Chapter II: Part 2

High in the estimation of every son and daughter of Britain stands that heroic band, the British Grenadiers. Their deeds have brought a fine thrill to every heart, and a stirring song to every voice; and, though there have been times when a pall of necessary silence, covering a "certain liveliness," has been imposed by the fog of a world-war, we have felt calmly assured that behind that fog our British Grenadiers were doing, or dying, in a way that must awaken the old thrill, and inspire a new song.

It has always been one of the greatest aids to success in battle to sum up the daring deeds of the past; the successes against fearful odds; the forlorn hopes bravely led; the breaches filled with our British dead; the stubborn resistance, and sometimes complete annihilation of one part for the success of the whole; the lofty sacrifice of the foremost, so that the hindmost may turn the tide of battle; and the heroic dash to certain death, which has always given birth to victory. And this aid of tradition has been accorded by their own deeds, and by the nation's appreciation, to none more strongly than to the British Grenadiers.

Yet it must be remembered that the Grenadier Guards, though they share the honour and glory of all Grenadiers, were never really Grenadiers proper. They won the name at Waterloo, where they vanquished the French Grenadiers. Sharing the name, they share and perpetuate the memory of the song, which in the first place referred to the Grenadiers who threw the grenades "from the glacis." But, as a good old British song may gain in volume as it rolls down the years, there is no reason why the well-known air in question should not attach to the Grenadier Guards.

Well does the historian say that "their annals indeed may almost be said to be identical with those of the British Army, as in every campaign of importance--every campaign which has had a material bearing on the fortunes of the Commonwealth--their services have been called into requisition. They have shared in our greatest battles. Their serried ranks stood firm at Fontenoy; turned the tide of battle at Quatre Bras; withstood unshaken the assaults of Napoleon's brilliant chivalry at Waterloo, and ascended with stately movement the bristling heights of the Alma."

Mr. J. J. Hart, who was with the Grenadiers in the Boer War, gives a graphic description of the battle near Senekal:

"With the advent of quick-firing guns," says he, "the ancient
magnificence of armies in battle array has disappeared for ever....
There is no shining armour; there are no waving plumes; and the
blare of the trumpet is unheard. Watch those grey-clad figures as
they silently scatter over the plain. They are the colour of the
withered grass of the veldt. No two will walk together lest they
should be a more conspicuous mark for those deadly guns. See them
as they walk with bent heads. You might compare them to poachers or
partridge-shooters travelling over a moor, only their advance is
more cautious....

"It was noon, and my battalion had halted on the plain. Far away
for miles on our right the battle was raging, and, we with our
grand fighting history, were left to act the inglorious part of
lying on the grass waiting to cut off a possible retreat of the
enemy. (Col.) Bunker stamped and swore and chewed his moustache....
Confusion to the General who crushed the flower of the British
infantry so; but it was orders, and soldiers must obey. The Boers,
however, were more generous to us than the General, and, in the
working out of a little plan of their own, they were destined to
cover us with wounds if not with glory. While we were lying musing
on our fate, and thinking if the news of our being left out of the
action should ever reach London, what we might expect at the hands
of our enemies the cabdrivers, a force of Boers, of whose presence
on a hill about half a mile in front we were blissfully ignorant,
were preparing to open fire on us. They began proceedings by
killing Bunker's horse with a percussion shell, which dropped right
under him, and blew the animal to bits. Our artillery soon limbered
up and replied to the shot, keeping up a continuous fire for about
an hour, when, as they were unable to silence the gun, we advanced
to take it by assault. We moved towards the hill in short rushes,
lying down every fifty yards to fire a volley. The Boer shells
which exploded between our extended line did little damage, and it
looked as if we were going to make an easy capture of the gun. If
there were any rifles on the hill they were certainly very careful
about reserving their fire. We had got within 500 yards of the base
of the hill, and had risen to make another rush when the rattling
noise of a thousand rifle bolts together came to our ears. The
whole of the front rank went down at the first volley; evidently
the marksmen on the hill had taken very careful aim; then there
followed a veritable hailstorm of lead, in the face of which no man
could advance and live. We remained lying down and firing in the
same position for about five hours.

"The shadows of night were falling, and still the firing was kept
up without intermission; when a new danger was observed to threaten
us. A shell had ignited the long grass in our rear and a light
breeze which was blowing soon turned the spark into a
conflagration. The Boers, observing this, extended their flanks on
our right and left, thus completely cutting off our retreat. Then
followed a scene of tumult which is hard to describe. Wounded men
who were unable to move ... gazed with wild staring eyes at the
flames, which, slowly but surely, crept towards them. Our left wing
made one desperate rush to charge the Boers, but had to fall before
the leaden hail. When the flames drew near many of our men made
heroic efforts to remove our wounded through the blinding smoke and
flame.... Others pulled their helmets over their faces and rushed
through the fire. In all this confusion I noticed one man who
showed rare presence of mind. He was badly wounded, and, being
unable to get out of reach of the flames, he took some matches from
his pocket and burnt the grass near him. He then crawled on to the
black ground, and thus secured for himself a comparatively safe
position when the fire approached him. The flames were now upon us,
and fighting had ceased. Two men picked me up where I lay wounded,
and, rushing with me through the flames, threw me down on the other
side, and ran.... The fire burned itself out at the foot of the
hill, and then all was darkness till the moon, shining out, showed
us the blackened bodies of the dead, and men writhing in pain on
the burned earth.

"Now the Boers came amongst us, and, passing from one wounded man
to another, gave us water from their bottles. Then we heard a
crackling of whips and a rumbling of wheels. The Boers left us, and
we knew the ambulance wagons were coming."

* * * * *

THEIR COLOURS, BATTLE HONOURS, ETC.

THE KING'S COLOURS.--1st Battn., Gules (crimson): in the centre the
Imperial Crown; in base a grenade fired proper. 2nd Battn., Gules
(crimson): in the centre the Royal Cypher reversed and interlaced
or, ensigned with the Imperial Crown; in base a grenade fired
proper, in the dexter canton the Union. 3rd Battn.: as for 2nd
Battn., and for distinction, issuing from the Union in bend dexter,
a pile wavy or.

REGIMENTAL COLOURS.--The Union: in the centre a company badge
ensigned with the Imperial Crown; in base a grenade fired proper.
The thirty company badges are borne in rotation, three at a time,
one on the regimental colour of each of the Battns.

BATTLE HONOURS.--Blenheim, Ramillies, Oudenarde, Malplaquet,
Dettingen, Lincelles, Corunna, Barrosa, Peninsula, Waterloo, Alma,
Inkerman, Sevastopol, Egypt 1882, Tel-el-Kebir, Suakin 1885,
Khartoum, S. Africa 1899-1902, Modder River.

UNIFORM.--Scarlet, blue facings.

THE COLDSTREAM GUARDS

("THE NULLI SECONDUS CLUB")

"Sire! this regiment refuses to be known as second to any in the
British Army."--_Monk_ (_to Charles II._)

History tells again how, in 1661, Charles, distrusting the soldiers in his service, called the 1st Foot Guards back to England. Following upon this, he speedily dismissed his Commonwealth soldiers, and, of all the Puritan regiments, he retained but one--the Coldstream Guards. This was the regiment which Monk had marched from Coldstream to the King's aid; hence their retention. An interesting story is related about them. It is said that when they were ordered to lay down their arms in repudiation of the Commonwealth, and commanded to resume them again, as the 2nd Foot Guards, they stood obstinately defiant, on the verge of mutiny. King Charles was dumbfounded, but Monk was equal to the situation. "Sire," he said, "this regiment refuses to be known as second to any in the British Army." On this, Charles, who was quick to the occasion with unworded gratitude for their timely help in a critical situation, cried: "Coldstream Guards, take up your arms!" and from that time forward they have been the Coldstream Guards.

Who can ever forget the glorious achievement of the Coldstream Guards at St. Amand in 1793? As soon as the Brigade of Guards gained contact with our then Allies-the Prussians and the Austrians--General Knobelsdorf, of the Prussian Army, welcomed them with, "I have reserved for the Coldstream Guards the honour, the especial glory, of dislodging the French from their entrenchments. As British troops you have only to show yourselves, and the enemy will retire."

The Coldstreamers rather wondered at his flowery flattery. They did not know, and he omitted to tell them, that the honour he had reserved for them was one which had been offered three times to 5,000 Austrians and three times missed by them, with a loss of 1,700 men. The Coldstreamers, therefore, prepared for the battle in complete ignorance of the fact that they were expected to do, with 600 rank and file, what 5,000 Austrians had failed to accomplish in three attempts. Not that it would have made much difference, for the British soldier can always count on doing the impossible about fifty times in a century.

The Coldstreamers, ready and eager, moved to the attack, and the Prussian General moved with them as far as safety would permit; then, desirous apparently that they should achieve this "especial glory" without any interference from him, he waved them on with his sword and magnanimously galloped away.

Hell opened then on the Coldstream Guards. The wood before them spurted flame. Batteries from right and left lumbered up, and, under cover of the undergrowth, tore lanes through them at close range. Never, up to that time, in the history of battles, had there been such quick and fearful slaughter of our troops. In a few minutes two of the companies were reduced by one-half. Ensign Howard went down with the colours, and on every hand rank and file were blown to pieces. Sergeant-Major Darling, one of the many heroes of that awful fight, had one arm shattered by a cannon ball, but he fought on with the other with such tenacity that his deeds were afterwards described as "prodigies of valour." A French officer, seeing so many men go down before him, pressed forward and engaged him in a fierce combat. But Darling laid him low and continued his terrible work until another ball carried away one of his legs. Thus, bereft of a leg and an arm, he was taken prisoner. General Knobelsdorf, the Prussian, lived through that day, but many, too many, of the Coldstreamers went to their last account, fighting gloriously. You may, under some conditions, beat a Coldstreamer, but you will never, never convince him that you have done so.

At Inkerman the Coldstream Guards, a few hundred strong, actually stood up to 4,000 Russians for a time, during which there was the bloodiest struggle ever witnessed. The fight was round the Sandbag Battery, where 700 British had held their own until reinforced by the Guards, and it was of such a nature that each guard must needs be a small battalion on his own account to do any good at all. Back to back the Coldstreamers fought till their ammunition was exhausted. Then they took their muskets and clubbed the pressing hosts in such fashion that they made space enough to form into line. Thus, with levelled steel, they charged. The enemy was thrown into utter confusion by their terrific onslaught, and, taking advantage of this, the Coldstreamers regained their own lines, having inflicted tremendous loss.

And the Russian in Germany to-day knows all about it. He has not forgotten the Coldstreamer of former days, any more than the Coldstreamer has forgotten the glorious deeds of the Russian; and, no doubt, if they could sit by the same camp-fire, many such a battle story would be told, through the interpreter, of those good old days "when we flew at each other's throats."

* * * * *

THEIR COLOURS.

THE KING'S COLOURS.--1st Battn., Gules (crimson): in the centre the
Star of the Order of the Garter proper, ensigned with the Imperial
Crown; in base the Sphinx superscribed Egypt. 2nd Battn., Gules
(crimson): in the centre a star of eight points argent within the
garter, ensigned with the Imperial Crown; in base the Sphinx
superscribed Egypt, in the "dexter" canton the Union. 3rd Battn.,
as for the 1st Battn., and for difference in the dexter canton, the
Union and issuing therefrom in bend dexter a pile wavy or.

THE ROYAL SCOTS

("PONTIUS PILATE'S BODY GUARD")

"A volley, my lads, and then the steel!"--_Their Captain at
Wepener._

The Royal Scots (1st Foot, or Lothian Regiment) are old in story. Several hundreds of years before the battle of Blenheim, which is among the first of their honours, the Royal Scots had traced their earlier glories on the roll of fame. Few European battlefields could disclaim acquaintance with them, and there are few on which they have not been responsible for terrific slaughter, and a large share in the crux of victory. Their ancestors far back fought under Gustavus Adolphus: their lineal descendents fight now under King George; and the bridge between that time and this has been held by them heroically.

It is interesting to trace their battles from the first. Long, long ago, fighting for Sweden, they captured and defended Rugenwald in Pomerania. Being wrecked on a hostile coast, with Adolphus eighty miles away, these Scots were led by Munro, with what might seem to us an absurd hope of victory. All day they waited in the caves by the sea shore, starving, wet, and cold--waited for the night, so that, under the cover of darkness, they might bring their desperate plan to fruition. Darkness fell; the moon rose, and these hungry Scots went forth to the attack. In one stroke they captured Rugenwald, and held it against repeated attempts on the part of the enemy to retake it. For nine weeks they gripped this place, and held on tooth and nail till Hepburn's men, fighting mile after mile to their relief, came up.

Hepburn's men! They were Scots, every one of them. Men who, led by Hepburn himself, captured Frankfort on the Oder. He took them to the attack waist deep through the mud and water of the moat. At the great battle of Leipzig, "the battle of the Nations," Gustavus held these men in reserve. Then, when the issue was in danger, he flung them forward. The musketry fire galled them severely, but through it all the pikemen went cheering on, and put the enemy to an inglorious rout.

Later, in 1632, Hepburn, who was somewhat a soldier of fortune, found himself on his way to aid the King of France. In 1634 he led his regiments against the Austrians and Spaniards. Here he was joined by Scots from France, and Scots from Sweden. Other Scots came up from the four quarters of the compass, as if by a gathering of the clans, and three years later there were 8,000 of them serving under the King of France. Those 8,000 are the martial sires of the present Royal Scots.

As to the heroic achievements of the Royal Scots, we may instance the battle of Wynendale. General Webb (Thackeray's favourite General of "Colonel Esmond") won that battle with an army of 8,000 men against 22,000 Frenchmen. It was his work to take supplies from Ostend to Marlborough's army in the field. Near the wood of Wynendale he detected the preponderating force of the enemy intent on intercepting his mission, but, in order to do this, they must traverse the wood. The odds were nearly three to one against Webb, but, relying on his men as much as on his own generalship, he decided to put up a fight of fights. The way of the enemy's approach was a great glade through the wood, and to right and left of this he placed detachments of his troops while he stationed the main body of his army at the point where they must debouch. Then he waited. That long wait for the oncoming host has been much described: how for a time they gazed up the long avenue through which the foe must come; how every man felt that tense expectancy, which lends to the simple sounds of nature a meaning of their own, and how 8,000 staunch hearts went back to the old folks at home with tenderness, and possible regret, before the descent of an avalanche which threatened to bereave their hearths.

But at length the enemy teemed in at the further end of the glade. On they came, warily scanning the wood, but it was not till the Royal Scots poured a volley into them that the enemy actually realized what was happening. When the smoke cleared away, confusion reigned in their ranks; they rallied, and came on with greater determination, but again they were hurled into disorder and death by the British fire. Yet a third time they attempted it, and with all the bravery of the French, but a third time they met with that penetrating fire that none but the British, with their ugly bulldog pertinacity, can stand. They failed to forge their way through the storm of lead, and at last retired in confusion, leaving one third their number of British as victors of the field.

The Royal Scots have more than once been helped out of a difficulty by other regiments. For instance, at Schellenberg in 1714, the ultimate victory, after three daring attempts on the part of the Royal Scots, who fought their way up against a heavy fire from the heights above, was made sure by the Scots Greys, who dismounted and rushed to their assistance. This engagement cost the French a valuable position, and 16 guns.

This help in the time of extreme peril was balanced by the Royal Scots at the battle of Lundy's Lane, where they arrived in the nick of time to make up 2,800 British against 5,000 Americans. After a hard fight the enemy was driven back, but they opened again with a devastating fire of musketry and artillery, following it up with a most determined charge. So desperate was their onslaught that the British guns were captured, and immediately following on this, the Royal Scots performed a deed which is underlined in history. They recaptured those guns, and left the enemy bewildered. This was the closest fight imaginable. In the thick of it, the opposing cannon almost spoke into each others' mouths. So close they were, that neither side could say, "This is my gun." In point of fact, in the heat of the moment a British limber carried off an American gun, and an American a British gun. On that field the contact between British and American was extremely close. In these days it is just as close, but not exactly in the same fierce spirit.

One of the foremost of the exploits of the Royal Scots was the defence of Tangier against the Moors in 1678. In Port Henrietta some 160 of the Royal Scots had been isolated. In order to facilitate their escape their comrades in the town created a diversion by leading a general attack. In the midst of this the Scots got as far as the first trench surrounding the fort, but, at the outer one, which was 12 feet deep, they came into close grips with the enemy. There it was sheer knife-fighting, and many Royal Scots went to the bottom of the pit. One hundred and twenty of them filled it full, and over that bridge of silence forty survivors hewed their way through.

The last charge at Wepener is described in the History of the Boer War as follows "The Royal Scots saw the Boers rushing and their warrior hearts beat quick with joy. Shortly, like a man in a dream, their Captain gave the word, 'Fix bayonets!' It was done in a trice. 'Ready!' The men loaded their rifles. 'A volley, my lads, and then the steel! Altogether--' The whistle blows, the flame flies along the parapet. Then, over the stone wall, sprang the Royal Scots. Once they shouted, once only. Then the slaying began.... Fifty thousand savage throats swelled the battle chorus. Ever since the siege began the black warriors had been gathered in their thousands on the heights, watching with fascinated interest the struggle of the white men. Like the spectators of a medieval tournament they had applauded the gallant deeds of the combatants, and, as they saw the British soldiers holding out day after day, night after night, against the assault of numerous odds, they came to have a profound trust and confidence in the 'big heart' of the Queen's soldiers. When, therefore, they saw the Royal Scots launch themselves like a living bolt at five times their number, they held their breath for a time, wondering what the end might be. But when they saw the bloody bayonets of the 1st Foot scatter and utterly destroy the hated Dutchman they opened their throats and yelled their applause across the river."

* * * * *

THEIR BADGES, BATTLE HONOURS, ETC.

BADGES.--The Royal Cypher within the Collar of the Order of the
Thistle with the Badge appendant. In each of the four corners the
Thistle within the Circle and motto of the Order, ensigned with the
Imperial Crown.

BATTLE HONOURS.--The Sphinx, superscribed Egypt. Blenheim,
Ramillies, Oudenarde, Malplaquet, Louisburg, St. Lucia,
Egmont-op-Zee, Corunna, Busaco, Salamanca, Vittoria, St. Sebastian,
Nive, Peninsula, Niagara, Waterloo, Nagpore, Maheidpore, Ava, Alma,
Inkerman, Sevastopol, Taku Forts, Pekin, S. Africa 1889-1902.

UNIFORM.--Regular and Reserve Battns., scarlet with blue facings.

[This distinguished corps is the oldest regiment in the Army, hence
its nickname of Pontius Pilate's Body Guard. There is a tradition
that it represents the body of Scottish Archers who for centuries
formed the guard of the French kings. It fought under Gustavus
Adolphus, King of Sweden, in the Seven Years' War, and was
incorporated in the British Army in 1633. Since that date it has
seen service in every part of the globe.]

THE "FIGHTING FIFTH"

("THE SHINERS")

The "Fighting Fifth" (Northumberland Fusiliers) have a peculiar paradox in their history. They were first raised in 1674 by Prince William of Orange, the Dutchman, and, in the last Boer War, they were fighting against the Dutch themselves. But even stranger things than that have come to pass in these later days when we have good cause to call our old allies our enemies, and our old enemies our allies.

The "Fighting Fifth" derived their regimental name, the Northumberland Fusiliers, from Hugh, Earl Percy, afterwards Duke of Northumberland, who commanded the regiment during the American War of Independence. For their fighting in the seventeenth century Prince William assembled them before the whole army, and publicly rewarded them for their services. It must be remembered that there were still services to come, for, when the Prince returned to England, fourteen years later, to deprive his father-in-law of his throne, the "Fighting Fifth" had not forgotten his kind offices. On this occasion they were regarded by the English with pride and admiration. "Even the peasants," says Macaulay, "whispered to one another as they marched by: 'There be our own lads; there be the brave fellows who hurled back the French on the field of Seneffe!'"

The "Fighting Fifth" gained many laurels in Portugal and Spain, where, on more than one occasion, they drove the enemy before them in utter confusion. It is in this war that their fighting traditions are chiefly founded.

At Ciudad Rodrigo it was the "Fighting Fifth" who stormed the approach. Afterwards they fought their way with fusil and steel through Salamanca, Nivelle, Vittoria, Orthes, and Toulouse, right up to Paris.

One of their greatest achievements was the successful defence of Gibraltar, when the Spaniards made their first attempt to recover it. Since that time there is scarce a page of fighting history up to the time of the Napoleonic Wars that contains no deed of this bull-dog regiment.

Their nickname is almost as old as their regiment. It was at the siege of Maestricht in 1676, when the regiment was only two years old, that a section of these men, only 200 strong, assaulted the Dauphin bastion--an affair out of which, after the most sanguinary combat, no more than fifty emerged. Yet maddened, rather than daunted, these fifty, with some few reinforcements, made a further attack on the bastion; and this time they took it, but only to meet with disaster. The place was mined, and a terrible explosion killed a large number, and covered others in wreckage. Many, however, emerged, and these proceeded to hold the position.

The tale of how they entered Badajoz stirs the blood. The 2nd Battalion led the storming party. Their way led over a narrow bridge. Here, under a terrible fire, the foremost fell in heaps; but their comrades pressed forward over their prostrate bodies, and planted ladders against the beetling walls of the castle. For a time the "Fighting Fifth" suffered heavily. Again and again the desperate attackers reached the summit of the walls, only to be hurled back by the enemy. Here they swarmed up like bees, to be swept down again by a raking fire; there, another ladder broken, another overturned, with men everywhere falling and climbing, climbing and falling. The chance of scaling those walls seemed hopeless, and at length the Fifth paused, and looked at one another. Then, at that psychological moment, the cheering of the enemy above broke the spell. Their cheers were answered by a fierce shout from our men, who rushed to the attack with a never-give-in determination that finally gained the ramparts, and drove the garrison out of the castle, out of the town, and into the distance, not without great slaughter. It was at Badajoz that the Fifth lost their brave colonel, who struck in at that psychological moment, and led the final victorious onslaught. He fell, shot through the heart, at the very moment that victory was assured. "None that night," says Napier, "died with more glory; yet many died, and there was much glory." The taking of Badajoz was indeed a piece of work which required all the dogged tenacity of purpose to be found in such fearless heroes as the "Fighting Fifth."

* * * * *

THEIR BADGES AND BATTLE HONOURS, ETC.

BADGES.--St. George and the Dragon. In each of the four corners the
united Red and White Rose slipped, ensigned with the Royal Crest.

MOTTO.--"Quo fata vocant."

BATTLE HONOURS.--Wilhelmsthal, Roleia, Vimiera, Corunna, Busaco,
Cuidad Rodrigo, Badajoz, Salamanca, Vittoria, Nivelle, Orthes,
Toulouse, Peninsula, Lucknow, Afghanistan 1878-80, Khartoum, S.
Africa 1899-1902, Modder River.

UNIFORM.--Regular and Reserve Battns., scarlet with gosling-green
facings.

THE LIVERPOOL REGIMENT

("THE LEATHER HATS")

The Liverpool Regiment, like the 5th Dragoon Guards, was raised to help James, and, like them, it sided with the right against him. When James tried to place Roman Catholic officers over English regiments, with the help of the Liverpool Regiment, the colonel and five officers strongly objected. James sent his son, Fitzjames, Duke of Berwick, to Portsmouth, to correct them; but on this, and the issue of it, the country rose, saying unanimously that James was wrong, and the "six Portsmouth captains" were right. James had to flee from a country which entertained ideas so strange to his way of thinking. In memory of this protest against oppression, the portraits of those "six Portsmouth captains" are preserved to this day by the regiment. Once having definitely seceded, the Liverpool Regiment went further in the defence of liberty, and fought fiercely at the Boyne.

But it was in the Netherlands that the "Leather Hats" performed their first great feat of valour. Lord Cutts, whom they dubbed "The Salamander"--because, where the fire was hottest, there was Cutts to be found--ordered them, against all sane strategy, to storm the fortress of Venloo. Everyone said it was impossible to take it, but the Liverpool Regiment, who were actually facing the matter, got a different view into their heads. They said nothing, but obeyed commands--and took it. "Over bastion, fausse, bray and raveline," says a graphic chronicler, "over trench, glacis and escarpment, Cutts led his dare-devils; the ditches were heaped with the dead, till the living walked over them, and--the enemy ran upon the farther side." It was a magnificent feat of arms, and a fitting preface to Blenheim, Dettingen, Lucknow, and their glorious deeds at the front to-day.

* * * * *

THEIR BADGES AND BATTLE HONOURS, ETC.

BADGE.--The White Horse within the Garter. In each of the four
corners the Royal Cypher.

MOTTO.--"Nec aspera terrent."

BATTLE HONOURS.--The Sphinx, superscribed Egypt. Blenheim,
Ramillies, Oudenarde, Malplaquet, Dettingen, Martinique, Niagara,
Delhi, Lucknow, Peiwar Kotal, Afghanistan 1878-80, Burma 1885-87,
S. Africa 1899-1902, Defence of Ladysmith.

UNIFORM.--Regular and Reserve Battns., scarlet with blue facings.

THE NORFOLKS

("THE HOLY BOYS")

"Our country will, I believe, sooner forgive an officer for
attacking his enemy, than for omitting to do it....

"A Norfolk man is as good as two others."--_Nelson._

Of the Norfolk Regiment, then known as the 9th (East Norfolk) Regiment, Napier said, with a happy mixture of blame and praise: "They were guilty of a fierce neglect of orders in taking a path leading immediately to the enemy." Indeed, that is exactly what they did at the battle of Roliça on the 17th August, 1808. Their intrepidity and fine carelessness in regard to their lives were on that day the subject of unstinted praise on the part of the whole French army, who, in those times it must be remembered, were our enemies. A brief description of the battle will show the stern stuff that the Norfolks are made of.

The enemy, under Laborde, held a very strong position, and it was Wellington's object to drive them from it at the earliest opportunity. The Norfolks, under Brigadier Nightingale, came up with Wellington's army from Obidos, three columns strong. The 9th occupied the position in the centre, which fronted the enemy in possession of a natural fortress of gigantic crags, looming steep and forbidding against the sky. The only way of ascent was by means of some zigzag tracks, which, at many points, were open to the enemy's fire.

Under these conditions, it would have been possible for our men to proceed by halt and rush, with a slow but sure caution; but the Norfolks, flinging all caution to the winds, hurled themselves forward to get at the enemy as quickly as possible. They swarmed up the heights, giving the foe a hot example of their musketry fire as they swung forward. It is said that their exploit was in full view of both armies as the smoke of their firing marked their passage from crag to crag. The rapidity of their advance was so great that the other regiments of the central column were left far behind. Laborde, taking advantage of their prominent position, proceeded to throw the greater part of his army against them, thinking to wipe them out before they could receive support. This was partially successful, for the enemy's fierce onslaught bore the 2nd battalion back. Fiercely; the Norfolks contested every inch of the way, and it was a wonder of wonders that they lost so little ground against overwhelming odds before the 1st battalion came to their assistance. Then, with scarce a breathing space, they re-formed their ranks, and, with a hearty British cheer, swept forward and upward again.

That heroic and dashing encounter, in which the battle was to the swift--for it will be remembered that they had outstripped the rest of the army--is one that can never be forgotten in the annals of our history. Slowly, point by point, they gained the advantage, and finally drove the enemy from the summit. But, having taken the position, they had to hold it again and again against the furious efforts of the enemy to dislodge them. The reckless dash of their ascent could only be equalled by the stubborn resistance with which they held on, and, time after time, Laborde's battalions were driven back. Finally, the Northumberland Fusiliers came to their assistance, and the enemy was forced to retire. This was a victory set upon a hill, and, in the same spirit in which it was witnessed that day by thousands of opposing forces, so it is for ever pictured in our minds. With the battle of Roliça in their traditions, the Norfolk Regiment, as we write, are no doubt adding to the list of their brilliant achievements.

In this battle a memorable act of heroism glorifies a page of history--a page written in the Norfolk blood of Sergeant-Major Richards. At the time when our skirmishers advanced rapidly, and the echo of their quick musketry fire hung reverberating in the ravine and hollow as they ran from cover to cover, two companies crept up two separate passes among the rocks and debouched upon the summit of the ridge. The foremost of the 9th, on emerging two or three at a time from their narrow passage, were ambushed by the enemy. Blake, their brave Colonel, was killed, and many of his men fell around him. When the ambuscade rushed forth to grips, Sergeant-Major Richards, though riddled with lead, and bleeding from a dozen bayonet wounds, stood over his beloved commander and fought to the death. This brave fellow, than whom there was never a braver, said, as he was dying, "I should not have cared so much if only our Colonel had been spared." In those few words, at such a moment, breathed the true spirit of the Norfolks, and that glorious simplicity of thought and singleness of eye--fine, grand, unconsciously sublime--runs through every line of our great Book of Battles. We are not glad that our enemy of to-day has not written such a book, nor do we trouble to wish he had: the fact is fixed that he has not. Indeed, he had never the material for such a book, for it is obvious that the same barbarous hand that struck out an innocent Louvain could not insert such an anachronism as the heroic death and noble sentiment of a Sergeant-Major Richards of the Norfolks.

But Roliça, although the most prominent of their honours, is only one among many that have been set to their credit. They have more than once been in a position of extreme peril. When Ruffin's brigade at Barrosa realised that the Norfolks were cut off through an error on the part of our Spanish Allies, they turned the whole fury of their overwhelming odds upon that single regiment. Then it was a case of fighting, and dying, back to back. All fought like heroes, and, like heroes, most of them died. It was only when Brigadier Dilkes came to their assistance that the few survivors were extricated from their hazardous position. Needless to say, the handful that remained joined at once with Dilkes' column, and assaulted the enemy's heights. A grim battle ensued, and at length a brilliant victory was gained.

In the history of the Norfolks is written one of the saddest incidents in the annals of our arms. It was they who, at Corunna, at dead of night, buried Sir John Moore, under the shadow of disaster--a sorrowful ending to an adverse passage which, although it concealed a marvellous achievement, few of us care to linger upon in days when victory is before us, and all thoughts of defeat forgotten.

At Fuentes d'Onoro, a description of which battle will be found in another chapter, the Norfolks, in company with many other regiments of our present expeditionary force, fought with all their customary vim; and at Salamanca their assault on the enemy was as if they had been let go from a catapult. At a time when they were fully 500 yards in front of our main body of troops, Wellington saw the chance of making use of them to capture a particular post held by the enemy. He sent his aide-de-camp scouring up to them with the hurried message: "Ninth! you are the only regiment ready; advance!" They required no further indication to grasp what was to be done; in fact, they would probably have done it in the natural course of events, without the order; they charged on, and at the point of the irresistible bayonet the post was taken.

Many a forlorn hope has been led by the Norfolks. One that remains indelibly stamped on our memory is that at San Sebastian, headed by a Scots lad, named Campbell. This poor fellow was terribly wounded in the first onslaught, receiving a bayonet thrust, and a heavy sabre gash. The young hero was not to die of his wounds however. Very much on the contrary, he lived to become Sir Colin Campbell, Commander-in-Chief in India; and, for his splendid services in suppressing the Indian Mutiny was created Baron Clyde.

Having come through many terrible fights with honour and glory, and without a stain, it is naturally the great regret of this famous regiment that they were not at present at Waterloo. But, though absent from our greatest field of victory, they were doing good work at the time in Canada. Yet it has come to their share in these days to reap honours in fields not far from Waterloo, and we live to learn that, in the deeds of to-day, and to-morrow, a Norfolk man is indeed as good as at least two Germans.

* * * * *

THEIR BADGE AND BATTLE HONOURS, ETC.

BADGE.--The figure of Britannia.

BATTLE HONOURS.--Roliça, Vimiera, Corunna, Busaco, Salamanca,
Vittoria, St. Sebastian, Nive, Peninsula, Cabool 1842, Moodkee,
Ferozeshah, Sobraon, Sevastopol, Kabul 1879, Afghanistan 1870-80,
S. Africa 1900-02, Paardeberg.

HEROES OF PERTHSHIRE--Regular and Reserve Battns., scarlet with
yellow facings.

[Raised in 1685. Received the title "East Norfolk Regiment" in
1782, and became the Norfolk Regiment in 1881. The badge of the
figure of Britannia was bestowed on the regiment in recognition of
its gallantry at the battle of Almanza (1707). This regiment was
the last of the British forces to embark at Corunna (1809), and was
entrusted with the burial of Sir John Moore, in memory of which
event the officers of the regiment wear a black line in their lace.]

THE BLACK WATCH (ROYAL HIGHLANDERS)

("HEROES OF PERTHSHIRE")

"We are but few, but of the right sort."--_Nelson._

"Highlanders, remember Egypt!"--_Sir John Moore at Corunna._

These men need a book to themselves. It is impossible here to give more than a short account of one or two of their most brilliant fights, but, as from the peck you may judge of the barrel, so one will find the invincible temper of the Black Watch in every line and every word.

It was at Fontenoy that the Black Watch first met a foreign foe, and their dealings with that foe were an emphatic earnest of their future honours. The fortune of war was not on their side; they were forced to retreat, covering it in such perfect order that Lord Crawford waved his hat to them, with the well-remembered approval that they had achieved as great honour as if they had gained an actual victory.

The Black Watch have acquired great reputation in America. They distinguished themselves notably at Bushey Run, and it was in the War of Independence that they contributed their severest and most difficult work. A chronicler of the doings of this regiment writes on this passage in their history: "In every field the Black Watch maintained their hardly earned reputation," and many are the recorded deeds of individual courage and readiness. Here is one instance by the same chronicler:

"In a skirmish with the Americans in 1776, Major Murray, of the
42nd, being separated from his men, was attacked by three of the
enemy. His dirk slipped behind his back, and, being a big stout
man, he could not reach it, but defended himself as well as he
could with his fusil, and, watching his opportunity, seized the
sword of one of his assailants, and put the three to flight."

The battle of Alexandria was perhaps one of the most brilliant in the whole career of the Black Watch. At a time when the two wings of their regiment stood some 200 yards apart, the Invincibles of France, valiant fighters, forced their way between, with one six-pounder. As soon as the Highlanders found that they had been, in a sense, caught napping, a roar of wrath rose from their ranks, and swiftly their right wing swung down on the interloping French, broke their ranks and captured their gun. The left wing, facing the other way, wheeled swiftly, and fell like mountain cats on the French rear. The enemy, who had thought to split the 42nd to some purpose, were thus themselves caught in a death trap. The Invincibles rushed helter-skelter for cover in the ruins near by, and after them, terrible in pursuit, went the Black Watch. The plaided ranks drew together, and charged again and again with fixed bayonets, while the pursued fled before those gleaming points until they were brought to bay in a position where they were forced to turn and fight. It was a brave and memorable fight then on both sides. The courage of despair was on the enemy's side, and the cool, relentless courage of the Caledonians was on ours. But in the end the enemy, having lost 700 of their men, were forced to yield.

This temporary victory, however, afforded no respite for the Black Watch. Hot upon the action came a strong column of French infantry swiftly advancing, and it was a matter of the utmost importance that they should be attacked at once. The Black Watch, dishevelled as they were, their great chests still heaving with their exertions, were flung forward by Sir Ralph Abercromby, who, in the urgency of the critical moment, himself hallooed them on.

It was a quick passage. After a clashing impact, the Black Watch broke the French column and scattered it in flight. Seeing the Highlanders eagerly pursuing, and in danger of being cut off by three squadrons of cavalry, General Moore ordered the pursuers to retire. It appears that, in the crash and roar of the battle, this order was lost upon the foremost pursuers, who were dealing death right and left, and they were not aware of what threatened until the French cavalry was thundering down upon them. It was so sudden that the Highlanders had barely time to retrieve their scattered state, and rally back to back. Thus, raising their fierce northern battle-cry, they fought against fearful odds, a small body of men surrounded on every hand. But even from this they emerged victorious, routing the very flower of the French cavalry. So it was that in one day this regiment won three brilliant victories, each one of which had seemed at first almost a forlorn hope.

It must be remembered that the Royal Highlander has always been a perfect swordsman, terrible with his rifle, and deadly with his pistol. His strength is renowned in history. There have been men among them who have claimed no great superiority over their fellows from the fact of being able to twist a horseshoe, or drive a skeandhu up to the hilt in a pine log. Fatigue, hunger, thirst, the extremes of heat and cold--all these are with those men the mere commonplace foes of a Spartan existence--foes which have always found and left them silent, patiently contemptuous, where foes of flesh and blood would at once arouse them to anger of the grimmest kind.

Perhaps no part of the world has seen the Black Watch in as true a light as the Peninsula. From all quarters of it their honours are drawn. They were with Moore at Corunna on that memorable occasion, when on a sudden he cried out to them: "Highlanders, remember Egypt!"

With reference to this speech, and the moment it was delivered, tradition has clothed it with romance. At many a Highland fireside, when the eerie spirit sits in the glen and whispers round the lonely sheilings, it has been said by aged warriors, who had lived on in peace perhaps into the sixties, that, at those words, the men around him, who loved him best, saw, with the uncanny second sight of their race, a misty shimmering shroud enclosing their commander's form, portentous of his coming death.

The words "Highlanders, remember Egypt!" referred to the occasion when, at Alexandria, Sir Ralph Abercromby being taken prisoner, and his captor being shot by a Royal Highlander, the regiment, though broken, continued to fight individually. It is no wonder that Sir John Moore, who had marvelled at their prowess, should exhort them, eight years later, at Corunna, to remember Egypt.

At Toulouse, Pack, as he galloped swiftly up with General Clinton's orders, drew rein in silence before the Black Watch. Then he spoke calmly, but with elation: "General Clinton has been pleased to grant my request that the 42nd shall have the honour of leading the attack. The 42nd will advance!" There were 500 who went in, and there were about ninety who came out alive. One can imagine then their terrible passage up to the fatal redoubt, and all the more clearly may be pictured the determination of it from the fact that, when they reached it, the enemy had fled.

When they were before the heights of Alma, Sir Colin Campbell turned to them, and cried: "Men, the army is watching us. Make me proud of my Highland brigade!" From the future, near and far, the whole wide world watches them, and a great Empire has been made proud of them. Kinglake tells this part of the story with a fine touch. "Smoothly, easily, and swiftly," he says, "the Black Watch seemed to glide up the hill. A few instants before, and their tartans ranged dark in the valley; now their plumes waved on the crest." The enemy did not stay for the coming onslaught, for, as many said afterwards, they "did not like those men in the petticoats, with their red vulture plumes and their coloured tartans."

At Ticonderoga, in 1758, they suffered heavily, in blood, though not in honour. Of that encounter an officer of the 55th, who was in the engagement, says: "It is with a mixture of esteem, grief, and envy, that I considered the great loss and immortal glory won by the Scots Highlanders in the late bloody affair." From all historical accounts it seems that the enemy was very strongly entrenched, in front by ditches, and on the battle side by barricades of felled trees. From this cover they sent volley upon volley into the ranks of the advancing Highlanders. "Yet," says one chronicler:

"The Scots hewed their way through the obstacles with their
broadswords, and--no ladders having been provided--made strenuous
efforts to carry the breastwork, partly by mounting on each other's
shoulders, and partly by placing their feet in holes which they dug
with their swords and bayonets in the face of the works. After a
desperate struggle, which lasted nearly four hours, General
Abercromby, seeing no possible chance of success, ordered a
retreat--an order which had to be _thrice repeated_ before the
Highlanders would withdraw from the unequal contest!"

What the Black Watch would have done at Balaclava and Inkerman, had they been there, can be conjectured, but, sufficient to say that Sevastopol bears witness to their many deeds of outright bravery.

The officers of the Black Watch have always been, needless to say, the soul of honour of the body of their men. In the following letter--a letter which might form part of a great poem--Colonel Macleod writes to the Sultan Tippoo:

"You, or your interpreter have said in your letter to me that I
have lied, or made a _mensonge_. Permit me to inform you, Prince,
that this thing is not good for you to give, or for me to receive,
and if I were alone with you in the desert, you would not dare to
say these words to me. An Englishman scorns to lie; this is an
irreparable affront to an English warrior. If you have courage
enough to meet me, take 100 of your _bravest_ men on foot; meet me
on the sea shore; I will fight you, and 100 men of mine will fight
yours."

This has the true epic ring of all time, even back to the state and condition of the heroic savage who, instinct with honour, said: "Friend, if I had an axe, and thou hadst an axe, then we should see where the truth stands." But, alas! in some parts of the world where savagery is no longer heroic, the days of the true epic have gone by, its local death warrant being writ upon a "scrap of paper" crumpled in an Emperor's hand.

But the Black Watch, though it has fed, as it were, upon the hearts of lions in its immortal traditions of the far past, can live more intimately in the atmosphere of recent glories. Evan McGregor, Robert Dick, Stewart of Garth, Gordon Drummond, Hope Grant--these are immortal names appended to half its story only. Its later history is lit by the fame of the Eighth Earl of Airlie, who was killed at Diamond Hill in 1900. When he sailed from our shores for South Africa, almost his last words were: "Remember, if I am killed in action, whatever memorial you put for me, that you say on it I had died as I wished." And, in confirmation of this, after Magersfontein: "I like the Boers, and am very proud to be fighting against them.... I am very happy." A sentiment which we, in later years, can parallel with the fact that Botha's son (aged seventeen years) has enlisted to fight for Britain--a step approved by his heroic father.

It was the old 73rd (now the 2nd Battalion Black Watch) which, under General Wauchope, their former colonel, fought so heroically in the Boer War, losing their brave commander at Magersfontein. The 73rd was, from 1809 to 1881, an ordinary line regiment, the Scottish dress and kilt having been abandoned. As such it fought at Waterloo, which, among others, it gives as an "honour" to the Black Watch. In 1881 it was made the 2nd Battalion Black Watch, and resumed the doublet, kilt and feather bonnet.

The spirit of the Earl of Airlie is alive to-day--as much alive as it was in Scotland, when the "Heroes of Perthshire" laid their lives at the feet of him they believed to be their rightful king. Then, as since, they lived and died fighting; and, out of their brave deeds from that to this, there has arisen the peculiar significance of those three words--thrilling and dear to British hearts, chilling and terrible to Britain's foes--THE BLACK WATCH.

* * * * *

THEIR BADGES AND BATTLE HONOURS, ETC.

BADGES.--The Royal Cypher within the Garter. The badge and motto of
the Order of the Thistle. In each of the four corners the Royal
Cypher, ensigned with the Royal Crown.

BATTLE HONOURS.--The Sphinx, superscribed Egypt. Mysore, Mangalore,
Seringapatam, Corunna, Fuentes d'Onoro, Pyrenees, Nivelle, Nive,
Orthes, Toulouse, Peninsula, Waterloo, S. Africa 1846-47, 1851-53,
Alma, Sevastopol, Lucknow, Ashantee, Egypt 1882-84, Tel-el-Kebir,
Nile 1884-85, Kirbekan, S. Africa 1899-1902, Paardeberg.

UNIFORM.--Regular and Reserve Batts., scarlet and blue facings.

[The 1st Battn. was first formed from the independent companies
raised in 1729 from the Highland clans, and received the name of
Black Watch from the hue of its tartan. The newly-formed regiment
greatly distinguished itself at Fontenoy and against the French in
N. America. At Ticonderoga it lost 25 officers, 19 sergeants, and
603 rank and file in killed and wounded, and received the title of
Royal Highlanders in recognition of its bravery. The 2nd Battn.,
raised in 1780, became a separate regiment in 1786, and it was this
Battn. a detachment of which was in the wreck of the _Birkenhead_.
The Black Watch gained the red hackle during the campaign in
Flanders (1794-95). The 42nd was one of the four regiments
mentioned in dispatches after Waterloo. The 2nd Battn. was at
Magersfontein in 1899, where it lost 19 officers and over 300
killed and wounded. This regiment has a record which is only
equalled by one or two regiments in the British Army.]

THE MANCHESTER REGIMENT

("THE BLOODSUCKERS")