PARADE ON THE ALAMEDA. PRESENTATION OF COLORS TO THE SOUTH STAFFORDSHIRE
REGIMENT.
The garrison of Gibraltar, in time of peace, numbers five or six
thousand men, made up chiefly of regiments brought home from foreign
service, that are stationed here for a few months, or it may be a year
or two, not merely to perform garrison duty, but as a place of rest to
recover strength for fresh campaigns, from which they can be ordered
to any part of the Mediterranean or to India. While here they are kept
under constant drill, yet not in such bodies as to make a grand military
display, for there is no parade ground large enough for the purpose.
Gibraltar has no Champ de Mars on which all the regiments can be brought
into the field, and go through with the evolutions of an army. If the
whole garrison is to be put under arms, it must be marched out of the
gates to the North Front, adjoining the Neutral Ground, that it may have
room for its military manoeuvres. When our countryman General Crawford,
who commanded the Pennsylvania Reserves at the Battle of Gettysburg, was
here a few years since, the Governor, Sir Fenwick Williams, gave him
a review of four thousand men. But that was a mark of respect to a
distinguished military visitor, and presented a sight rarely witnessed
by the ordinary traveller. It was therefore a piece of good fortune
to have an opportunity to see, though on a smaller scale, the splendid
bearing of the trained soldiers of the British Army. One morning our
Consul (always thoughtful of what might contribute to my pleasure) sent
me word that there was to be a parade of one of the regiments of the
garrison for the purpose of receiving new colors from the hands of the
Governor. Hastening to the Alameda, (which is the only open space
within the walls at once large enough and level enough even for a
single regiment,) I found it already in position, the long scarlet lines
forming three sides of a hollow square. Joining a group of spectators
on the side that was open, we waited the arrival of the Governor, an
interval well employed in some inquiries as to the corps that was to
receive the honors of the day.
"What did you tell me was the name of this Regiment?" "The South
Staffordshire!" But that is merely the name of a county in England,
which conveys no meaning to an American. And yet the name caught my ear
as one that I had heard before. "Was not this one of the Regiments that
served lately in the Soudan?" It was indeed the same, and I at once
knew more of it than I had supposed. As I had been twice in Egypt, I
was greatly interested in the expedition up the Nile for the relief of
Khartoum and the rescue of General Gordon, and had followed its progress
in the English papers, where, along with the Black Watch and other
famous troops, I had seen frequent mention of the South Staffordshire
Regiment. As the expedition was for months the leading feature of the
London illustrated papers, they were filled with pictures of the troops,
engaged in every kind of service, sometimes looking more like sailors
than soldiers, from which, however, they were ready, at the first alarm,
to fall into ranks and march to battle. Many of the comrades who sailed
from England with them left their bones on the banks of the Nile.
With this recent history in mind, I could not look in the faces of the
brave men who had made all these marches, and endured these fatigues,
and fought these battles, without my heart beating fast. It beat faster
still when I learned that the campaign in Egypt was only the last of a
long series of campaigns, reaching over not only many years, but almost
two centuries! The history of this regiment is worth the telling, if it
were only to show of what stuff the British Army is made, and how the
traditions of a particular corps, passing down from sire to son, remain
its perpetual glory and inspiration.
The South Staffordshire Regiment is one of the oldest in the English
Army, having been organized in the reign of Queen Anne, when the great
Marlborough led her troops to foreign wars. But it does not appear to
have fought under Marlborough, having been early transferred to the
Western Hemisphere. After four years' service at home it was sent to the
West Indies, where it remained nearly _sixty years_, its losses by death
being made good by fresh recruits from England, so that its organization
was kept intact. Returning home in 1765, it was stationed in Ireland
till the cloud began to darken over the American Colonies, when it was
one of the first corps despatched across the Atlantic. As an American,
I could not but feel the respect due to a brave enemy on learning that
this very regiment that I saw before me _had fought at Bunker Hill_!
From Boston it was ordered to New York, where it remained till the
close of the war. No doubt it often paraded on the Battery, as to-day it
parades on the Alameda. After the war it was stationed several years in
Nova Scotia.
From that time it has had a full century of glory, serving now in the
West Indies, and now at the Cape of Good Hope, and then coming back
across the Atlantic to the River Plate in South America, where it
distinguished itself at the storming and capture of Monte Video, and
afterward fought at Buenos Ayres. But the "storm centre" in the opening
nineteenth century was to be, not in America, North or South, nor in
Africa, but in Europe, in the wars of Napoleon. This regiment was with
Sir John Moore when he fell at Corunna, and afterward followed the Iron
Duke through Spain, fighting in the great battle of Salamanca, and later
with Sir Thomas Graham at Vittoria, and in the siege and storming of San
Sebastian. It was part of the army that crossed the Bidassoa, and
made the campaign of 1813-14 in the South of France. After the fall of
Napoleon it returned home, but on his return from Elba was immediately
ordered back to the Continent, and arrived at Ostend, too late to take
part in the Battle of Waterloo, but joined the army and marched with it
to Paris.
When the great disturber of the peace of the Continent was sent to
St. Helena, Europe had a long rest from war; but there was trouble in
other parts of the world, and in 1819 the regiment was again at the Cape
of Good Hope, fighting the Kaffirs; from which it went to India, and
thence to Burmah, where it served in the war of 1824-26. This is the
war which has been made familiar to American readers in the Life of the
Missionary Judson, who was thrown into prison at Ava, (as the King made
no distinction between Englishmen and Americans), confined in a dungeon,
and chained to the vilest malefactors, in constant danger of death, till
the advance of the British army up the Irrawaddi threw the tyrant into a
panic of terror, when he sent for his prisoner to go to the British camp
and make terms with the conquerors. England made peace, but the regiment
was half destroyed, having lost in Burmah eleven officers and five
hundred men.
The ten years of peace that followed were spent in Bengal. When at last
the regiment was called home, it was stationed for a few years in the
Ionian Islands, in Jamaica, Honduras, and Nova Scotia. Then came the
Russian War, when it was sent to Turkey, and fought at the Alma and
Inkerman, and through the long siege of Sebastopol. Only a single year
of peace followed, and it was again ordered to India, where the outbreak
of the mutiny threatened the loss of the Indian Empire, and by forced
marches reached Cawnpore in time to defeat the Sepoy army; from which it
marched to Lucknow, where it was part of the fiery host that stormed the
Kaiser-Bagh, where it suffered fearful loss, but the siege was raised
and Lucknow delivered; after which, in a campaign in Oude, it helped to
stamp out the mutiny.
Its last campaign was in Egypt, where it went up the Nile as a part
of the River Column, hauling its boats over the cataracts, and was the
first regiment that reached Korti. From this point it kept along the
course of the river toward Berber (while another column, mounted on
camels, made the march across the desert), and with the Black Watch
bore the brunt of the fighting in the battle of Kirbekan, in which the
commander of the column and the colonel of the regiment both fell.[2]
Such is the story of a hundred and fifty years. Of the hundred and
eighty-four years that the Regiment has been in existence, it has spent
a hundred and thirty-four--all but fifty--in foreign service, in which
it has fought in thirty-eight battles, and has left the bones of its
dead in every quarter of the globe. Was there ever a Roman legion that
could show a longer record of war and of glory?
And now this British legion, with a history antedating the possession
of Gibraltar itself, (for it was organized in 1702, two years before the
Rock was captured from Spain,) had been brought back to this historic
ground, bringing with it its old battle-flags, that had floated on so
many fields, which, worn by time and torn by shot and shell, it was now
to surrender, to be taken back to England and hung in the oldest church
in Staffordshire as the proud memorials of its glory, while it was to
receive new colors, to be borne in future wars. The rents in its ranks
had been filled by new recruits, so that it stood full a thousand
strong, its burnished arms glistening as if those who bore them had
never been in the heat of battle. In the hollow square in which it was
drawn up were its mounted officers, waiting the arrival of the Governor,
who presently rode upon the ground, with Major-General Walker, the
Commander of the Infantry Brigade, at his side; followed by other
officers, who took position in the rear, according to their rank. The
band struck up "God save the Queen," and the troops, wheeling into
column, began the "march past," moving with such firm and even tread
that it seemed as if the regiment had but one body and one soul. After
a series of evolutions it was again formed in a square, for a ceremony
that was half military and half religious, for in such pageants the
Church of England always lends its presence to the scene. I had read of
military mass in the Russian army, when the troops drawn up in battle
array, fall upon their knees, while the Czar, prostrating himself, prays
apparently with the utmost devotion for the blessing of Almighty God
upon the Russian arms! Something of the same effect was produced
here, when the Bishop of Gibraltar in his robes came forward with his
assistant clergy. At once the band ceased; the troops stood silent and
reverent. The silence was first broken by the singing of a Hymn, whose
rugged verse had a strange effect, as given by the Regimental Choir. I
leave to my readers to imagine the power of these martial lines sung by
those stentorian voices:
When Israel's Chief in days of yore,
Thy banner, Lord, flung out,
Old Kishon's tide ran red with gore,
Dire was the Pagan rout.
And later, when the Roman's eye
Turned upward in despair,
The Cross, that flickered in the sky,
Made answer to his prayer.
So, Lord, to us Thy suppliants now,
Bend Thou a gracious ear,
And mark, and register the vow
We make before Thee here.
Through fire and steel, 'mid weal or woe,
Unwavering and in faith,
Where'er these sacred banners go,
We'll follow, to the death.
We'll follow, strengthened by the might
That comes of trust in Thee,
And if we conquer in the fight,
Thine shall the glory be:
Or if Thy wisdom wing the ball,
And life or limb be riven,
The Cross we gaze on as we fall
Shall point the way to Heaven.
When this song of battle died away, the voice of the Bishop was heard
in a prayer prepared for the occasion. Some may criticise it as implying
that the God of Battles must always be on the side of England. But such
is the character of all prayers offered in time of war. Making this
allowance, it seems as if the feeling of the hour could not be more
devoutly expressed than in the following:
Almighty and most merciful Father, without whom nothing is strong,
nothing is holy, we come before Thee with a deep sense of Thine
exceeding Majesty and our own unworthiness, praying Thee to shed
upon us the light of Thy countenance, and to hallow and sanctify the
work in which we are this day engaged.
We beseech Thee to forward with Thy blessing, the presentation to
this Regiment of the Colors which are henceforth to be carried in
its ranks; and with all lowliness and humility of spirit, we presume
to consecrate the same in Thy great name, to the cause of peace and
happiness, truth and justice, religion and piety. We humbly pray
that the time may come when the sound of War shall cease to be heard
in the world; but forasmuch as to our mortal vision that blessed
consummation seems still far distant, we beseech Thee so to order
the course of events that these colors shall be unfurled in the face
of an enemy only for a righteous cause. And in that dark hour may
stain and disgrace fall upon them never; but being borne aloft as
emblems of loyalty and truth, may the brave who gather round them go
forward conquering for the right, and maintaining, as becomes them,
the honor of the British Crown, the purity of our most holy faith,
the majesty of our laws, and the influence of our free and happy
constitution. Finally, we pray that Thy servants here present, not
forgetful of Thine exceeding mercies vouchsafed to their regiment
in times gone by, and that all the forces of our Sovereign Lady the
Queen, wherever stationed and however employed, may labor through
Thy grace to maintain a conscience void of offence towards Thee and
towards man, always remembering that of soldier and of civilian the
same account shall be taken, and that he is best prepared to do his
duty, and to meet death, let it come in what form it may, who in
the integrity of a pure heart is able to look to Thee as a God
reconciled to him through the blood of the Atonement. Grant this, O
Lord, for Thine only Son Jesus Christ's sake! Amen.
Then followed the usual prayer for the Queen:
O Lord, our Heavenly Father, high and mighty, King of kings, Lord
of lords, the only Ruler of princes, who dost from Thy throne behold
all the dwellers upon earth, most heartily we beseech Thee with Thy
favor to behold our most gracious Sovereign Lady Queen Victoria,
and so replenish her with the grace of Thy Holy Spirit that she
may always incline to Thy will and walk in Thy way; endue her
plenteously with heavenly gifts; grant her in health and wealth long
to live; strengthen her that she may vanquish and overcome all her
enemies; and finally, after this life, she may attain everlasting
joy and felicity, through Jesus Christ our Lord! Amen.
* * * * *
The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the
fellowship of the Holy Ghost, be with us all evermore! Amen.
The service ended, the Governor, dismounting from his horse, took the
place of the Bishop in a service which had a sacred as well as patriotic
character. Two officers, the youngest of the Regiment, advancing,
surrendered the old flags, which had been carried for so many years and
through so many wars, and then each bending on one knee, received from
his hands the new colors which were to have a like glorious history. As
they rose from their knees, the Governor remounted his horse, and from
the saddle delivered an address as full of patriotic sentiment, of
loyalty to the Queen and country, and as spirit-stirring to the brave
men before him, as if they were to be summoned to immediate battle. With
that he turned and galloped off the ground, while the Regiment unfurling
its new standards, with drums beating and band playing, marched proudly
away.
As it wound up the height, the long scarlet line had a most picturesque
effect. It has been objected to these brilliant uniforms that they make
the soldiers too conspicuous a mark for the sharpshooters of the enemy.
But, however it may be in war, nothing can be finer on parade. Our
modern architects and decorators, who attach so much importance to
color, and insist that everything, from cottage to castle, should be
"picked out in red," would have been in ecstasies at the colors which
that day gleamed among the rocks and trees of Gibraltar.
Indeed, if you should happen to be sauntering on the Alameda just at
evening, as the sunset-gun is fired, and should look upward to see
the smoke curling away, you might see above it a gathering of black
clouds--the sure sign of the coming of the terrible East wind known as
the "Levanter"; and if at the same moment the afterglow of the dying day
should touch a group of soldiers standing on the mountain's crest (where
colors could be clearly distinguished even if figures were confused),
it might seem as if that last gleam under the shadow of the clouds were
itself the red cross of England soaring against a dark and stormy sky.
This was the brilliant side of war: pity that there should be another
side! But the next day, walking near the barracks, I met a company with
reversed arms bearing the body of a comrade to the grave. There was no
funeral pomp, no waving plumes nor roll of muffled drums: for it was
only a common soldier, who might have fallen on any field, and be buried
where he fell, with not a stone to mark his resting-place. But for all
that, he may have been a true hero; for it is such as he, the unknown
brave, who have fought all the battles and gained all the victories of
the world.
Turning from this scene, I thought how hard was the fate of the English
soldier: to be an exile from the land of his birth, "a man without a
country"; who may be ordered to any part of the world (for such is the
stern necessity, if men are to defend "an Empire on which the sun never
sets"); serving in many lands, yet with a home in none; to sleep at
last in a nameless grave! Such has been the fate of many of that gallant
regiment which I saw marching so proudly yesterday. Their next campaign
may be in Central Asia, fighting the Russians in Afghanistan, amid the
snows of the Himalayas. If so, I fear it may be said of them with sad,
prophetic truth, as they go into battle:
"Ah! few shall part where many meet;
The snow shall be their winding-sheet;
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre."