THE COLDSTREAM GUARDS
("The Nulli Secondus Club")
"Sire! this regiment refuses to be known as second to any in the British Army."—Monk (to Charles II.)
History tells again how, in 1661, Charles, distrusting the soldiers in his service, called the 1st Foot Guards back to England. Following upon this, he speedily dismissed his Commonwealth soldiers, and, of all the Puritan regiments, he retained but one—the Coldstream Guards. This was the regiment which Monk had marched from Coldstream to the King's aid; hence their retention. An interesting story is related about them. It is said that when they were ordered to lay down their arms in repudiation of the Commonwealth, and commanded to resume them again, as the 2nd Foot Guards, they stood obstinately defiant, on the verge of mutiny. King Charles was dumbfounded, but Monk was equal to the situation. "Sire," he said, "this regiment refuses to be known as second to any in the British Army." On this, Charles, who was quick to the occasion with unworded gratitude for their timely help in a critical situation, cried: "Coldstream Guards, take up your arms!" and from that time forward they have been the Coldstream Guards.
Who can ever forget the glorious achievement of the Coldstream Guards at St. Amand in 1793? As soon as the Brigade of Guards gained contact with our then Allies-the Prussians and the Austrians—General Knobelsdorf, of the Prussian Army, welcomed them with, "I have reserved for the Coldstream Guards the honour, the especial glory, of dislodging the French from their entrenchments. As British troops you have only to show yourselves, and the enemy will retire."
The Coldstreamers rather wondered at his flowery flattery. They did not know, and he omitted to tell them, that the honour he had reserved for them was one which had been offered three times to 5,000 Austrians and three times missed by them, with a loss of 1,700 men. The Coldstreamers, therefore, prepared for the battle in complete ignorance of the fact that they were expected to do, with 600 rank and file, what 5,000 Austrians had failed to accomplish in three attempts. Not that it would have made much difference, for the British soldier can always count on doing the impossible about fifty times in a century.
The Coldstreamers, ready and eager, moved to the attack, and the Prussian General moved with them as far as safety would permit; then, desirous apparently that they should achieve this "especial glory" without any interference from him, he waved them on with his sword and magnanimously galloped away.
Hell opened then on the Coldstream Guards. The wood before them spurted flame. Batteries from right and left lumbered up, and, under cover of the undergrowth, tore lanes through them at close range. Never, up to that time, in the history of battles, had there been such quick and fearful slaughter of our troops. In a few minutes two of the companies were reduced by one-half. Ensign Howard went down with the colours, and on every hand rank and file were blown to pieces. Sergeant-Major Darling, one of the many heroes of that awful fight, had one arm shattered by a cannon ball, but he fought on with the other with such tenacity that his deeds were afterwards described as "prodigies of valour." A French officer, seeing so many men go down before him, pressed forward and engaged him in a fierce combat. But Darling laid him low and continued his terrible work until another ball carried away one of his legs. Thus, bereft of a leg and an arm, he was taken prisoner. General Knobelsdorf, the Prussian, lived through that day, but many, too many, of the Coldstreamers went to their last account, fighting gloriously. You may, under some conditions, beat a Coldstreamer, but you will never, never convince him that you have done so.
At Inkerman the Coldstream Guards, a few hundred strong, actually stood up to 4,000 Russians for a time, during which there was the bloodiest struggle ever witnessed. The fight was round the Sandbag Battery, where 700 British had held their own until reinforced by the Guards, and it was of such a nature that each guard must needs be a small battalion on his own account to do any good at all. Back to back the Coldstreamers fought till their ammunition was exhausted. Then they took their muskets and clubbed the pressing hosts in such fashion that they made space enough to form into line. Thus, with levelled steel, they charged. The enemy was thrown into utter confusion by their terrific onslaught, and, taking advantage of this, the Coldstreamers regained their own lines, having inflicted tremendous loss.
And the Russian in Germany to-day knows all about it. He has not forgotten the Coldstreamer of former days, any more than the Coldstreamer has forgotten the glorious deeds of the Russian; and, no doubt, if they could sit by the same camp-fire, many such a battle story would be told, through the interpreter, of those good old days "when we flew at each other's throats."