We pass on to note that on the bloody fields of Neville, Nive, Orthes, and Toulouse the old “Forty Twa’s” nobly upheld the reputation acquired by their forefathers, and taught the French to respect our flag. Their conduct at Toulouse was beyond all praise, for if the enemy had forgotten His Majesty King George III., the 42nd Highlanders reminded them at Mont Blanc that they were still fighting under the flag they loved so well. The fight was a close one, but the Highlanders captured redoubt after redoubt, chasing the quailing enemy from the field in grand style. It was a good wind up to a long and bloody struggle, and the old 42nd were never once beaten.
The war being now over, the Highlanders returned home, covered with honours. Napoleon had been crushed by combined Europe, and was sent to the isle of Elba. He still retained his title of Emperor. His stay here was of short duration. He burst from his narrow prison, landed in the Gulf of St. Juan, near Frejus, in triumph, and set Europe once more in a blaze. It was well ordained by an all-wise Providence, for matters had come to such a pitch in the General Congress at Vienna, that the whole of Europe was just about to fly at one another’s throats squabbling over the spoil. The news that Napoleon had broken his pledge and had secretly left Elba re-united the disputants. An army was at once got together and placed under the command of the Duke of Wellington, and as fast as the regiments could be embarked they were sent off to the Netherlands. A portion of the troops was not at home but in America. The following Highland regiments particularly distinguished themselves on the fields of Quatre Bras and Waterloo: the Scots Grays, the Scots Fusilier Guards, the 1st Royals (now called the Lothian Regiment), 2nd battalion 42nd (Black Watch), 71st, 79th, and 92nd (Gordon Highlanders). They all nobly did their duty, as their losses will testify. Napoleon had not been idle; he knew well that he would have to combat the whole of Europe, and he quickly collected around his standard a strong army of grim veterans. During the short peace the prisons on the continent, and ours also, had been thrown open, and all prisoners of war released. Napoleon’s name had such a charm that the bravest of the brave ranged themselves under his standard. Marshals Ney, Soult, and Grouchy, and a number of others less known but not less brave; Count D’Erton, Count Rolle, Count Vandamme, Count Gerrard, Count Loban, Count Pagob, Excelmans, Kellerman, and Milhand—threw in their lots with this usurper, determined to conquer or die. We say again that the army that was routed from the field of Waterloo was composed of veterans who hardly knew what defeat was, except a portion which had confronted us in the Peninsula campaigns. The heroes of Marengo, Friedland, Austerlitz, Jena, Wagram, Borodino, Dresden, Bantzen, with some that had witnessed the conflagration of Moscow, and the rout from the field of Leipsic, all were bound in one common tie. Napoleon might well say of such a host, led by such leaders as the heroic Ney, “For every Frenchman who has a heart the moment has arrived to conquer or die.” His Imperial Guards mustered 12,870 infantry; they had conquered on almost every field on which Napoleon had fought. But the gauntlet was about to be thrown down at the feet of one who proved more than a match for these spoilt “Invincibles.” Meanwhile the British Government were straining every nerve to meet the coming conflict. Our forefathers stood nobly forth in this death-struggle, for, in addition to an enormous expenditure, all the continental nations had we to assist, or not a company, so to speak, could any of them put into the field to combat the terror of the world. All were nearly bankrupt. Russia received as a loan close upon £3,500,000, Austria nearly £2,000,000, Prussia nearly £2,500,000, and the smaller states, such as Spain, Portugal, Sweden, Italy, Holland, the Netherlands, and Hanover, received assistance from us to the tune of £2,800,000. Ireland was in great distress at the time, and we assisted her with the nice round sum of £7,277,000, at 1 per cent, interest; and my young readers must remember all this took place after we had continued a war with France, which was for very existence, for about twenty-one years.
The two great commanders who had vanquished every other antagonist were now for the first time to be brought into collision. The “conqueror of Europe” was now to measure swords with the “deliverer of Spain.” Mark the difference in these two great men. Napoleon was covetous of glory; Wellington was impressed with duty; Napoleon was reckless of slaughter, so long as he gained his purpose; Wellington was sparing of blood. He has been known to completely break down as he rode over a field of carnage. Napoleon was careless of his word, and anything but truthful when a deliberate falsehood would suit his purpose. Wellington was inviolate in faith. Napoleon’s wasting warfare converted allies into enemies; Wellington’s protecting discipline changed enemies into friends. The former fell because all Europe rose against him; the latter triumphed because all Europe joined to place itself under his guidance. There is not a proclamation of Napoleon to his army in which glory is not mentioned, or one in which duty is alluded to. There is not an order of Wellington’s to his troops in which duty is not inculcated, nor one in which glory is mentioned. Such were the two commanders who had centred upon the attention of the civilised world, and who decided the fate of Europe on the field of Waterloo.[37]
The 42nd, 79th, and 92nd Highlanders formed a part of Sir Thomas Picton’s division. Sir Thomas arrived on the field, after a long, hot, and exciting march, for Marshal Ney had attacked the Brunswickers and Belgians. The former fought well, but numbers already prevailed. The key of the position was in the possession of the enemy, the Marshal of France. The fire-eating Picton could see that they were in a terrible plight, but as soon as he caught sight of their huge columns the old veteran called out, “There are your enemies, men, beat them,” His division was composed of the following regiments: the 28th, 32nd, 42nd, 44th, 79th, 92nd, 95th, 1st and 3rd battalions—total, about 5000, including officers. The honour of old England was in their keeping, it was “do or die!” a handful against a host, for Marshal Ney had under his command 46,786 men and 116 guns. The terrible Cuirassiers, who had ridden over Russians, Austrians, Prussians, Spaniards, and Portuguese, came down like a whirlwind upon these devoted regiments, shaking their sabres in the air, confident of victory, and shouting with all their might, “Down with the English.” But our soldiers stood immovable as if rivetted to the earth. The French horsemen dashed headlong at our squares, but no opening could they find or force, and were compelled to retire with their ranks shattered. The key of the position must be won. It was won, and that in grand style. The bayonet was brought down, and the pipers struck up “The Campbells are coming.” They bade defiance to the enemy. This unequal fight lasted for several hours. The Cuirassiers and Lancers of the Guard repeatedly charged them with all the vehemence of fanatics. Sometimes the little band were attacked on all sides at once by the flower of the French cavalry; but it was unavailing. Hundreds of the bravest of the French bit the dust, and the remainder bolted like a well-greased “nigger.” The 42nd lost four commanders in as many minutes, viz., Col. Sir R. Macara, K.C.B., Lieut.-Colonel Dick, C.B., Major Davidson, and Major Campbell; but these losses notwithstanding, our soldiers nobly held their ground. The achievements of this band of heroes will live in the pages of history to the end of time. All honour to the brave!
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“They were true to the last of their blood and their birth, And like reapers advanced to the harvest of death.” |
Reinforcements were now coming up, and the eagle eye of Wellington was now on the field. It was no longer the death-struggle it had been. The Third Division and Guards soon put the finishing stroke upon Napoleon’s pets. The brunt of this desperate combat fell upon the Highlanders, as their loss will testify. In the 42nd, 18 officers and 288 men fell; in the 79th, 26 officers and 204 men; in the 92nd, 20 officers and 286 men; and we say all honour to the two battalions of Guards. To rescue the Highlanders from their critical position they fought as only Britons will fight, and their loss was as follows: 2nd battalion Grenadiers, 8 officers and 285 men; 3rd battalion Grenadiers, 9 officers and 262 men. Thus far we had acted principally upon the defensive, but with the divisions that were now coming up the Duke turned the tables. He ordered the whole line to advance, and he thus drove the impetuous Marshal Ney and his boasting legions from the field, and the victorious “thin red line” sank down amid dead and dying, friend and foe, for a few hours’ repose. Many of these veterans had marched close upon thirty miles, heavily laden, and had then decided a doubtful field in favour of the “flag that has braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze.” Our conquering commander knew well that he had yet to face the “terror of Europe.” But, reader, moral strength in war is to physical strength as three to one. The fight that was just over was only a skirmish compared to what was to follow. Napoleon had beaten Marshal Blücher at Ligny with great slaughter, and in order to keep up communication with the Prussian commander, Wellington retired to the memorable field of Waterloo. It is not my intention to go into the oft-told tale of Waterloo, but to keep as near my subject as possible. All did their duty nobly, and would again should the honour of the flag that every true Briton loves ever again be in danger. Unity is strength. Shoulder to shoulder we must advance with levelled steel, shoulder to shoulder we must stand and return flash for flash and shot for shot, and if Britons are true to themselves, shoulder to shoulder they will die, but never yield.
The armies that confronted each other on the plains of Waterloo were as different to each other as chalk is to cheese. The one all speaking the same language, all bound by one common tie, they all looked up to their great commander as invincible, and all exulting in their supposed invincibility, except that portion which had so often confronted us during the Peninsula campaigns. “Never,” said Napoleon, “had my troops been animated with such spirit; the earth seemed proud of being trodden by such combatants.” So confident of victory was this spoilt child of fortune, that in exultation he exclaimed, “I have them, these English.”[38] The odds were heavy against us. They were 80,000 men, with 250 guns, against 67,000 and 156 guns, but the great difference consisted in the quality of the troops. Wellington had over twenty thousand under his standards, many of them being, shall I say, doubtful friends-nay worse than that, they were traitors and cowards. The Belgians would not face the foe, but bolted clean off the field as fast as a dog with a tin kettle at his tail could go. It was a motley mass: British, Germans, Hanoverians, Brunswickers, Dutch, and Belgians—all speaking different languages. Marshal Soult respected the British, for he said he knew that they were the very devil in the fight, particularly in a close fight, and that they would die on the ground where they stood rather than retreat. Up to that time never was a nobler spectacle witnessed. The old veterans were struck with a feeling of awe as they gazed at each other. Picton’s heroes were soon called upon to hold the post of honour. D’Erlon’s men advanced bravely; they knew their beloved Emperor’s eyes were upon them, and, confident in their strength, they advanced; but the undaunted Picton was there to confront them, with the 42nd, 44th, 92nd, and Royal Scots. These noble fellows hurled in one volley and down came the queen of weapons, and the mighty column of the French was broken into fragments. The hero of many fights fell; the heroic Picton fell I say, waving on the Highlanders with the words, “Charge! Charge! Hurrah!” Then, as at Salamanca, the Union Brigade of heavy horse went straight at the reeling columns of the enemy, the Scots Grays shouting “Scotland for ever.” Some of the 42nd and 92nd caught up the fire, and clinging to the stirrups of the Grays, went in with them. It was this time “Down with the French,” for that column had a bad time of it. Three thousand prisoners and two eagles were taken; one of the eagles being captured by Sergeant Ewart of the Grays. It belonged to the 45th Invincibles; on it were inscribed the words, “Jena,” “Austerlitz,” “Wagram,” “Eylan,” and “Frieidland.” But this noble brigade did not stop at trifles; they dashed on and on, cutting down all that came in their way until they reached the terrible battery which had swept a number of their comrades down. The gunners were cut down at their guns; the horses hamstrung, and the tackle hacked to pieces, thus rendering some 40 guns useless for the remainder of the day. I think I hear my young readers say “Well done the Union Brigade.” Their commander, Gen. Sir W. Ponsonby fell, and the brigade lost half their number. We had two masters in the art of war face to face. Napoleon witnessed the terrible charge and its effects. He instantly ordered forward his, as he thought, matchless Cuirassiers. No power on earth seemed capable of withstanding them. Picton’s heroes at once threw themselves into squares, and the enemy came on with vehement cries of “Vive l’Empereur,” and “Down with the English;” but they were met with a fearful storm of lead which swept whole squadrons to mother earth. Our troops fought with desperation, and vain were all attempts of the French to break our infantry. The French with all their martial pride were compelled to retreat in disorder from the frightful strife. Our commanders would call out at times—“Steady, men, steady; our time will come yet.” At one time our great commander had to seek shelter from these terrible Cuirassiers inside the square of the 95th. “Stand fast, 95th,” said Wellington, “we must not be beaten, or what will they say of us in England.” “Never fear, sir, we are a match for them,” was the reply; and to their cost the French found it so. In and around Hougoumont the desperate strife raged for hours. Huge columns were repulsed time after time, and as fast as one was broken into fragments another took its place, all under the watchful eye of their beloved Emperor. The conduct of the Scots Fusilier Guards was beyond all praise. Here the Briton came out in his native lustre. Nothing could dismay him, for unbroken stood that line of red majestically firm; and all the boasting sons of Gaul could not capture that old farm house and orchard from the sons of Albion. Napoleon’s furious attacks had been baffled at all points. The Prussians were now coming up, and the French decided that one more effort on a grand scale must be made in order to drive these detestable English from the field. The old Guards were formed up, led by Marshal Ney; the Emperor came part of the way with them, and bade them God speed, but it was unavailing. They were met at the onset with that terrible weapon the bayonet, and grim-faced as they were they had to bow before the conquering British. They fought with desperation; they carried an empire at the points of their bayonets; but the sons of Albion, side by side with the loyal boys of the Green Isle, won the victory, and secured peace and plenty for forty years. The total loss of the Highland regiments during this sanguinary fighting was 165 officers and 2127 non-commissioned officers and men, out of a total strength of 5174.
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“Night closed around that conquering band, The lightning showed the distant field, Where they who won that bloody day, Though few and faint, were fearless still.” |
Any impartial historian must award the highest praise to the “thin red line,” for including the King’s German Legion and Hanoverians, Wellington had only 52,000 upon whom he could rely to resist the attacks continued during seven long hours of 80,000 veterans, directed by Napoleon in person. These attacks were so vehement that no power on earth seemed capable of stopping them. But the stubborn pluck of the British on this field, as at Albuera, came out in all its brilliance. Shoulder to shoulder they advanced at Quatre Bras, determined to conquer or die. It was Albuera repeated, and on the red field of Waterloo they stood to be mowed down until their invincible chief ordered them to advance. Then it was “Scotland for ever.” They then smote the boasting legions of Napoleon, captured all their guns, and rolled them up in indescribable confusion, and largely helped to nail victory to our flag.
The 18th June, 1815, must as long as time shall last, or until swords are broken and made into ploughshares, be the proudest of all the many proud days of British martial glory. For Napoleon himself said afterwards, if he could have defeated Wellington at Waterloo, what would have availed all the multitudes of Russians, Austrians, Spaniards, or Prussians, who were crowding to the Rhine, the Alps, or the Pyrenees. He could have beaten them all in detail. But for humanity’s sake a merciful Providence ordered it otherwise. Victory on this occasion did not, as on many other fields, side with the strongest battalions, for the Atheist (Napoleon) found to his cost on this memorable and bloody field that there is a God that ruleth the armies of heaven and earth, and upon the strength of the sovereign power of God Britain depended, and does still depend, and we trust is not ashamed to acknowledge it. Every honest, thinking Briton will Say with the writer, “So mote it be.”