In one of the skirmishes with the French in Egypt, a young sergeant of the 78th killed six of the enemy with the broadsword; the weapon was the same as that still used by sergeants in Highland regiments. The half-dozen Frenchmen were not cut down while retreating, but in fighting with the bayonet, hand to hand, against the broadsword. The gallant sergeant met his death-blow from a sabre-stroke from behind as he was returning to his company, after cutting down the last of his six foes. Many other proofs of the efficacy of the basket-hilted weapon might be given, but we question whether its warmest admirers would prefer it to the bayonet in a close attack.

CHAPTER VI.
OUR HIGHLAND REGIMENTS—continued.

The Highlanders possessed naturally a great aptitude for war. It has been said that hunting is the nearest approach to war in times of peace; and the Highlander, when not engaged in war, devoted himself to hunting, fishing, and the practice of athletic sports and manly exercises. He was a deer-stalker before deer-parks were invented, when deer-stalking was something different from the easy slaughter now known by that name; he was accustomed to bear hunger, thirst, and fatigue without complaint; to sleep in the snow with no other covering than his plaid; to encounter the members of a hostile clan with no other weapon than his broadsword. He possessed the virtues and physical qualities that fit men for war. He was impetuous in attack and cool under fire. In the hour of danger he exhibited such courage and presence of mind as nothing could daunt. At Fontenoy and elsewhere he has thrown himself on the ground as the enemy began their fire; when their bullets had whistled harmlessly over his head, he would rush forward till his musket almost touched their breasts, and pour in the deadly discharge; he would then retreat, receive their fire as before, and advance in the same manner. If he had not been possessed of the greatest coolness and self-possession, such a mode of fighting could only have led to inextricable confusion.

From an old pamphlet, published in 1745, we learn that a Highlander of the 42nd Regiment killed nine Frenchmen with his broadsword at Fontenoy, and would probably have added to the number of the slain if he had not lost his arm. In a skirmish with the Americans in 1776, Major Murray, of the same regiment, being separated from his men, was attacked by three of the enemy. His dirk had slipped behind his back, and, being very corpulent, he could not reach it: he defended himself as well as he could with his fusil, and, watching his opportunity, seized the sword of one of his assailants, and put the three to flight. It was natural that he should ever retain that sword as a trophy of victory. In another skirmish during the same war, a young recruit belonging to Fraser’s Highlanders slew seven of the enemy with his own hand. At the close of the engagement his bayonet, once perfectly straight, was twisted like a corkscrew. At the affair of Castlebar, in Ireland, when men of other regiments retreated, a Highland sentinel refused to leave his post without orders. It was in vain that they tried to persuade him to retire—he stood there alone against a host. Five times he loaded and fired; a Frenchman fell at every shot. Before he could put his musket to his shoulder a sixth time the enemy were upon him, and many a bayonet passed through his body. The power of discipline could scarcely carry a man farther than this. The soldier who could meet a host without flinching must have had the soul of a hero. Highlanders have been equally patient and enduring in meeting the onsets of hunger and famine. The 1st Battalion of the 78th Regiment was wrecked during the passage from Java to Calcutta in 1816. The days and nights from the 9th of November to the 6th of December were spent on the rocky isle of Preparis, without shelter and almost without food. One ounce of bread and half a glassful of rice was the daily allowance of each person for nearly a month. At length even this miserable supply failed, and the shell-fish picked up at low water became their only means of support. At such a juncture the most generous of men might have become selfish; but such was the effect of discipline among these half-famished Highlanders, that with death staring them in the face they could resist the cravings of hunger, and bring all their gatherings to one common stock, which was equally divided among them all. Their fortitude was rewarded by the arrival of a ship which carried them in safely to Calcutta.

Numerous proofs of their cunning and address in war might be cited. On the day before the battle of Fontenoy the Earl of Craufurd advanced with the Highlanders to examine the enemy’s outposts. A Highland soldier, stationed in dangerous proximity to the enemy, was annoyed by one of their sharpshooters firing at his post, and had recourse to an ingenious expedient to rid himself of this annoyance. He crept stealthily forward and placed his bonnet on the top of a stick near the verge of a hollow road. While the Frenchman’s attention was fixed on his supposed antagonist, Donald advanced unperceived to a spot where he could take sure aim, and brought down the unfortunate marksman. In a skirmish with the American rebels in 1777, Sergeant Macgregor, of the 42nd, was severely wounded, and remained insensible on the ground. Unlike Captain Crawley, who put on his old uniform before Waterloo, the sergeant, who seems to have been something of a dandy, had attired himself in his best, as if he had been going to a ball, and not to a battle. He wore a new jacket with silver lace, large silver buckles in his shoes, and a watch of some value. This display of wealth attracted the notice of an American soldier, who, actuated by no feeling of humanity, but by the sordid desire of stripping the sergeant at leisure, took him on his back and began to carry him off the field. It is probable that the American did not handle him very tenderly, and the motion soon restored him to consciousness. He saw at once the state of matters, and proved himself master of the occasion. With one hand he drew his dirk, and, grasping the American’s throat with the other, he swore that he would stab him to the heart if he did not retrace his steps, and bear him back in safety to the British camp. The argumentum ad hominem in the shape of a glittering dagger before his eyes was too much for the American. On the way to the camp he met Lord Cornwallis, who thanked him for his humanity, but he had the candour to admit the truth. His lordship, who was much amused at the incident, gave the American his liberty, and, on Macgregor retiring from the service, procured for him a situation in the Customs at Leith. He probably thought that the man who could entrap a Yankee would be more than a match for any smuggler. In a war with the Cherokees in 1760, Allen Macpherson, a private in Montgomery’s Highlanders, fell into the hands of the enemy. Anxious to escape from the cruel torture that awaited him, he signified that he had something of importance to communicate. An interpreter was introduced, and the Indians stood by in solemn silence. He informed them that he was a medicine-man, and knew of certain herbs, which, if applied to the skin, would enable it to resist the sword or the tomahawk, though wielded by the strongest arm; if they would conduct him to the woods, and allow him to collect these herbs, he would use them so as that their bravest warrior might strike at his neck without injuring him. Such an assertion found ready credence with superstitious Indians, and they complied with his request. Macpherson was as cool and confident in his bearing as if he had nothing to dread: he rubbed his neck with the juice of the first herbs he had picked up, laid his head calmly on a block of wood, and invited the ordeal. An Indian raised his tomahawk and struck at his neck with such force that his head flew several yards from his body. The Cherokees, far from resenting the trick which had been played upon their credulity, expressed their admiration of his address and courage by refraining from torturing the other captives. We could give many proofs of the Highlander’s ingenuity in attacking others or defending himself, but we confine ourselves to a single incident which tends to prove his dexterity in imposing on the enemy. During the siege of Quebec, the French had planted sentries along the river to challenge all who approached. During the night attack which ended in the capture of the town, the first boat with English troops was observed and challenged. “Qui vive?” A moment’s hesitation, and all would have been lost. An officer of Fraser’s Highlanders who had served in Holland, and knew the watchword, at once replied, “La France.” The second part of the challenge was given and satisfactorily answered. The sentinel became troublesomely inquisitive. “A quel régiment appartenez-vous?” “Au régiment de la Reine.” It was fortunate that the captain knew that a regiment of that name was serving in Quebec. The soldier, satisfied with these replies, allowed all the boats to pass without further challenge: he thought it was an expected convoy with provisions, and no time was lost when the magic word “passe” was heard. The other sentries took it for granted that all was right; there was only one who had some suspicion. Struck with the silence on board the boats, he rushed down to the water’s edge, and called, “Pourquoi est-ce que vous ne parlez pas haut?” The suspicion implied in this question was at once disarmed by the officer replying in a subdued tone, “Tais-tois, ou nous serons entendus.” That cunning Highlander had not studied French for nothing—it gained for the British: Quebec.

A striking trait in the character of the Highlanders was their devoted attachment to their own regiments and officers. When clanship had all but died out in the North, it was found lingering among the Highland soldiers. The Highlander’s regiment was his clan, and his colonel his chief; and to his corps and commander he did the same fealty as in the days of yore to clansmen and their head. This feeling was peculiarly prominent in those regiments which were under the command of cadets of ancient Northern families, who felt in themselves and tried to revive in their men the old ties of clanship. Cameron, of the 92nd, who fought and fell at Quatre Bras, was less the colonel than the chief of that gallant regiment, which was raised partly in Lochaber, his native district. He knew every man in his regiment, and watched over their interests as if they had been his brothers or his sons. An angry look or a stern word from him was dreaded more than the lash. He was their father, and when he fell there rose from his mountain children that wild wail of sorrow which once heard can never be forgotten. Brave, impetuous, and headstrong, jealous of his own honour and that of his regiment, Cameron has always struck us as the beau idéal of a Highland officer of the better class; while Captain MacTurk, that admirable creation of Scott, may be safely accepted as the faithful representative of a once numerous class, the all but countless subalterns who had risen from the ranks, and who puzzled the post-office and confused the directory by the similarity of their names. The old clannish feeling is perceptible in the language used by Highland veterans in alluding to their past services. They do not say that they served in the 42nd, the 78th, the 79th, the 92nd, or the 93rd regiment; but, when inspired by usquebaugh or ancient reminiscences, they begin to fight their battles o’er, they preface their narrative with, “When I was in the Black Watch, the Ross, the Cameron, the Gordon, or the Sutherland regiment.” The name to them is everything: the number by which the regiment is known at the Horse Guards is a number, and nothing more. This attachment of the Highlanders to their own regiments was so well-known during the last century that it was sometimes taken advantage of by the recruiting sergeants, who assumed the Highland dress, and persuaded the recruits they were about to join a Highland regiment. When such was not the case, the rage of the Highlanders on discovering the imposture was unbounded; they appealed to the military authorities, and on their obtaining their discharge re-enlisted at once in one of their own regiments. These regiments, when first raised, could always command a larger number of men than they actually required. When the Fraser Highlanders embarked for foreign service in 1776, it was found that more men had joined than the strength of the different companies admitted, and several were dismissed. Such, however, was their anxiety to serve, that they concealed themselves in the ship, and were not discovered till the fleet was at sea. An incident occurred on this occasion which proves that the esprit de clan, if we may so speak, was even stronger than the esprit de corps. A hundred and twenty men had been raised on the forfeited estate of Cameron of Lochiel, so as to entitle him to a company: detained by sickness in London, he was unable to join his regiment in Glasgow. The Camerons, unwilling to serve any one but their chief, hesitated to embark, till young Fassiefern, one of their clansmen, and a near relative of Lochiel, was appointed to the command of the company, when all their scruples were removed. Lochiel, on hearing of the conduct of his men, hurried down from London; but the fatigue of the journey brought on a fresh attack of disease, to which he fell a victim in a few weeks. The regiment was under the command of General Fraser, a son of Lord Lovat. He addressed the Camerons in Gaelic, and his eloquence had much effect in winning them back to obedience. While he was speaking, a venerable Highlander was seen leaning on his staff and listening with rapt attention. When he had finished, the old man stepped up to him, and seizing his hand with an easy familiarity which marked the intercourse of all classes in the North, said, “Simon, you are a good soldier, and speak like a man; as long as you live, Simon of Lovat will never die.” The general, doubtless, appreciated this double compliment; his father was a favourite among the Highlanders, and it was implied that the son was worthy of the sire. The young recruits always wished to serve under officers of their own clan, and felt it a hardship to be separated from them. It was not enough that they served in the same regiment; they wished to belong to the same company. Young Fassiefern brought a hundred Lochaber men to join the 92nd at Aberdeen. When it was proposed to draft them into different companies, they refused to be separated, or to serve under any officer save their young chief. It was only by pledging his honour that he would watch equally over the interests of all that he could persuade them to submit; his letters to his father prove that he never forgot his promise. They were true to one another to the end; when a Lochaber man died, Cameron followed him to the grave, reminded his sorrowing comrades of his soldierly virtues, and told them to “give him the smoothest bed, and to cover him with the greenest sod.” To understand the delicacy of this order, one must have witnessed a Highland funeral, or seen the smooth, level, turf-covered graves in a Highland churchyard. There was no sacrifice which they were not prepared to make for officers who thus studied their interests and feelings. They were as jealous of their honour as of their own; cowardice in the chief brought disgrace on his clan. There was a singular display of this feeling in one of the Crimean battles: a young Highland officer left his place in front of his company and began to retreat, when a sergeant seized him by the throat, and swore he would run him through the body if he did not turn. He chose rather to meet the fire of the Russians than the glare of the sergeant’s angry eye. This jealousy of their officers’ honour gave rise to an amusing incident during the attack on Fort Washington in 1777. The hill on which the fort stood was almost perpendicular, but the Highlanders rushed up the steep ascent like mountain cats. When half-way up the heights they heard a melancholy voice exclaim, “Oh, soldiers, will you leave me?” On looking down, they saw Major Murray, their commanding officer, at the foot of the precipice; his extreme obesity prevented him from following them. They were not deaf to this appeal: it would never do to leave their corpulent commander behind. A party leaped down at once, seized him in their arms, and bore him from ledge to ledge of the rock till they reached the summit, where they drove the enemy before them and made two hundred prisoners. Major Murray was not the only corpulent warrior among those Highland soldiers. Sir Robert Munroe of Fowlis, who commanded them at Fontenoy, was so fat that his own men had to haul him from the trenches by the legs and arms; he advised them to fall flat on the ground when the enemy fired, but remained erect himself, remarking that it was easy for a man of his weight to lie down, but not so easy to rise. Some of the men seem to have been as remarkable for height as their officers were for breadth. Thus we read of Samuel Macdonald, or “Big Sam,” of the Sutherland Fencibles, who was seven feet four inches in height, and stout in proportion. As the other men would have looked like pigmies beside such a giant, he stood on the right of the regiment when in line, and marched at its head when in column, followed by an immense mountain deer, between which and him there were certain physical, if not spiritual, affinities. He was an excellent drill, and, like most giants, extremely good-natured. Ordinary rations would not have sufficed to sustain such a corpus; he was therefore allowed half-a-crown a day of extra pay. Attracting the attention of the Prince of Wales, he made him one of the porters at Carlton House. But Macdonald soon tired of this inactive life, and longed to be with his old comrades of the 93rd. He rejoined the regiment, and died at Guernsey in 1802. Sam’s regiment seems to have been remarkable for the size and muscular strength of the men. It had no light company, and as more than 200 men were upwards of five feet eleven inches in height, they were formed into two grenadier companies, one on each flank of the battalion.