Infantry.

There are 109 regiments of Infantry, without the Rifle Brigade.

The uniform of each is as follows:—

Guards wear scarlet tunic single-breasted, black trousers with scarlet welt, and black bearskin cap. The Grenadiers wear a white plume; the Coldstreams a red plume; the Scots Fusiliers no plume.

The Line uniform consists of single-breasted red tunic, black trousers with scarlet welt for winter, and dark blue trousers in summer; shako, dark blue cloth with red and white ball tuft. Undress a jacket and forage cap, the number of the regiment being in front of the cap.

Rifles wear tunic and trousers of rifle green cloth.

Light Infantry have the shako surmounted by a green horsehair plume instead of the ball tuft; in other respects the uniform is the same.

Fusiliers have a white horsehair plume instead of the ball tuft, except the 5th, where the plume is red and white.

Five of the Highland Regiments wear the kilt, viz., the 42nd, 78th, 79th, 92nd, and 93rd. Three, viz., the 71st, 72nd, and 74th, the trews. The kilted regiments, as also the 72nd, wear a bonnet of black ostrich feathers, with tartan plaid skull, with white or red feather. The facings of the regiments vary; a so-termed Royal Regiment having blue facings, the others consist of different colours, yellow, white, red, buff, and green being the variations.

Commissariat.—The dress of this service consists of dark blue tunic, blue velvet facings, dark blue trousers, red stripe, dark shako, and tuft.

The Medical Department wear scarlet tunic, black facings, blue trousers with gold or red stripes, cocked hat and black plume.

The Army Hospital Corps wear dark blue with grey facings.

Among the extras to be seen in uniform in most garrison towns, are Bandmasters, Bandsmen, Drummers, &c., and Schoolmasters.

The Bands of the Infantry have white tunics with regimental or scarlet facings. The Bandmaster usually wears a black frock coat in undress, and the regimental dress with gold in full dress.

Schoolmasters wear a blue frock coat with shoulder knots, crimson silk sash, oilskin cap, black trousers in winter, blue serge in summer.

The Militia of Great Britain consists of Artillery and Infantry, and is equipped in the same manner as is the regular army, except that the lace is silver instead of gold, and the buttons white metal instead of brass.

In the present day, when soldiering is popular and when each town or district sends forth its volunteers, we naturally see an endless display of uniforms, some of which are difficult to identify. Taking, however, the preceding remark about gold lace and silver, red and blue uniforms, numbers on caps, &c., any non-military man may be able to form a very good estimate of the branch of the service and the rank to which each person belongs, a little practice being sufficient to soon train the eye to mark the various peculiarities.

When regiments are formed on parade for reviews or any similar purpose, they are usually placed in the order of their precedence. This order being as follows:—

The Life and Horse Guards have the precedence of all other corps.

The Horse Artillery, whether mounted or dismounted, take the right of all other cavalry.

The Cavalry always take the right of Infantry.

The Royal Artillery take the right of Infantry.

The Royal Engineers take rank next to the Royal Artillery.

The Foot Guards follow next to the Royal Engineers.

The Regiments of the line follow in the order of their number.

The Royal Marines take rank after the 49th Regiment, and the Rifle Brigade after the 93rd.

When Militia regiments of different parts of the United Kingdom meet, that regiment takes precedence which belongs to the county in which the meeting occurs.

CHAPTER XXIX.
A GRAND REVIEW.

A review of the armies of Europe, Austrian, Prussian, French, Russian, British, Italian, Turkish—is only to be achieved on paper. According to a recent calculation it appears that the numerical strength of the armies of Europe is 4,735,782, and, however brilliant the spectacle might be, it would occupy a weary while to see so many men pass by in marching order. On paper it may be done, and so in imagination we take our stand by the reader, to point out the finest troops, or call attention to this or that particular regiment, as the living panorama of disciplined men sweeps on before us. The air resounds with the strains of martial music; the earth seems to shake beneath the feet of the legions, and the eye is dazed with a blaze of colour.

The Austrians—the standing army of Austria is the oldest in Europe—lead the van. The neatly-made white tunics of the infantry, collars and facings marking the distinction between the regiments, and their straight-peaked shakos made of black cloth, present a very noble appearance. The sergeants and corporals are distinguished by woollen stars on their collars, broad black and yellow cords on their shakos, and sword-knots of the same unvarying colour made of wool. The knapsacks of the men are of dark brown calf skin, and their cloaks are fastened on the top of their knapsacks. The men are armed with short light muskets, but to every regiment there are a certain number of grenadiers. The officers, you observe, are fewer in comparison than those of so large a body of men in an English army. To command this body of infantry we should have at least two generals, four colonels, some ten lieutenant-colonels, majors, and fifty-five captains; here the duty is performed by one colonel, six field officers, and thirty-two captains. Perhaps, say you, it is too few. Perhaps. But these fellows march in excellent order—tramp, tramp! and the drummers play with wonderful precision.

These fellows in the light grey tunics are rifles—a good colour, grey. How much better than the old invisible green, which was always visible! And how well the men look in that Swedish felt hat with one side turned up and fastened by a brush. They are some 32,000 strong, these men of the rifle, and the regiments are justly regarded as the finest in the service.

Next in order of march come the border infantry, raised originally in the reign of Maria Theresa; you may know them by their coffee-brown tunics and black cross-belts. Disciplinary companies follow close upon them. They march well, but if you look closely at some of the fellows you may notice a rollicking daring in them quite foreign to the regular troops. These disciplinary corps are established for the purpose of drafting in those untamed spirits that have not yet learned how to obey, and the discipline is pretty sharp. You would not like it! you would be writing to the Times about it, if you dared!

General Discipline in the Austrian army?—Well—almost as unpopular an officer as Corporal Punishment—pardon so dull a joke on so bright a day—well, the discipline is not so sharp as it used to be. We don’t hear so much of the stick, and running the gauntlet has quite gone out of fashion. That running of the gauntlet was terrible work. Stripped to the waist the culprit was marched through the ranks of his comrades, every soldier armed with a cane, every soldier striking a blow—a punishment so severe that many a time a man having endured it has asked for a draught of water, and died before the water could be brought. Now they do these things better: imprison the culprit, put him to shot piling or on extra drill, but—

Oh these men of iron! Hardy and brave as the men of iron who served under old iron-handed Charlemagne! These are the Austrian heavy cavalry—these the cuirassiers with their breast-plates of black polished iron, but no back-plates. They wear low leathern helmets and a brass crest; they have white tunics, and grey trousers covered with leather to the knee. Powerful horses carry these powerful men, but we doubt whether the grey-clad riflemen could not bring them down, notwithstanding their iron breast-plates. Amid a cloud of dust the Cuirassiers and Dragoons ride on, and close in their rear come the Lancers with their short dark green tunics, with red collars and facings, richly decorated with yellow epaulettes, aiguillettes and cords, green trousers with red stripe, white cloaks and low-crowned chapkas of various colours with a tuft. Each man carries a long lance decorated with a black and yellow pennon. These Lancers are followed by the Hussars, wearing tightly fitting tunics and trousers; and after that, thundering over the ground, the Artillery—an Artillery equal to that of any in Europe. The gun carriages and limbers are painted yellow with black wheels, and the men are riding on long jaunting cars, their uniform consisting of brown tunics with red cuffs and facings, light blue trousers, long grey cloaks, and felt hats with one brim turned up and fastened by a black and yellow tuft. Their belts are white, and they carry a short infantry sword.

A small company in dark brown tunics with blue facings, and small low shakos, follow next. These form the Land Transport Corps. After them come the Engineers, with a special corps for Pontoons, and another Special Corps for Flotilla purposes; and, lastly, 19,000 strong, march the Gendarmerie, as fine a body of men—to look at—as ever trod the ground.

The oldest standing army in Europe is that of Austria. Its history is indissolubly connected with that of the Empire; but, while there is no army in Europe which displays stronger traces of the Middle Ages, no pains have been spared to make it the most efficient by a ready adoption—since 1850—of all modern improvements.

The army, like the Empire, is a strange compound of nationalities. Germans, Sclavons, Hungarians, Wallachs—all are included, the army being made up by conscription through all the provinces of the Empire, and all classes, with some few very exceptions, being subjected to it. The army belongs to the Emperor and not to the Empire, and hence an officer may serve in it for years without having any claim to the protection of the State. Foreigners, ever since the period of the Thirty Years’ War, have held high rank in the Emperor’s army, and it is asserted that one-half of the officers now holding commissions in the Austrian army are not Austrians by birth.

By the latest returns it appears that a considerable reduction is taking place in the numerical strength of the Austrian army. The expenses, which in 1863 were estimated at a sum equivalent to 10,000,000l., were reduced in 1865 to 9,000,000l., and the estimates for 1866 are no more than 8,000,000l.

You notice that the men are marked by strange contrasts of physiognomy; they are marked also by strong animosity to each other, not as individuals, but as nations. The troops raised in one dependency of Austria hate with a thorough hatred troops raised in another, and it is very difficult sometimes to keep peace between them. It is a rule also that troops raised in any particular district should never be permitted to garrison that district; and, in fact, that no troops should remain long in any one place. By this means all familiarity with civilians is cut off; the men must associate together—the officers must associate together. As to the men, they are tolerably well paid—always enough to secure them a good breakfast, dinner, and supper, with twopence or threepence over for a dram. The officers—especially those holding high rank—are nothing like so well paid as officers similarly commissioned in England. They do not meet at mess, but each officer dines where he pleases, and thus—

But here come the soldiers of Prussia, the soldiers of the Great Army, which bears something of the impress of Frederick the Great.

Here are the Prussian Rifles, in dark green tunics, with red collars and facings, grey infantry trousers, and a shako with a peak before and behind, and a horsehair brush. Their belts are of black leather, and the couteau de chasse, which can be used as a bayonet, is worn on the same belt as the cartouche-box. They are all capital marksmen, and rapidity of firing is regarded as a sine quâ non.

The Rifles are closely followed by the whole body of Prussian infantry, on a war footing, 360,436 strong. They wear short tunics of blue cloth, the collars red in the front and blue behind. Why blue behind? Because the helmet would soon wear the other colour dirty. The head covering—pickelhaube—is a round helmet with projecting pike, the line wearing the regimental number in front, while the Guard is distinguished by a star. The Guard is also distinguished by horsehair plumes. Who are those who wear a cross in front of their helmets? These are the Landwehr Infantry. There is, if you will look closely, something in the uniform to distinguish the corps: the regiments of Prussia Proper and Pomerania have white shoulder straps; those of Saxony and Brandenburg, red; those of Posen and Silesia, yellow; those of Westphalia and the Rhine, light blue. The trousers of the men are of dark grey cloth with a red piping down the side; they all wear boots, but on march put gaiters over them; their cloaks are of dark grey cloth, and their belts are of black leather.

This strong body of cavaliers—every horse a model—forms the Prussian Cavalry. Here are the Garde du Corps and Grand Cuirassiers. They have back and breast-plates of polished steel, and wear short white tunics with red, blue, green, yellow, black, or orange colour cuffs and collars, according to their regiments; their trousers are of dark grey cloth; their helmets of polished steel; their principal weapon, the long cut-and-thrust sword, worn in a white buffalo belt.

Here come the heavy Landwehr Regiments, in dark blue tunics and bright helmets; in their rear ride the Italians, their dark blue jackets, all picked out with red, are armed with long lances with black and white pennons. These are followed by the Dragoons, in light blue tunics with different coloured facings; Hussars, with black fur shakos and cloaks, and trousers of light grey. And after them thunder the Artillery, on a war footing, with some 34,000 horses and a proportionate number of men.

In time of peace the Prussian army is only 122,260 strong, with 5500 officers; while on a war footing it numbers 299,401 men, who can take the field, while 95,957 men are left behind for home contingencies. The difference between the peace and war establishment of Prussia is greater than in any other European nation.

Universal service is the rule in Prussia, and every healthy man, without distinction of rank, must personally perform military duty; but the period a soldier remains in the standing army is short. The majority only serve three years—from twenty-one to twenty-four; after which they are enrolled for two further years in the reserve, and then pass to the Landwehr of the final levy. The Prussian is aware from his earliest years that he will have to enter the army, and hence even his childish amusements bear a military stamp, and military drill forms part of his common education. It is no small thing to demand of a nation that its entire population must belong to the army up to the thirty-fifth year, and be ready at any moment to quit home and family and to march wherever it is commanded. But so it is in Prussia.

The non-commissioned officers of the Prussian army as a body are probably the best in the world. They have the privilege before them of a civil appointment after twelve years’ service, and they would rather work hard for this than obtain a commission. There is a striking difference between them and the French sergeants, whose only ambition seems to be to rise from the ranks—to pluck at the bâton which is found—with how much of difficulty!—in every man’s knapsack.

The French! Well, the French, you know, are an enthusiastic people—they lead, in civil as well as military circles, rather stagey lives. Have you seen Gustave Doré’s admirable pictures illustrative of the life of a certain Captain Castagnette? Now he loses an eye—now an arm—now two legs; now he has a bomb in his back which cannot be extracted; and now, finally, sans everything, he dozes by the fireside, sets fire to his wooden leg, expels that ugly lodger, the bomb in his back, and is himself dashed into a thousand or more pieces, nothing remaining but the Cross of the Legion! All is lost, save honour! It is very French.

But here are the Frenchmen, ready to fight for honour and glory. Vive l’Empereur! Here are they, 500,000 strong. “L’Empire c’est la Paix,” is it? Every Frenchman is a soldier by birth. Born in the purple were the imperial children of Rome—born, or cradled in the buckler are these children of the modern Empire! It may serve the turn of a Russian or a German to aver that the most stupid soldiers are the best—that it is not a soldier’s business to think, but simply to obey. Not so think the Frenchmen. Intelligent, active, independent, are these brave Gallic heroes. “Your hand, brave comrade—nay, never apologize. If the right hand has been knocked off in fair fighting, give me your left hand.”

Here are the Infantry, in light blue tunics, longer and wider than those of Prussia, a black belt, to which is attached cartouche box, bayonet, and sabre sheath; knapsack of brown calf-skin; large fringe epaulettes, red trousers, small low shako of blue cloth, with a brass shield in front, short half-boots, and gaiters. Here are the buglers and sappers, armed with short rifles, and here are twenty battalions of light infantry, each battalion numbering more than 1200 men. There are the Chasseurs, consisting entirely of picked, active, strong soldiers—hardy mountaineers of Auvergne, the Vosges, the Ardennes, the French Alps, the Pyrenees, and Corsica. Here are the bronze-visaged sons of Algeria, the Zouaves, their ranks recruited by a vast number of Frenchmen, and a sprinkling of Germans, Poles, and Italians, attracted by the fiery impetuosity, almost boyish fun, and Oriental costume of the band. They number about 8000 men. They are closely followed by battalions of Light African Infantry, four battalions of Native African Skirmishers, wearing the Zouave dress; and these, again, by the old Foreign Legion, made up of Germans, Prussians, Bavarians, Poles, Hungarians, Spaniards, and Italians. Next come the Disciplinary Corps, 1600 strong; and, lastly, six companies of Hospital Orderlies, amounting to 1600 or 1700 men.

The helmeted men who ride those powerfully made horses, that you might swear were raised in Normandy, are the Cuirassiers. They are all tall, athletic men; so also are the Carbineers, who follow them. Next come the Dragoons, forming a total of seventy-two squadrons, who can take the field with 13,000 horses, and forty-eight squadrons of Lancers, with 8,000 horses. The Light Cavalry consists of twelve regiments of Chasseurs à Cheval and nine Hussar regiments—on a war footing, 24,000 or 25,000 strong. The Hussar and Chasseur are only distinguished from each other by their gay and overladen uniform; their arms and horses are very much alike. They ride little, strong, but terribly ugly horses, reared in the mountainous parts of France. Next come the Chasseurs d’Afrique, numbering about 3,000. They wear light blue tunics of the Polish cut, red shakos, and white capote cloaks. They are armed with long rifles and light sabres. The Spahis—numbering about 3,000 men, principally natives of Algeria, mounted on Moorish stallions, their uniform, armament and horse equipment perfectly Oriental in style—next pass in review; and then the eye is dazzled by the splendid spectacle of the Cent Gardes. Their uniform is magnificent, and every man is fit for a sculptor’s model. And lastly, there is a large body of the Imperial Guard—the Cuirassiers—splendidly built fellows, mounted on sturdy horses of the Norman breed.

Here’s the Artillery—the finest arm of the French service. Has not the Emperor himself written a hand-book on artillery practice? The uniform of the men is tasteful and richly decorated; red-fringed epaulettes and red-bordered shakos, short dark blue jacket with red facings, trousers of the same with a broad red stripe. All the foot artillerymen are armed with a short straight sword; all who serve on horseback carry cavalry sabres. The guns are horsed by country-bred horses—compact, strong brutes, not particularly attractive to the eye, but useful, and well able to stand any climate. If the French Artillery were placed on the war establishment, it would number 60,000 strong, with 49,000 horses and nearly 1200 guns. The Commissariat troops and the indispensable Engineers, in their blue tunics, come next, and while they pass before us we may offer a few words on the army in general.

The French army on a full war establishment is represented by 580,000 men, 82,000 cavalry horses, and 1182 guns; there is also a reserve, made up of old non-commissioned officers and conscripts, whom it has not been found necessary to call out, amounting to at least 150,000 men. All the men are thoroughly in earnest; they don’t wear the “Emperor’s coat,” but the uniform of their country; the regiments do not bear the name of any varying possession, but has its own number and permanent place in history. “We did so and so at Austerlitz,” say the men to this day, in speaking of the regiment to which they belong. In France, too, any good soldier can become a corporal, any corporal a lieutenant, and so on in military rank. The words of the Great Emperor will never be eradicated from the minds of the French troops: “Every soldier of France carries a marshal’s bâton in his knapsack;” and indeed many a man who entered the service in a blouse has died in a General’s uniform.

Ah, my friend, I see you are inattentive. I know what means that glow upon your cheek and sparkle in your eyes; I hear the strain as well as yourself:—

“Our plumes have waved in combats

That ne’er shall be forgot,

Where many a mighty squadron

Reel’d backward from our shot.

In charges with the bayonet

We lead our bold compeers,

But Frenchmen like to stay not

For British Grenadiers.

“Once boldly at Vimiera

They hoped to play their parts,

And sang fal lira lira

To cheer their drooping hearts.

But English, Scotch, and Paddy-whacks,

We gave three hearty cheers,

And the French soon turned their backs

To the British Grenadiers.

“And what could Buonaparte,

With all his Cuirassiers,

In battle do at Waterloo

With British Grenadiers?

Then ever sweet the drum shall greet

That march unto our ears,

Whose martial roll awakes the soul

Of British Grenadiers!”

You know the old colours, and the old familiar music of the “spirit-stirring drum” and “ear-piercing fife” is a welcome sound. Hurrah, for our soldiers! One, two, three! and a ringing one over the young recruits. Now for another one after that. What is that for? The Volunteers, of course.

The number of effectives in the British army by the last return was 204,057. They are scattered all over the world, scarcely more than 30,000 being at any one time at home; and under so many varied temptations as they must be exposed to, both abroad and at home, it says much for the men that during the last year there were only 1438 deserters and 466 cases of corporal punishment. As to what British troops have achieved—is not the history of England full of it? The sheer pluck they have displayed under all sorts of disadvantages has made them famous through the world. All sorts of disadvantages—at home not over well paid, not over well cared for in garrison; not incited to exertion by the prospect of promotion above that of a non-commissioned officer; not encouraged to feel himself a man as well as a soldier; exposed to a degrading punishment; clad in a costume totally unfitted for the field or the march; armed with heavy and cumbersome weapons; sent to all parts of the globe in precisely the same uniform; no proper provision made for his comfort or convenience; not taken care of by the authorities, not allowed to take care of himself; not—

“Upon the plains of Flanders

Our fathers long ago,

They fought like Alexanders

Beneath old Marlborough!”

I know it, my friend, but they fought under great disadvantage. They were ill-provided with everything; they were badly paid, and their pay, small as it was, was kept; their sheer pluck, as we said before, won the battle—

“And still in fields of conquest

Our valour bright has shone,

With Wolfe and Abercrombie,

And Moore and Wellington.”

I am aware of it all, but they would have thrashed their foes as surely, and certainly with less inconvenience to themselves, had they been better cared for. “If you had to fight the battle of Waterloo again, how would you like to be dressed?” said the Prince Regent to a Guardsman. “In my shirt sleeves, your Majesty!” was the highly practical reply. Do you remember what use they made of the Grenadiers’ bearskin caps in the Crimea? They filled them with mud, and found them excellent building material. Do you remember the outcry there was when the stiff dog collars were taken off our half-strangled soldiers? Do you recollect how Miniés and revolvers were ridiculed by plethoric old officers? “I’ll tell you what, sir, our men didn’t want Miniés and revolvers and such new-fangled bosh at Waterloo, sir. They won without them, and can do it again, sir.”

I observe that you are observing the march of the British soldiers, more than my observations. Well—’tis a grand sight. Chobham and Aldershot have done something for them. Those are the Guards: the Household Brigade, composed of the Grenadiers, of three battalions, the Coldstream, of two, and the Fusiliers, of two battalions: forming a total of seven battalions, each with a strength of 900 men. They are fine, tall, powerful fellows—picked men. How bravely they bestirred themselves that foggy morning at Inkermann, when the Russians dropped in before breakfast! Who can forget that soldiers’ battle? The men who follow are the Infantry Regiments of the Line, all armed with rifles. There are 100 regiments, numbering somewhere about 130,000 men. There are the Rifle Brigade, in their uniform of dark green cloth and dull metal buttons; then a company of Amazons—no, the Highlanders, in their national garb. The pibroch tells of their coming:

“Think on Scotia’s ancient heroes,

Think on foreign foes repelled;

Think on glorious Bruce and Wallace,

Who the proud usurpers quelled!

“See the northern clans advancing!

See Glengarry and Lochiel!

See the brandished broadsword gleaming!

Highland hearts are true as steel.”

And now the Cavalry appears on the scene—the so-called “Heavies” more lightly, however, mounted than the French, Prussian, or Austrian Cuirassiers; counterbalanced, perhaps, by the extreme heaviness of the Light Dragoons when compared to continental Hussars. The Heavy Cavalry is composed of three regiments of Guards, nine Heavy Dragoon regiments, one Carabineer regiment; altogether thirteen regiments, comprising a strength of about 6,000 men, with the same number of horses. The Guards form Her Majesty’s Body Guard, and there is not a finer body of men in the world. The English Light Cavalry is composed of Dragoons, Lancers, and Hussars.

The Artillery consists of what is called the Royal Regiment of Artillery, which has a strength of about 800 officers, 1500 non-commissioned officers, 1900 rank and file, with 4200 horses. In addition to this Artillery Regiment, there is a brigade of Horse Artillery, comprised of 70 officers, 150 non-commissioned officers, and 2200 rank and file, with 1900 horses. All the material is excellent, no expense being spared to raise this branch of the service to a proper degree of efficiency. The Engineer Corps is an important addition to the army.[3] At Woolwich there is a splendid school for the non-commissioned officers.

And here are the Volunteers!

“Altogether,” you say, “a splendid show, these British fellows. Only a small item in this grand parade of European armies, but clearly there is the might of men in them. They afraid!

“‘Come, if you dare!’ our trumpets sound.

‘Come, if you dare!’ the foes rebound.

‘We come, we come!’

Says the double beat of the thund’ring drum.

Now they charge on amain!

Now they rally again!

The gods from above the mad labour behold,

And pity mankind that will perish for gold.

The fainting foemen quit their ground,

Their trumpets languish in their sound—

They fly! they fly!

Victoria! Victoria!”

Ah, my dear friend, when your enthusiasm has a little cooled will you kindly direct your attention to the troops now passing under your Roman—no—I mean your British—nose. These are Russians. How stolidly they march, and how alike they are. There is a company of the Guards, and all the men have light hair and blue eyes; there’s a company of the Guards again, and all the men have black hair and dark eyes. Order is Russia’s first law, and, this confest, all are and must be very like the rest. One day a ship, with many officers and men on board, went down in the Neva. The order was passed to the soldiers to save in the first place the officers of the Guard. They therefore anxiously inquired of each officer they got hold of if he belonged to the Guard? The poor fellows could not answer, as their mouths were full of water, so they were allowed to drown. On another occasion, as it was very dusty, the soldiers were ordered to water the field for exercise. While employed in this duty it came on to rain heavily, but they continued the task with the utmost gravity. They had been ordered to do it, and that was enough. During the siege of Warsaw a young grenadier addressed a veteran, and pointing to the entrenchments, said, “Do you think, comrade, we shall take them?” “I do not think we shall,” the other replied; “they are too strong.” “But,” said the young man, “if we are ordered to take them?” “Oh, that will be another thing; if we are ordered to take them of course we shall do so.”

Out of 65,000,000 to 70,000,000 men subject to the Czar, 40,000,000 to 45,000,000 are liable to the conscription. The infantry of the Russian Imperial Guard consists of five grand infantry divisions, each composed of two brigades, and these again subdivided into four regiments. The Grenadier Corps is divided into six brigades or twelve regiments. There are also attached three Carabineer regiments. There are six Infantry Corps, each consisting of three divisions of six brigades, or twelve regiments. One rifle regiment is attached to each division. The Circassian Corps is subdivided precisely like the line infantry, but the regiments are much stronger. The Finland Corps only consists of one division of two brigades, subdivided into twelve battalions, equal to 12,600 men. The Siberian Corps is composed of one division; the Oremberg Corps also comprises one division. The total strength of Russian infantry amounts to about 540,000 fighting men. The total strength of the Russian cavalry is estimated at 80,000 men. Those magnificent fellows that just now rode by, in their white uniforms and black helmets and cuirasses, are the picked men—the Cuirassiers of the Guard. The Russian Artillery is formed of nine foot and two horse divisions—14,000 guns and 44,000 men.

Who are these? These are the Italians, just drawing long breaths of liberty; and these, soldiers of Spain and Portugal; and these, sons of Mohammed—weak descendants of a mighty race, who set the world aflame from Delhi to Grenada!

All the colours of the rainbow, all the tongues of Babeldom, all the varied physiognomies of all the races in all the world—they troop past us: the wild, weird Cossack, with his tremendous lance; the dapper English Volunteer, with his rifle sure as David’s sling; the Zouave, with his cat upon his knapsack; the Prussian officer, very bare in pocket, but proud of the “King’s coat”—here they pass before us; the air resounding with the strains of military music, the rat-a-plan of the French troops, the clash of Turkish cymbals, the ringing sound of the English bugle, the shrill note of the Highland pibroch. Yes—here are our fighting men, ready to⸺well—may Heaven grant that their swords may rest in their scabbards, and that their artillery shall thunder only to usher in—with soldiers’ music—a Millennium of Peace!

CHAPTER XXX.
A SOLDIER’S FUNERAL.

When a soldier dies notice is at once given to the officer in command of his troop or company, and an inventory is taken of his effects.

The coffin is made (and paid for by means of the effects of the man, which are sold by auction in the garrison after his funeral), and this, with a few trifling fees, is the only expense. The coffin is carried to the grave either on a gun carriage or by men belonging to the man’s company, according to the service to which the man belongs.

The band, or the drums and fifes or bugles, of the regiment to which the man belonged attend the funeral, and lead, playing the dead march; then come a firing party, which are provided with three rounds of blank cartridge; then the coffin and pall bearers, after which the mourners.

When any of the relatives of a soldier attend his funeral they follow immediately behind the coffin; then come the men of the troop or company, the order at a funeral being, that the juniors march nearest the coffin, the seniors last. In all cases of the funeral of private soldiers there is an officer in attendance, usually a subaltern officer, who commands the party, and in the march follows in rear.

The firing party mainly indicates the military rank of the deceased soldier. A private soldier or corporal being entitled to thirteen rank and file; a sergeant to nineteen; a cornet or ensign to thirty; a lieutenant to forty; a captain to one hundred; a major to two hundred; a lieutenant-colonel to three-hundred, and a colonel by his own regiment.

When an officer above the rank of colonel is buried, there are cannon employed instead of small arms. A brigadier’s funeral is attended by two squadrons and one battalion, and a salute of nine cannon is given. A major-general’s is attended by three squadrons and two battalions and eleven pieces of cannon. A lieutenant-general’s thirteen pieces of cannon, three battalions and four squadrons. A general’s with fifteen pieces, four battalions, and six squadrons. And a field-marshal’s saluted with seventeen pieces of cannon, and attended by six battalions and eight squadrons.

When a general or flag officer is being conveyed to the grave, minute guns are fired; but these are not to exceed the number to which the officer was entitled when alive.

When an officer dies in any garrison town, it is customary to send round with the orders, which are read by every officer each evening, a notice to the effect that the funeral will take place on a particular day, and any officers wishing to attend are to be at a place named at a given hour. It is usual for every officer belonging to the regiment or corps of the deceased in the garrison to attend, if not otherwise occupied, and personal friends of the deceased follow also.

All officers who attend funerals appear in full dress with a piece of black crape above the elbow of the left arm, this being the only mourning allowed in the army. The pall-bearers, who should be of the same rank as the deceased, usually wear a crape scarf in addition to the crape on the arm.

When the officer belonged to the royal artillery or cavalry his charger is led to the grave, saddled and equipped, the boots of his master being suspended on each side of the saddle, the heels turned to the front. On the coffin, the busby, helmet, or shako is placed, and the officer’s sword-belt and gloves.

There are few things more imposing in outward appearance than a soldier’s funeral. The slow, measured beat of the drum, the firing party marching with their arms reversed, a position highly emblematic of grief, the strange mixture of uniform and black pall, invariably tend to make the bystanders feel that a soldier’s funeral is far more solemn and impressive than is that of a civilian.

When the procession approaches the grave the firing party file to the right and left, and thus form on either side; they then rest upon their arms reversed, whilst the coffin is borne between the ranks. When the coffin has been lowered into the grave and the service completed, three rounds of blank cartridge are fired in the air as a feu de joie—a somewhat inappropriate term for the occasion—but modified by an old corporal who instructed us in the goose step, and who used to order us to fire a “few de joy—as for the Queen’s birthday,” or “a feu de wo for a funerial.”

A soldier’s life is, when on service, passed amidst scenes of danger, and thus probably he to a certain extent becomes indifferent to death; to say the least, he has not time to grieve very long. Thus no sooner has the ceremony of depositing his comrade in the earth been accomplished, than the band, or drums and fifes, which so solemnly performed the dead march when proceeding to the burial place, strike up a cheerful quick march, and the soldiers return to barracks to the tune of “Here we are again,” forgetful of the scene in which they have lately been actors, and regardless of the probability of themselves being the next claimants for six feet of earth.

The most important military funeral of late years, and one which everybody went to see who could do so, was that of the Duke of Wellington. Famed throughout the world for his brilliant military and civil career, as well as for the genius which characterized all his acts, the nation with one voice called for a public and gorgeous funeral, as a last tribute of its estimation of so far-famed a chieftain.

It was on a dark November morning that hundreds and thousands of persons, long before dawn, wended their way through the streets of London, intent on obtaining a good position on the pavement or to be sure of reaching the house and thence the window, which had been previously secured and from which the procession could be best seen.

Even as early as six o’clock in the morning, large bodies of cavalry and infantry are marching through the streets, whilst officers in uniforms ride up and down, giving orders and arranging the positions for various bodies of men who are yet to make their appearance. In all the principal open spaces troops are mustering; behind the Horse Guards and in St. James’s Park, all branches of the service being represented, from the little known uniforms of Indian soldiers to that of our own guards; for the Great Duke had culled his first laurels on the fields of India, and soldiers from the then East India Company’s service attended as representatives of that branch of our army.

The course taken by the procession was from the Horse Guards to St. Paul’s, and an enormous number of troops were required to keep the ground along the course, this crowd being immense. Not only were the streets crowded, walking being almost impossible, but it was estimated that upwards of two hundred thousand seats were sold to sight-seers.

In the actual procession were six battalions of infantry, nine guns from the field batteries, five squadrons of cavalry, and eight guns from the horse artillery.

The Duke’s regiments were of course represented on the occasion, and gave an additional interest to the scene. There was the “Brigade,” of which Arthur Duke of Wellington was Colonel-in-Chief, and also the regiment in which young Arthur Wellesley learned the goose step and how to “shoulder arms.”

The military, however, formed only a portion of the procession, for the Great Duke was a man of many honours; for Russia, Prussia, Spain, Portugal, Hanover, and the Netherlands had conferred upon him the marshal’s bâton, and these nations were each represented on the occasion. Besides these foreigners, many of whom had served with the Duke, there were men of our own country, whose names were well known, and whose reputation would have shone brighter had they not been dimmed by comparison with that of the Duke. In the procession and around the grave there might be seen one of our most far-seeing and able Generals, Sir Charles Napier, the man whom the Duke had selected to go to India at a period of emergency, and to whom he looked as one alone capable of playing the requisite part at that time. Near him was the dashing gallant Lord Gough, who loved to fight side by side with his men; Lord Seaton, Viscount Combermere, Sir W. Cotton, Sir A. Woodford, &c., names familiar as household words, were grouped around the grave of their loved chief.

The contrast on this day was marked indeed between the grandeur and brilliancy that appeared in St. Paul’s, and the silent deserted appearance of Apsley House, where every blind was down and every shutter closed.

It was remarked that as the procession wended its way through the streets, and as the somewhat gorgeous-looking vehicle that contained the coffin passed, every person from the highest to the most humble, bared his head and seemed to be awe-struck, and reminded that fame, rank, and genius are no more free from the call of death than are poverty, misery, and insignificance.

The Duke’s titles having been repeated by Garter, King of Arms, the ceremony was concluded, but will long be remembered by those who were witnesses to the imposing scene.

On the 6th April, 1864, a military funeral took place at Woolwich which was attended by a large body of officers, and was a good specimen of a military funeral.

Colonel Bingham, the Deputy Adjutant-General of the Royal Artillery, died at Brighton, to which place he had gone for change of air. His body was conveyed to Woolwich for the purpose of being interred with military honours, and he was buried at Old Plumstead Church. In consequence of the rank of the deceased officer, but more especially from the great respect in which he was personally held, every officer who could obtain leave from out-stations was present on the occasion. Not only did every officer of his own regiment attend, but very many from other branches of the service, so that altogether upwards of three hundred officers followed in the procession.

The weather on the occasion was fine and bright and well-suited for a military display. At one o’clock the troops in garrison paraded, and a large body was told off to line the road from Woolwich Common to the Church, a distance of nearly three miles. At two o’clock the coffin was brought from the house and placed on a gun carriage, covered with a Union Jack, the drums in attendance giving muffled rolls. On the coffin were placed the Colonel’s cocked hat and sword, and the carriage was drawn by six horses. The procession then moved on in the following order—

The procession altogether extended considerably over a mile, and at the slow pace at which the march was carried on nearly an hour and a half elapsed before the church was reached.

The small church of Plumstead had rarely if ever been filled by so many military celebrities as on this occasion. Among those whose names are familiar to the public were Field-Marshal the Duke of Cambridge, Sir Richard Airey, Sir J. Scarlet, Sir Edward Lugard, General Foster, General Bloomfield, and others.

The troops were formed in the churchyard and in a field near. The nine guns were drawn up on a higher portion of ground, and at some distance from the church, for the discharge of a cannon not uncommonly breaks windows, and thus these implements of warfare were removed to a safe distance. When the funeral service had been read and the body lowered into the grave the Armstrong guns fired their salute, and the last offices were paid to a good and noble soldier as well as to a most just and honourable man.

The funeral of a soldier who dies amidst scenes of civilization, where the last honours can be paid to him in the manner just described, is certainly an imposing scene, but to some minds it seems less solemn than it might be, and too much of a show. The high probability that among many of those who attend such a funeral there are several who knew little or nothing personally of the man whose body they are following to the grave, may possibly tend to do away with a portion of the real grief which some people are accustomed to see habitually displayed at a funeral. The gaping crowd also, who are usually free critics on the dress and personal appearance of the various members of the procession, render a large military funeral by no means that quiet scene which we all thirst for when the heart has been saddened by the departure of a loved friend. But we can conscientiously state that at those funerals of which we have been eye-witnesses the conduct of those personally engaged, as well as of the lookers-on, has been such as to harmonize with the sensitive state of those who were nearly allied by blood or friendship to the deceased.

When a soldier meets a soldier’s death, and is buried “with his martial cloak around him,” and when no band of music attends his funeral, or other pomp is added to his last honors, the last offices are not less solemn, the whole scene not less impressed on the memory, and the sudden reminder that in the midst of life we are in death not less efficient in its results. When we see a friend gradually sicken and day by day become weaker, whilst doctors shake their heads and relatives despond, we are prepared at last for the final scene. When, however, we breakfast with a comrade, walk with him to the parade, march beside him as we approach an enemy’s position, hear him suddenly cease speaking when in the middle of a sentence, and look round to see him sinking to the earth lifeless; and when, after a smart brush with an enemy, we return to attend the funeral of this comrade, who has been to us perhaps more than a brother for months or years—we seem to be nearly allied to death, for we may on the following night be consigned in the same way to six feet of ground, our security for life being no greater than was our comrade’s.

In many cases, where the number of slain can be counted by hundreds, the day following a great battle is a sad one. Experienced was the general who exclaimed—“Nothing but a defeat is more sad than a victory, for the losses of the latter are only exceeded by those of the former.” To give each man a separate grave, or to pronounce a funeral service over each man, would occupy more time than could be spared; thus, a large hole, and a funeral service for 100 men, who are rapidly covered with earth, and who, shroudless and coffinless, are thus disposed of, is the other side of the scene of pomp which we have described as a soldier’s funeral at home.