CHAPTER XV.

CONCLUDING CHAPTER.

THE COST OF WAR.

For the information of such of my readers as have neither the time nor

the opportunity of diving into history, I will now give a historic

outline of the enormous cost of war in blood and treasure, principally

in the campaigns of 1812-13-14 and 1815. Europe, disunited, had been

conquered by Napoleon; the only Power setting him at utter defiance

being this glorious old isle. Our forefathers had repeatedly assisted

the continental nations with enormous sums of money, and arms to combat

this tyrant; but lacking unity, and having to confront a master-mind in

generalship, at least fifty years before his time, this all-conquering

General rolled them all up in detail. In fact the whole of continental

Europe was fascinated with a craven-hearted dread of the conqueror's

supposed irresistible power. His very name was worse than a nightmare to

thousands. His terrible legions, his invincible legions, the famed and

dreaded legions, were the whole talk of Europe. And I am sorry to record

it, that there were _then_, as _now_, thousands of foolish

chicken-hearted men, calling themselves Britons, that predicted our

entire destruction as a nation. The redoubted Massena boasted that he

would drive all the English leopards into the sea, or cut them to

pieces. He commanded an army of veterans, who had marched from victory

to victory, from triumph to triumph. But this redoubtable Marshal of

France, "the spoilt child of fortune," received a very awkward lesson

from the detested Albions and the boys of the Green Isle, for no

regiment on grim Busaco's iron ridge distinguished themselves so much as

the 88th Connaught Rangers. They hurled the boasting legions of Napoleon

over the rocks in grand style, well thrashed the invincibility out of

the conquerors of Austerlitz, Jena, and Wagram, and largely helped to

nail victory to that flag which was, and is now, second to none, and

made some of the croaking know-all gents hide their heads. The spell of

French invincibility was rudely dissipated, and the designs of the

tyrant as regards Spain and Portugal were baffled. We say now, shame on

all those that would try to traduce the reputation of those that

struggle upon field after field for life or death, for national

independence, national honour and happiness. Old England knows nothing

of the horrors and miseries of war, the massacres and violations of

mothers, wives, and daughters. No! her domestic happiness, human loves,

and human friendships are never interrupted or broken; and on each

revolving Sabbath, her church bells invite all, rich and poor, to the

house of prayer and thanksgiving. Our victorious General, Wellington,

repeatedly set the continental nations an example how to thrash

Napoleon's much puffed-up invincibles. "Stick to them, my men!" was

often the cry. It was often death, but always victory for us. Austria

and Russia were beaten on the one field of Austerlitz. Prussia threw

down the gauntlet on the field of Jena, but was completely crushed,

nearly all her fortresses being taken from her. She was humbled in the

dust, and an indemnity of six hundred and forty million francs (a

butcher's bill of twenty-five million pounds sterling) demanded by the

conqueror. This was enforced with merciless fury by the French, in

addition to which an enormous host were quartered upon the conquered

provinces, which shall be hereafter enumerated. Prussia was held by an

iron grasp: close upon one hundred thousand of her noble sons having

perished, and she lay prostrate at the conqueror's feet. But still she

fought out a death-struggle with the great conqueror, and on the bloody

field of Eylan the conquering hero was brought to a stand. He could not

advance, and would not retire; he was brought to the verge of

destruction. This terrible battle, my young readers must know, was

fought in the depth of winter, amidst ice and snow, and under unexampled

horrors. The loss on both sides was immense. The Russians and Prussians

lost twenty-five thousand, and the French thirty thousand; thus

fifty-five thousand men, with thousands of horses, were weltering in

blood in the midst of ice and snow, in a space of two leagues, both

sides claiming the victory. Yet another terrible battle was fought at

Friedland, in the depth of a Russian winter. The allies here were

defeated. They lost seventeen thousand men and five thousand prisoners,

with twenty guns. Napoleon was weakened by the loss of ten thousand. The

two great Emperors met on a raft on the Niemen, and there made peace,

dividing the known world between them. Almost the first words from the

Emperor of Russia to the great conqueror were:[39] "I hate the English

as much as you do, and am ready to second you in all your enterprises

against them." Napoleon's answer was: "Peace is already made." With

Napoleon's talents, he talked the Emperor into anything he liked. Now

comes the great Northern Confederation. The whole of the North of

Europe were compelled to declare war against Old England. All their

ports were closed against us. Spain and Portugal threw in their lot

against us. Thus we had the whole of Europe to combat. But our

forefathers came out as true Britons. With our unconquerable fleet, and

Nelson as our leader, we put the world in arms at defiance. The

Confederation had a short life. We blockaded every port in Europe. The

whole Danish fleet was taken or sunk at Copenhagen by that heroic

Nelson. Proceeding at once to Cronstadt with his victorious fleet, he

demanded a conference with the Russian Emperor. It was granted. The

ever-victorious Admiral explained our demands. One of the Emperor's

advisers said at once to the Emperor; "Rather than submit to such

humiliating terms, we had better have war to the knife." The gauntlet

was thrown down at the feet of him that shook the world with renown.

Nelson's reply was, "With all my heart. You shall have war to your

heart's content in less than one hour" (pointing to his victorious

fleet). "Stay," said the Emperor. They talked it over, and peace with us

was signed, which meant war with France. Our victorious Nelson was one

too many for the crafty Russians. In writing home, he said to our

Minister at War: "I flatter myself that a British Admiral, with a good

fleet at his back (he had nearly thirty sail) is the best man you could

select to send to negotiate. Some of the Czar's advisers did not like

the terms. I at once gave the Emperor to understand that he could have

peace on one hand, or war on the other (pointing to my fleet just

outside the harbour). I found I had hit the nail fairly on the head, and

at once made peace with the Emperor of all the Russias, and war with

Napoleon. He has promised to declare, should that tyrant interfere with

him." Shortly after this, the terrible battle of Trafalgar was fought,

which swept the French and Spanish flags from the sea. It was here that

Nelson met a glorious death;[40] but this victory proclaimed the

commercial death-blow of Napoleon. We say again, it was off the shoals

of Trafalgar where the funeral pile of Napoleon's greatness was

witnessed. It frustrated all his deep laid schemes of subjugating us as

a nation, and proclaimed that--

"Britain ruled the waves."

Our forefathers could now laugh at Napoleon's threats of invasion. The

combined fleets of France and Spain were completely annihilated, and

before he could attempt to reach our shores, a new fleet and a fresh set

of seamen must be forthcoming. But our darling hero had purchased this

last triumph with his blood. His name, however, still lives fresh in

every true Briton's heart, and his last signal will be handed down to

our children's children: "England expects that every man this day will

do his duty." Such language has frequently inspired our men amidst the

storm of shot and shell, and England has often since had to acknowledge

that her sons _have_ done their duty. Europe struggled on under the iron

grasp of Napoleon. Spain and Portugal declared war against the tyrant.

Oceans of blood were spilt; millions of money that could have been put

to good use were lavished upon war material. Russia, Austria, and

Prussia again tried to stem the torrent of Napoleon's conquest; but

there was no unity in their camps, and the great conqueror beat them

all in detail, up to this. The only time his victorious legions were

beaten in the open field was when opposed by our thin red line.

Napoleon's much puffed-up invincibles were beaten, _and had to retire

from every field on which our conquering general, Wellington, planted

his standard_. We never once met the enemy in a pitched battle, either

by land or sea, but to beat them. The sons of Albion, side by side with

the undaunted sons of the Emerald Isle, set an example to Europe. Before

the Moscow campaign took place, the flower of the French army were

opposed to us in the Peninsula, on the fields of Corunna, Albuera,

Barrosa, Busaco, Douro, Fuentes de Oñoro, Roliça, Talavera, and Vimiera;

and from 1812 to the end of the war, we met and rolled them up on all

the following fields, or stormed their strongholds and took every one

from them: Badajoz, Ciudad Rodrigo, Nive, Nivelle, Orthes, Pyrenees, San

Sebastian, Salamanca, Toulouse, Vittoria, and Waterloo. Hundreds of

thousands of men perished on the above fields. The poor inhabitants were

butchered without mercy in cold blood, because they tried to do all they

could to help their countrymen in arms. It was a war of extermination

for freedom. This war cost us close upon two hundred millions sterling.

The Spaniards and Portuguese were all in our pay. But we now approach

Napoleon's great campaign in Russia in 1812. He had, for a long time,

been making preparations for it. Russia had set him at defiance,

refusing to close her ports against our merchandise. Vast armies, with

all kinds of warlike stores, were passing through Germany on to the

Russian frontier during the early part of 1812. The great conqueror set

out to join, as he thought, his invincible hosts. At Dresden, June 1812,

he reached the climax of his earthly fame. He was the centre of

attraction; four kings, innumerable princes and dukes, waited upon him:

queens were maids of honour to Maria Louisa. But in a few short months

this much-exalted hero had to confess that "from the sublime to the

ridiculous was but a step."

The humiliation of Prussia, the conquest of Austria, the dreadful

spectacles that thousands who now surrounded Napoleon's standard had

witnessed on the bloody fields of Jena, Austerlitz, Wagram, Eylan,

Friedland, with pyramids of friends and foes, bodies all around; with

weeping mothers and smiling infants at their breasts, searching amidst

the piles of dead for their loved ones. All were for a time forgotten.

The conquerors were now to be seen side by side with the vanquished in

the above disastrous fields which had struck Germany down. This

all-conquering hero was now the king of kings, elevated to the highest

pinnacle of fame, surrounded by his Old Guards and the terrible

cuirassiers with Prince Murat at their head, who had frequently ridden

over Russians, Austrians, Prussians, Spaniards and Portuguese. No power

on earth seemed capable of stopping them. As often as their beloved

Emperor appeared, the shouts of enthusiasm, with the cry of _Vive

l'Empereur_,[41] rent the air, as they struck their sabres, confident of

victory. He was now exalted to the skies, but (so much for human

mutability) he proved that, from the exalted pinnacle of fame to the

ridiculous was but a step. He invaded Russia without any provocation but

ambition, in all the majesty of war, with the strongest and best

equipped army that the world had then seen. It consisted of--

Infantry 491,953 Horses 187,111

Cavalry 96,579

Artillery 58,626 Number of guns 1,372

-------

Total of invading army, 647,158

They had some desperate combats on various fields. The Russian army

retired, fighting with desperation, when pressed too closely by

Napoleon's host. But 30,000 of the enemy perished, for want of food,

before a shot, so to speak, was fired. The only great battle fought on

the advance to Moscow was at Borodino, 7th September, 1812: and out of

all Napoleon's vast host, all he could bring into action, after waiting

for days to collect stragglers, was 103,000 infantry, 36,000 cavalry,

and 593 guns. The terrible battle raged from morning until night; the

Russians were not beaten, but almost annihilated. Both sides fought with

desperation; the one to save their hearths and homes, the other well

knowing they had nothing to fall back upon. This field presented a

terrible spectacle: huge masses of men having fought hand-to-hand all

day. "Here," said Napoleon, "is the field where the brave shall find a

glorious death: the coward will perish in the deserts of Siberia." The

Russians lost 38 generals and 45,000 officers and men; prisoners and

guns taken were about equal: the Russians lost 10 and took 13 guns. The

victors (for the French justly claimed the victory, as the Russians

retired during the night) lost 32 generals and 52,000 officers and men.

All that was left to the boasting enemy was the bloody field, for the

dead and dying lay in ghastly piles, friend and foe mixed together. The

victors were in a worse plight than the vanquished; they had to lie down

supperless on the field of gore, and get up breakfastless. The Russians

had plenty to eat, and retired next day to Moscow. The enemy followed

them up, and entered Moscow in triumph, amidst martial music and

ringing shouts of _Vive l'Empereur_. A strange scene presented itself;

not a living soul to meet the great conqueror. He was entering into a

deserted city. All the inhabitants had fled. Moscow, with all its

palaces and stately mansions, was abandoned to the foe. But it was soon

enveloped in flames. Napoleon had expected that, as their capital was in

his hands, he would have been able to dictate to the Emperor Alexander

his own terms of peace. But no! he had fought his way for a thousand

miles from the Niemen: he had beaten the Russian army: he had taken

their capital, which was all in flames around him. But he could not

subdue a brave nation, who had sworn to die to a man or conquer the

great tyrant. The Spaniards and Portuguese, backed up by old England,

had set Europe an example how to combat for their liberty. The noble

heroism displayed in the defence of Saragossa had set Europe in a blaze.

The orders of Alexander to his generals were, not to attempt to

negotiate, but to fight to the death. The great conqueror was compelled

to eat a large slice of humble pie, "and order a retreat" from the midst

of a people he could not subdue.

It is a point of the highest importance, involving, as it does, a

decisive refutation of the assertion so often repeated and handed down

to our children, "that it was the _cold_ in Russia which destroyed

Napoleon's grand army," which crossed the Niemen, June, 1812. Out of

this vast host under Napoleon's immediate command, before a single flake

of snow fell, 247,000 men and 92,000 horses had perished by the ravages

of war and starvation. Other corps, under command of different marshals,

suffered in proportion. As the army advanced, it got worse and worse.

The great multitude of mouths destroyed Napoleon. Reinforcements kept

joining the great conqueror at Moscow; and when the retreat commenced,

he had more than replaced what he had lost at Borodino. They turned

their faces towards the sunny south, laden with the spoil of Moscow.

Napoleon thought of retiring by another road. But no, no. The Russians,

now augmented to about 150,000 men, with nearly 50,000 cavalry, took up

a strong position at Malo-Jaeoslowitz, and beat the conqueror. This

field presented a horrible spectacle. The town was built of wood; and

for hours desperate hand-to-hand fighting took place in its narrow

streets, which, became completely choked with dead and dying, friend and

foe. The houses on both sides the streets were enwrapt in flames. The

guns (French) were ordered forward. They dashed on at a gallop, crushing

over the heaps of both friend and foe, as they lay weltering in blood

and flames. The Russians had not died for nothing. They, as brave men,

died to save the honour of their homes, their wives, their mothers, and

their daughters. They beat the tyrant, and compelled him to retire by a

route that was already exhausted. The consequences of this bloody

engagement were most disastrous to the French. There was no alternative

for it now. It was most humiliating. He who had set Europe at defiance,

must now retire by the wasted road _via_ Smolensk. Guns and prisoners

were captured every day. The Russian army hung upon their flanks and

rear. To go into all the fights that took place during that terrible

retreat would fill a large volume. The dreadful passage of the river

Beresina, on the retreat, completed the ruin of the grand army. The

Russian Commander-in-Chief, Kutusoff, shrank from the responsibility of

facing the hero of so many fields. He had felt the weight of one hundred

and fifty thousand men on the bloody field of Borodino. He did not know

that it was but the wreck of the once grand army that was before him.

Had he but posted his victorious army on the heights on the banks of

that noble stream, Napoleon, with the remainder of his dejected,

half-famished army, must have been all slain, drowned, or taken

prisoners. Had Wellington been there, with such an army as the Russian

chief commanded, the subsequent slaughter in the campaigns of 1813-14

and 1815 would have been avoided. Napoleon would most likely have met a

soldier's death. It was well ordained by an all-wise God. The nation

that had defied the laws of God and man would not have been humbled, as

they were subsequently, after the carnage of Leipsic and the rout at

Waterloo. But the sight of his old Guards was enough; they had decided

every field for the last twenty years where Napoleon commanded. The

passage of the river was disputed by Kutusoff's lieutenants (by his

permission). The bloody struggle at the temporary bridges is almost

beyond description. The Russian guns, planted on the heights, played

with terrible effect upon the mass of the terror-stricken, confused

multitude. In the midst of the confusion, one of the bridges broke, and

all upon it miserably perished in the masses of floating ice. The

frantic crowd (for discipline was all gone) at once rushed to the

remaining bridge. The artillery and cavalry cut their way through their

comrades, plunging, like the car of Juggernaut, through dead and dying.

Thousands were mobbed into the river--now a raging torrent of floating

ice. Heaven and earth seemed combined to destroy a nation of infidels;

for the rain came down in torrents, converting a gentle stream into a

raging torrent. In the midst of this dreadful scene, with the Russian

guns firing as fast as possible upon the remaining bridge, it caught

fire. Despair and misery now rendered the enemy desperate. Numbers

rushed on to the burning bridge; it broke, and all were lost.

The scene now became awful. All retreat cut off, thousands must now die

or surrender. The magnitude of the disaster to the French was manifest

in the spring. Twelve thousand dead bodies were found washed up on the

banks of the river, fourteen thousand more were killed, and sixteen

thousand taken prisoners. Nearly all their artillery were lost. In the

midst of this terrible scene, mothers were seen lifting their infants

above their heads in the water, holding them up until they were

exhausted, then sinking beneath the waves. An infant found near the gate

of Smolensko, abandoned by its wretched mother, was adopted by the Old

Guard. Carried between them, it was saved in the midst of the horrors of

the Beresina. It was again seen on the bridge of Kowno, and finally

escaped all the horrors of the retreat, and eventually met a soldier's

death, as colonel commanding the Zouaves, at the storming of the

Malakoff. A number of men became mad from the frightful accumulation of

disasters all around them; others were reduced to a state of idiocy.

Their eyes were fixed; with a haggard look they marched on, not knowing

what they were doing. Commands, outrageous blows--nothing could rouse

them; and at night they would sink to the ground, and perish for want of

food. Others would carelessly sit down upon the dead bodies of their

comrades, and resign themselves to rest, to sleep, and death. Others

marched on resolutely; but at length their limbs tottered, their steps

became shorter, they fell behind their more robust comrades (tears often

running down their cheeks); their knees smote each other, they staggered

like drunken men, then fell to rise no more, completely exhausted for

want of food. Others marched on, taking no notice. All at once symptoms

of paralysis appeared, their knees shook, their arms fell from their

hands, and they sank down by the wayside, with a fixed look, watching

the crowd until they sank from exhaustion and died--cursing him who had

been the cause of all their misery. When remonstrated with about his

foolhardy march to Moscow to humble Alexander, by some of the heads of

his army, and the head of the Roman Church, his answer was: "Do you

think that the arms will drop from my soldiers' hands?" They did,

however, drop by thousands. One of his faithful Old Guard, looking death

in the face, said to a comrade: "Your assistance is in vain, my

friend;" then faintly murmured: "He has ruined us all. The only favour I

ask is, to carry to my children these decorations (see that the enemies

do not pollute them). I won them on the fields of Jena, Austerlitz,

Eylan, Friedland, and Spain." He then sank back and expired, for lack of

the common necessaries of life. Others, their fingers and toes dropped

off, from the extreme frost. Their arms fell to the ground, but they

still staggered on until night. In every bivouac, hundreds of corpses

were found sitting around what had been their watch-fires, stiff dead;

to all appearance looking at each other--their eyes fixed. Others, that

could not get near the fire, were found sitting back to back. They had

devoured the last morsel of horse-flesh, their strength failed them, and

they sank and died from starvation. Such a picture is only too true.

These are what some madmen call the glories of war.

Shortly after the dreadful scene at the Beresina, Napoleon left his once

grand army, now nothing but a confused rabble of all arms and followers

mixed up. His superb cavalry were nearly all dismounted. Of guns they

had but few. Murat, who now commanded, had nothing but horse-flesh to

feed his starving followers with, and but little of that. The Cossacks

of the Don were hovering all around them, hacking at all stragglers. No

mercy was shown by these infuriated savages. Napoleon was now travelling

through Poland, almost at lightning speed, on two rough sledges,

accompanied with but three followers. He dashed through Germany,

changing horses every twenty miles. The monster was not yet satisfied.

He had not been the cause of enough misery. He carried the dreadful news

to Paris of the destruction of his once Grand Army. He made (or tried to

make) the Government believe that his army had conquered Russia, that it

was still unconquerable, and that they were still superb. He

acknowledged that nearly all his cavalry and artillery were destroyed by

the extreme cold. He demanded 500,000 more men. "I will then," he said,

"give Alexander a few battles on the plains of Germany, and all will be

restored. I have to thank England for all the misery which has overtaken

us; but I will lay London in ashes yet." He had yet to learn that London

was to him sacred ground; that its people openly acknowledged daily the

saving power of the great Architect of the Universe. He permitted the

tyrant to go thus far, and no further; to show us and our children's

children, in days to come, the finger of His love: "I will be your God,

and ye shall be my people. Fear not." To go into all the desperate

fights which took place after Napoleon's departure, I could not. Murat

kept picking up strong detachments of all arms that had been left to

keep the communication open.

The invincibility was all thrashed out of Murat's dejected, half-frozen,

half-starved, half-clad followers. The heroic Marshal Ney (an Irishman)

still commanded the rear guard. Four times it melted away, and as often

this exemplary soldier re-formed another. At the gate of Wilna this

unconquerable soldier, a prince and a Marshal of France, fought as a

grenadier (which he was) with a musket. When called upon to surrender he

exclaimed, "A Marshal of France may die, but never surrender."[42] Such

was the heroic Ney. History has not preserved a nobler instance of

humanity than that displayed by the Emperor Alexander and his brother

Constantine, at Wilna. The condition of the wounded and prisoners, till

the arrival of Alexander, was horrible beyond conception. Huddled

together in hospitals without fire, water, medicine, beds, or even

straw, there they lay in hundreds, with their limbs shattered, or in the

last stage of disease. Hundreds died every day, their bodies thrown out

of the windows by those in attendance; but their places were

immediately filled up by multitudes of others, who crawled or were

carried into these abodes of wretchedness to draw their last breath,

cursing him who had been the cause of all their misery. Hard biscuit,

and but little of that, was all they had for food; their only drink was

snow, carried to them by their comrades. The putrid smell of above six

thousand bodies, which lay unburied, was unbearable. Into these hidden

dens of living, tombs, the Emperor Alexander and his brother immediately

on arrival entered. Steps were at once taken to stop these horrors; the

dead putrefied bodies were at once collected, and burned or buried. They

amounted to the astounding number of seventeen thousand, lying dead

about the streets and hospitals. The total number that succumbed at

Wilna was upwards of thirty thousand in a few weeks. This was the

termination of a campaign of unexampled dangers and glory to the Russian

arms, by deeds of unprecedented Christian mercy to a fallen foe. The

wreck of the once grand army re-crossed the Niemen, and left the Russian

territory, on the 13th December, 1812--about 20,000 of rag-tail,

bob-tail, miserable wretches. It must have been humiliating to the

remains of the Old Guard (about 800 strong) to be pursued by a

detachment of Cossacks. But my readers must know that five-sixths of

this motley army had never seen Moscow, or been within hundreds of miles

of it. The last stand was made at the bridge of Kowno, by the

rear-guard, under the intrepid Ney. He fired the last shot that drove

his pursuers back; threw all spare arms into the Niemen, and retired

with honour, covered with blood and mud, and black with powder; his

clothing all in tatters, and his good sword still reeking with the blood

of a Cossack. In that state, the hero presented himself to General

Dumas, who was lying wounded a few miles from the frontier. "Who are

you?" said the General, as he entered into the sick chamber. "I am the

rear-guard of the grand army. I have fired the last musket shot on the

bridge of Kowno, and have thrown into the river the last of our arms. I

am Marshal Ney."[43] When the truth came out, the grand army was

accounted for as follows:--Killed in action, 130,000, including

officers; taken prisoners, 48 generals, 5,000 officers, and 190,000 men.

Nearly all the wounded were either taken or died; 132,000 officers and

men died of fatigue and starvation; yet to add 110,000 Poles, killed or

died of starvation and cold; 35,000 Austrians, and 18,000

Prussians--wings of the host--never were near Moscow, and not much

engaged, retired to their own country. This nearly brings up the grand

total, about 20,000 of the wreck being added. The Russian loss was as

heavy, if not heavier, than that of the enemy. The noble lines of

Johnson, on Charles XII., seem a poetic prophecy of the far greater

catastrophe on Napoleon. By a few alterations they become descriptive of

his fate:--

No joys to him pacific sceptres yield;

War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field;

Behold! surrounding kings their powers combine,

And some capitulate, and some resign.

Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain;

"Think nothing gained," he cries, "till nought remain

On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly,

And all be mine beneath the Polar sky."

The march begins in military state,

And nations on his eye suspended wait;

Stern famine guards the solitary coast,

And winter barricades the realms of frost.

He comes--not want and cold his course delay;

Hide, blushing glory, hide the Moskwa's day;

The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands,

And shows his miseries in distant lands;

Condemned a needy suppliant to wait,

While ladies interpose and slaves debate.

His fall was destined to a barren strand,

A petty fortress and a sea-girt land;

He left a name, at which the world grew pale

To point a moral, and adorn a tale.

Madame de Staël has well said that Providence never appeared so near

human affairs as in this memorable year 1812. There was, as far as human

eye could see, a special outpouring of Divine wrath. We see in Napoleon

the greatness and weakness of puny man, his highest glory, and yet

nothingness against the arm of the Great Geometrician of the universe.

The purest treasure mortal times afford

Is spotless reputation; that away,

Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.--SHAKESPEARE.

It was in order to crush us as a nation that precipitated Napoleon and

his host into the famine guarded wilds of Russia. Thousands, yea,

hundreds of thousands of the working classes in this God-defended isle,

will hardly be able to fathom the terrible calamities of the horrors of

war in the retreat from Moscow, the only difference being most of the

Russian sick and wounded returned to their colours, as they were nursed

in the bosom of their friends. But even this terrible blow was not

enough to subdue the great conqueror. Russia had been kept in the field

by our inexhaustible funds. Arms, with all kinds of warlike stores, were

shipped off to Russia by wholesale by us; and, but for the indomitable

pluck of our forefathers, the whole of the continent of Europe would

have been at the conqueror's feet. Prussia was willing to strike for her

independence, but she was powerless--she was bankrupt. All her main

fortifications, with her capital, were in the hands of the enemy.

Napoleon had boasted, after the crush at Jena, that he would make the

princes and nobles of Germany beg their bread. Poor struggling Prussia

was held by an iron grasp. Military contributions, which were extracted

under pain of instant death, from its unhappy people during the year

1812, would exceed belief if it were not attested by authentic

documents: 482,000 officers and men, and 80,000 horses, traversed

Prussia's whole extent. More than half this immense force were quartered

above three months on the poor inhabitants; they were like a cloud of

locusts, devouring all they could lay their hands upon, shooting all

that dared to oppose them. We would say fervently, "God protect our

beloved isle from the ravages of war."

Our forefathers knew all this and far more, and had made up their minds

that if they had to die, some one else should die with them. They would

not die from tyranny, but sword in hand. It is not generally known that

at the commencement of this terrible war in 1792, we raised in this

glorious Old Isle of Freedom, by the operation of the ballot, 800,000

men, not for offensive warfare, but for defensive; and mind, our united

population then was only about 15,000,000. But to proceed: In east

Prussia alone, the enemy demanded and took by force 22,700 cattle,

horses 70,000, carts and waggons 13,349. The weekly cost of one corps

alone (Janot's, 70,000 strong) was 200,000 crowns, or £50,000 sterling,

the rest of the army being in proportion. These enormous contributions

were exclusive of the war indemnity of 640,000,000 francs, which was

rigidly exacted. In addition to all the above, the following was

demanded and taken by force:--200,000 quintals[44] of rye, 24,000 of

rice, 48,000 of dried vegetables, 200,000 bottles of brandy, 2,000,000

bottles of beer (I think I hear some one remark, they were a thirsty

lot), 400,000 quintals of wheat, 650,000 of hay, 750,000 of straw,

6,000,000 pecks of oats, 44,000 oxen, 15,000 cavalry horses, 600,000

quintals of powder, 60,000 of lead, 3,600 waggons, harnessed, with

drivers; hospital and field equipage for 20,000 men (sick and wounded).

The Germans may well be vindictive, knowing all this and far more; for

their wives and daughters were treated in such a manner that pen refuses

to record it. If the unfortunate peasant or husband remonstrated, he was

at once shot. They may well, I say, have thrown their scabbards away,

determined to conquer or die. At Lutzen, Bautzen, Dresden, Leipsic, and

a number of other fields, they fought with desperation. At Lutzen and

Bautzen, thousands of the Prussians, Landwehr[45] (Militia), fought

heroically in the clothing in which they came from the _plough tail_.

Their loss was very heavy, but they died to try and save the honour of

their mothers, their wives, and their sisters. Here we see the majestic

might which slumbers in the peasant's arm; their heroism was worthy of

veteran soldiers; 15,500 Prussians fell, and 25,000 French lay upon the

bloody field of Bautzen. "What!" said the spoilt child of fortune,

"after such a butchery, will these Prussian rustics not leave me a nail?

No results? no prisoners? no guns? Why, they rise from the dust. When

will this be done. When will it end?"[46] It was on this field that the

heroic Marshal Duroc[47] fell. The great conqueror was melted to tears.

Taking the hand of his dying old comrade and pressing it to his heart:

"Duroc," said the great conqueror, "_there is another world, where we

shall meet again_." Memorable words, reader, wrung by anguish even from

the child of infidelity. Again he exclaimed, "Another such victory, and

I am undone." No one dared to approach him. When appealed to for some

urgent orders about the pursuit of the Allies, his answer was: "All

to-morrow." Murmurs, regrets, and despair were heard even among the most

resolute. The Allies, backed up by British gold, arms, and munitions of

war, here determined to fight it out to the bitter end; they might die,

but not yield. The hero of Inkermann, Sir G. Cathcart, was in the thick

of both battles. His conduct was the admiration of the Emperor

Alexander. But at Lutzen and Bautzen the conqueror again fastened

victory to the French eagle. The two fields cost him 40,500 officers and

men. The undisciplined, raw material of Germany nobly faced Napoleon's

veterans. They made good use of the arms our people sent them. As soon

as it was found out that Germany had made up its mind in earnest to

fight for its liberty, old England at once gave the right hand of

fellowship to the fatherland. They could but die; all they wanted was

arms and money; and in two short months (from 18th March to 18th May) we

sent to Germany, with a free heart, the following, besides keeping up

Russia, Spain, and Portugal:--

Field-pieces with carriages, complete 218

Muskets and bayonets 124,119

Swords 34,443

Sets of uniform complete, with overcoats 150,000

Boots and shoes 175,000

Blankets 114,000

Linen shirts 85,000

Gaiters 87,190

Sets of accoutrements 90,000

Knapsacks, complete (with all necessaries) 63,000

Caps and feathers 100,000

Pairs of stockings (wool) 69,624

Pounds of biscuits 702,000

Pounds of beef and pork 691,000

And at the same time, we advanced Russia nearly £2,000,000 sterling.

Austria, Prussia, and the smaller German States, Spain and Portugal,

were again at this time assisted with the nice little sum of nearly

£10,000,000 sterling more. And it must be remembered that at this date

our population was only 18,000,000: yet we had an army of 753,375, all

voluntarily enlisted for life, or twenty-one years, or as long as

required, with a fleet that was well manned, that had and could bid

defiance to the world in arms: with a Native army in India of 201,000.

It was a death-struggle. Old England was the leader, and our forefathers

came out in their true colours, determined to die hard. For humanity's

sake, I would advise foreigners to let the Lion in the Briton slumber;

for if once roused, I have not the slightest hesitation in asserting

that, with our present population in the British isles alone--now nearly

40,000,000--we could put into the field, and keep more men there, than

any single State in Europe would like to face. That same invincible

spirit is still in the Briton that stood by them on the fields of

Albuera and Inkermann. It would be more profitable to die with honour in

defence of our homes and those we love so well, than to be treated as

the Germans were from 1806 to 1813. The reader need not be at all

astonished at the huge armies the Germans keep up at present. If they

have to die, they are going to do so sword in hand; but there will be a

lot of broken heads, bloody noses, and wooden legs, among their foes.

But again, shortly after the terrible battle of Bautzen, an armistice

was signed by Napoleon and the Allies. It was nothing but a blind to

gain time to bring up his reinforcements from the Rhine. In the meantime

the Allies were not idle. Napoleon was trying all he could to get

Austria to join his standard, but the star of England again prevailed.

It was plain to all that the days of Austerlitz and Jena were past:

there was now unity. We at once assisted Austria with 100,000 stand of

arms, and accoutrements, and £10,000,000 sterling, to put her army in

motion. Old Marshal "Forward!" (Blücher) had said long before this

"that if Germany wanted their freedom, they must do as England had done

from the first--rise to a man and fight for it." And the old hero said

to his king, "We must stick to them, and never stop combating until the

enemy are routed out of the Fatherland." He said what he meant, for he

never sheathed his victorious sword until the great conqueror was hurled

from power. Wellington's victories, one after another, in the north of

Spain and south of France had roused the whole German people. Napoleon

might well say, "What a war! we shall all leave our remains here." The

fact is, the British, side by side with the heroic boys of the Green

Isle, had set Europe an example; the benevolent hand of our forefathers

had touched the Germans in a vital point. They said, "If a nation of

bankers and shopkeepers can beat the conquering legions and roll them up

on every field, so will we, or die in the attempt." But we had again to

assist the Continent to strike the fetters off. Russia, Austria, and

Prussia again received as a loan, at one per cent., £3,000,000 each:

Spain, and Portugal, £2,000,000 each: Sweden, £2,000,000: and Sicily,

£600,000 sterling, besides warlike stores. And our own forces were

augmented to 1,107,000 men in arms, with upwards of 1,000 ships of war,

manned by 140,000 seamen and 31,000 marines; for our big cousins must

kick up a row with us, thinking of taking Canada from us. But they came

off second best, although millions of money were lavished, and thousands

of men fell on both sides.

At this time, Warren Hastings was carrying on a war on a large scale in

India, and slice after slice was being added to our dominions out there;

and yet our population was only 18,052,044. Europe owes a debt of

gratitude to old England; her liberty was the fruit of British

liberality. The vast hosts which stemmed the torrent of conquest on the

Elbe, and rolled it back to the gates of Paris, were armed, clothed, and

paid by this nation,--this glorious old nation, that is second to none;

that some short-sighted, weak-kneed old women--knaves--would fain make

their children believe is going down the hill. We again would advise

those who talk so loudly about our defenceless state, not to make fools

of themselves. We shall not, I think, be found wanting more than our

grandfathers were. And those that do not understand the true Briton, we

would advise them to read a wee bit, or for ever hold their peace. Let

our naval strength be doubled, if necessary. It is far better to be

ready, not imbecile, in our vital point. We can do without butcher's

bills. We feel confident that our navy would hold their own. But let us

proceed. Napoleon had once more collected a vast host around his

standards on the plains of Dresden. The great conqueror once more throws

down the gauntlet at the feet of Russia, Austria, Prussia, and Sweden.

His army was composed of 467,947 infantry, 50,900 cavalry, 1,536 guns,

with 35,000 artillerymen; in garrison strongholds, 80,300--total at

Napoleon's command 634,174, besides strong armies in the south of

France. And in garrison he had yet upwards of 1,200,000 men to back him

up; so that it required something more than short-sighted, weak-kneed

old women to pull him from his exalted pinnacle. The Allies had in the

field 721,383 men, with 1801 guns. All these forces were depending upon

Mr. and Mrs. Bull's inexhaustible long stocking. The terrible battle of

Dresden was fought; it lasted two days. It is not my intention to

describe it. Courage had done its best. But this rascal, Napoleon, was

one too many for the Allies. He once more nailed victory to the French

Eagle. It was not a crushing blow. The Allies retired from the field in

good order. This was the last battle[48] on a grand scale the great

conqueror ever won. The fruits of the victory were 13,000 prisoners

(nearly all Austrians), 26 cannon, 18 standards, while 40,000 men lay in

ghastly piles all over the bloody field. In the suburbs of Dresden the

sight was heart-rending, dead and wounded lying in heaps, just as if

eighty guns and ammunition waggons had dashed over them. Reader, these

are some of the glories of war! Only a few days afterwards, the bloody

field of Clum was fought.[49] The slaughter was terrible, for the

numbers engaged. The enemy lost 18,000 men, 60 guns, 300 ammunition

waggons, two eagles, and 5000 prisoners. This was an awkward blow,

coming, as it did, from an army just defeated at Dresden.

The great conqueror's race was run. He had made a good bid for heavy

stakes, and had lost all, through Old England's determined constancy.

She was the instrument in the hands of God in successfully combating

infidelity. Yet another terrible battle was fought at Kutczback.

Marshals McDonald and Ney commanded, against the redoubtable Blücher.

Napoleon's pets again came off second best. Vast numbers, amounting to

thousands, were charged with the bayonet into a raging mountain torrent,

and drowned; the continued loud hurrahs telling the triumph of Germany.

In trying to escape the infuriated cavalry, thousands more were

engulfed, and swept away. In the morning, it was but about up to their

knees, fordable at all points; but the flood-gates of heaven appeared to

have opened to the destruction of the despisers of Christianity. The

French were in overwhelming strength on the field. Things looked black

for the struggling Germans; but, owing to the heavy rains, the enemy

were divided, and nearly all those who had crossed the (to all

appearance) diminutive rivulet, but now a raging torrent, were destroyed

in presence of Marshal Ney--one that was second to none for intrepidity.

The enemy lost in killed or drowned 28,000 men; 18,000 prisoners, and

103 guns fell into the hands of Blücher. The torrent receded as fast as

it had risen, and the fire-eating old Blücher followed the retiring

enemy up all night, capturing prisoners and guns at every stride.

Altogether, the enemy were weakened by 58,000 officers and men, with 165

guns, and no end of ammunition waggons and standards. This was the most

glorious triumph the Germans had yet had. It had a wonderful effect upon

the hitherto victorious legions of Napoleon. It spoke volumes. It told

them plainly that a terrible day of retribution had dawned. And it

aroused the Allies to the highest pitch of excitement. Thousands and

tens of thousands who had left their fatherland after the crush at Jena,

and came to England, now solicited our Government to send them back to

fight in the ranks of their fatherland. The Government nobly responded,

and shipped them off in thousands, armed to the teeth. They cheered

heartily for Old England and England's King, as they sailed out of

Harwich. Hundreds of them cried for joy, to think that the day of

vengeance had dawned--that they would be able to wipe out the stain of

insulted mothers and ruined sisters. Hundreds shouted out with all their

might, "God bless Old England!" and shaking their swords and guns above

their heads, they swore to conquer or die. It was no longer an _army_

that Napoleon had to confront, but _nations in arms_. Princes, counts,

dukes, poets, tinkers, and tailors, were all animated with the same

determined resolution "to conquer or die." And, reader, when a nation is

unanimously determined to have their freedom, it is better to build a

bridge of gold for them to pass over than to try and keep them in

subjection. The following lines were composed and written by the German

poet, Theodore Korwen, on the morning of his death, on the bloody field

of Dresden:--

"Thou sword upon my thigh,

Those beaming glances, why?

Thou look'st so pleased on me:

I've all my joy in thee.

Hurrah!

"In the belt of a gallant knight

My glance is ever bright;

A freeman is my lord,

And this makes glad the sword.

Hurrah!

"Yes, trusty sword, I'm free,

And fondly cherish thee;

Dear as a bride, thou art

The treasure of my heart.

Hurrah!

"The trumpet-blast at dawn

Ushers in our wedding morn;

When the hollow cannon roar,

We'll meet to part no more.

Hurrah!

"Oh, sumptuous wedding cheer,

What goodly guests are here!

Ay, now the steed will gleam,

Like a bride on the morning beam.

Hurrah!

"Up, up, ye warriors stout,

Out, German riders, out;

Do ye feel your hearts' glow warm?

Take the loved one to thine arm.

Hurrah!

"Haste, give her lips the pledge,

A kiss to the iron edge;

Tide good, or evil tide,

Curst he who fails his bride.

Hurrah!

"Now bid the charmer sing,

While sparkling sword-blades ring;

'Tis our marriage matins' peal:

Hurrah! thou bride of steel!

Hurrah!"

Fight followed fight in rapid succession. The great conqueror had not

taught his marshals how to win fields; they were all beaten in detail.

They were splendid leaders of divisions, so long as their great captain

was at the helm. He could not give them brains. Marshal Soult was his

right-hand man, but he had to go and try to stem the tide of Wellington,

who was just one too many for him upon field after field. Defeat after

defeat now began to tell upon the French, and from the great conqueror

down to the drummer crept a secret feeling of distrust. It is true,

Napoleon himself had not yet been beaten, but news was coming in almost

daily that gave him a lot of disquietude. The news of Wellington's

triumph at Vittoria flew through Germany like wild-fire. The whole

French army on that field were routed. They lost all their guns (151),

10,000 prisoners fell into our hands, and one million pounds sterling.

King Joseph's coach and all his State papers were part of the booty of

this field. It caused the Spanish crown to fall from Joseph's head, and

swept the troops of the tyrant out of Spain.[0]

"Rule, Britannia," and "God save the King," were struck up all through

the allied camp, which, re-echoing through the Bohemian mountains, told

Napoleon plainly that Europe was united against him, and that the

detested Albions had turned the tables upon him. Our forefathers had

made up their minds to conquer or die; their strength, their shield,

their stronghold, was in a Triune God. Europe was shaken to its

foundations; duty, based on religion, was arrayed against talent

destitute of God. Combat followed combat; but at Gross Beeren--another

awkward field--Napoleon's invincibles were again beaten. The field was

covered with the slain, 10,000 of the enemy lying in ghastly piles.

Thirteen guns, and 1,500 prisoners, fell into the hands of the Allies.

Every German heart began to throb with emotion. The Saxons, who had

hitherto fought in the ranks of the French, came over in a body from the

ranks of the common enemy to fight in the ranks of the fatherland; and

with bands playing and colours flying, at once turned about and slipped

into their former comrades. But my readers must remember their

comradeship was of a forced nature. Yet another terrible defeat was

sustained by the heroic Ney, on the field of Dennewitz. The enemy here

lost 13,000 officers and men, and 43 guns. Six thousand stand of arms

were thrown away in order to accelerate their flight. The Allies lost

6,000--5,000 of whom were Prussians. Napoleon now began to see that his

Marshals could not cope with the allied Generals. They were all beaten

in detail; so he called them all in, with their armies, and retired on

the memorable field of Leipsic, and there put the now united allied

armies at defiance. As soon as it suited the plans and time of the

allied Commander-in-Chief, this terrible battle commenced. It lasted for

three days of unparalleled fighting. The stakes were heavy; freedom on

one side, and despotic military slavery on the other. With ringing

shouts, on the third day of this butchery, the allied armies advanced in

massive columns to storm Napoleon's last position. Under the eye of

their beloved chief, the Old Guard fought with desperation, but it was

all to no purpose; the great conqueror was defeated. A deep and rapid

stream (the Elster) was behind him, with but one bridge. The Allies, who

had carried the ramparts of Leipsic with a frightful slaughter, were

now _pell-mell_ after the foe. No quarter was given or taken. Thousands

on both sides succumbed to the deadly thrust of the bayonet. The Allies,

we must remember, were flushed with victory after victory. They had

twenty years of cruel bondage to avenge. During this dreadful fight, the

bridge--the only line of retreat open--was blown up. A terrible shriek

of despair burst from thousands. All who had not crossed must die or

surrender. Retribution had overtaken guilty, haughty, insulting France;

she was being humbled to the dust.

"The path of glory leads but to the grave."

It was on this field that the last representative of the royal line of

Poland perished. "Gentlemen," said that undaunted prince to the officers

around him (drawing his sword), "it now behoves us to die with honour;"

and plunging into the midst of a Russian column, he terminated a life of

honour. It was one of the last scenes of this bloody drama, which was

frightful on both sides. The brunt of the fighting, as will be noticed,

fell upon the Russians:--

Other Non-Commissioned

Generals. Officers. Officers & Privates.

The Russians lost 18 864 21,740

The Prussians 〃 2 520 14,950

The Austrians 〃 1 399 9,793

The Swedes 〃 -- 10 321

-- ---- ------

Total loss of Allies 21 1793 46,804

The enemy's loss was terrible: 28 generals, 2,540 officers, and 60,000

men fell. Prisoners: 1 king (of Saxony), 24 generals, 4,000 officers,

68,000 men; 350 guns, 900 ammunition waggons, eagles and standards by

wholesale. The blowing up of the bridge saved the wreck of Napoleon's

army; thousands were taken prisoners through it. But its destruction

prevented the victorious allied cavalry from following up a beaten foe.

The first-fruits of the victory was the sweeping of the French out of

Germany, except those that were in the strong fortress. They all, to a

man--now over 120,000 men--had to surrender in due course or die. The

multitude of mouths soon ate up all their stores. Napoleon was now

retiring with his half-famished, beaten, dejected army; three-fourths of

those that had fought so bravely, then in life's morning march, had

perished or were captives. The army was more like a huge funeral

procession than a warlike army--pressing on, pensive and silent. Many of

them envied the lot of those who had fallen, for then they would not

have witnessed the degradation of France. The Allies were in close

pursuit of Napoleon, who did not attempt to stop until he had put the

Rhine between him and his enemies. At the same time, Wellington was

nailing victory after victory to our standard in the south of France.

There was a lot of humble pie for Napoleon to eat. Mrs. Bull was the

cook, with Pat for an assistant, whose conduct had often been the

admiration of all, when our old flag was in danger.

As we have said, the Allied armies were in close pursuit of Napoleon's

legions, dejected and forlorn. 300,000 more men were demanded (food for

powder) by Napoleon, but he was rolled up before the quarter of them

could be brought up. The campaign of the great conqueror in France, in

1814, was sublime. With about 60,000 men, he kept at bay the huge armies

of the Allies for months. Combat followed combat in rapid succession. If

he could not strike out with that power he had done on former fields, on

which his fame was built as an all-conquering general, he stung their

huge armies terribly. The loss of the Allies was greater in this short

campaign than Napoleon's whole strength. But the Allies, in majestic

strength, were now fast approaching Paris. The conqueror's generalship

was of no avail now. Guilty Paris was soon surrounded with an iron

girdle, and tens of thousands, in their excitement, called upon their

artillery to fire on Paris. But, no! the Emperor Alexander avenged

mother Moscow by saving father Paris: and thus guilty, haughty Paris was

saved from destruction in a true spirit of Christianity, which any

thinking man must admire. But, in order to keep the Allies together, Mr.

Bull had again to shell out with the nice little round sum of

£12,000,000 sterling. That was the last stroke that pulled the usurper

from the throne and sent him to the Isle of Elba, with the empty title

of _Empereur_. Peace was now made with France. The tyrant was stricken

down; but no indemnity had France to pay. Revolutionary France was

humbled in the dust: her capital had been in the hands of her enemies,

and her sons defeated on field after field; but their wives and

daughters were respected. Infidelity had been conquered by Christianity.

The whole of the Allied sovereigns, with their princes, marshals, and

chief generals--some of the bravest of the brave--came to England after

the peace of 1814, before returning to their own country, to do homage

to our king, and to thank a free people, with a warm heart, personally,

for their energy and indomitable perseverance: who had saved themselves

by their firmness, and Europe by their example and generosity. But there

were then, as now, thousands in Old England who knew well it was not our

arm that saved us from bondage. She had an open Bible, and our

forefathers were not at all ashamed to call God their Father: "O Lord,

save Thy people, and bless Thine inheritance," went straight up to the

throne of grace from thousands of honest hearts daily. They acknowledged

then, as now, that they were His people, His "chosen people," His

"inheritance." They acknowledged before a wicked world that they were

His "servants," and that "none other fighteth for us but Thou, O

God!"[51] And how could they say _they_ had won the victory, now the

time had come the tyrant was struck down? To give God all the praise,

all denominations openly thanked an All-wise God fervently for His

powerful aid. It belongs to our historians to recount the festivities of

that joyous period. The Emperor Alexander, on visiting the Arsenal at

Woolwich, with its acres of cannon, shot, shell, and all kinds of

warlike implements ready, exclaimed: "Why, this resembles the

preparation of a great nation for the commencement of a war, rather than

stores still remaining at the termination of a struggle for very

existence for twenty-two years."

The following table will help my readers to see a little into the cost

of war in blood, in France alone. Thousands, yea, hundreds of thousands

of once happy homes were made miserable. No tongue can tell the amount

of misery this terrible war had brought about. Mothers refused to be

comforted, their darling boys being torn from their homes. Wives refused

to be comforted for loved husbands torn from their bosoms. Thousands,

and hundreds of thousands of orphans were left upon a cold world, all to

gratify one man's ambition for power.

Taken by conscription from 1793 to 1813:

Totals.

1793 { 300,000

1793 { 1,200,000

1798 No dates { 200,000

1799 { 200,000

1801 { 30,000

1805 17th January 60,000

1805 24th September 80,000

1806 4th December 80,000

1807 7th April 80,000

1808 21st January 80,000

1808 10th September 160,000

1809 18th April 40,000

1809 5th October 36,000

1810 13th December 160,000

1811 20th December 120,000

1812 13th March 100,000

1812 1st September 137,000

1813 11th January 300,000

1813 3rd April 300,000

1813 24th August 100,000

1813 9th October 200,000

1813 15th November 140,000

1813 November 300,000

---------

Grand Total 4,403,000

---------

But these figures do not include hundreds of thousands of young men that

were induced, by nice soft talk, to voluntarily join the army, to gain

distinction under their beloved pet corporal, as they were wont to call

Napoleon. Many of them did well, as nearly all his marshals rose from

butchers, publicans, tinkers, or shoemakers; in fact, many of them from

the lowest of the low. Their actions bespoke their origin as soon as

they were in power, either in Germany, Spain, or Portugal.

Europe had been convulsed in a death-struggle, in the iron grasp of

revolutionary France, for twenty-two years. The map of Europe was

completely upset. Kingdoms were shaken to their foundations. New

kingdoms were formed at pleasure, to suit the whims of this restless

tyrant. Old England, with her unconquerable fleet, was the only Power

which had escaped the ravages of war. A merciful God, who neither

slumbers nor sleeps, had built a hedge round about us. "The prayer of a

righteous man," we are told, "availeth much;" and thousands and tens of

thousands of honest hearts, both publicly and privately, daily

supplicated a throne of grace for His powerful aid: "From war, good

Lord, deliver us." Napoleon was a wonderful man, with an eagle eye. He

fastened victory after victory, triumph after triumph, to his standards.

He was endowed with a large mind, an iron will, and a cold heart. Nelson

was the first man that thwarted his plans. The destruction of his fleet

at the Nile was a heavy blow. To replace that fleet, a secret treaty was

entered into with the Danes. The whole of their fleet was to have been

placed at the disposal of this iron-minded man, to assist in the

invasion of our beloved isle. But again our God warded off the blow. Our

Government were not napping; they found it all out just in time to

despatch our one-eyed, one-armed hero, Nelson, to Copenhagen. The whole

of the Danish fleet was demanded. It was a daring stroke; but, reader,

sharp diseases require sharp remedies. It was life or death with us as a

nation. The brave Danes would not comply, but fought for it, and lost

all, except their honour. It was here that the darling hero of England

put his glass to his blind eye, and said he could not see the signal. He

did not want to see it. His answer to the distasteful signal was: "Nail

my signal to the mast-head for closer action." Thus he crushed the

enemy's fleet, and once more nailed victory to the flag which is second

to none. Napoleon was mad with rage, to see his plans again frustrated

by these detested Albions. The next crushing blow this dauntless hero

gave the tyrant was at Trafalgar. It was a death-stroke to this

eagle-eyed usurper. It swept his flag and his allies from the sea, and

proclaimed to the nations of the earth that Britain ruled on sea. This

triumph, my young readers must know, was purchased by our noble hero's

life-blood. It was on the field of Austerlitz, with the Russians and

their Allies completely crushed, that Napoleon said to those around him:

"Gentlemen, all we want now are fleets and commerce." He had hardly

pronounced the words, when he received the news of the annihilation of

his fleets, and those of his allies, by Nelson at Trafalgar; and that

the hero was dead. He was completely dumbfounded. His first words were:

"Would to God that man had been dead ten years ago." Our darling hero

was in life not immaculate; but it was evident to all thinking men that

this dauntless hero was the instrument in the hands of God to combat

infidelity. Our statesmen soon converted enemies into allies, and stuck

to Napoleon like a good bull-dog until he was worried out, and landed in

safety on the isle of Elba, under a faithful promise of peace and

good-will to all. It was soon found that this tyrant could not slumber

in the uneasy pomp at Elba. The whole of the representatives of Europe

were now at Vienna, in Congress, squabbling over the spoil of

dismembered Europe. When the astounding news of Napoleon's flight from

Elba was announced to that body by Count Talleyrand, all disputes were

at once thrown overboard. All were unanimous that this restless usurper

should be crushed, with all those that supported him. No time was to be

lost, for nearly all the French army had joined him. His name had such a

charm, that tens of thousands of veterans, whom the prisons of the

continent and ours had let loose, at once rushed to his standards. It

was plain to all, that, in order to put him down, Europe must

combine--that it would be a death-struggle. The old shouts of _Vive

l'Empereur_ resounded across the frontier as a challenge to Europe. It

was at once agreed that the British should furnish 125,000 men. Her

magnificent fleets were to blockade all French ports, or destroy all

that dare to put to sea. Prussia was to put into the field, within three

months, 236,000 men; Austria, with as little delay as possible, 300,000

men; Russia, 225,000 men; the smaller German States, 150,000 men;

Holland, 50,000 men; Spain and Portugal, 200,000 men. Thus Napoleon

would have to combat Europe combined, with 1,286,000 men in arms--all in

the pay of this glorious old isle. It cost us just one hundred and ten

millions sterling to finally rid Europe of this tyrannical monster. It

was plain to all that the British, supported by Prussia, were to be the

advance guard of the hosts of Europe. It is not my intention to go into

the oft-told tale of Waterloo; but a short explanation of Marshal

Grouchy's movements, I hope, will set some right; together with some of

the leading features of that historic red field. In plain language,

Grouchy simply obeyed strictly Napoleon's instructions--he was well

aware of the implicit obedience to orders which Napoleon

exacted--without even attempting to form an opinion of his own. His

orders were, to follow up the Prussians, to attack them, and never to

lose sight of them. The terrible battle of Wavre was fought the same day

as that of Waterloo. General Thielman's corps of Prussians fought it out

to the bitter end, and kept Grouchy's men fully employed all day. It was

not until seven p.m. that Grouchy received orders to manoeuvre on St.

Lambert. Up to this, Grouchy's army had been repulsed and driven back no

less than thirteen times during that terrible day. They fought from four

a.m. till midnight, and then the bridge of Wavre remained in the hands

of the Prussians. The slaughter was terrible. Marshal Blücher knew well

that his rear was attacked; but that heroic old veteran knew also that

it was not at Wavre that the fate of Europe was to be decided, but at

Waterloo; and, with the true spirit of a general, he resolved to

sacrifice Thielman's corps, if necessary, in order to destroy Napoleon's

army at Waterloo. All minor objects had to stand in abeyance. The brave

General Thielman not only kept Grouchy back, but beat him at all points.

The terrible combats at Quatre Bras and Ligny had already shown up the

quality of the troops under the different commanders. Napoleon's army

was composed principally of veterans of a hundred fields; they were

almost strangers to defeat. Victory had followed victory, and they felt

confident their beloved pet corporal's star was still in the ascendant.

They felt proud in once more following their all-conquering Emperor, who

had so often led them on to victory.

As far as Quatre Bras was concerned, Napoleon's invincible pets were

handled very roughly by Sir Thomas Picton's division and the Guards, and

victory was once more nailed to our glorious old flag. My readers must

not lose sight of the fact that Sir Thomas Picton had just completed a

long dreary march of twenty-two miles. The Brunswickers were holding on

manfully, well knowing that the thin red line was advancing to their

assistance. Every regiment of Sir Thomas's division particularly

distinguished itself. The conduct of the "Old Slashers" (28th) was

sublime. They threw themselves into square as the cuirassiers were

approaching. But, suddenly, all appeared to be lost: they were assailed

on three sides at once. All was calm; not a voice was heard but that of

Sir Thomas Picton, who was inside the square. This noble old hero called

out, "Twenty-eighth! remember Egypt." The next word was from its

Colonel: "Twenty-eighth! Ready--fire!" and down came the proud horsemen,

or they were scattered in all directions. None but resolute, cool men,

would ever have won that bloody field. The enemy had upwards of five

thousand splendid horse on the field. We had none--nothing but a few

guns and stubborn infantry. It was "do or die," until the Guards and

other reinforcements came up. But it was plain to all that the brunt of

the fighting would have to be borne by the British, Hanoverians, and

Brunswickers. That rascal, Napoleon, was again victorious over the

Prussians the same day at Ligny; but old Marshal Blücher, although

defeated, was not subdued, as the sequel will prove. He retired in good

order from the field of carnage, leaving nothing but heaps of slain for

the victor. Although our conquering commander had defeated Marshal Ney,

he was compelled to retire, as his flank was exposed to Napoleon's

eagle eye by the retreat of the Prussians. On that night, our victorious

General found means to have an interview with old Marshal Forward

(Blücher). The great conqueror was yet to be met; heavy stakes were yet

to be fought for; the great contest of twenty-two years was yet to be

decided. It was worth a "brush." It was liberty against military

despotic slavery; infidelity against Christianity. Our commander well

knew that, in point of numbers and experience, his army was much

inferior to that of the enemy. He had only about 50,000 upon whom he

could rely, and most of them consisted of recruits who had never seen a

shot fired. Wellington estimated the enemy at about 80,000 or 90,000

men, after deducting their loss in the two battles just fought. He

informed the fire-eating old Blücher of his victory over Marshal Ney,

and that he would accept battle with the conqueror of Europe on the

plains of Waterloo, if he (Blücher) would only promise to support him

with one or two corps. The dauntless old hero at once promised to

support His Grace, not with one or two corps, but with his whole army;

that he would be on the field, on Napoleon's flank, by one o'clock, and

that the two armies would crush the restless tyrant. It was enough;

Blücher had pledged his word in honour. The spoilt child of fortune had

now two resolute men to face, who, with all their followers, might die,

but never yield. And during that dreadful butchery, as hour after hour

rolled on, and attack after attack were driven back with frightful

slaughter, the dauntless cuirassiers, who had frequently ridden through

Russians, Austrians, Prussians, Spaniards, and Portuguese, were repulsed

time after time, and driven in headlong confusion from our squares. One

commander sent to His Grace the Duke of Wellington for assistance. The

answer was, "Tell him I have none; he and I, with every Briton on this

field, must conquer or die." "Enough; we will share his fate, my men."

Napoleon's old Guards, that had decided in his favour almost every field

their pet corporal had won, were formed up for the final attack. As for

fear, they did not know what it was; with them, it was death or victory.

Napoleon came part of the way with them. They were, in this instance,

made to believe that they were advancing to an assured victory, with the

heroic Marshal Ney as their leader. They advanced with deafening shouts

of "_Vive l'Empereur_." The Guards, grim-faced as they were, had to bow

to the all-conquering British bayonet. They were driven back by our

Guards and the 52nd with a terrible rush, by that never-failing weapon.

The intrepid Marshal Ney tried to find death, but could not. Six o'clock

had struck. The hero of a hundred fields might well get a little uneasy,

and turn his glass in the direction from which he expected assistance.

One corps of Blücher's army had been on the field since 4 p.m., and the

enemy fought desperately to keep old Marshal Forward from joining in the

fight. Wellington's confidence in the lion-hearted old veteran was not

misplaced on this trying occasion. He proved to the world that he was

worthy to lead the vanguard of that host which was combating for the

independence of Europe. His men sank to their ankles, and their

artillery to the axles, in mud, complaining that they could not get on.

The horses could not move the guns. These horsemen at once put their

shoulders to the wheels, until they were completely exhausted, and sank

down in the mud. Blücher then addressed them: "My children, you must get

on; you would not have me break my word. Courage! my dear children;

courage!" and at once sounded the charge. This had the effect. The roar

of the firing at Waterloo told them plainly that a dreadful battle was

being fought. The old veteran again told them that he was leading them

on to victory. "Forward, children! Forward!" About 7 p.m. the

lion-hearted Blücher burst with all the fury of the king of the forest

upon the flank of the great conqueror. The last attack of Napoleon's

redoubtable Guards were just recoiling in confusion from our victorious

bayonets. The last hour of Napoleon's Empire had struck. The disturber

of the peace of Europe that morning issued a most striking proclamation

to his army, which roused it to the highest possible state of fanatic

madness. Perhaps he thought it was needed, as they were about to face

the detested Albions. He concluded his fiery address thus: "For every

Frenchman who has a heart, the moment has arrived to conquer or die." It

was received with wild fanatic shouts of "_Vive l'Empereur_," which

resounded for miles, and struck terror into the hearts of thousands who

were under Wellington's standard as Allies. Well, the gauntlet was

thrown down at the feet of the deliverer of Spain and Portugal. I would

here note that the raw, undisciplined recruits of Great Britain have, on

more than one occasion, been compared with the rustics who fought so

desperately on the fields of Bautzen and Lutzen, when the great

conqueror exclaimed: "What! will these rustics not leave me a nail?" The

only difference was, our lads at Waterloo were dressed as soldiers; and

the Germans fought and died in the dress they came from the plough:--

"None from his fellow starts;

But playing manly parts,

And like true British hearts

Strike close together."--DRAYTON.

Well, the gauntlet was picked up by one who had on many a field proved

more than a match for the best of Napoleon's generals. They were to

"conquer or die." Let us just see what sort of example this hero sets.

When the Old Guards were driven back, the hero of so many fields became

as pale as death; and the last words, on the last field of him who had

been the cause of millions coming to an untimely end, were not

"Gentlemen, it now behoves us to die with honour," but "All is lost! let

us save ourselves"--bolting clean off the field like a ----. Charity

forbids us to stigmatise the hero of so many fields with the worst name

a soldier could go to rest with. But this we will say: On this important

occasion he lost his head.[52] His Grace the Duke of Wellington was not

addicted to any display, or ostentatious language; but he said, after

the battle was over, that if he had had with him the old seasoned

veterans that won the fields of Salamanca or Vittoria, in place of the

motley mass he had--which he could not, for the lack of discipline,

manoeuvre with--he would have chased the whole French army off the

field long before Blücher reached it. But, as it was, he had much to be

thankful for. Nothing that he had ever witnessed could surpass the

inflexible struggle of such raw material. In plain language, they were

sprigs of true Britons. Shoulder to shoulder they stood for hours, and

faced shot and shell: shoulder to shoulder they died where they stood,

overpowered, but not defeated. They were, on some parts of the field,

broken and crushed, but not subdued; and as soon as their immortal chief

gave the signal, the survivors advanced, shoulder to shoulder, with

levelled steel, and with a cheer which told Napoleon's vaunting legions

"that all was lost," and that the sons of liberty were the victors. The

last hour of Napoleon's Empire had struck.

It is a clear proof that the bravest of the brave are, at times, apt to

lose all control of themselves. He (Napoleon) had stood for hours and

witnessed his columns of attack, both horse and foot, driven back with

frightful slaughter, by the very people he had formed such contemptible

ideas of--except at sea. And to put the climax on the whole, his

redoubtable Old Guards, who had decided almost every field in his

favour up to the conquest of Leipsic, driven back in confusion, with our

bayonets uncomfortably close to them. He learned to respect the British

before he died, and acknowledged that we had the best infantry in the

world. At times, during the eventful day, things looked gloomy. No force

on earth seemed capable of resisting the heroes of Jena, Wagram,

Austerlitz, Dresden, and even some that had escaped the carnage of

Borodino, Beresina, Eylan, Friedland, Salamanca, Vittoria, and the routs

from Kutczback and Leipsic. Strong brigades of infantry were reduced to

a few hundreds. Many of the regiments were reduced to mere skeletons.

But our squares still stood as firm as if rooted in the earth,

frequently closing up as their ranks were thinned. For hours, the

British left and centre was the theatre of a terrible conflict. The

enemy's horse, more than 12,000 strong, in great part clad in glittering

armour, dashed at the guns and squares with unparalleled enthusiasm and

vehement cries of _Vive l'Empereur_. In one attack there were

seventy-seven squadrons engaged; the first line composed of cuirassiers

in burnished steel: the second, the red lancers of the Guard, in

brilliant uniform: the third, the chasseurs of the Guard, in rich furred

costume of green and gold, with huge black bearskin hats on their heads.

Never was there a more sublime military spectacle witnessed. But with

all their enthusiasm, vain were all their attempts to break that

stubborn infantry. With deadly aim they stretched these proud horsemen

on the plain, while the remainder recoiled in disorder out of the

frightful strife.[53] Frequently, during this terrible slaughter, both

commanders exposed themselves to almost certain death, in the midst of

the storm of shot and shell, grape and canister. Although fired at

point-blank, the brave cuirassiers, with deep gaps or chasms in their

ranks, again and again dashed at the squares, but instantly a deadly

volley of musketry would strike hundreds of these dauntless men on the

plains, until a complete rampart of dead and wounded men and horses lay

around the squares. The total loss of the Allies during this short

campaign--from the 15th to the 19th of June--was, British and King's

German Legion, 12,068; Hanoverians, 2,036; Belgians, 4,038;

Brunswickers, 1,508; Nassau (or Dutch), 634; total, 20,290. The Prussian

loss at Ligny, Wavre, and Waterloo was 33,120. At the crowning victory,

their loss was 6,998. The French army was almost destroyed: their loss

at Waterloo alone was over 40,000; then their loss at the terrible

combats of Ligny, Quatre Bras, and Wavre was not much short of 30,000

more. The wreck of Napoleon's veterans who re-crossed the Sambre and

regained their own country, at once dispersed as an army. The few

remaining cavalry and artillery sold their horses and made their way

home. The boasting army had received a death-blow. It was repeatedly

proved during the Peninsula campaigns that the British soldier could

hold their own against vastly superior numbers. The invincible obstinacy

which he inherits was displayed on field after field; and the crowning

victory over the great chief (Napoleon) on the plains of Waterloo was a

fitting sequel of Albuera, Salamanca, and Vittoria. The flight of the

crest-fallen conqueror and the rout of his chosen veterans of the

Imperial Guard, proclaimed his Grace the Duke of Wellington the greatest

captain of his age. His army (although largely composed of raw recruits)

had the honour of being unconquerable: it proved Great Britain to be one

of the greatest of military powers--in her wealth, in her manhood, and

in her self-sacrifice--and silenced the disgraceful croakers that almost

worshipped at the shrine of Napoleon, yet calling themselves Britons.

But we feel proud to know that the vast majority of Britons glory in the

noble achievements of their sires and themselves, which have built up

this vast Empire, now "second to none."

Thus my readers will see that the great conqueror was rolled up by the

advanced guard, before the other Powers had time to get up. His Grace

the Duke of Wellington and old Marshal (Forward!) at once marched on

Paris. The French talked very loudly about burying themselves in the

ruins of Paris; but as soon as Wellington and Blücher's standards were

seen on the heights, they capitulated. Marshal Blücher at once

retaliated a little on his own account, demanding one hundred million

francs (four millions sterling) for the pay of his troops. He had not

forgotten how his country had been impoverished and insulted after the

battle of Jena. Could that stern old veteran have laid hands upon

Napoleon, he would have made short work of him; and, but for the advice

of Wellington, some of the most ornamental parts of the city would have

been blown up. In due course, the allied sovereigns arrived in Paris,

with their huge armies. The French authorities were compelled to find

food, shelter, and pay for nearly one million of men, with 100,000

cavalry, for several months. Sixty-one millions sterling was demanded as

an indemnity for the hundred days' freak. It was but just that guilty,

insulting France should feel the rod of retribution. Nothing wounded

their pride so much as the demand for all the trophies of war which

Napoleon and his Marshals had plundered Europe of. The iron sword of

justice entered their inmost soul. It told them in language not to be

misunderstood that conquest had now reached their doors; that they were

not permitted to plunder the nations of the world with impunity, without

punishment. The list of articles of rarity claimed by Prussia alone,

which had been stolen from her palaces and noblemen's mansions, occupied

fifty-three closely printed pages. Spain came next with a long list;

then Austria, Russia, Portugal, Italy, and Holland. Each had their

demands. If the articles claimed were not forthcoming, their value was

demanded. Great Britain was the only Power in Europe that had nothing to

claim. The indemnity was divided among the different nations. Our

share--which was no small slice--our forefathers relinquished; it

covered a multitude of sins. They said we were not half so bad as we had

been painted. An Army of Occupation of 150,000 men was left in France

for three years, under His Grace the Duke of Wellington, to be paid,

fed, housed, and clothed at the expense of the French. They were made up

of 30,000 of each nation--Russia, Prussia, Austria, British, and the

smaller German States. This taught our neighbours to be civil, and gave

peace to Europe for nearly forty years. We had been the direct

instrument, in the hands of God, in striking the tyrant down, and giving

liberty to Europe. But in this death-struggle for independence a debt

was incurred and handed down to us as a legacy of eight hundred and

forty millions seven hundred and fifty-eight thousand seven hundred and

eighty-one pounds sterling. But we are free from the oppressor, and are

indebted to no foreign country. As Britons we can hold up our heads, and

tell the biggest and best of the European nations to stand off. We fear

none but God. The Quakers and Shakers may talk, but unless the Briton

has degenerated wonderfully, our fleet would hold its own, defending

our coasts; and with our teeming population, we would soon let Europe

see whether we could muster an army or not. I have no wish to foster a

bellicose spirit. God forbid! We know enough of war to know the value of

peace. But there is no necessity to get alarmed about our defenceless

state; for if we could do nothing else, we would send to Lancashire for

some thousands of their lads to purr[54] them a bit, and there are more

Nelsons now than there were in 1804. Marshal Soult (Napoleon's pet

General) once said that he _knew the English_--that they were the very

d--l in close quarters. "Stick to them, my lads!" has been shouted in

the writer's ears in the thick of more than one fight.[55]

Such, dear reader, has been the heroic conduct of the sons of Albion,

and our sister isle, Ireland, either by land or sea, when the honour of

our glorious old flag of liberty has been at stake, that all friends or

foes have had to admire. The great conqueror, Napoleon, in speaking of

the British soldier, said that England had the best infantry in the

world, that they could dispute the palm of victory with the best veteran

troops in Europe, and whoever attacks such good troops as Great Britain

produces, without a positive assurance of success (by overwhelming

odds), send them to certain destruction. He had had bitter experience of

our stubborn infantry, and the terrible charges of our heavy horse; he

had learned to respect us; and I think we can say without egotism, that

the present generation are true chips of that unconquerable stubborn

race which have carried Old England (or rather, Great Britain) through

thick and thin. Reader, do not get alarmed: there are as good men now as

ever our fathers or grandfathers were, and would hit as hard for the

honour of our glorious Empire as they did. Only treat them fairly with

good leaders, and the biggest bullies in Europe would find the sons of

the United Kingdom a tough lot to handle. The British soldier or sailor

had need be made of tough material: most of his life is spent exposed to

the pestilential climates, to say nothing of the trials and hardships of

warfare. Tommy Atkins may grumble sometimes, but he is there when

wanting, and woe to the enemy he can close with.

But we know well that there are now living in this glorious old isle,

men calling themselves Britons, unpatriotic enough and un-English enough

to depreciate and even to endeavour to crush those that have saved them

from dishonour. Gentlemen, Englishmen, is this justice and Christian

charity to those to whose heroic courage and devoted patriotism it is

owing that the sacred soil of old England has been unprofaned by a

foreign foe? Countrymen, your hearths and homes are inviolate, your

national feelings uninsulted, your peace and happiness undestroyed.

Whilst all the Continental nations of Europe have, in turn, had to drink

to the dregs the cup of humiliation, Old England, under the protection

of the Great I AM, and the indomitable pluck of her sons, has escaped

the violence and dreadful visitations of war--all that the horrors,

miseries, and devastation of evil passions of lust, rapine, and cruelty

can inflict. We say again, happy England knows nothing of cruel war: she

breaks her daily bread in peace; seed-time and harvest never fail;

domestic happiness, human loves, and human friendships are never

interrupted; and on each revolving Sabbath her church bells calmly and

peacefully invite all, old and young, rich and poor, to the house of

prayer and thanksgivings. I think most of my readers will say, Shame on

all those that would try to traduce and humiliate the spirit of the

British soldier or sailor who have for centuries proved to the world

that they are true types of an undefeated race. These favoured isles

know nothing about their homes in flames, their property pillaged, their

mothers, their wives and daughters defiled and dishonoured, their

children massacred before their eyes, themselves insulted; and should

the broken-hearted husband open his mouth, shot or chopped to pieces.

Thus far, these glorious old isles know nothing of the rough clash of

war: know nothing of warfare but the sight of hostile standards as war

trophies: know nothing of the roar of cannon or the roll of musketry:

know nothing of weeping mothers with smiling infants at their breasts,

searching amidst piles of dead for their loved ones. And surely her

brave war-worn and patriotic defenders are entitled at least to your

gratitude and good report, and not let them starve--

"With half their limbs in battle lopp'd away,

Beg bitter bread through realms their valour sav'd."

I appeal, "not for myself," but for my comrades, to you, "Englishmen."

Unity! Unity! "Unity is strength." The great German Empire knows it

well. The strongest nation in the world would think twice before they

attacked them. They dwell together in unity. And we feel compelled to

say, the man who tries to dismember our empire is no friend, but a

traitor.

Before we close this book, just a few words upon Union. This dear old

isle, with her glorious offspring--an empire such as this world has

never seen before! of which Britons are so justly proud. Let us for a

moment look for the past empires. Babylon, in the zenith of her power,

where is she? Medo-Persia, in the plenitude of her far-reaching sway,

where is she? Greece, in all her Alexandrian pride of conquest, where is

she? Rome, in the cruel slavery of universal dominion, where is she? The

great French Empire, as under Napoleon, with his military despotic

power, where is it? The great Mogul Empire, with its despotic grinding

power, where is it? They none of them trusted or looked to the strong

arm of the Great I AM. We would point out that our glorious empire is

larger, stronger, and better than them all. Larger in area, and with a

population exceeding three hundred millions; stronger, in doing battle

for the right; for when Britain draws the sword in a just cause, woe be

to the enemy. The same unconquerable spirit is in the Briton, and the

same unchanging God watches this little isle with a jealous eye. Let us

be true to ourselves, and faithful to our father's God, and we have

nothing to fear. Better, because her laws are founded on the Book of

books--Divine truth--fit for the universe. The first and the wisest

thing for us to look to is the realization of the bond of universal

brotherhood, binding our far-reaching empire in federal union, and

making us what we now are, in race and blood--a perfect mighty whole.

This, my dear reader, is no wild dream, but a thing that is certain of

accomplishment, because the materials are all ready to hand. That hour

will surely come, although we may not live to see it. So take heed. The

blessings and advantages of such a union to the universe would be

unspeakable. Let us ask ourselves why we occupy the position of eminence

amongst the nations of the earth to-day? Why God cares for and watches

over us so tenderly and unceasingly? Is it not, reader, that we are His

people--set apart for the accomplishment of His high purpose? Why is it

we do not keep up such huge armies as other nations?--that we are the

beautiful isle of the sea, set apart by an all-wise God to proclaim the

riches of His mercies to the children of men? To proclaim, I say, the

glad tidings, that "there is but one Mediator between God and man--the

MAN CHRIST JESUS." A man must be blind indeed not to see that the

strength of Britain lies in the powerful arm of Him who spake a world

into existence, and who said to the raging billows, "Peace! be still."

Britain, as a nation, has for many years openly acknowledged God in all

her doings. Again, He has committed to our care the oracles of His

divine will towards the children of men. He has honoured us before all

the nations of the earth. In the history of mankind throughout all ages

there is no parallel to our own case, where so vast an empire has come

from such small beginnings. And just in proportion to our trust in God,

so shall we be true to ourselves, and the rest of humanity. We are made

up of a "multitude of nations." We possess "the gates of our enemies."

Let us, then, march on, in the pleasant bonds of love, towards a higher

life; the reward of which is set before us, and to all who love God and

keep His commandments. So let our watchword be, Union! Union!!

Union!!!--in the best interests of common humanity.

Now, how can we close our book better than by asking His blessing still

to rest upon this glorious old isle. That He may still protect and bless

her most Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria; while we repeat the cry--"From

war, good Lord deliver us."

The reader, I hope, will overlook all imperfections, knowing this comes

from the pen of one who has tried to do his duty upon many a hard-fought

field, and who is ready to do it again, rather than see the flag--that

glorious old flag!--that every honest Briton loves so well, trampled in

the dust.

T. GOWING,

Late Sergeant-Major, 7th Royal Fusiliers.

THE END.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] A nice warm reception for a prodigal son. I was not 21, and it set

me thinking of the comfortable home in Norwich that I had left.

[2] Now she can boast of other heroes--to wit, Troubridge, of Inkermann;

Windham, of the Redan; Wilson, of Delhi; and another Wilson, of El Teb.

[3] The total force engaged that night was about 1,500 men against

15,000;--the same number of unconquerable British soldiers that stood

triumphant on the fatal Hill of Albuera.

[4] And that vow was kept not only by the 97th.

[5] The 97th could be distinctly heard shouting "Remember Captain

Vicars, boys," "Stick to them;" and the Officers shouting "Give it home,

my lads."

[6] It is well I had picked men with me, or all would have been taken

prisoners or killed on the spot.

[7] The Generals' watches had been timed alike, and as the minute hand

denoted twelve (mid-day) the French sprang forward.

[8] A great number of these men were ready for anything, life or death.

On the night of the 7th September they assembled in hundreds in front of

their lines, and committed themselves into the hands of an all-wise God

in prayer and praise, while others burst forth with the National Anthem.

Such were the men who stormed Sebastopol. Hundreds of them never saw

another sun set.

[9] After our stormers had entered the Redan the enemy came at us in

swarms, but were kept back by the bayonet.

[10] It was an Irishman named Welsh who was instrumental in saving my

life. It turned out that he had noticed me fall, and when he found that

he had to retire from the Redan, he carried me up to the ditch and let

me slip in, and then with assistance got me out of it, and carried me

across that terrible 200 yards, being shot through both legs in doing

so. Before he reached our leading trench, some other good Samaritan

picked me up and ran away with me. Poor Welsh died in India, at

Ferozepore, in 1865, and, as a mark of respect, I put a stone over his

remains. He was a rough diamond, but every inch a soldier and a good

loyal subject. I hope I may state now, without egotism, from the day I

found out that Welsh had done me such service, I did all that lay in my

power for him and for his poor mother.

[11] Lieutenant Bott.

[12] The Scots Greys.

[13] Foreigners have no more idea than a child how to use their hands;

they will scratch and kick, but if you give them a good go-along, they

will not face up again.

[14] A familiar word used in the North of England.

[15] Including irregulars.

[16] They consisted of six regiments of Cavalry, 14 regiments of

Infantry, a number of batteries of Artillery, all drilled troops, and a

great mob of followers, all well-armed out of our magazines.

[17] Regiments that first confronted the rebels at

Ghazee-oo-deen-Nuggur, and again at Badulee-Ke-Serai, under command of

Brigadier Wilson. Two batteries of Artillery and a portion of Engineers

were with the column.

[18] Regiments that joined them from Umballah, just after the last

fight, under Sir H. Barnard, K.C.B., who then assumed command of the

army.

[19] Regiments that joined the field force on the heights of Delhi, at

various periods during the siege.

[20] Which was stationed at Fort Murdan.

[21] "When by the blessing of Providence internal tranquillity shall be

restored, it is our earnest desire to stimulate the peaceful industry of

India, to promote works of public utility and improvement, and to

administer its government for the benefit of all our subjects resident

therein. In their prosperity will be our strength, in their contentment

our security, and in their gratitude our best reward. And may the God of

all power grant to us, and to those in authority under us, strength to

carry out these our wishes for the good of our people."

[22] "She shall possess the gates of her enemies."

[23] "Faugh-a-Ballagh," clear the road.

[24] Now the Inniskilling Fusiliers.

[25] Great Queen.

[26] £300,000.

[27] Native pipe.

[28] Born May 11, 1789; died April 8, 1872--_Extract from Family

Bible._--T. G.

[29] His Grace the Duke of Wellington, the hero of a hundred fights, was

never once defeated in the open field, but as a man and a gentleman he

has openly acknowledged that he often committed faults, and with any

other than British troops would have been defeated. His men always got

him out of scrapes or muddles with the queen of weapons. No end of

instances could be quoted where a handful of men have decided a doubtful

field, and have, as it were, snatched victory from the foe. Napoleon's

grim-faced veterans of the Guard on more than one hard contested field

had to bow before the conquering sons of Albion. Let us be but true to

ourselves, and loyal to our beloved Sovereign, and El-Bodón, Albuera,

Victoria, or Waterloo, may easily be repeated.

[30] Before any man was admitted into the Old Guard, he had to pass

through twelve campaigns, and for the middle Guard, six campaigns. They

might, therefore, well be called veterans.

[31] The 3rd or Buffs left upon the field--killed, 4 officers, 4

sergeants, and 280 men, or rank and file; missing, 2 officers, 15

sergeants, 1 drummer, and 161 rank and file, and then the proud

remainder stood as conquerors. A number of the wounded died, or were

killed by our own Artillery, who had to dash across the field in pursuit

of the enemy; such was the terrible field that the two Fusilier

Regiments won. One of the Battalions of the 7th was almost annihilated,

but the proud remainder stood as conquerors on that fatal hill.

[32] The battle of Goojerat was fought in 1849, our forces being

commanded by the late Lord Gough, when the Sikhs and Afghans were

completely overthrown, and the Punjaub annexed.

[33] No fear of rain, except in the monsoon, which sets in once a year

and lasts for three months.

[34] Our men had looked upon death in every form, but could not look

into that hideous well a second time.

[35] History must draw a veil over the sufferings of these unfortunate

martyrs. Their murderers, it should be said, were excited to frenzy with

bhang.

[36] Dr. Cay, of the Coldstream Guards.

[37] Alison.

[38] Alison.

[39] They hate us now as much as they did then; and some of these fine

mornings they will find out our strength in India, with its teeming

millions under our glorious old flag, who would die to a man before they

would yield. They will find that "unity is strength," for our equal laws

since the Mutiny have bound them to us in love. Hundreds of thousands of

them have through us learnt the way of salvation, and God, even our God,

is blessing us as a nation for it.

[40] Nelson, as an instrument in the hands of God, had done his work. He

was raised up just at the right time to combat and humble infidelity.

This wonderful man was, and always will be, the darling hero of England.

This illustrious hero will live as long as our language endures, as the

one who stood fearlessly at the deadly breach, and bid defiance to all

our enemies. His noble conduct on all occasions when in presence of the

foe was sublime. Other heroes have fought desperately to uphold the

honour of our flag, but we can point to none whose conduct was so

majestic. Scotland can point to a Moore--a Clyde; Ireland can point to a

Wellington; Wales can point to a Picton; but all would bow in adoration

to the illustrious Norfolk hero.

[41] He believed that his sceptre was to be universal. He bid for heavy

stakes, viz., "the empire of the world." It was only the detested

Albions that thwarted his plans. He would exclaim in his rage or

excitement, "I will humble them in the dust yet, and lay London in

ashes." It was in order to get at us that this terrible campaign in

Russia of 1812 was undertaken. Alexander, backed up by England, would

not suffer himself to be dictated to by the conqueror. He was a

far-sighted man, but was blinded to the fact that he was rushing on to

destruction, that he was fighting against the strong arm of the Great I

Am. Alexander hated us as much as Napoleon did; he carried two faces

under one hat; but, with his vast sea-coasts, he dreaded our power,

which he well knew he could not withstand.

[42] What would he have said, had he lived to witness or to hear of the

disgraceful capitulation of Marshal Bazaine at Metz? Why, he would have

shot the traitor on the spot.

[43] "The heroic Ney was of an old Irish family."--ALISON.

[44] Quintal, 112 lbs.

[45] Alison.

[46] A little over two years rolled on; millions of money our

forefathers advanced to the straggling nations of Europe. Hundreds of

thousands of poor fellows were launched into eternity. The last act was

fought out on the bloody field of Waterloo, and the final scene of the

great drama came to an end in the midst of a terrible storm on the rock

of St. Helena, 5th May, 1821. On his deathbed, Napoleon acknowledged to

those around him that there was a God, who was Great Britain's strong

arm.

[47] This noble old veteran was for many years treated very harshly, to

say the least of it, by Napoleon. His great offence was that he would

persist in carrying a Bible with him, and using it as often as an

opportunity presented itself. All Napoleon's cuffs and sneers did not

affect him. His counsel during the Moscow campaign had more weight with

Napoleon than that of the fiery Murat or the heroic Ney. In his younger

days he had sworn to stand or fall by the great conqueror, and he would

not forsake his benefactor. He died as he had lived--a soldier in a

twofold sense. He was the only one of Napoleon's marshals or generals

that professed Christianity, and he often had a stormy path; but owing

to his constancy, his tormentors became his best friends. The great

conqueror was not the only one that was melted to tears at this noble

Christian's death.--_Alison._

[48] The conflicts at Montmirail, Vauchamps, Champanbert, and Montereau,

in the campaign of 1814, were combats, not battles. Ligny was a pitched

battle, but it could not be called a decisive victory. No prisoners or

standards, and few guns, were taken.

[49] Napoleon says (and no mean authority) that "Clum and Albuera were

the two heaviest battles on record for the numbers engaged." It was

bludgeon work; on each field they were what may be called gluttons. The

former against the Russians and Prussians; the latter, against the

English. Our allies, the Spaniards, bolted. On both fields the French

were beaten.

[50] The crushing blow at Vittoria loosened the grasp of Napoleon on

Spain. It swept them, like chaff before the wind, out of their fertile

plains, valleys, and mountains, and at once exposed their extraordinary

system of forced contributions, _i.e._, "That war should maintain war."

In one province alone, it was found that, for the year 1811, the French

Marshal had imposed a contribution of two hundred million reals--or

about two millions sterling--upon its unhappy people. This sum was equal

to five millions sterling in England. The half of this sum exhausted the

whole money in the province in gold, silver, plate, and jewels; the

remainder was taken by force in grain, cattle, clothing, and all

articles necessary for the troops. The inhabitants were exasperated

beyond all bounds, and were butchered in cold blood; and their daughters

and wives were insulted and disgraced before their husbands' and

fathers' eyes, who, if they opened their lips, were at once shot, or cut

limb from limb. It roused the people to frantic madness; they swore to

conquer or die.

[51] If the finger of God was ever shown in the history of a nation, it

was during those troublesome times Europe was convulsed. Whole nations

trembled at the feet of the great conqueror. Victory followed victory at

a rapid pace. But God had steeled the minds of our forefathers to combat

him when, to all appearance, it was a doubtful struggle; but with noble

devotion, perseverance, and valour unequalled in the history of the

world, although achieved with painful sacrifices, God in His providence

watched over old England, and deemed us as a nation worthy to accomplish

such great things. Britain, as a nation, had for years past openly

acknowledged God's providential Fatherly care, and stood up openly and

determinately to abide in the trust of the strong arm of the Great I AM.

[52] It would have been more in accordance with his past glorious career

to have placed himself at the head of his faithful Old Guards, and here

met a soldier's death for that beautiful France he pretended to love so

well. Posterity would then have regarded him as an undaunted hero, true

till death.

[53] It was repeatedly proved, during this sanguinary struggle, that man

to man, the enemy's cavalry, although clad in glittering steel, could

not withstand our heavy Dragoons. They rode completely over them, time

after time; their ringing shouts of _Vive l'Empereur_ being more than

once altered to "Quarter! quarter!" with the Union Brigade riding

victoriously through or over them. It was then as at Balaclava: "Hurrah!

hurrah!" and "Hurrah for Ould Ireland and Scotland for ever." They shall

not lord it over us. And then, as if they were pasteboard (the foe is

advancing)--

Sound! Bid your terrible trumpets bray,

Blow, till their brazen throats give way.

Sound to the charge! Sound, I say.

Hurrah! hurrah!

[54] Kick them.

[55] That is more than thousands of foreigners can say, although they

live in the midst of us year in and year out.

T. FORMAN AND SONS, PRINTERS, SHERWOOD STREET, NOTTINGHAM.

Transcribers’ Notes

Hyphenation, not within prose, poetry or quotation, has been

standardised.

No standardisation has been applied to spelling of regimental

battle honours.

Spelling of ‘Afridis’ standardised. (from Afridees, Afriedies)

Spelling of ‘Aldea de Pont’ standardised. (from Alodea-de-Pont)

Spelling of ‘Barrosa’ has been standardised.

Spelling of ‘Blücher’ has been standardised (from Blucher)

Spelling of ‘cringing’ has been standardised (from cringeing)

Spelling of ‘Faugh-a-Ballagh’ has been standardised.

Spelling of ‘Friedland’ has been standardised. (from Freidland)

Spelling of ‘Fuentes de Oñoro’ standardised. (from Fuentes d’Onor)

Spelling of ‘Pélissier’ has been standardised

Spelling of ‘Shakespeare’ has been standardised.

Author attributions at the end of poetry has been standardised in italic

style—print has mix of italics and small caps.

Vessels Bellerophon, Prince, Owen Glandore and The Shannon italicised.

Named wars: ‘war’ has been capitalised i.e. War of American

Independence, Peninsular War, Crimean War etc.

page 9: opening quote inserted: power; “we offer you

page 17: Fitzoy to FitzRoy

page 18: Fitzroy to FitzRoy (twice)

page 19: Nevelle to Nivelle

page 26: Borossa to Barrosa

page 28: Beautzen to Bautzen

page 33: double ‘of’ reduced to single: thick of it.

page 36: double ‘with’ reduced to single: India, with its.

page 51: Regiment to Regiments: any one of these three Regiments.

page 52: our’s to ours: Captain Monk of ours

page 58: Our men had handled the enemy very roughly ==> The enemy had

been very roughly handled by our men: ‘The enemy had been very roughly

handled by our men more than once since the Alma, and they were shy at

coming to close quarters, unless they could take us by surprise.’

page 67: Attribution added for The Charge of the Light Brigade: ‘Alfred,

Lord Tennyson.’

page 79: “Bon Anglais” and “Vive l’Empereur,” italicised

page 85: our’s to ours: while ours were removed from the field

page 108: our’s to ours: meeting the right of ours

page 133: our’s to ours: every officer of ours.

page 148: our’s to ours: and a nice boy of ours

page 194: our’s to ours: young officer of ours.

page 208: our’s to ours: a sergeant of ours

page 210: priset to priest: marry a priest.

page 216: Alder de Pont to Aldea de Pont

page 216: 336 to 436: (see p. 436)

page 216: El Bodon to El Bodón

page 218: Bidassra to Bidassoa

page 220: Charleston to Charlestown

page 223: Ferozesha to Ferozeshah

page 225: Fuentes-d’-Onor to Fuentes de Oñoro

page 235: it’s to its: made up its mind.

page 230: “Vive l’Empereur” and “Bon Anglais;” italicised

page 237: beakfast to breakfast

page 248: Bashi-bazouks to Bashi-Bazouks

page 252: Bhotan to Bhutan

page 259: Boulan Pass to Bolan Pass

page 256: Allyghur to Ally Ghur

page 261: holy boys to Holy Boys

page 265: Barrackpoor to Barrackpore

page 266: Barrackpoor to Barrackpore

page 283: women to woman.

page 288: rissalder’s to rissaldar’s

page 289: empire to Empire

page 296: infanty to infantry

page 299: villians to villains

page 300: our’s to ours: as much as it was in ours

page 332: empire to Empire

page 353: Afriedies to Afridis

page 353: Afreidis to Afridis

page 360: albert to Albert

page 399: Faugh-a-Balagh’s to Faugh-a-Ballaghs

page 401: name of Seven Years’ War, capitalised

page 414: Ramilies to Ramillies

page 435: El Boden to El Bodón

page 436: El Boden to El Bodón

page 437: our’s to ours: driven back by ours

page 442: Legonier’s to Ligonier’s

page 445: Isandulah to Isandlwana

page 476: Olphert’s to Olpherts’: Captain Olpherts’ Battery

page 477: our’s to ours: battle is not ours

page 516: Frieidland to Friedland

page 517: Hougermont to Hougoumont

page 519: separabat to separabit: Quis separabit

page 541: Niville to Nivelle

page 563: Demeurtz to Dennewitz (also changed within Chapter XV Index)

page 575: empire to Empire

page 576: empire to Empire

footnote 44: Allison to Alison