The victorious Highlanders marched on to Paris, where a British drum, bugle, or pibroch had not been heard for four hundred years. The tyrannical usurper was struck down, and guilty, haughty France had to eat a lot of “humble pie” made by a pastry cook whom they had so much despised, viz., John Bull, assisted by a number of the sons of the Emerald Isle—“Quis separabit.” Peace was now purchased by the blood of some thousands of the best and bravest of the sons of Britain. The victorious army remained in France until 1818, under the command of the immortal Duke who had so often led them from victory to victory, until the whole of Europe stood amazed at the doings of our soldiers. The Highlanders now returned home, to be almost killed with kindness. They were greeted by enthusiastic crowds, and in every town had cross fires to meet, not of shot, shell, or musketry, but of brandy, rum, gin, whisky, and ales, to say nothing of the broad-sides they got from pretty lasses; for on all the fields they had fought the pretty girls acknowledged the men in petticoats “second to none:” for
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“Whatever he did was done with so much ease, In him alone ’twas natural to please; His motions all accompanied with grace, And Paradise was opened in his face.”—Dryden. |
Britain had been blessed with peace for nearly forty years, when Russian perfidy brought about the Crimean War, and the 42nd Highlanders, or Black Watch, the 79th Cameron Highlanders, and the 93rd Sutherland Highlanders, with the Scots Grays and Scots Fusilier Guards, were called upon to rally round the British standard. Their conduct at the Alma was heroic. The great redoubt had been carried by the Light and Second Divisions. The Russians did not at all like the appearance of the giants in petticoats, for these stalwart regiments, the 42nd, 79th, and 93rd, advanced, knowing well they had a spotless fame bequeathed to them by their forefathers; and these noble regiments had made up their minds that it should not be tarnished. They were commanded by one who had often led them to victory—Sir Colin Campbell, K.C.B. His Highland blood was roused, and waving his sword high in the air he exclaimed, “We’ll have none but Highland bonnets here;” and right well did these noble regiments sweep all before them. The enemy did not wait for what they would have got, viz., the bayonet, but bolted; they did not like the appearance of these hardy mountaineers. We say again,
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“The fierce native daring which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years.” |
And none better deserved the love and gratitude of Britain. The honour of our flag was at stake. The enemy had boasted that he would drive us all into the sea, but their souls sank at the determined advance of our soldiers. We pass on to the plains of Balaklava, on which the thin red streak tipped with steel only two deep was too much for the boasting Muscovite. Sir Colin Campbell had drawn his Highlanders up, disdaining to form square to receive the advancing enemy’s cavalry. It was do or die. The 93rd opened a fire which emptied a number of the enemy’s saddles. By this time the Russians were in possession of our batteries; which in this instance, unfortunately, were not manned by British soldiers, but by the Turks, who fled from the enemy like hares before the hounds, and in their hasty flight from the field met a terrible foe, who attacked them with all the fury of a maniac. They in terror rushed through the camp of the 93rd Highlanders, shouting “Ship! ship!” A stalwart enraged woman, wife of one of the Highlanders, dashed out of her tent, armed with a good cudgel, and laid about her right and left without mercy. Selecting one of these cowards, the biggest she could find, this dame thrashed him right well, holding him with a grip of iron all the time. We think some of the faithful will have cause to remember this Christian woman as long as they live. This incident caused no small amusement in the 93rd, who had sterner duties before them. But with all due respect to our ally the Turks, it must be remembered that they were attacked by ten times their own number. Many of them fought well.
It was on this field that the Union Brigade of matchless cavalry, as at Waterloo, went at the foe. It was cavalry charging cavalry. These noble horsemen—under General Scarlett—advanced at a steady trot to meet a host more than ten times their number.
After the Russian cavalry had retired, that fire-eating old commander, the hero of a hundred fights, Sir Colin Campbell, rode up to the front of the Greys, with hat in hand, and exclaimed with pride, “Greys, gallant Greys, I am past sixty-one years; if I were young again I should be proud to be in your ranks; you are worthy of your forefathers.” The French officers were in admiration of the doings of the Heavy Brigade. They had watched the fight of a handful against a host, and exclaimed it was truly magnificent. The victory of the Heavy Brigade was the most glorious thing they had ever seen. The French commander sent a tribute of admiration to Lord Lucan, and Lord Raglan conveyed a message by an aide-de-camp in two syllables to General Scarlett—“Well done!”
As regards the remainder of the campaign, the Highlanders took their turn in the trenches from the spring of 1855 until the town fell, but our commanders kept them in reserve. We could have well done with their assistance on the blood-stained height of Inkermann, for had that noble brigade been with us the enemy would not have got off as cheaply as they did, although they paid well for a peep at our camp; and as far as the storming of the town was concerned, had they been by the side of us the enemy would have gone into the harbour at the point of the bayonet, or laid down their arms. The war, as far as fighting was concerned, ended with the fall of that far-famed town, Sebastopol, September 8th, 1855.
The Highlanders returned home for a short time, but peace was of brief duration. India, the brightest gem in her most gracious Majesty’s crown, was tottering. It was held in the hands of a few desperate men until assistance could reach them. These men might well claim the motto of Napoleon’s old Guard—“The Guards die but never surrender.” No regiment came out with more honour than the 78th Highlanders under the brave Sir H. Havelock. To give full particulars of all the fights—they fought in the first relief of Lucknow—would be to fill a large volume. Their conduct on every occasion was beyond all praise. They never waited to count the enemy. “There they are, men,” said that noble Christian hero on more than one field, “beat them.” It may be honestly said of that noble band, that they tried to do their duty, both in the relief and gallant defence of Lucknow. But help was on the way; the 42nd, 71st, 72nd, 79th, and 93rd were on march to assist in stamping out the last spark of rebellion. Suffice it to say that all engaged, both army and navy, nobly did their duty; the honour of our glorious old flag was at stake, and the Highland lads were determined to uphold it or die in the attempt.