THE gallant fellows now assembled under arms and over ankles in the mud and dust of Chobham, were on Tuesday, the 21st of June, led—or rather guided—into one of the most civil wars to be found in the pages—including the fly-leaves—of history.
It having been understood that a battle was to be fought, every one seemed animated with the spirit of contention, and the struggle commenced at the Railway Station, where a company of heavy Cockneys, several hundred strong, besieged with great energy the few flys, omnibuses, and other vehicles, that were to be met with. The assault was vigorously carried; but the retaliation was complete; for the cads, drivers, and other marauders, having allowed the besiegers to fall into the snare, drove them off to the field, and exacted heavy tribute as the price of their ransom. Some few took refuge by trusting to their heels, rather than undergo the severe charge to which they would have been exposed; and they arrived, after a fatiguing march of nearly five miles, much harassed by the ginger-beer picquets and tramps that always lie on the outskirts of an army.
It was, however, on the field, or rather among the furze-bushes of Chobham, that the battle was really to be fought; and in the afternoon, the Guards, the 1st and 2nd Brigades, with the Artillery and Cavalry, took up a sheltered position under a hill, to conceal themselves from the enemy. This "concealment" was rather dramatic than real; for the enemy had already determined not to see, and as none are so blind as those who won't see, the "concealment" was quite effectual. When the force had had full time to get itself snugly out of sight, the "foe" poured down with immense vehemence from Flutter's Hill, and began squeezing into ditches, or hiding behind mud walls, to avoid the "observation" of the enemy, who knowing from signals where it was proper to look without the possibility of seeing anything, kept up the spirit of this truly "civil" war in the politest manner.
The moment of action was now eagerly looked for on all sides, and particularly by our old friend the British Public, who had perched himself on all the available eminences commanding a view of those who were about to give—and take—battle. Aides-de-camp were now seen flying about in all directions with breathless speed, delivering "property" despatches, similar to those with which the gallant officers at Astley's are in the habit of prancing over the platformed planes of Waterloo. Suddenly the skirmishers of the 42nd made a sally from the heights, and poured an incessant volley of blank cartridge into the ears of the Highlanders; who, after one decisive struggle—though we defy anybody to say what the gallant fellows really struggled with—dislodged the foe, who had on the previous day received regular notice to quit their lodging at the time agreed on. The Guards now came on from the O. P. side, Upper Entrance, of the Common, and turning back the wing, made for an adjoining flat, marching fearlessly over the set pieces under a heavy fire—of nothing—from the muskets of the enemy. Victory seemed hesitating on which side to declare herself, when a rush of cavalry turned the scale, scattered the weights, and upset the barrow of a seller of sweet-stuff, who had incautiously—as a camp follower—ventured too near the flanks of the horse on the field of battle.
The mélée now became general, and it being impossible to discriminate between friend and foe, the Guards, seeing a large assemblage of the public on Flutter's Hill, were immediately "up and at 'em." This put the Hill in a more than usual flutter, for the British public having been given to understand there was "nothing to pay" for their position, were not prepared to expect there would be any charge whatever, and still less a charge at the point of the bayonet. It was here that the war assumed its most civil aspect, for the public, though vigorously charged, were most civilly requested to get out of the way, and the request was met on all sides with the most civil compliance. Thus ended the battle of Chobham of the 21st of June, in which several fell on both sides; but of all who fell every one happily jumped up again. A few lost their balance, but as these kept no banker's account the loss did not signify. We annex a spirited drawing of
