but never yield. And during that dreadful butchery, as hour after hour rolled on, and attack after attack were driven back with frightful slaughter, the dauntless cuirassiers, who had frequently ridden through Russians, Austrians, Prussians, Spaniards, and Portuguese, were repulsed time after time, and driven in headlong confusion from our squares. One commander sent to His Grace the Duke of Wellington for assistance. The answer was, "Tell him I have none; he and I, with every Briton on this field, must conquer or die." "Enough; we will share his fate, my men." Napoleon's old Guards, that had decided in his favour almost every field their pet corporal had won, were formed up for the final attack. As for fear, they did not know what it was; with them, it was death or victory. Napoleon came part of the way with them. They were, in this instance, made to believe that they were advancing to an assured victory, with the heroic Marshal Ney as their leader. They advanced with deafening shouts of "_Vive l'Empereur_." The Guards, grim-faced as they were, had to bow to the all-conquering British bayonet. They were driven back by our Guards and the 52nd with a terrible rush, by that never-failing weapon. The intrepid Marshal Ney tried to find death, but could not. Six o'clock had struck. The hero of a hundred fields might well get a little uneasy, and turn his glass in the direction from which he expected assistance. One corps of Blücher's army had been on the field since 4 p.m., and the enemy fought desperately to keep old Marshal Forward from joining in the fight. Wellington's confidence in the lion-hearted old veteran was not misplaced on this trying occasion. He proved to the world that he was worthy to lead the vanguard of that host which was combating for the independence of Europe. His men sank to their ankles, and their artillery to the axles, in mud, complaining that they could not get on. The horses could not move the guns. These horsemen at once put their shoulders to the wheels, until they were completely exhausted, and sank down in the mud. Blücher then addressed them: "My children, you must get on; you would not have me break my word. Courage! my dear children; courage!" and at once sounded the charge. This had the effect. The roar of the firing at Waterloo told them plainly that a dreadful battle was being fought. The old veteran again told them that he was leading them on to victory. "Forward, children! Forward!" About 7 p.m. the lion-hearted Blücher burst with all the fury of the king of the forest upon the flank of the great conqueror. The last attack of Napoleon's redoubtable Guards were just recoiling in confusion from our victorious bayonets. The last hour of Napoleon's Empire had struck. The disturber of the peace of Europe that morning issued a most striking proclamation to his army, which roused it to the highest possible state of fanatic madness. Perhaps he thought it was needed, as they were about to face the detested Albions. He concluded his fiery address thus: "For every Frenchman who has a heart, the moment has arrived to conquer or die." It was received with wild fanatic shouts of "_Vive l'Empereur_," which resounded for miles, and struck terror into the hearts of thousands who were under Wellington's standard as Allies. Well, the gauntlet was thrown down at the feet of the deliverer of Spain and Portugal. I would here note that the raw, undisciplined recruits of Great Britain have, on more than one occasion, been compared with the rustics who fought so desperately on the fields of Bautzen and Lutzen, when the great conqueror exclaimed: "What! will these rustics not leave me a nail?" The only difference was, our lads at Waterloo were dressed as soldiers; and the Germans fought and died in the dress they came from the plough:--

"None from his fellow starts;
But playing manly parts,
And like true British hearts
Strike close together."--DRAYTON.

Well, the gauntlet was picked up by one who had on many a field proved more than a match for the best of Napoleon's generals. They were to "conquer or die." Let us just see what sort of example this hero sets. When the Old Guards were driven back, the hero of so many fields became as pale as death; and the last words, on the last field of him who had been the cause of millions coming to an untimely end, were not "Gentlemen, it now behoves us to die with honour," but "All is lost! let us save ourselves"--bolting clean off the field like a ----. Charity forbids us to stigmatise the hero of so many fields with the worst name a soldier could go to rest with. But this we will say: On this important occasion he lost his head.[52] His Grace the Duke of Wellington was not addicted to any display, or ostentatious language; but he said, after the battle was over, that if he had had with him the old seasoned veterans that won the fields of Salamanca or Vittoria, in place of the motley mass he had--which he could not, for the lack of discipline, manoeuvre with--he would have chased the whole French army off the field long before Blücher reached it. But, as it was, he had much to be thankful for. Nothing that he had ever witnessed could surpass the inflexible struggle of such raw material. In plain language, they were sprigs of true Britons. Shoulder to shoulder they stood for hours, and faced shot and shell: shoulder to shoulder they died where they stood, overpowered, but not defeated. They were, on some parts of the field, broken and crushed, but not subdued; and as soon as their immortal chief gave the signal, the survivors advanced, shoulder to shoulder, with levelled steel, and with a cheer which told Napoleon's vaunting legions "that all was lost," and that the sons of liberty were the victors. The last hour of Napoleon's Empire had struck.

It is a clear proof that the bravest of the brave are, at times, apt to lose all control of themselves. He (Napoleon) had stood for hours and witnessed his columns of attack, both horse and foot, driven back with frightful slaughter, by the very people he had formed such contemptible ideas of--except at sea. And to put the climax on the whole, his redoubtable Old Guards, who had decided almost every field in his favour up to the conquest of Leipsic, driven back in confusion, with our bayonets uncomfortably close to them. He learned to respect the British before he died, and acknowledged that we had the best infantry in the world. At times, during the eventful day, things looked gloomy. No force on earth seemed capable of resisting the heroes of Jena, Wagram, Austerlitz, Dresden, and even some that had escaped the carnage of Borodino, Beresina, Eylan, Friedland, Salamanca, Vittoria, and the routs from Kutczback and Leipsic. Strong brigades of infantry were reduced to a few hundreds. Many of the regiments were reduced to mere skeletons. But our squares still stood as firm as if rooted in the earth, frequently closing up as their ranks were thinned. For hours, the British left and centre was the theatre of a terrible conflict. The enemy's horse, more than 12,000 strong, in great part clad in glittering armour, dashed at the guns and squares with unparalleled enthusiasm and vehement cries of _Vive l'Empereur_. In one attack there were seventy-seven squadrons engaged; the first line composed of cuirassiers in burnished steel: the second, the red lancers of the Guard, in brilliant uniform: the third, the chasseurs of the Guard, in rich furred costume of green and gold, with huge black bearskin hats on their heads. Never was there a more sublime military spectacle witnessed. But with all their enthusiasm, vain were all their attempts to break that stubborn infantry. With deadly aim they stretched these proud horsemen on the plain, while the remainder recoiled in disorder out of the frightful strife.[53] Frequently, during this terrible slaughter, both commanders exposed themselves to almost certain death, in the midst of the storm of shot and shell, grape and canister. Although fired at point-blank, the brave cuirassiers, with deep gaps or chasms in their ranks, again and again dashed at the squares, but instantly a deadly volley of musketry would strike hundreds of these dauntless men on the plains, until a complete rampart of dead and wounded men and horses lay around the squares. The total loss of the Allies during this short campaign--from the 15th to the 19th of June--was, British and King's German Legion, 12,068; Hanoverians, 2,036; Belgians, 4,038; Brunswickers, 1,508; Nassau (or Dutch), 634; total, 20,290. The Prussian loss at Ligny, Wavre, and Waterloo was 33,120. At the crowning victory, their loss was 6,998. The French army was almost destroyed: their loss at Waterloo alone was over 40,000; then their loss at the terrible combats of Ligny, Quatre Bras, and Wavre was not much short of 30,000 more. The wreck of Napoleon's veterans who re-crossed the Sambre and regained their own country, at once dispersed as an army. The few remaining cavalry and artillery sold their horses and made their way home. The boasting army had received a death-blow. It was repeatedly proved during the Peninsula campaigns that the British soldier could hold their own against vastly superior numbers. The invincible obstinacy which he inherits was displayed on field after field; and the crowning victory over the great chief (Napoleon) on the plains of Waterloo was a fitting sequel of Albuera, Salamanca, and Vittoria. The flight of the crest-fallen conqueror and the rout of his chosen veterans of the Imperial Guard, proclaimed his Grace the Duke of Wellington the greatest captain of his age. His army (although largely composed of raw recruits) had the honour of being unconquerable: it proved Great Britain to be one of the greatest of military powers--in her wealth, in her manhood, and in her self-sacrifice--and silenced the disgraceful croakers that almost worshipped at the shrine of Napoleon, yet calling themselves Britons. But we feel proud to know that the vast majority of Britons glory in the noble achievements of their sires and themselves, which have built up this vast Empire, now "second to none."

Thus my readers will see that the great conqueror was rolled up by the advanced guard, before the other Powers had time to get up. His Grace the Duke of Wellington and old Marshal (Forward!) at once marched on Paris. The French talked very loudly about burying themselves in the ruins of Paris; but as soon as Wellington and Blücher's standards were seen on the heights, they capitulated. Marshal Blücher at once retaliated a little on his own account, demanding one hundred million francs (four millions sterling) for the pay of his troops. He had not forgotten how his country had been impoverished and insulted after the battle of Jena. Could that stern old veteran have laid hands upon Napoleon, he would have made short work of him; and, but for the advice of Wellington, some of the most ornamental parts of the city would have been blown up. In due course, the allied sovereigns arrived in Paris, with their huge armies. The French authorities were compelled to find food, shelter, and pay for nearly one million of men, with 100,000 cavalry, for several months. Sixty-one millions sterling was demanded as an indemnity for the hundred days' freak. It was but just that guilty, insulting France should feel the rod of retribution. Nothing wounded their pride so much as the demand for all the trophies of war which Napoleon and his Marshals had plundered Europe of. The iron sword of justice entered their inmost soul. It told them in language not to be misunderstood that conquest had now reached their doors; that they were not permitted to plunder the nations of the world with impunity, without punishment. The list of articles of rarity claimed by Prussia alone, which had been stolen from her palaces and noblemen's mansions, occupied fifty-three closely printed pages. Spain came next with a long list; then Austria, Russia, Portugal, Italy, and Holland. Each had their demands. If the articles claimed were not forthcoming, their value was demanded. Great Britain was the only Power in Europe that had nothing to claim. The indemnity was divided among the different nations. Our share--which was no small slice--our forefathers relinquished; it covered a multitude of sins. They said we were not half so bad as we had been painted. An Army of Occupation of 150,000 men was left in France for three years, under His Grace the Duke of Wellington, to be paid, fed, housed, and clothed at the expense of the French. They were made up of 30,000 of each nation--Russia, Prussia, Austria, British, and the smaller German States. This taught our neighbours to be civil, and gave peace to Europe for nearly forty years. We had been the direct instrument, in the hands of God, in striking the tyrant down, and giving liberty to Europe. But in this death-struggle for independence a debt was incurred and handed down to us as a legacy of eight hundred and forty millions seven hundred and fifty-eight thousand seven hundred and eighty-one pounds sterling. But we are free from the oppressor, and are indebted to no foreign country. As Britons we can hold up our heads, and tell the biggest and best of the European nations to stand off. We fear none but God. The Quakers and Shakers may talk, but unless the Briton has degenerated wonderfully, our fleet would hold its own, defending our coasts; and with our teeming population, we would soon let Europe see whether we could muster an army or not. I have no wish to foster a bellicose spirit. God forbid! We know enough of war to know the value of peace. But there is no necessity to get alarmed about our defenceless state; for if we could do nothing else, we would send to Lancashire for some thousands of their lads to purr[54] them a bit, and there are more Nelsons now than there were in 1804. Marshal Soult (Napoleon's pet General) once said that he _knew the English_--that they were the very d--l in close quarters. "Stick to them, my lads!" has been shouted in the writer's ears in the thick of more than one fight.[55]

Such, dear reader, has been the heroic conduct of the sons of Albion, and our sister isle, Ireland, either by land or sea, when the honour of our glorious old flag of liberty has been at stake, that all friends or foes have had to admire. The great conqueror, Napoleon, in speaking of the British soldier, said that England had the best infantry in the world, that they could dispute the palm of victory with the best veteran troops in Europe, and whoever attacks such good troops as Great Britain produces, without a positive assurance of success (by overwhelming odds), send them to certain destruction. He had had bitter experience of our stubborn infantry, and the terrible charges of our heavy horse; he had learned to respect us; and I think we can say without egotism, that the present generation are true chips of that unconquerable stubborn race which have carried Old England (or rather, Great Britain) through thick and thin. Reader, do not get alarmed: there are as good men now as ever our fathers or grandfathers were, and would hit as hard for the honour of our glorious Empire as they did. Only treat them fairly with good leaders, and the biggest bullies in Europe would find the sons of the United Kingdom a tough lot to handle. The British soldier or sailor had need be made of tough material: most of his life is spent exposed to the pestilential climates, to say nothing of the trials and hardships of warfare. Tommy Atkins may grumble sometimes, but he is there when wanting, and woe to the enemy he can close with.

But we know well that there are now living in this glorious old isle, men calling themselves Britons, unpatriotic enough and un-English enough to depreciate and even to endeavour to crush those that have saved them from dishonour. Gentlemen, Englishmen, is this justice and Christian charity to those to whose heroic courage and devoted patriotism it is owing that the sacred soil of old England has been unprofaned by a foreign foe? Countrymen, your hearths and homes are inviolate, your national feelings uninsulted, your peace and happiness undestroyed. Whilst all the Continental nations of Europe have, in turn, had to drink to the dregs the cup of humiliation, Old England, under the protection of the Great I AM, and the indomitable pluck of her sons, has escaped the violence and dreadful visitations of war--all that the horrors, miseries, and devastation of evil passions of lust, rapine, and cruelty can inflict. We say again, happy England knows nothing of cruel war: she breaks her daily bread in peace; seed-time and harvest never fail; domestic happiness, human loves, and human friendships are never interrupted; and on each revolving Sabbath her church bells calmly and peacefully invite all, old and young, rich and poor, to the house of prayer and thanksgivings. I think most of my readers will say, Shame on all those that would try to traduce and humiliate the spirit of the British soldier or sailor who have for centuries proved to the world that they are true types of an undefeated race. These favoured isles know nothing about their homes in flames, their property pillaged, their mothers, their wives and daughters defiled and dishonoured, their children massacred before their eyes, themselves insulted; and should the broken-hearted husband open his mouth, shot or chopped to pieces. Thus far, these glorious old isles know nothing of the rough clash of war: know nothing of warfare but the sight of hostile standards as war trophies: know nothing of the roar of cannon or the roll of musketry: know nothing of weeping mothers with smiling infants at their breasts, searching amidst piles of dead for their loved ones. And surely her brave war-worn and patriotic defenders are entitled at least to your gratitude and good report, and not let them starve--

"With half their limbs in battle lopp'd away,
Beg bitter bread through realms their valour sav'd."

I appeal, "not for myself," but for my comrades, to you, "Englishmen."

Unity! Unity! "Unity is strength." The great German Empire knows it well. The strongest nation in the world would think twice before they attacked them. They dwell together in unity. And we feel compelled to say, the man who tries to dismember our empire is no friend, but a traitor.

Before we close this book, just a few words upon Union. This dear old isle, with her glorious offspring--an empire such as this world has never seen before! of which Britons are so justly proud. Let us for a moment look for the past empires. Babylon, in the zenith of her power, where is she? Medo-Persia, in the plenitude of her far-reaching sway, where is she? Greece, in all her Alexandrian pride of conquest, where is she? Rome, in the cruel slavery of universal dominion, where is she? The great French Empire, as under Napoleon, with his military despotic power, where is it? The great Mogul Empire, with its despotic grinding power, where is it? They none of them trusted or looked to the strong arm of the Great I AM. We would point out that our glorious empire is larger, stronger, and better than them all. Larger in area, and with a population exceeding three hundred millions; stronger, in doing battle for the right; for when Britain draws the sword in a just cause, woe be to the enemy. The same unconquerable spirit is in the Briton, and the same unchanging God watches this little isle with a jealous eye. Let us be true to ourselves, and faithful to our father's God, and we have nothing to fear. Better, because her laws are founded on the Book of books--Divine truth--fit for the universe. The first and the wisest thing for us to look to is the realization of the bond of universal brotherhood, binding our far-reaching empire in federal union, and making us what we now are, in race and blood--a perfect mighty whole. This, my dear reader, is no wild dream, but a thing that is certain of accomplishment, because the materials are all ready to hand. That hour will surely come, although we may not live to see it. So take heed. The blessings and advantages of such a union to the universe would be unspeakable. Let us ask ourselves why we occupy the position of eminence amongst the nations of the earth to-day? Why God cares for and watches over us so tenderly and unceasingly? Is it not, reader, that we are His people--set apart for the accomplishment of His high purpose? Why is it we do not keep up such huge armies as other nations?--that we are the beautiful isle of the sea, set apart by an all-wise God to proclaim the riches of His mercies to the children of men? To proclaim, I say, the glad tidings, that "there is but one Mediator between God and man--the MAN CHRIST JESUS." A man must be blind indeed not to see that the strength of Britain lies in the powerful arm of Him who spake a world into existence, and who said to the raging billows, "Peace! be still." Britain, as a nation, has for many years openly acknowledged God in all her doings. Again, He has committed to our care the oracles of His divine will towards the children of men. He has honoured us before all the nations of the earth. In the history of mankind throughout all ages there is no parallel to our own case, where so vast an empire has come from such small beginnings. And just in proportion to our trust in God, so shall we be true to ourselves, and the rest of humanity. We are made up of a "multitude of nations." We possess "the gates of our enemies." Let us, then, march on, in the pleasant bonds of love, towards a higher life; the reward of which is set before us, and to all who love God and keep His commandments. So let our watchword be, Union! Union!! Union!!!--in the best interests of common humanity.

Now, how can we close our book better than by asking His blessing still to rest upon this glorious old isle. That He may still protect and bless her most Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria; while we repeat the cry--"From war, good Lord deliver us."

The reader, I hope, will overlook all imperfections, knowing this comes from the pen of one who has tried to do his duty upon many a hard-fought field, and who is ready to do it again, rather than see the flag--that glorious old flag!--that every honest Briton loves so well, trampled in the dust.

T. GOWING,
Late Sergeant-Major, 7th Royal Fusiliers.

THE END.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] A nice warm reception for a prodigal son. I was not 21, and it set me thinking of the comfortable home in Norwich that I had left.

[2] Now she can boast of other heroes--to wit, Troubridge, of Inkermann; Windham, of the Redan; Wilson, of Delhi; and another Wilson, of El Teb.

[3] The total force engaged that night was about 1,500 men against 15,000;--the same number of unconquerable British soldiers that stood triumphant on the fatal Hill of Albuera.

[4] And that vow was kept not only by the 97th.

[5] The 97th could be distinctly heard shouting "Remember Captain Vicars, boys," "Stick to them;" and the Officers shouting "Give it home, my lads."

[6] It is well I had picked men with me, or all would have been taken prisoners or killed on the spot.

[7] The Generals' watches had been timed alike, and as the minute hand denoted twelve (mid-day) the French sprang forward.

[8] A great number of these men were ready for anything, life or death. On the night of the 7th September they assembled in hundreds in front of their lines, and committed themselves into the hands of an all-wise God in prayer and praise, while others burst forth with the National Anthem. Such were the men who stormed Sebastopol. Hundreds of them never saw another sun set.

[9] After our stormers had entered the Redan the enemy came at us in swarms, but were kept back by the bayonet.

[10] It was an Irishman named Welsh who was instrumental in saving my life. It turned out that he had noticed me fall, and when he found that he had to retire from the Redan, he carried me up to the ditch and let me slip in, and then with assistance got me out of it, and carried me across that terrible 200 yards, being shot through both legs in doing so. Before he reached our leading trench, some other good Samaritan picked me up and ran away with me. Poor Welsh died in India, at Ferozepore, in 1865, and, as a mark of respect, I put a stone over his remains. He was a rough diamond, but every inch a soldier and a good loyal subject. I hope I may state now, without egotism, from the day I found out that Welsh had done me such service, I did all that lay in my power for him and for his poor mother.

[11] Lieutenant Bott.

[12] The Scots Greys.

[13] Foreigners have no more idea than a child how to use their hands; they will scratch and kick, but if you give them a good go-along, they will not face up again.

[14] A familiar word used in the North of England.

[15] Including irregulars.

[16] They consisted of six regiments of Cavalry, 14 regiments of Infantry, a number of batteries of Artillery, all drilled troops, and a great mob of followers, all well-armed out of our magazines.

[17] Regiments that first confronted the rebels at Ghazee-oo-deen-Nuggur, and again at Badulee-Ke-Serai, under command of Brigadier Wilson. Two batteries of Artillery and a portion of Engineers were with the column.

[18] Regiments that joined them from Umballah, just after the last fight, under Sir H. Barnard, K.C.B., who then assumed command of the army.

[19] Regiments that joined the field force on the heights of Delhi, at various periods during the siege.

[20] Which was stationed at Fort Murdan.

[21] "When by the blessing of Providence internal tranquillity shall be restored, it is our earnest desire to stimulate the peaceful industry of India, to promote works of public utility and improvement, and to administer its government for the benefit of all our subjects resident therein. In their prosperity will be our strength, in their contentment our security, and in their gratitude our best reward. And may the God of all power grant to us, and to those in authority under us, strength to carry out these our wishes for the good of our people."

[22] "She shall possess the gates of her enemies."

[23] "Faugh-a-Ballagh," clear the road.

[24] Now the Inniskilling Fusiliers.

[25] Great Queen.

[26] £300,000.

[27] Native pipe.

[28] Born May 11, 1789; died April 8, 1872--_Extract from Family Bible._--T. G.

[29] His Grace the Duke of Wellington, the hero of a hundred fights, was never once defeated in the open field, but as a man and a gentleman he has openly acknowledged that he often committed faults, and with any other than British troops would have been defeated. His men always got him out of scrapes or muddles with the queen of weapons. No end of instances could be quoted where a handful of men have decided a doubtful field, and have, as it were, snatched victory from the foe. Napoleon's grim-faced veterans of the Guard on more than one hard contested field had to bow before the conquering sons of Albion. Let us be but true to ourselves, and loyal to our beloved Sovereign, and El-Bodón, Albuera, Victoria, or Waterloo, may easily be repeated.

[30] Before any man was admitted into the Old Guard, he had to pass through twelve campaigns, and for the middle Guard, six campaigns. They might, therefore, well be called veterans.

[31] The 3rd or Buffs left upon the field--killed, 4 officers, 4 sergeants, and 280 men, or rank and file; missing, 2 officers, 15 sergeants, 1 drummer, and 161 rank and file, and then the proud remainder stood as conquerors. A number of the wounded died, or were killed by our own Artillery, who had to dash across the field in pursuit of the enemy; such was the terrible field that the two Fusilier Regiments won. One of the Battalions of the 7th was almost annihilated, but the proud remainder stood as conquerors on that fatal hill.

[32] The battle of Goojerat was fought in 1849, our forces being commanded by the late Lord Gough, when the Sikhs and Afghans were completely overthrown, and the Punjaub annexed.

[33] No fear of rain, except in the monsoon, which sets in once a year and lasts for three months.

[34] Our men had looked upon death in every form, but could not look into that hideous well a second time.

[35] History must draw a veil over the sufferings of these unfortunate martyrs. Their murderers, it should be said, were excited to frenzy with bhang.

[36] Dr. Cay, of the Coldstream Guards.

[37] Alison.

[38] Alison.

[39] They hate us now as much as they did then; and some of these fine mornings they will find out our strength in India, with its teeming millions under our glorious old flag, who would die to a man before they would yield. They will find that "unity is strength," for our equal laws since the Mutiny have bound them to us in love. Hundreds of thousands of them have through us learnt the way of salvation, and God, even our God, is blessing us as a nation for it.

[40] Nelson, as an instrument in the hands of God, had done his work. He was raised up just at the right time to combat and humble infidelity. This wonderful man was, and always will be, the darling hero of England. This illustrious hero will live as long as our language endures, as the one who stood fearlessly at the deadly breach, and bid defiance to all our enemies. His noble conduct on all occasions when in presence of the foe was sublime. Other heroes have fought desperately to uphold the honour of our flag, but we can point to none whose conduct was so majestic. Scotland can point to a Moore--a Clyde; Ireland can point to a Wellington; Wales can point to a Picton; but all would bow in adoration to the illustrious Norfolk hero.

[41] He believed that his sceptre was to be universal. He bid for heavy stakes, viz., "the empire of the world." It was only the detested Albions that thwarted his plans. He would exclaim in his rage or excitement, "I will humble them in the dust yet, and lay London in ashes." It was in order to get at us that this terrible campaign in Russia of 1812 was undertaken. Alexander, backed up by England, would not suffer himself to be dictated to by the conqueror. He was a far-sighted man, but was blinded to the fact that he was rushing on to destruction, that he was fighting against the strong arm of the Great I Am. Alexander hated us as much as Napoleon did; he carried two faces under one hat; but, with his vast sea-coasts, he dreaded our power, which he well knew he could not withstand.

[42] What would he have said, had he lived to witness or to hear of the disgraceful capitulation of Marshal Bazaine at Metz? Why, he would have shot the traitor on the spot.

[43] "The heroic Ney was of an old Irish family."--ALISON.

[44] Quintal, 112 lbs.

[45] Alison.

[46] A little over two years rolled on; millions of money our forefathers advanced to the straggling nations of Europe. Hundreds of thousands of poor fellows were launched into eternity. The last act was fought out on the bloody field of Waterloo, and the final scene of the great drama came to an end in the midst of a terrible storm on the rock of St. Helena, 5th May, 1821. On his deathbed, Napoleon acknowledged to those around him that there was a God, who was Great Britain's strong arm.

[47] This noble old veteran was for many years treated very harshly, to say the least of it, by Napoleon. His great offence was that he would persist in carrying a Bible with him, and using it as often as an opportunity presented itself. All Napoleon's cuffs and sneers did not affect him. His counsel during the Moscow campaign had more weight with Napoleon than that of the fiery Murat or the heroic Ney. In his younger days he had sworn to stand or fall by the great conqueror, and he would not forsake his benefactor. He died as he had lived--a soldier in a twofold sense. He was the only one of Napoleon's marshals or generals that professed Christianity, and he often had a stormy path; but owing to his constancy, his tormentors became his best friends. The great conqueror was not the only one that was melted to tears at this noble Christian's death.--_Alison._

[48] The conflicts at Montmirail, Vauchamps, Champanbert, and Montereau, in the campaign of 1814, were combats, not battles. Ligny was a pitched battle, but it could not be called a decisive victory. No prisoners or standards, and few guns, were taken.

[49] Napoleon says (and no mean authority) that "Clum and Albuera were the two heaviest battles on record for the numbers engaged." It was bludgeon work; on each field they were what may be called gluttons. The former against the Russians and Prussians; the latter, against the English. Our allies, the Spaniards, bolted. On both fields the French were beaten.

[50] The crushing blow at Vittoria loosened the grasp of Napoleon on Spain. It swept them, like chaff before the wind, out of their fertile plains, valleys, and mountains, and at once exposed their extraordinary system of forced contributions, _i.e._, "That war should maintain war." In one province alone, it was found that, for the year 1811, the French Marshal had imposed a contribution of two hundred million reals--or about two millions sterling--upon its unhappy people. This sum was equal to five millions sterling in England. The half of this sum exhausted the whole money in the province in gold, silver, plate, and jewels; the remainder was taken by force in grain, cattle, clothing, and all articles necessary for the troops. The inhabitants were exasperated beyond all bounds, and were butchered in cold blood; and their daughters and wives were insulted and disgraced before their husbands' and fathers' eyes, who, if they opened their lips, were at once shot, or cut limb from limb. It roused the people to frantic madness; they swore to conquer or die.

[51] If the finger of God was ever shown in the history of a nation, it was during those troublesome times Europe was convulsed. Whole nations trembled at the feet of the great conqueror. Victory followed victory at a rapid pace. But God had steeled the minds of our forefathers to combat him when, to all appearance, it was a doubtful struggle; but with noble devotion, perseverance, and valour unequalled in the history of the world, although achieved with painful sacrifices, God in His providence watched over old England, and deemed us as a nation worthy to accomplish such great things. Britain, as a nation, had for years past openly acknowledged God's providential Fatherly care, and stood up openly and determinately to abide in the trust of the strong arm of the Great I AM.

[52] It would have been more in accordance with his past glorious career to have placed himself at the head of his faithful Old Guards, and here met a soldier's death for that beautiful France he pretended to love so well. Posterity would then have regarded him as an undaunted hero, true till death.