Chapter III: Part 3

"Shew me a well authenticated instance of the troops of any other
nation gaining and holding an 'impossible' position against fearful
odds, and I will shew you a wavering in, or, at least, a
qualification of, our national faith that our allied British
infantry is the best in the world."--_French Daily Newspaper,
August, 1914._

It was at Elandslaagte that the 1st Battalion of this gallant regiment, together with the Gordon Highlanders and the Light Horse, distinguished themselves in a terrible passage of arms. The following graphic account is taken down from the words of a soldier who went through that terrible affair:

"It was nearly five o'clock on that day," he said, "when it seemed
to be growing curiously dark. And we soon saw the reason. As our
men moved forward the heavens opened, and from the eastern sky
swept a sheet of rain. With the first stabbing drops the horses
turned their heads, and no whip or spur could bring them up to it.
It drove through our mackintoshes as if they were blotting-paper;
the air was filled with a hissing sound, and underfoot you could
see the solid earth pounded into mud, and the mud flowing away in
streams of slush. The rain blotted out hill and dale and enemy in
one great curtain of swooping water. You would have said that the
heavens had opened to drown the wrath of man.

"Through it the guns still thundered, and the khaki column pushed
doggedly on. The infantry got among the boulders and began to open
out. The supports and reserves followed. Then, in a twinkling, on
the stone-pitted hill-face, burst loose another storm--a storm of
lead and death. In the first line, down behind the rocks, the men
were firing fast, and the bullets came pelting round them. The men
stooped, and staggered, and dropped limply, as if a string that
held them upright had been cut. The line pushed on, and the colonel
fell, shot in the arm.

"The regiment pursued their way until they came to a rocky ledge
twenty feet high. Here they clung to cover, firing, then rose, and
were among the shrill bullets again. A major was left at the bottom
of the ridge with a pipe in his mouth, and a Mauser bullet through
his leg. His company rushed on. Onwards and upwards--down, fire
again--up again, and on. Another ridge won and passed, and only one
more hellish hail of bullets beyond. More men down. More men
hurried forward into the firing line--more death-piping bullets
than ever. The air was a sieve of them; they came with unceasing
ping, and beat on the boulders like a million hammers; they
ploughed the rocks and tore the turf like harrows. Another ridge
crowned, another whistling gust of perdition. More men down; more
men pushing into the firing line. Half the officers killed or
wounded--the men panted and stumbled on--another ridge taken! God!
would this cursed hill never end? It was sown with bleeding and
dead behind us; it was edged with stinging fire before. 'Fix
bayonets!' Staff officers rushed up, urging the men on. There was
now no line, only a surging wave. Devonshires, Gordon Highlanders,
Manchester, and Light Horse all mixed--subalterns commanding
regiments, soldiers yelling advice, officers firing carbines--all
stumbling, leaping, killing, falling--all drunk with battle. At
length we gained the ridge, and saw the Boer camp below. The Boers
were galloping out of it helter skelter, with Lancers and Dragoon
Guards spearing and stamping them into the ground. Suddenly we
heard the bugle call 'Cease fire!' and, wondering slightly at such
an order at such a time, we began to retire. But we were soon met
by a boy bugler rushing forward, who, in reply to our remarks about
the order, yelled, 'Cease fire be damned!' And then we discovered
that the Boers, who had learnt our bugle calls, had blown the
blast. On this, we turned about, charged again, and so made good
the battle of Elandslaagte."

* * * * *

THEIR BADGE AND BATTLE HONOURS, ETC.

BADGE.--The Sphinx, superscribed Egypt.

BATTLE HONOURS.--Egmont-op-Zee, Martinique, Guadaloupe, Peninsula,
Alma, Inkerman, Sevastopol, New Zealand, Afghanistan 1879-80, Egypt
1882, S. Africa 1899-1902, Defence of Ladysmith.

UNIFORM.--Regular and Reserve Battn., scarlet with white facings.

[1st Battn. raised in 1685, 2nd Battn. in 1801. The 1st Battn. was
formerly a Battn. of the 8th Foot, and became the 63rd Regiment in
1758. It served as Mounted Infantry during the war of American
Independence, and won great distinction. The 2nd Battn. was
formerly the Minorca Regiment, and became part of the line in 1804
as the 97th (Queen's German) Regiment. In 1816 it became the 96th
(Queen's Own), and was disbanded in 1818. Raised again in 1824. The
1st Battn. displayed great courage and steadiness during the Siege
of Ladysmith (1899).]

THE GORDON HIGHLANDERS

("SCOTLAND FOR EVER")

"You have saved the day, Highlanders, but you must return to your
position. There is more work to be done."--_Sir Denis Pack at
Waterloo._

Sir Denis Pack's words at Waterloo are as true to-day as they were then. The Gordons have always saved the day, and now they must return to their position. There is more work to be done and the Gordons are there to do it, as before.

The following is an extract from a letter to Sir Walter Scott from Viscount Vanderfosse, first Advocate of the Superior Court of Justice of Brussels, dated January 5th, 1816:

"Since the arrival of the British troops on the Continent, their
discipline was remarked by all those who had any communication with
them. Among these respectable warriors the Scotch deserve to be
particularly commemorated, and this honourable mention is due to
their discipline, their patience, their humanity, and their bravery
almost without example. Constant and unheard of proofs were given
of devotion to their country quite extraordinary and sublime; nor
must we forget that these men, so terrible in the field of battle,
were mild and tranquil out of it."

Such a testimonial from so high an authority is a treasured document in the hands of the Gordons, and many are the accounts received to-day from the front, which go to show that their cheery optimism has not been dimmed by the passage of a century.

Perhaps there is no regiment that blends so nicely the simple humour characteristic of the Scot with the grim determination in which no section of our army is wanting. There are many points which soften to our hearts the fierce homicidal glory of the Gordon Highlanders. But first in importance is their grim and terrible side.

On the eventful night of the Duchess of Richmond's ball on the eve of Waterloo, Colonel Cameron, and some of the N.C. officers of the Gordon Highlanders, had been invited to give the guests of different nations there assembled a display of the Highland dances. Poets have sung the sudden call to arms at the "Cannon's opening roar," but it was not until daybreak that the Gordons marched off through the Namur Gate towards the scene of action.

On this occasion their panoply of war set everyone a-thrill. With their dark plumes waving in the breeze, and the bright sun shining on their polished accoutrements, they marched to the screel of the bagpipes. Never had the spectators beheld a prouder, braver, more athletic body of men; there was not a downcast look among them; only the fearless eye, the undaunted mien, the cheerful bearing-things which tell of strength.

In this mood they marched as far as the forest of Soignies, near Waterloo. Thence, as the day advanced, they proceeded towards Quatre Bras. The heat was intense, the dust suffocating, but, after a wearisome march, they reached Genappe, where the people were waiting for the thirsty regiment with large tubs of water, and of milk, from which the Highlanders dipped and drank as they passed through the town. Hard on this refreshment, as they came into the plain beyond, was a further refreshment to the warlike spirit of the Highlanders; it was the sound of cannon that fell upon their ears "nearer, clearer than before." There was a general quickening of pace as the excitement of promised action ran quickly through the ranks, but Colonel Cameron checked their eagerness, and held them back, though with difficulty.

It so chanced, by good luck, or good management, that the Gordons arrived at Quatre Bras just at the very moment they were needed. Wellington had come in with full information from Blücher as to the position of the Prussian army, and a fuller scorn of their tactics in selecting that position--a scorn which was justified by the event. "If they fight here," he said, in his terse and forcible way, "they will be damnably mauled." The Duke was a true prophet. They were, in two words, "mauled."

The enemy's action began with a fierce cannonade, under cover of which a brigade of infantry and lancers were hurled forward, Our Belgian-Dutch allies fell back, and their retreat was converted into a rout by the enemy, who speedily became masters of the situation. Things were critical, but, at that moment, in came the Gordon Highlanders by the Namur road. Their march broke into a double, and their ranks opened and overflowed each side of the road, deploying for immediate action. At once came an answer from a battery of the enemy perched on one of the surrounding heights. By this time the Duke was amongst the Highlanders, giving orders to seek cover in the ditches and behind the banks of the road; he and his staff following their example. They had not long to wait, under a terrible fire, before the French cuirassiers came sweeping through the fields towards them. On they came, with furious cries, a formidable body; but the Highlanders under command of the Duke, waited in grim silence, reserving their fire. "Highlanders!" the Duke cried, "don't fight until I tell you," and so the Gordons lay, ready for the signal. It came when the charging cuirassiers were within thirty yards of them. Then a fierce volley rang out, and havoc lighted on the horsemen. Horses and steel-clad riders went down pell mell, and, in the confusion, the survivors turned and fled before the coming steel. Many, whose horses were shot beneath them, attempted to cope with the Scots, but all their valour was as nothing before the bayonets of the Gordons.

At another stage of the battle, when the Duke of Brunswick's hussars were in flight before the red (Polish) lancers and French light infantry, Wellington, involved in the charge, and carried away in their mad career, was in great danger; but, seeing a way out, he headed his horse for a position that had been taken up by the Gordons. As he neared them, at full gallop, he ordered them to lie still; then he leapt the intervening fence clearing, at one jump, fence, trench, and men. With the Gordons now between him and the foe, he wheeled his horse to a standstill, and ordered the Highlanders to get ready. The Brunswickers had passed, severely handled by the French bayonets, and the grenadiers, on the right, retired to the road, leaving the Gordons an opportunity to fire obliquely upon the oncoming cavalry. These shared the same fate as the cuirassiers, being met at short distance with a volley which threw them into confusion. Those in front were cut off, by dead and wounded, from those in the rear, who retreated in disorder, while the front passed on in their headlong career, which was really a retreat, through the village. Meanwhile, the Gordons turned their attention to the rest, and put them to rout.

Now Napoleon had impressed upon Ney to act in a manner that must prove decisive. The British had to be swept entirely off the field--the fate of France depended upon this. Ney's position was a difficult one, especially as he saw that reinforcements were coming up against him. Accordingly, he attacked again vigorously, and sent two columns of cavalry down upon the posts held by the Gordons. But these met with a similar fate to those who had tried that way before. But Ney still persisted and the Gordons were suffering heavily. How the day would have gone, and what would have happened to our Highlanders had not the Guards come up on their left soon afterwards, military experts alone can conjecture; but even with their assistance--and very welcome it was--the Gordons were yet to experience a severer trial.

It came in this way. Two columns of French infantry advanced rapidly, by means of the Charleroi road, and the outskirts of the wood of Bossu, and occupied a roadside house, with a thick hedge running some distance into a field, a part of their number gaining the cover of a thickly-hedged garden on the other side of the road. The main body of these troops, some 14,000 strong, took up a position in the rear of this garden.

Colonel Cameron with difficulty curbed his eagerness to let his men go, but the Duke, who foresaw a prolonged struggle, refused to allow it. He was, as usual, waiting for the right moment. When that moment came, and the order was given, Cameron leapt the ditch, at the head of his men, with old General Barnes at his side, crying, "Come on, my old 92nd!" Then, to the shrill piping of the pibrochs, the intrepid Gordons leapt from the ditch and fell upon the enemy with an impetus that was irresistible. The bayonet did its terrible work, and the opposing column fell back in confusion.

Meanwhile other sections advanced upon the hedged garden, the house, and the field hedge, suffering heavily from these points. It was in this advance that the staff of the colour was split into six pieces by three bullets, and the staff of the king's colour by one. It was here, too, that Cameron himself was wounded. Being shot in the groin, he lost control of his horse, which galloped away with him, and finally stopped suddenly before his own groom, who was holding a second horse. There Cameron, in a fainting condition, was thrown out of the saddle violently on to the road.

Colonel Cameron died of his wound late that night, but not before he had learnt that the British arms had conquered--a fact which forms the theme of Sir Walter Scott's immortal verse:

And Sunart rough, and wild Ardgour,
And Morven long shall tell,
And proud Ben Nevis hear with awe,
How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras,
Brave Cameron heard the wild hurrah
Of conquest as he fell.

Meanwhile, the Gordons had fully avenged their leader's death. With repeated rushes upon the roadside house, they did deadly work with the bayonet, and, amid the hail of bullets from superior forces of the enemy, they still continued their fierce onslaughts under conditions that would have demoralized soldiers less cool and experienced.

In the midst of the appalling fire, they separated and formed up in three parts, one part moving to the right of the house and garden, another part to the left, while a third prepared to assault the garden itself. At a given moment, when the whole battalion was ready, the order to charge was given. Then, with a resounding cheer, they rushed forward, "the bagpipes screaming out the notes of the 'Cameron's Gathering,' as they levelled their bayonets, and charged with the elastic step learnt on the hillside."

The enemy stood firm for a little while against the oncoming array of determined men; then they broke and fled, showing their backs as targets for the Highlanders, who scattered the passage of their retreat thickly with their dead bodies. In this action many prisoners were taken.

The British troops, though in the minority in guns, as well as men, stood like a rock against the searching assaults of the enemy. Ebb and flow was the order of battle, until at last the flow of our indomitable troops gained ground, and the enemy finally ebbed away.

Our last victory in that furious battle was gained foot by foot, and when, in the end, the day was won, and the stars looked down upon 10,000 slain, the piper of the Gordon Highlanders took his stand in front of the village of Quatre Bras to call the Highlanders in. "Loud and long blew Cameron," says one who heard that call of the highland mountain and the glen, "but his efforts could not gather above half of those whom his music had cheered on their march to the battlefield."

Our Gordons had been through the thick of the fight; at the close of the day they were terribly hungry, and with the cool sang-froid which is the necessary complement to the bravery of such men, they took their supper cooked and served in the cuirasses which had shone in the enemy's forefront of battle some hours before.

Various writers tell of the extreme kindness received by the Gordons after the battle from the inhabitants of Brussels and Antwerp. The "good and brave Scots" came in on drays and wagons, apparently none the worse for the fierce encounter, saving merely the loss of a leg, or an arm or two. "We're a' wantin' a leg or a' airm," cried one from the midst of a wagon-load of wounded, as if it were a kind of fraternal greeting. The good folk, seeing their plight, and not understanding the language, brought them wine in abundance, but the Highlanders did not understand the colour of it, and called for "guid sma' ale" as the next best thing to their own "white wine of the north."

Tales of suffering in those days cannot vie in magnitude with the tales of to-day, but it is interesting to note that the endurance and patience of the Highlanders, as they lay on the wagons, or came in on foot, fainting with weariness and loss of blood, called forth the remark, as they passed through the street, "the men of your country must be made of iron."

It remains to touch on the Highlanders' own account of this battle. It was simple and unpretentious in the extreme. One who had been severely wounded, and was lying on the paving stones, waiting to be attended to, was accosted by an English resident. "How you and your comrades fought!" he said. "Your bravery will be the talk of the world. There is no doubt, as the people here say, you and your countrymen are made of iron." "Hoots, man," replied the Highlander, "need ye mak' sic a din aboot the like o' that? What did we gang oot for but to fecht?"

It goes without saying that false reports of any considerable engagement were spread through the countryside, even in those days. A chronicler states that Mercer, when making his way to the scene of action, happened on a Gordon Highlander, toiling painfully along the road, badly wounded in the knee. "Halt!" cried Mercer. "Have you any information? The Belgians tell me that our army has been forced to retreat." "Na, na," replied the Scot; "it's a damned lee! When I cam' awa' they were fechtin', an' they're aye fechtin' yet." With that, he sat down on the roadside and calmly lit his pipe, while a prentice surgeon probed for the bullet in his knee.

Another incident preserved in the records of the Gordons is related by a Scotch lady who resided at that time in Antwerp. She had heard reports of a retreat from Quatre Bras, and other mis-statements concerning Mont St. Jean had also reached her ears, all to the effect that the British had suffered severe defeat; that Wellington was dangerously wounded, and that all of any account in our army were either killed or taken prisoners. Moreover, thousands of French troops had entered Brussels, and that on the heels of death and destruction came panic and dismay. Needless to say, this was not true, except in one point only--that 2,000 French _had_ entered Brussels; but it was in the rôle of prisoners, not victors! On the following day the Scotch lady went out in search of news, and was met by a long procession of vehicles laden with the wounded. Not a word of victory could she get on any hand, until she observed, in the very last wagon, a group of Gordon Highlanders, badly wounded, and heavily bandaged. They evidently knew something, for they were throwing their bonnets in the air, and shouting: "Bony's beat! Hurrah for Bonnie Scotland! Hurrah for Merrie England! Bony's beat!" Recognizing the Highland spirit, the lady sought to learn the cause of their excitement, and they told her, between their wild cries of joy, that a rider had just sped by, bringing the glad news of victory.

It was not easy for the people of Brussels to gather the real import of this news either from the lady or the Highlanders, but it began to spread about, in what to them was an unknown tongue, though forcible in vociferation, that "Bony was beat and runnin' awa' to his ain country just as fast as he could gang." Yet there was no explaining it to them, and it was in vain that a brawny, bearded Highlander took a Belgian woman to task with the words, "Canna ye hear, ye auld witch? Are ye deaf? Bony's beat, I tell ye! I tell ye, Bony's beat, wumman!" It was no good! But the full significance of the fact was soon made known in the city, and then there was wild rejoicing on every hand.

In those times the Belgian people conceived and fostered a great love for the Gordon Highlanders, and no doubt the tradition has been handed down to this day that they are the best of soldiers, sweet and gentle in peace, and terrible in war.

The part played by the Gordons in the repulse of the Boer attack on Ladysmith, January 6th, 1900, is never to be forgotten. It was here that Lieutenant Colonel Dick-Cunyngham, V.C., fell at the head of his men. It was during the Afghan campaign that this hero of the Gordons received his V.C., when they were fighting outside Kabul in 1879. Staggered for a moment by a terrific onslaught on the part of the Afghans, the Gordons, their leading officer and colour-sergeant being killed, seemed to hesitate, when Dick-Cunyngham sprang forward, and, by his remarkable coolness and gallantry, saved the situation.

In later days, the Gordon Highlanders have maintained and even added to the reputation thus bravely won. One signal instance is found in their attacks on the Dargai heights. On October 18th, 1897, the Gordons formed part of the flanking movement under Brigadier-General Kempster. The heights were won, but were shortly re-occupied by the enemy. On the following day, a second battle was joined about this position. Under Sir William Lockhart the Gordons displayed their usual fighting power. In the "Broad Arrow" of February, 18th, 1898, Sir William Lockhart himself described the part they played:

"The Gordon Highlanders went straight up the hill without check or
hesitation. Headed by their pipers, and led by Colonel Mathias,
with Major Macbean on his right, and Lieutenant A. F. Gordon on his
left, this splendid battalion marched across the open. It dashed
through a murderous fire, and in forty minutes had won the heights,
leaving three officers and thirty men killed or wounded on its way.
The first rush of the Highlanders was deserving of the highest
praise, for they had just undergone a very severe climb, and had
reached a point beyond which other troops had been unable to
advance for over three hours. The first rush was followed at short
intervals by a second and a third, each led by officers; and, as
the leading companies went up the path for the final assault, the
remainder of the troops streamed on in support, but few of the
enemy waited for the bayonet, many of them being shot down as they
fled in confusion."

Supremely heroic on a point of romantic sentiment is our Gordon Highlander. When Cameron fell at Quatre Bras, he was not only mortally wounded, but pinned down by his horse. In this helpless condition he was recognised by one of the enemy, who swiftly rushed forward to bayonet him. But swifter still came the cold steel of Ewen Macmillan (the Colonel's foster brother) and pierced the would-be murderer to the heart. Ewen extricated his leader and bore him off; then, his master safe, he turned back with the set purpose of securing the saddle on which he had sat through many a victorious battle. In the thick of the fight the imperturbable Scot, amid a hail of bullets, secured that saddle and returned safely with it to his company, exhibiting it with a fine mingling of triumph and regret. "We must leave them the carcase," he said, "but they shan't get the saddle where Fassiefern sat." That was what he had risked his life a thousand times a minute for--the saddle where Fassiefern had sat!

And not only in stirring deeds of deathless glory have the Gordon Highlanders shone in the starry sky of Britain's fame. In the course of their long career they have been called upon to suffer and endure tests of hardship and privation, which prove the true mettle of the British soldier. They have played many parts in the theatre of war where the limelight did not fall. It was even their fate to take part in the terrible retreat to Bremen. Mr. W. Richards gives a grim description of some of these hardships:

"The high, keen wind carried the drifted snow and sand with such
violence that the human frame could scarcely resist its power; the
cold was intense; the water, which collected in the hollow eyes of
the men, congealed as it fell, and hung in icicles from their
eyelashes; the breath froze, and hung in icy incrustations about
their haggard faces, and on the blankets and coats which they
wrapped about them."

But, with the Gordons, the hardy spirit in which they weathered all this was only a modification of that which carried them into their most glorious triumphs on the field of battle. Speaking of hardships and remembering the strong spirit of camaraderie which has always existed between our soldiers of all regiments, we cannot help reminding the Gordons that their 2nd Battalion owes the Coldstreamers one ration. It happened in this way. When the Gordons arrived at Fuentes d'Onoro both officers and men were literally starving, owing to a faulty commissariat; and no sooner did the Guards get wind of this than they volunteered a ration of biscuits, from their haversacks. Now, as the Coldstreamers will not be able to get those biscuits from the enemy, who appears to have "embarked without them," they may require them again from the Gordons and they should insist on having them well buttered.

* * * * *

THEIR BADGES AND BATTLE HONOURS, ETC.

BADGES.--The Sphinx, superscribed Egypt. The Royal Tiger,
superscribed India.

BATTLE HONOURS.--Mysore, Seringapatam, Egmont-op-Zee, Mandora,
Corunna, Fuentes d'Onoro, Almaraz, Vittoria, Pyrenees, Nive,
Orthes, Peninsula, Waterloo, S. Africa 1835, Delhi, Lucknow,
Charasiah, Kabul 1879, Kandahar 1880, Afghanistan 1878-80, Egypt
1882-84, Tel-el-Kebir, Nile 1884-85, Chitral, Tirah, S. Africa
1889-1902, Paardeberg, Defence of Ladysmith.

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

[To the first regiment (the 89th), raised in 1759, there belong the
romances of two notable men. One was the Duke's brother, Lord
William, who afterwards ran away with Lady Sarah Bunbury, and the
other was Lord George, the future rioter. A further romance belongs
to the Gordons proper. When, in 1794, the 4th D. of G. was
commissioned to raise a regiment for the King, with the Duke's son,
Lord Huntly, as its colonel, his wife Jane, "the Bonnie Duchess,"
acted as her son's recruiting sergeant. Day after day she rode in
among them at their gatherings, and with the King's shilling
between her teeth, kissed them into the army. "Now, lads; whose for
a soldier's life--and a kiss o' the Duchess Jean?" Her ambition for
her son in the way of masculine counterpoise to the brilliant
alliances of her daughters does not matter so much as that the
Gordons sprang into being at the touch of her lips--which is a
legend greatly treasured among Highlanders.]

THE CONNAUGHT RANGERS

("THE GARVIES")

"Rangers of Connaught, the eyes of all Ireland are on you this day.
On then, and at them, and if you do not give them the soundest
thrashing they have ever got in their lives, you needn't look me in
the face again in this world or the next."--_Colonel-in-Command
at the Front._

Towards the close of the Transvaal War the 2nd Battalion of the Connaught Rangers performed a heroic feat, which tended to mitigate the peace-with-little-honour feeling which marked the peace negotiations of 1879.

Lydenberg was garrisoned by some seventy men, fifty-three of whom were Connaught Rangers, the whole being under the command of Lieut. Long, a mere stripling lad of twenty-two. Soon after Brunker's Spruit the Boers called upon Lydenberg to surrender, thinking that the lad of twenty-two would do as he was told like an obedient boy. But they soon found that they were mistaken. Long wisely temporised, and made use of a few days thus gained to strengthen his defences. Soon came the Boers' second demand of surrender, and this time it was scornfully flung back. So, on the 6th January, the Boers' bombarded the place, but the little garrison held out, and, for twelve weeks, the forces of siege, sickness, hunger and thirst failed to break the spirit of the gallant band. Then, when peace was declared, the 94th had no cause to feel ashamed, for in their hands Lydenberg had never surrendered. The British flag still fluttered above it. Worn and exhausted by terrible hardships and privations, but _still unconquered_, the survivors came forth in peace.

* * * * *

THEIR BADGES AND BATTLE HONOURS, ETC.

BADGES.--The Harp and Crown. The Elephant. The Sphinx, superscribed
Egypt.

MOTTO.--"Quis Separabit."

BATTLE HONOURS.--Seringapatam, Talavera, Busaco, Fuentes d'Onoro,
Ciudad Rodrigo, Badajoz, Salamanca, Vittoria, Nivelle, Orthes,
Toulouse, Peninsula, Alma, Inkerman, Sevastopol, Central India, S.
Africa 1877-79, 1899-1902, Relief of Ladysmith.

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

[Raised in 1793 in Connaught. Both Battns. gained undying fame in
the Peninsula War, the regiment having the honour of forming the
forlorn hope at the storming of both Badajoz and Ciudad Rodrigo.
The regiment also fought with distinction in the Crimea and the
Indian Mutiny. During the Boer War of 1899 the 1st Battn. formed
part of the famous Irish Brigade in Natal, and in 1901 it became a
battn. of mounted infantry.]

THE ARGYLL AND SUTHERLAND HIGHLANDERS

("THE THIN RED LINE")

"Wherever they have lived and fought they have carried with them
the fearless picturesqueness of their indomitable mountains."

At Sevastopol, as at few other battles in the history of wars, was displayed the most magnificent valour of the Highlander. The approaches to Balaclava were protected by six batteries manned by Turks, who, it will be remembered, were in those days our allies. On October 25th, 1854, the Russians made a determined attack on these redoubts, speedily captured three of the batteries, and at once turned them on the 93rd Highlanders, under Sir Colin Campbell, compelling them to seek cover behind a slight ridge. No sooner had they done so than a horde of Russian cavalry swept down upon them, whereat Sir Colin ordered his men to breast the ridge and hold it against them at all costs. "Men," he said, "there is no retreat from here; you must die where you stand." "Ay, ay, Sir Colin," was the cool response, "and we'll do that if needs be."

The men were only two or three deep, but that "thin red line," bristling with steel, was none the less formidable for that. Every heart was staunch and every hand was steady. Nearer and nearer came the rolling thunder of the Russian cavalry, quickening as it came. They were now at 600 yards. "Fire!" the order was given, and the lead went forth, but the Russians, though galled, still came on. At 200 yards a second volley rang out, and this time the enemy wavered and could only be rallied by the remarkable determination of their officers. Their swerve was headed into a flank attack, but the Highlanders stood firm as their native rocks, and met their last onrush with volley on volley.

"Then had you seen a gallant shock
When saddles were emptied and lances broke."

The enemy, now in confusion, looked at the cold steel awaiting them, turned in dismay and fled in disorder to the shelter of their own guns.

The 93rd were also at Lucknow, and the way they came to the rescue of the hard-pressed garrison of that city makes a thrilling episode.

Well known is the story of Jessie, the Scotch nurse, who was within the fortifications of Lucknow when the final grip of despair was closing on the beleaguered garrison. Sitting musing on the hope of death as against the horrors of surrender, she suddenly raised her head and listened. Was she dreaming of the hills and glens of her native land, which she might never see again, or was that the sound of the pibrochs floating on the breeze from far away? She started up, declaring that she heard the wild music of her own country drawing nearer and nearer out of the distance. Others listened, but could hear nothing, and thought that Jessie was fey. But the simple-living Scotch folk are renowned for their second sight and clairaudience, and the event proved that Jessie was right; for at that moment, though far beyond the range of physical hearing, the Highlanders, under Sir Colin Campbell, were marching swiftly towards Lucknow, with Cameron striding at their head, blowing his loudest.

When they arrived at the city they made no pause, but swept down on the dastardly foe with irresistible force, while the bagpipes screamed and the men cheered wildly. Then ensued a running fight lasting some hours, after which post after post was seized and occupied until finally the siege was raised, and Sir Colin Campbell and Sir Henry Havelock met within the city and shook hands on a glorious relief.

* * * * *

THEIR BADGES, BATTLE HONOURS, ETC.

BADGES.--A Boar's Head within a wreath of myrtle. A Cat within a
wreath of broom, all over the label as represented in the arms of
the Princess Louise, and surmounted with H.R.H.'s coronet. In each
of the four corners the Princess Louise Cypher and Coronet.

MOTTOES.--"Ne obliviscaris." "Sans peur."

BATTLE HONOURS.--Cape of Good Hope 1806, Rolica, Vimiera, Coronna,
Pyrenees, Nivelle, Nive, Orthes, Toulouse, Peninsula, Alma,
Balaclava, Sevastopol, Lucknow, S. Africa 1846-47, 1851-53, 1879,
1899-1902, Modder River, Paardeberg.

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

[1st Battn. (Argyllshire Highlanders): raised in 1794 by the Duke
of Argyll. 2nd Battn. (Sutherland Highlanders): raised by the Duke
of Sutherland in 1800. The 1st Battn. formed the bulk of the heroes
of the wreck of the _Birkenhead_. The 2nd Battn. were the
celebrated "thin red line" at Balaclava. The regiment won great
distinction during the Indian Mutiny. It formed part of General
Wauchope's force at Magersfontein (1899).]

THE DUBLIN FUSILIERS

("THE OLD TOUGHS")

The Dublin Fusiliers had a large share in writing the red history of India. Their prestige has been drawn mainly from the East. Indeed, although they have been in existence 246 years, they never set eyes on the white cliffs of Dover until the other day, so to speak, in 1871. On their colours stand the Royal Tiger of Bengal, and the Indian Elephant, together with the honours--Plassey, Mysore, The Carnatic, Buxar, and many others gained in India which are unknown to any other regiment. In the conquest of India they were Clive's men, Warren Hastings' men, and "their names are the names of the victories of England." It is scarcely too much to say that Indian territory was made British by the Dublin Fusiliers. The story of how India would have become part of the French Empire but for the daring genius of an obscure youth and the indomitable valour of the Dublin Fusiliers makes thrilling reading.

The French had laid siege to Trichinopoly, knowing that, with its fall, fell India into their hands; but Clive, a young man of twenty-five years, a born genius, without any further acquirement in the way of special training, evolved as if by a heaven-sent inspiration--a sudden plan--the consummate daring of which has not been equalled in the history of any other nation. It was, in brief, to raise the siege of Trichinopoly by dealing a sledge-hammer stroke upon Arcot, the capital of the Carnatic--a city whose population was 100,000, and whose garrison consisted of 1,100 trained men. Clive proposed to subdue this strongly defended city with 200 Dublin Fusiliers and 300 Sepoys. This unheard-of intention must have had something unseen and undreamt of behind it, as the shadow of the coming event. The issue proved this. With his handful of men, tuned to his own pitch of enthusiasm, he marched boldly on Arcot during the night. He was not alone. His allies were the elements. As he neared the gates of the city, they broke loose. The lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and the rain descended in torrents. In the midst of this, he and his little band entered the city as if at the head of an unknown mighty army. These men, who came attended by the artillery of the storm gods, by the lightning's flash and search-light, seemed all too many for the garrison. Terrified, they fled in tumult and disorder, and Clive by this master-stroke, aided by That which has aided Britain many times in a moment of daring extremity, seized Arcot, and held it.

But this master-stroke required confirmation before it was effective. It yet remained for Clive, and his brave band to display the endurance and patience necessary to hold what was won. The besiegers of Trichinopoly gathered reinforcements, and beleaguered Arcot. Ten thousand men enforced that place. In the course of days four officers, nearly 100 Dublin Fusiliers and over 100 Sepoys were lost. Says an eye-witness who describes the place, "The ramparts were too narrow to admit the guns, the battlements too low to protect the soldiers." In this siege, which lasted fifty days, elephants were used by the besieging hosts. With the battering-rams slung between them, they were pushed forward against the walls, but the "Dubs" sent such a fusilade against them that the beasts turned tail, and trampled hundreds of the enemy to death.

The little body of Dublin Fusiliers and Sepoys--it was the first, but not the last time that Indian troops have fought bravely by our side--held out, and finally the enemy, after a fierce attack, in which they were worsted, retreated. Clive followed them up remorselessly. In that pursuit Pondicherry and Tanjore were taken, and now, at Plassey, were 100 British, and 2,000 Sepoys, who, in a decisive action, defeated 60,000 of the enemy under Surajah Dowlah. This superiority of a cause which, reinforcing an inferiority of men, has proved, through thick blood and thin, to be at the behest of civilisation, is not without its far-off echo in the present day.

It needs to be added that the whole of the honours of the Dublin Fusiliers, until "South Africa, 1899-1902," and "Relief of Ladysmith," were won by the Madras Fusiliers and Bombay Fusiliers (East India Company's regiments). It was only in 1881 that they were given the name "Royal Dublin Fusiliers," and as such, our English, Scotch and Welsh have never a fault to find with them.

It was at Arcot that Lieutenant Trewith, of the Madras Fusiliers, saved Clive's life at the expense of his own, and so, indirectly, yet practically, saved India. At a moment when Clive was unaware of danger Trewith saw one of the besiegers taking a long, steady aim at him through a small breach. There was no time to do anything in the way of warning. There was merely time to thrust his own body between the bullet and Clive's heart--between another Power and India. That was a moment as heroic for an individual as it was critical for a nation.

From the battle of Plassey onwards, wherever there was fighting, there were the Dublin Fusiliers. At Condore and Wandiwash, at Buxar and Sholingur, they were present--not in numbers but in force. It has ceased to be a strange thing regarding the Dublin Fusiliers that their greatest victories were those in which the odds were against them.

At Cuddalore the "Dubs" saw the first step of a romance which went far in a world of practical reality. It was there that they took no less a person than Bernadotte prisoner--Bernadotte, the born leader of men, who afterwards married Desirée Clary (the early love of Napoleon), became Field Marshal, and died King of Sweden. Little did those practical fighters think, when they treated the young Bernadotte kindly at their camp fire that they had actually captured the future father of King Oscar of Sweden--a monarch who received his name from his god-father Napoleon Bonaparte, after his favourite hero, Oscar of _Ossian_.

As the almost impossible name of Nundy Droog has been glorified by the "Dubs," one may fairly reason that the glory of a place-name may be derived from what takes place there. Nundy Droog is a fortress set upon a great crag, nearly half a mile high. The story of the three weeks' siege of this difficult place has a sublime climax in the final and victorious assault of the Dublin Fusiliers. It was night, and the Indian moon shone full upon the giant crag, whose serried points seemed to pierce the sky, casting deep shadows on the rocky facets and gloomy ravines. From far above fell the bugle calls of the defenders, tossed by echo from precipice to precipice, to die away in the dark spaces. Then rang out an answering clarion note from below, sounding the assault, and the Dublin Fusiliers advanced up the sides of that precipitous height. "Then," says a chronicler, with a peculiar inversion of metaphorical allusion, "hell opened _above them_, cannon shot ploughed through them, musketry raked them, rockets blasted them, great boulders rolled down from above and carried many away." But, undaunted, the Dublin Fusiliers climbed on and up, until at last their final dash on the summit was so determined that the enemy fled dismayed.

Later, standing in pools of blood where lay women of Cawnpore, while little baby-shoes floated about them, the Dublin Fusiliers--strong men, sobbing with grief--vowed vengeance on the perpetrators of the foulest deeds, and saw it carried out. The murderers were captured and blown from the guns, their hands smeared with the blood of their innocent victims, and, according to their own belief, their high-caste souls consequently damned for ever.

The Dublin Fusiliers fought grandly in the Boer War, and nothing could hold them back. After Colenso they were found to be only 400 strong. In view of their terrible losses it was decided to send them off to Frere to keep the communications open. It was at parade that they were informed of this, and they one and all "nabbed the rust" and swore they would be in the fighting line or die. They were expostulated with, but all arguments were of no avail; the fighting spirit was too strong, and these heroic fellows were allowed to remain to have another cut at the enemy.

During the battle of Colenso occurred a real "Irish" incident which is amusing. The "Dubs" were advancing on the enemy's left flank under a searching shell and rifle fire, when they paused for cover at a poorly-sheltered spot. Here two of the men had a private difference, and, with the battle raging round them, and the bullets whistling through their hair, they set about one another with their fists, their comrades gathering round and looking on with interest. When the matter was satisfactorily settled, and the best man had let the other up, the two shook hands, and, joining common cause against the enemy, coolly resumed the advance, and proceeded about the less personal business of the day.

It was at Lucknow that Tommy Atkins, the sentry, when he saw the people flying for the Residency, refused to leave his post, and was killed by the Sepoys. This proud nickname, Tommy Atkins, has now come to mean any soldier in the British Army, and rightly so, for, be it said, they are all built on the same plan as the one who immortalized their present name.

There are two true stories of the Dublin Fusiliers which will bear repeating; indeed, they are more than true: they are tender and true, and show the noblest form of self-sacrifice in the face of unconquering death. At Natal, when Captain Paton was severely wounded, one of his disabled men crept to his side in the cold, teeming rain, and lay with his arms about him all night long, trying to keep the necessary warmth in his body. And if you remind an old Dublin Fusilier of this touching story, he will most probably tell you another of eighty years ago, which is like unto it. There were, so the records tell, two foster-brothers in the Bombay Fusiliers (the 2nd "Dubs")--the younger an officer, and the elder a devil-may-care private. "Ye'll be lookin' after the lad," said their mother, when they left for the front. "I will," replied the reckless one; and he did. They were found, years later, upon a mountain-side in India, both dead, lying among dead and wounded. But--and here is the lump in the throat--the younger had been badly wounded, and the elder only slightly; but, dead from exposure, there he lay by his brother's side, stripped to the skin, all his clothes being piled upon his mother's younger son to keep his ebbing life-spark warm. Deep down in the devil-may-care Bombay Fusilier who did that deed was surely the spirit that conquers death, subjecting it to the higher glory of Britain.

* * * * *

THEIR BADGES AND BATTLE HONOURS, ETC.

BADGES.--The Royal Tiger, superscribed, "Plassey," "Buxar." The Elephant, superscribed "Carnatic," "Mysore."

MOTTO.--"Spectamur Agendo."

BATTLE HONOURS.--Arcot, Condore, Wandiwash, Scholingur, Nundy Droog, Amboyna, Ternate, Banda, Pondicherry, Mahidpoor, Guzerat, Seringapatam, Kirkee, Beni Boo Ally, Aden, Punjaub, Mooltan, Goojerat, Ava, Pegu, Lucknow, S. Africa 1899-1902, Relief of Ladysmith.

UNIFORM.--Scarlet with blue facings.

FUENTES D'ONORO AND ALBUERA

"A battle's never lost until it's won."--_Old British proverb._

"Nothing could stop that astonishing infantry."

_Napier._

As at Balaclava and Inkerman, a great number of our Expeditionary regiments now contending side by side at the front were present at the victorious battle of Fuentes d'Onoro, and a new significance attaches to that name from the fact that these regiments were mainly responsible for the victory on that occasion. The battle is also very noteworthy in the annals of British pluck and endurance for the number of times the little village was taken and retaken in the course of the day.

In September, 1810, Wellington, having beaten Regnier and Ney at Busaco, withdrew to his colossal defences at Torres Vedras. In the following spring he again assumed the offensive, and marched his army to Fuentes d'Onoro, where the battle of glorious incident was fought. A Highlander who was in the fight has described it in the following picturesque narrative, which as his description is taken from notes written in camp, contains no indication as to his regiment, and prudently refrains from mentioning the names of most of the other regiments, we may preface it with a list of the principal regiments engaged. They were as follow:

1st (Royal) Dragoons; 14th (King's) Hussars; 16th (Queen's)
Lancers; the Coldstream Guards and Scots Guards; King's Royal Rifle
Corps; the Rifle Brigade; 1st and 2nd Battalion Highland Light
Infantry; 2nd Battalion Gordon Highlanders; 1st Battalion Royal
Highlanders (Black Watch); 1st Battalion South Wales Borderers; 1st
Battalion Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders; Norfolk Regiment; 1st
Battalion Yorkshire Light Infantry; 1st Battalion Royal Irish
Rifles; 1st Battalion Connaught Rangers; 16th Lancers; and others.

And here is his story, in the course of which the reader must make what he can of the curious fact that the cavalry on both sides were chiefly Germans!

"Our regiment was moved to the village of Fuentes d'Onoro, a few
miles nearer Almeida. A great part of the way we moved through a
wood of oak trees, in which the inhabitants of the surrounding
villages had herds of swine feeding; here the voice of the cuckoo
was never mute; night and day its simple notes were heard in every
quarter of the wood.

"The village we now occupied was in Spain.... The site of the
village was beautiful and romantic; it lay in a sort of ravine,
down which a small river brawled over an irregular rocky bed, in
some places forming precipitous falls of many feet; the acclivity
on each side was occasionally abrupt, covered with trees and thick
brush-wood. Three leagues to the left of our front lay the villages
of Gallegos and Espeja, in and about which our Light Division and
cavalry were quartered. Between this and Fuentes lay a large wood,
which, receding on the right, formed a plain, flanked by a deep
ravine, being a continuation of that in which the village lay. In
our rear was another plain, on which our army subsequently formed,
and behind that, in a valley, Villa Fermosa, the river Coa running
past it.

"We had not been many days here when we received intelligence that
the light troops were falling back upon our village, the enemy
having recrossed the Agueda in great force, for the purpose of
relieving Almeida, which we had blockaded. On the morning we
received this intelligence (3rd May, 1811), our regiment turned out
of the town, and took up their position with the rest of the
division on a plain some distance behind it. The morning was
uncommonly beautiful; the sun shone bright and warm; the various
odoriferous shrubs, which were scattered profusely around, perfumed
the air, and the woods rang with the song of birds.

"The Light Division and cavalry falling back, followed by the
columns of the French, the various divisions of the army assembling
on the plain from different quarters, their arms glittering in the
sun; bugles blowing, drums beating, the various staff officers
galloping about to different parts of the line giving orders,
formed a scene which realized to my mind all that I had ever read
of feats of arms, or the pomp of war--a scene which no one could
behold unmoved, or without feeling a portion of that enthusiasm
which always accompanies 'deeds of high daring'; a scene justly
conceived, and well described by Moore, in the beautiful song:--

Oh, the sight entrancing
When the morning's beam is glancing
O'er files array'd
With helm and blade
And plumes in the gay wind dancing!

"Our position was now taken up in such a way that our line ran
along the frontiers of Portugal, maintaining the blockade of
Almeida by our left, while our right kept open the communication
with Sabugal, the place where the last action was fought.

"The French advanced on our position in three columns, about three
o'clock in the afternoon, and detached a strong body of troops
against Fuentes, which was at this time occupied as an advance post
by the 60th Regiment (1st Battalion King's Royal Rifle Corps), and
the light company of our division. The skirmishers were covered in
their advance by cavalry, in consequence of which ours were obliged
to fall back for greater safety to some stone fences on the
outskirts of the village, while a party of our German hussars
covered their retreat.

"The cavalry now commenced skirmishing, the infantry keeping up an
occasional fire. It was rather remarkable that the cavalry on both
sides happened to be Germans. When this was understood, volleys of
insulting language, as well as shot, were exchanged between them.
One of our hussars got so enraged at something one of his opponents
said, that, raising his sword, he dashed forward upon him into the
very centre of their line. The insulting hussar, seeing that he had
no mercy to expect from his enraged foe, wheeled about his horse,
and rode to the rear. The other, determined on revenge, still
continued to follow him. The whole attention, on both sides, was
drawn for a moment to these two, and a temporary cessation of
firing took place. The French stared in astonishment at our
hussar's temerity, while our men were cheering him on. The chase
continued for some way to the rear of their cavalry. At last, our
hussar, coming up with him, fetched a furious blow, and brought him
to the ground.