“Rouse, rouse, ye kilted warriors!
Rouse, ye heroes of the north!
Rouse and join your chieftain’s banners,—
’Tis your prince that leads you forth.
“See the northern clans advancing!
See Glengary and Lochiel!
See the brandish’d broad-swords glancing!
Highland hearts are true as steel.”
CHANNEL ISLANDS—FLANDERS—CAPE OF GOOD HOPE—INDIA—BATAVIA—1793–1817.
Already had the noble lords of Seaforth stood forth foremost in the
breach where British liberty, involved in our glorious constitution, was
assailed by aggressive and vindictive foes; already had the beloved
chieftains of the Mackenzie bidden their clansmen rally around the
state, which a few years earlier (1715) they had sworn to overthrow;
already had the regiment they thus contributed, the Seventy-second,
illumined the page of history by the stirring narrative of its brilliant
achievements, and, honoured by a grateful people, returned to its native
land, to rest for a time upon the laurels won on the far-distant plains
of India. Sprung from this race of heroes, as the new-begotten and
second representative of this distinguished family in our army, the
Seventy-eighth has strong claims upon our interest and sympathy—an
interest and sympathy which have been quickened into a warm affection,
finding an echo in the soul of the brave and noble of every land.
Appreciating the gallantry of its services at Lucknow in behalf of
suffering valour and murdered innocence, we hail it with feelings of
national gratitude as the “Saviour of India.”
Whilst the horrid cruelties perpetrated by the demagogues of Paris
excited the commiseration of beholding Europe for an unfortunate and
misguided people, the victims of their own folly, it at the same time
inspired feelings of fear among the terror-stricken tyrants of the
Continent, and palsied the might of their councils. A momentary
irresolution seized the British Cabinet, until the energy and eloquence
of Pitt awakened the Government to its true duty. The charm which
spell-bound other states, failed to ravish us of our freedom. Thoroughly
aroused from the fatal lethargy into which the nation was being lulled
by false ideas of “liberty, equality, and fraternity”—rightly
interpreted, lust, rapine, and murder—it assumed a sounder policy,
befitting its dignity. Buckling on its armour, Britain fearlessly
challenged this giant iniquity to trespass upon the sacred soil of our
chartered and constitutional liberty. Impelled by a stern necessity, our
country laid aside the beloved garb of peace, and assumed the dread
panoply of war, as our “meteor flag” was unfurled—
“The flag which braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze.”
Fleet after fleet forsook the tranquil bosom of the harbour where
hitherto they had nestled, and struggling with the stormy billows of the
sea, begirt our island home with those “wooden walls” which, defended by
our “hearts of oak,” have so long been our pride, and deemed
impregnable; whilst regiment after regiment mustered on the beach,
daring the foe to set foot upon these hallowed shores.
In such times the noble lord of Seaforth a second time drew his father’s
sword, and with the valour and loyalty of his house swelling in his
breast, called on his clansmen yet remaining to follow him. Foremost, in
the very van of this army of patriots, was thus marshalled the gallant
subject of our sketch—the Seventy-eighth Highlanders.
Assembled and embodied at Fort George on the 10th July, 1793, the fine
physical appearance of the regiment was very remarkable—a characteristic
which it has been fortunate always to maintain.
Guernsey, one of the Channel Islands, was the scene of its earliest
service on comparatively peaceful duty. Removed from thence, in 1794, to
Holland, it ultimately joined the allied army, under the Duke of York,
which vainly endeavoured to stem the tide of French aggression, then
inundating the Netherlands, and bereaving these provinces of their
ancient freedom. Engaged in the defence of Nimeguen, it contributed, by
its excellent behaviour, to retard the progress of the enemy, whilst
that fortress held out. Overwhelming might necessitated the evacuation
of the place; the garrison in consequence retired with the army towards
Germany. At Meteren our rearguard was overtaken by the advanced posts of
the enemy, when a bloody action ensued. In the course of the fight the
Seventy-eighth was charged by a regiment of French hussars, who, wearing
a uniform similar to the regiment of Choiseul in the British service,
and the better to deceive our troops, shouting as they advanced,
“Choiseul! Choiseul!”—thus mistaken for friends—were permitted to
penetrate our line, and were upon the Highlanders before their true
character was discovered. Unmasked, in an instant the bold horsemen were
met by a terrific volley of musketry, which, emptying many saddles,
cooled the ardour of the assault, but could not arrest their progress.
Piercing the intervals between the companies of the battalion, the
cavalry furiously rushed upon the Highlanders, trampling them down, but,
being warmly received, failed to overwhelm the gallant Seventy-eighth,
whose firm, unflinching valour was very conspicuous, and altogether
surprising from so young a corps in such trying circumstances. A column
of infantry, which had witnessed the success of the cavalry, now
advanced, big with high hopes, as they supposed, to complete the ruin of
the British. Meanwhile the further career of the hussars had been stayed
by the determined front of a company of the Forty-second Royal
Highlanders, covering the village. Driven back in confusion upon the
advancing infantry, both were finally repulsed, chiefly by the combined
efforts of the Seventy-eighth and Forty-second Highlanders. The British
resuming the retreat, retired to Bremen, whence they took shipping, and
returned home. During this their maiden campaign, the Seventy-eighth was
associated with the Seventy-ninth Cameron Highlanders and the
Forty-second Royal Highlanders. The regiment was remarkable for its
steadiness under fire, and its fortitude in enduring the hardships of a
severe winter under canvas. On this occasion, too, a very melancholy and
humbling testimony is borne by our foes to the prevailing sin of our
British soldiers. The French, who had seduced the soldiers of the old
monarchy by ministering to their evil appetites, sought by a like
artifice to ruin our army; they accordingly bribed the infamous amongst
the Dutch to sell liquors to our troops at a mere bagatelle, with a view
to tempt them and intoxicate them. How truly lamentable to think that
even then this national vice had acquired such a mastery, such a
notoriety, as to be regarded by France as our weakness, and by the
nation as our disgrace! Notwithstanding, we with pleasure record that
the Seventy-eighth was faithful to its duty. Indeed, these seductions
could not prevail against such a corps, whose history had ever been
distinguished by sobriety; so much so, that while it was in India it was
found necessary to restrict its soldiers from selling or giving away
their own allowance of liquor to others.
Meanwhile a second battalion, raised in 1794, had sailed for, and
participated in, an expedition against the Dutch colony of the Cape of
Good Hope. After a brief struggle the colony was reduced and occupied by
the British, the battalion remaining in the garrison.
The first battalion, with the army of Lord Moira, was engaged in a
fruitless attempt to succour the Royalists of La Vendée, who yet
withstood the ferocious assaults of the Republicans of Paris. Landing on
the Isle Dieu, the expedition anxiously waited a favourable opportunity
to gain a footing on the mainland. Alas! in vain. The time for action,
frittered away, was not to be recalled. Returning to England, the
battalion was embarked for Bengal. Calling on the way at the Cape of
Good Hope, it was joined by the second battalion, and the two,
consolidated into one regiment, proceeded to India. Arrived in February,
1797, nothing of importance falls to be recorded during its sojourn in
the Bengal Presidency. Removed to Bombay in 1803, it joined the army of
Major-General the Hon. Arthur Wellesley. With the Seventy-fourth
Highlanders, the Eightieth Regiment, the Nineteenth Light Dragoons, and
several native battalions, the Seventy-eighth advanced against the
enemy—Scindia and the Rajah of Berar.
The strong fortress of Amednuggur was the first obstacle to be overcome
in the line of march. For a while defended resolutely, the struggle was
very severe, but the moment our Highlanders succeeded in scaling the
high and narrow walls encircling it, to the enemy all seemed lost,
defence appeared hopeless, and flight the only refuge. Thus this
important conquest was achieved with comparatively little loss.
As in previous campaigns, so in the present, the business of the war
seemed to be not so much to overcome but rather to overtake the enemy;
who, sensible of his weakness in the field, strove to avoid the hazard
of a battle, contenting himself with harassing our progress by a
perplexing and incessant guerilla warfare. The persevering energy of the
British commander was not, however, to be so duped of the prize he
sought—the triumph he aspired to. By forced marches he overtook and
surprised the foe by his unexpected presence on the banks of the Kaitna.
Although not yet joined to the reinforcements at hand under Colonel
Stevenson, from Bengal, and fearing the escape of the enemy under cover
of the night, now approaching, the daring impetuosity of Wellesley at
once ordered the attack. Reduced by detachments, the British army did
not exceed 4,700 men, of whom the Seventy-fourth and Seventy-eighth
Highlanders, and the Nineteenth Light Dragoons, were the only line
regiments; whilst the Indian army, encamped in a strong position behind
the almost dry channel of the Kaitna, occupied the village of Assaye,
and presented a formidable array of 30,000 admirable troops, disciplined
and led by European officers, the whole sustained by upwards of 100
guns. The Seventy-eighth occupied the left of the first line, whilst the
Seventy-fourth, from the second line, ultimately took post on the right.
But for the cowardly flight of the European officers commanding the
Indian infantry, who abandoned their troops at the first onset, the
resistance might have been far more formidable. The enemy’s artillery
was admirably served, and galled the advance of the British line with a
terrible fire, which was only silenced by the death of the gunners,
bayoneted whilst faithfully and steadily fulfilling their duty. In the
ultimate retreat, one brigade refused to yield, although repeatedly
charged by our cavalry; maintaining its order and retiring fighting,
preserved the defeat from becoming a disorderly rout. The struggle was
the most severe, and the achievement the most glorious which had
hitherto marked our Indian warfare; illustrating the determined valour
of which the enemy was capable, whilst anew it honoured the prowess of
our soldiers in the result.
Strengthened by Colonel Stevenson’s division, now arrived, including the
old Ninety-fourth, or Scots Brigade, Major-General Wellesley continued
to press the retiring foe, until, overtaken at Argaum, he made a brief
stand. In the battle which ensued, whilst the Ninety-fourth occupied the
left of the line, the Seventy-fourth and Seventy-eighth together upon
the other flank, encountered the only considerable attack of the enemy;
which, undertaken by a body of 800 furious fanatics, was sustained with
exceeding valour, until the entire column had fallen before the veterans
of Assaye. Notwithstanding the vigour of the assault, a very trifling
loss was inflicted upon the British, and the enemy otherwise
relinquished the field almost without a blow.
A quaint story is told by General Stewart of the piper of the
Seventy-eighth, who, when the musicians were ordered at Assaye to attend
to the wounded, esteeming himself included, had in consequence gone to
the rear. This desertion his comrades attributed to fear, and the
unfortunate piper, branded as a coward, felt the rebuke thus stingingly
uttered: “Flutes and hautboys they thought could be well spared, but for
the piper, who should always be in the heat of the battle, to go to the
rear with the _whistlers_, was a thing altogether unheard of.” Bitterly
sensible of the unmerited insult, he gladly availed himself of a
favourable opportunity at the battle of Argaum to blot out the stigma
and redeem his fame. He played with such animation amidst the hottest of
the fire, that, not only restored to his comrades’ confidence, he
entailed the commands of the colonel to be silent, lest the men so
inspired should be urged too soon to the charge.
The war was soon after brought to a glorious termination by the fall of
Gawilghur. Thereafter removed to Madras, the regiment remained in
quietude till 1811, when, included in the army of Lieutenant-General Sir
Samuel Auchmuty, it sailed with the expedition destined to operate
against the valuable Dutch colony of Java. It required much severe
fighting, especially at and around Cornelis—a very strong position,
where the enemy, with concentrated might, maintained a resolute defence,
only yielding when, with 1000 men killed, the post had become no longer
tenable—ere the island was reduced. In this expedition the
Seventy-eighth lost about 100 officers and men. Although the sword and
the pestilence had each claimed its victims, still they failed to
vanquish our Highlanders.
On the return voyage to India, a new enemy awaited the gallant
Seventy-eighth, threatening even more fatal results—the sea, the
ever-devouring sea. Six companies of the regiment which had embarked in
the “Frances Charlotte,” transport, when twelve miles from the small
island of Preparos, on the 5th November, 1816, struck upon a sunken
rock. In this awful crisis, when the grim King of Terrors confronted our
soldiers, and this living freight of brave men, women, and children,
seemed about to be engulfed in a watery grave, amid the consternation
and wild dismay inseparable from such a scene, the firm courage of our
Highlanders sustained them equally as amid the roar and excitement of
the battle-field. With heroic gallantry, the soldiers, caring for the
weakness of woman and the helplessness of childhood, nobly hazarding,
prepared to sacrifice their own lives that these might be saved, and so
their duty fulfilled. Instances of manly courage and true heroism like
these, tell us, in unequivocal language, that such are the fruit of no
mere idle sentiment and flitting emotion, but the result of inborn,
genuine character. Whilst the women and children were conveyed in boats
to the island, the men crowded upon a small rocky islet, occasionally
dry at low water, and situated about 150 yards from the wreck. The ship,
full of water, soon after went to pieces, and disappeared beneath the
waves. The miseries of the ship-wrecked, from hunger and thirst, were
very grievous, and so cruel, that, although saved from becoming the prey
of the sea, they seemed but preserved for a more terrible doom. The
gaunt visage of famine appeared to torment the perishing multitude with
the pangs of an unutterable woe, and every ray of hope seemed eclipsed
by the lowering darkness of despair and the dismal shroud of the grave.
But a merciful Providence was nearer to save. A vessel hove in sight,
and, responding to the hail of the men on the rock, sent a boat to their
aid, which took forty of the survivors on board, but by a strange,
unaccountable want of feeling, sailed away without affording further
assistance; leaving behind one of its own boats, which, gone on the
mission of mercy, and whilst loading with a second instalment, had been
upset by over-crowding. Fortunately, all escaped safely, scrambling back
upon the rock. On the 10th of November, a large ship, the “Prince
Blucher,” attracted by the vestiges of the wreck which had floated
seaward across her course, was drawn towards the island, and embarking
as many as possible, sailed for Calcutta; from whence, on news of the
disaster, other vessels were immediately dispatched, which brought off
in safety the remainder of the survivors, who had endured the severest
pinchings of hunger with soldier-like stedfastness for upwards of a
month upon the island. It is interesting to note how both the
Seventy-fourth and Seventy-eighth Highlanders should thus have
encountered the disasters of the deep, and in these vicissitudes evinced
so worthily the qualities of the soldier and the hero.
In 1817 the regiment returned to England, and disembarked at Portsmouth.