OUR HIGHLAND REGIMENTS—_continued_.
The Highlanders possessed naturally a great aptitude for war. It has
been said that hunting is the nearest approach to war in times of peace;
and the Highlander, when not engaged in war, devoted himself to hunting,
fishing, and the practice of athletic sports and manly exercises. He was
a deer-stalker before deer-parks were invented, when deer-stalking was
something different from the easy slaughter now known by that name; he
was accustomed to bear hunger, thirst, and fatigue without complaint; to
sleep in the snow with no other covering than his plaid; to encounter
the members of a hostile clan with no other weapon than his broadsword.
He possessed the virtues and physical qualities that fit men for war.
He was impetuous in attack and cool under fire. In the hour of danger
he exhibited such courage and presence of mind as nothing could daunt.
At Fontenoy and elsewhere he has thrown himself on the ground as the
enemy began their fire; when their bullets had whistled harmlessly over
his head, he would rush forward till his musket almost touched their
breasts, and pour in the deadly discharge; he would then retreat, receive
their fire as before, and advance in the same manner. If he had not been
possessed of the greatest coolness and self-possession, such a mode of
fighting could only have led to inextricable confusion.
From an old pamphlet, published in 1745, we learn that a Highlander of
the 42nd Regiment killed nine Frenchmen with his broadsword at Fontenoy,
and would probably have added to the number of the slain if he had not
lost his arm. In a skirmish with the Americans in 1776, Major Murray, of
the same regiment, being separated from his men, was attacked by three
of the enemy. His dirk had slipped behind his back, and, being very
corpulent, he could not reach it: he defended himself as well as he could
with his fusil, and, watching his opportunity, seized the sword of one
of his assailants, and put the three to flight. It was natural that he
should ever retain that sword as a trophy of victory. In another skirmish
during the same war, a young recruit belonging to Fraser’s Highlanders
slew seven of the enemy with his own hand. At the close of the engagement
his bayonet, once perfectly straight, was twisted like a corkscrew.
At the affair of Castlebar, in Ireland, when men of other regiments
retreated, a Highland sentinel refused to leave his post without orders.
It was in vain that they tried to persuade him to retire—he stood there
alone against a host. Five times he loaded and fired; a Frenchman fell at
every shot. Before he could put his musket to his shoulder a sixth time
the enemy were upon him, and many a bayonet passed through his body. The
power of discipline could scarcely carry a man farther than this. The
soldier who could meet a host without flinching must have had the soul
of a hero. Highlanders have been equally patient and enduring in meeting
the onsets of hunger and famine. The 1st Battalion of the 78th Regiment
was wrecked during the passage from Java to Calcutta in 1816. The days
and nights from the 9th of November to the 6th of December were spent
on the rocky isle of Preparis, without shelter and almost without food.
One ounce of bread and half a glassful of rice was the daily allowance
of each person for nearly a month. At length even this miserable supply
failed, and the shell-fish picked up at low water became their only means
of support. At such a juncture the most generous of men might have become
selfish; but such was the effect of discipline among these half-famished
Highlanders, that with death staring them in the face they could resist
the cravings of hunger, and bring all their gatherings to one common
stock, which was equally divided among them all. Their fortitude was
rewarded by the arrival of a ship which carried them in safely to
Calcutta.
Numerous proofs of their cunning and address in war might be cited. On
the day before the battle of Fontenoy the Earl of Craufurd advanced
with the Highlanders to examine the enemy’s outposts. A Highland
soldier, stationed in dangerous proximity to the enemy, was annoyed by
one of their sharpshooters firing at his post, and had recourse to an
ingenious expedient to rid himself of this annoyance. He crept stealthily
forward and placed his bonnet on the top of a stick near the verge of a
hollow road. While the Frenchman’s attention was fixed on his supposed
antagonist, Donald advanced unperceived to a spot where he could take
sure aim, and brought down the unfortunate marksman. In a skirmish
with the American rebels in 1777, Sergeant Macgregor, of the 42nd, was
severely wounded, and remained insensible on the ground. Unlike Captain
Crawley, who put on his old uniform before Waterloo, the sergeant, who
seems to have been something of a dandy, had attired himself in his
best, as if he had been going to a ball, and not to a battle. He wore a
new jacket with silver lace, large silver buckles in his shoes, and a
watch of some value. This display of wealth attracted the notice of an
American soldier, who, actuated by no feeling of humanity, but by the
sordid desire of stripping the sergeant at leisure, took him on his back
and began to carry him off the field. It is probable that the American
did not handle him very tenderly, and the motion soon restored him to
consciousness. He saw at once the state of matters, and proved himself
master of the occasion. With one hand he drew his dirk, and, grasping the
American’s throat with the other, he swore that he would stab him to the
heart if he did not retrace his steps, and bear him back in safety to the
British camp. The _argumentum ad hominem_ in the shape of a glittering
dagger before his eyes was too much for the American. On the way to the
camp he met Lord Cornwallis, who thanked him for his humanity, but he
had the candour to admit the truth. His lordship, who was much amused at
the incident, gave the American his liberty, and, on Macgregor retiring
from the service, procured for him a situation in the Customs at Leith.
He probably thought that the man who could entrap a Yankee would be more
than a match for any smuggler. In a war with the Cherokees in 1760,
Allen Macpherson, a private in Montgomery’s Highlanders, fell into the
hands of the enemy. Anxious to escape from the cruel torture that awaited
him, he signified that he had something of importance to communicate. An
interpreter was introduced, and the Indians stood by in solemn silence.
He informed them that he was a medicine-man, and knew of certain herbs,
which, if applied to the skin, would enable it to resist the sword or the
tomahawk, though wielded by the strongest arm; if they would conduct him
to the woods, and allow him to collect these herbs, he would use them so
as that their bravest warrior might strike at his neck without injuring
him. Such an assertion found ready credence with superstitious Indians,
and they complied with his request. Macpherson was as cool and confident
in his bearing as if he had nothing to dread: he rubbed his neck with
the juice of the first herbs he had picked up, laid his head calmly on
a block of wood, and invited the ordeal. An Indian raised his tomahawk
and struck at his neck with such force that his head flew several yards
from his body. The Cherokees, far from resenting the trick which had been
played upon their credulity, expressed their admiration of his address
and courage by refraining from torturing the other captives. We could
give many proofs of the Highlander’s ingenuity in attacking others or
defending himself, but we confine ourselves to a single incident which
tends to prove his dexterity in imposing on the enemy. During the siege
of Quebec, the French had planted sentries along the river to challenge
all who approached. During the night attack which ended in the capture of
the town, the first boat with English troops was observed and challenged.
“_Qui vive?_” A moment’s hesitation, and all would have been lost. An
officer of Fraser’s Highlanders who had served in Holland, and knew
the watchword, at once replied, “_La France._” The second part of the
challenge was given and satisfactorily answered. The sentinel became
troublesomely inquisitive. “_A quel régiment appartenez-vous?_” “_Au
régiment de la Reine._” It was fortunate that the captain knew that a
regiment of that name was serving in Quebec. The soldier, satisfied with
these replies, allowed all the boats to pass without further challenge:
he thought it was an expected convoy with provisions, and no time was
lost when the magic word “_passe_” was heard. The other sentries took
it for granted that all was right; there was only one who had some
suspicion. Struck with the silence on board the boats, he rushed down
to the water’s edge, and called, “_Pourquoi est-ce que vous ne parlez
pas haut?_” The suspicion implied in this question was at once disarmed
by the officer replying in a subdued tone, “_Tais-tois, ou nous serons
entendus._” That cunning Highlander had not studied French for nothing—it
gained for the British: Quebec.
A striking trait in the character of the Highlanders was their devoted
attachment to their own regiments and officers. When clanship had all
but died out in the North, it was found lingering among the Highland
soldiers. The Highlander’s regiment was his clan, and his colonel his
chief; and to his corps and commander he did the same fealty as in the
days of yore to clansmen and their head. This feeling was peculiarly
prominent in those regiments which were under the command of cadets of
ancient Northern families, who felt in themselves and tried to revive in
their men the old ties of clanship. Cameron, of the 92nd, who fought and
fell at Quatre Bras, was less the colonel than the chief of that gallant
regiment, which was raised partly in Lochaber, his native district. He
knew every man in his regiment, and watched over their interests as if
they had been his brothers or his sons. An angry look or a stern word
from him was dreaded more than the lash. He was their father, and when he
fell there rose from his mountain children that wild wail of sorrow which
once heard can never be forgotten. Brave, impetuous, and headstrong,
jealous of his own honour and that of his regiment, Cameron has always
struck us as the _beau idéal_ of a Highland officer of the better class;
while Captain MacTurk, that admirable creation of Scott, may be safely
accepted as the faithful representative of a once numerous class, the all
but countless subalterns who had risen from the ranks, and who puzzled
the post-office and confused the directory by the similarity of their
names. The old clannish feeling is perceptible in the language used by
Highland veterans in alluding to their past services. They do not say
that they served in the 42nd, the 78th, the 79th, the 92nd, or the 93rd
regiment; but, when inspired by usquebaugh or ancient reminiscences, they
begin to fight their battles o’er, they preface their narrative with,
“When I was in the Black Watch, the Ross, the Cameron, the Gordon, or
the Sutherland regiment.” The name to them is everything: the number by
which the regiment is known at the Horse Guards is a number, and nothing
more. This attachment of the Highlanders to their own regiments was so
well-known during the last century that it was sometimes taken advantage
of by the recruiting sergeants, who assumed the Highland dress, and
persuaded the recruits they were about to join a Highland regiment. When
such was not the case, the rage of the Highlanders on discovering the
imposture was unbounded; they appealed to the military authorities, and
on their obtaining their discharge re-enlisted at once in one of their
own regiments. These regiments, when first raised, could always command
a larger number of men than they actually required. When the Fraser
Highlanders embarked for foreign service in 1776, it was found that more
men had joined than the strength of the different companies admitted,
and several were dismissed. Such, however, was their anxiety to serve,
that they concealed themselves in the ship, and were not discovered
till the fleet was at sea. An incident occurred on this occasion which
proves that the _esprit de clan_, if we may so speak, was even stronger
than the _esprit de corps_. A hundred and twenty men had been raised
on the forfeited estate of Cameron of Lochiel, so as to entitle him to
a company: detained by sickness in London, he was unable to join his
regiment in Glasgow. The Camerons, unwilling to serve any one but their
chief, hesitated to embark, till young Fassiefern, one of their clansmen,
and a near relative of Lochiel, was appointed to the command of the
company, when all their scruples were removed. Lochiel, on hearing of
the conduct of his men, hurried down from London; but the fatigue of the
journey brought on a fresh attack of disease, to which he fell a victim
in a few weeks. The regiment was under the command of General Fraser, a
son of Lord Lovat. He addressed the Camerons in Gaelic, and his eloquence
had much effect in winning them back to obedience. While he was speaking,
a venerable Highlander was seen leaning on his staff and listening with
rapt attention. When he had finished, the old man stepped up to him, and
seizing his hand with an easy familiarity which marked the intercourse
of all classes in the North, said, “Simon, you are a good soldier, and
speak like a man; as long as you live, Simon of Lovat will never die.”
The general, doubtless, appreciated this double compliment; his father
was a favourite among the Highlanders, and it was implied that the son
was worthy of the sire. The young recruits always wished to serve under
officers of their own clan, and felt it a hardship to be separated from
them. It was not enough that they served in the same regiment; they
wished to belong to the same company. Young Fassiefern brought a hundred
Lochaber men to join the 92nd at Aberdeen. When it was proposed to draft
them into different companies, they refused to be separated, or to serve
under any officer save their young chief. It was only by pledging his
honour that he would watch equally over the interests of all that he
could persuade them to submit; his letters to his father prove that he
never forgot his promise. They were true to one another to the end; when
a Lochaber man died, Cameron followed him to the grave, reminded his
sorrowing comrades of his soldierly virtues, and told them to “give him
the smoothest bed, and to cover him with the greenest sod.” To understand
the delicacy of this order, one must have witnessed a Highland funeral,
or seen the smooth, level, turf-covered graves in a Highland churchyard.
There was no sacrifice which they were not prepared to make for officers
who thus studied their interests and feelings. They were as jealous of
their honour as of their own; cowardice in the chief brought disgrace
on his clan. There was a singular display of this feeling in one of the
Crimean battles: a young Highland officer left his place in front of his
company and began to retreat, when a sergeant seized him by the throat,
and swore he would run him through the body if he did not turn. He chose
rather to meet the fire of the Russians than the glare of the sergeant’s
angry eye. This jealousy of their officers’ honour gave rise to an
amusing incident during the attack on Fort Washington in 1777. The hill
on which the fort stood was almost perpendicular, but the Highlanders
rushed up the steep ascent like mountain cats. When half-way up the
heights they heard a melancholy voice exclaim, “Oh, soldiers, will you
leave me?” On looking down, they saw Major Murray, their commanding
officer, at the foot of the precipice; his extreme obesity prevented him
from following them. They were not deaf to this appeal: it would never do
to leave their corpulent commander behind. A party leaped down at once,
seized him in their arms, and bore him from ledge to ledge of the rock
till they reached the summit, where they drove the enemy before them
and made two hundred prisoners. Major Murray was not the only corpulent
warrior among those Highland soldiers. Sir Robert Munroe of Fowlis, who
commanded them at Fontenoy, was so fat that his own men had to haul him
from the trenches by the legs and arms; he advised them to fall flat on
the ground when the enemy fired, but remained erect himself, remarking
that it was easy for a man of his weight to lie down, but not so easy
to rise. Some of the men seem to have been as remarkable for height as
their officers were for breadth. Thus we read of Samuel Macdonald, or
“Big Sam,” of the Sutherland Fencibles, who was seven feet four inches
in height, and stout in proportion. As the other men would have looked
like pigmies beside such a giant, he stood on the right of the regiment
when in line, and marched at its head when in column, followed by an
immense mountain deer, between which and him there were certain physical,
if not spiritual, affinities. He was an excellent drill, and, like most
giants, extremely good-natured. Ordinary rations would not have sufficed
to sustain such a corpus; he was therefore allowed half-a-crown a day of
extra pay. Attracting the attention of the Prince of Wales, he made him
one of the porters at Carlton House. But Macdonald soon tired of this
inactive life, and longed to be with his old comrades of the 93rd. He
rejoined the regiment, and died at Guernsey in 1802. Sam’s regiment seems
to have been remarkable for the size and muscular strength of the men. It
had no light company, and as more than 200 men were upwards of five feet
eleven inches in height, they were formed into two grenadier companies,
one on each flank of the battalion.
The retirement or the removal of one of their favourite officers to
another regiment called forth the strongest feelings of sorrow, and
sometimes almost led to open resistance. It occasionally happened that
these officers were Englishmen, who with the garb of the mountains had
adopted all the feelings of the mountaineers. Cadogan, who commanded the
71st in the Peninsula, was a Saxon, and yet no Celt was ever dearer to
his men. The Pretender would never have been so popular in the North if
he had not worn the tartan; the same may be said of Montrose and Dundee,
neither of whom was a Highlander by birth. If English officers failed to
gain the affections and respect of their men, it was because they failed
to make themselves acquainted with their character, and inadvertently
wounded their feelings. Such cases, however, were rare. English officers
serving in Highland regiments possessed the _esprit de corps_ as much as
the Highlanders themselves. At first, as we have shown, all the officers
belonged to the North, and it was a point of honour with the men either
to protect them in battle or to avenge them if slain. We might cite many
cases where Highland soldiers sacrificed their own lives to save those of
their officers, stepping before them and receiving in their own bodies
the bullet or the bayonet-thrust aimed at their officers’ breasts. When a
favourite fell, woe betide the enemy at the next charge: every Highlander
fought as if his arm alone were the instrument of vengeance. When Cameron
fell at Quatre Bras, by a shot fired from the upper storey of the
farm-house, his men rushed with a wild shout on the building, burst their
way in, and avenged by the slaughter of all its occupants, the death of
their leader.
[Illustration: Major Murray and the Highlanders at Fort Washington.]
While the duty of avenging the death of a beloved officer was incumbent
upon all, it devolved with peculiar stringency on his foster-brother,
who always kept near his person in battle. This duty is frequently
alluded to in the proverbial expressions of the North. “Kindred to twenty
(degrees), fosterage to a hundred,” was a received maxim in the code of
Celtic ethics. “Woe to the father of the foster-son who is unfaithful
to his trust,” is another old saying which proves that this tie was
regarded as sacred. Scott has described this singular relationship
among the Highlanders in “Waverley,” and many illustrations might be
given of the deeds of unselfish devotion to which it gave rise. Often
the foster-brother thrust himself before his officer, and shielded him
from danger by the sacrifice of his own life. If he had failed to do
so, his own mother would have been the first to reproach him for his
cowardice—ay, and to disown him as her son. There was much of the old
Spartan feeling among these Celtic mothers. The wives of those Northern
chiefs seem to have had no great liking for the primary duties of
domestic life; instead of rearing their own children, they distributed
them among their tenantry, who considered themselves honoured by the
confidence thus reposed in them. This singular custom tended to render
the tie between the chief and his clan closely intimate: they felt
themselves to be members of one great family. Cameron of Fassiefern,
with whose portrait our readers are familiar, was followed wherever he
went by his faithful henchman and foster-brother, Ewen M’Millan. His
devotion to his chief was unbounded; it absorbed every other feeling,
and became the master-passion of his life. At the battle of St. Pierre,
Ewen gave an amusing proof of his regard, not only for his master, but
also for his master’s property. Cameron’s horse, being wounded, fell, and
nearly crushed him. A Frenchman rushed forward to bayonet him while thus
disabled; but, before the blow had reached, Ewen came up and pierced the
Frenchman to the heart. Ewen then raised his master from his dangerous
position and conducted him to a place of safety, after which he returned
and carried off the saddle on which Cameron had sat. All this was done
with the greatest coolness, though the battle was at its height, and
the bullets of the enemy were flying on every side. When Ewen rejoined
his company, he displayed his trophy to his comrades, and exultingly
exclaimed, “We must leave them the carcass, but they sha’n’t get the
saddle where Fassiefern sat.” It was evidently a seat of honour, and too
sacred an object in Ewen’s eyes to be left in possession of the French;
and to save the saddle the disgrace of receiving part of another’s
person, he was ready to risk his life. When Cameron fell at Quatre Bras,
his devoted foster-brother was in a moment at his side, and, raising
him in his arms, he bore him from the field of battle till he found a
cart, on which he laid him. Seating himself by his side, he propped the
head of his dying chief on his own faithful breast, and tried in vain to
stanch the life-blood fast ebbing away. It was all in vain: the bullet
had done its deadly work, and Ewen could only weep over the grave of one
for whom he would have gladly died. Such faithful attachment deserved to
be rewarded, and Cameron’s father provided Ewen with a farm on his own
estate when he obtained his discharge after the battle of Waterloo.
It may amuse our readers to learn the opinion of the Highlanders formed
by those who have encountered them in the field of battle. Their strange
dress, their lofty stature, their unknown tongue, and their singular mode
of fighting, all naturally produced a deep impression on the minds of
their enemies, who regarded them almost with a feeling of superstition.
A French writer, alluding to the battle of Fontenoy, says, “The British
behaved well, and could be exceeded in ardour by none but our officers,
who animated the troops by their example, _when the Highland furies
rushed in upon us with more violence than ever did a sea driven by a
tempest_.” The Highlanders took part in the capture of Guadaloupe; and it
appears from letters written from that island that the French had formed
the wildest notions regarding the _sauvages d’Ecosse_ (Scotch savages),
as they were pleased to term them. They believed that they would neither
take nor give quarter, and that they were so nimble that, as no one could
catch them, nobody could escape them; that no man had a chance against
their broadswords; and that, with a ferocity natural to savages, they
made no prisoners, and spared neither man, woman, nor child. As the
Highlanders were always in the front during the attack on the island,
we need not be surprised that the good people of Guadaloupe quailed at
the sight of such a redoubtable foe, and offered but little resistance.
Such was the activity of the Highlanders in attacking them at different
points, that they believed that they amounted to several thousands,
whereas their real strength was only 800. A French general, in reference
to the gallantry of the Highlanders at Toulouse, said, “Ah, these are
brave soldiers. If they had good officers, I should not like to meet them
unless I were well supported.” As their officers had never received much
training for war, their bravery was often more conspicuous than their
knowledge of the military art.
Keith’s Highlanders particularly distinguished themselves in the German
wars which were carried on about the middle of the eighteenth century.
Macaulay has shown that the English at one time did not hold their
Northern neighbours in high estimation; but it appears that the Germans
entertained still more erroneous ideas regarding them. “The Scotch
Highlanders,” says a writer in the _Vienna Gazette_ of 1762, “are a
people totally different in their dress, manners, and temper from the
other inhabitants of Britain. _They are caught in the mountains when
young_, and still run with a surprising degree of swiftness. As they
are strangers to fear, they make very good soldiers when disciplined.”
The writer proceeds to admit that they are not without some amiable
qualities, and charitably concludes his article by expressing a hope
“that their king’s laudable, though late, endeavours to civilize and
instruct them in the principles of Christianity will meet with success.”
The French and Germans, along with Englishmen, have during the last
hundred years learned to know the Highlanders better.
We happened the other day to find ourselves in the society of a number
of officers, some of whom had seen service in every quarter of the
globe. Allusion was made to Highland soldiers, when an English colonel
exclaimed, “They are the most troublesome fellows in the service. I have
seven of them in my regiment, and they have given me more annoyance about
their rights and grievances than all my other men.”
“The reason is very simple,” rejoined an officer, who hailed from the
land of the Gael; “you don’t know how to manage them.”
In these simple words may be found the secret cause of the mutinies
which so frequently broke out among the Highland regiments when first
organized. The government of the day did not know how to manage them:
hence insubordination, discontent, and frequent mutiny. The 42nd, or
Old Black Watch, was, as we have shown, the first body of Highlanders
formed into a regular regiment. Many of the privates were men of good
family and liberal education, who were drawn into the service by their
natural love of arms. It was distinctly understood that the sphere of
their services was not to extend beyond their native country, to which
they were warmly attached; and when in March, 1743, they were ordered
to proceed to England, many of the leading men of the North, including
Lord President Forbes, ventured to remonstrate. Their remonstrances were
vain; the government persisted in their resolution, but the suspicions
of the Highlanders were disarmed by appealing to their vanity. They were
assured that the king was anxious to see so gallant a regiment, and that
after being reviewed by royalty they would be allowed to return to their
native land. The men were treated with the greatest kindness in the
different English towns through which they passed; their warlike bearing
and correctness of conduct secured for them the admiration and esteem of
all with whom they were brought into contact. On the 14th of May they
were reviewed on Finchley Common by Marshal Wade, in the presence of vast
crowds who had hurried from London to see _les sauvages Ecossais_. It was
unfortunate the king was not present at this review; his absence induced
the Highlanders to lend a ready ear to the insidious report circulated
among them by the adherents of the Stuarts that they were about to be
transported to the American plantations. The Highlanders were stung to
madness by the supposed treachery; but, with characteristic caution, they
concealed their intentions till their plans were matured. They whispered
to one another that, “after being used as rods to scourge their own
countrymen, they were now to be thrown into the fire.” They resolved to
die rather than submit to such a fate.
On the night between Tuesday and Wednesday after the review they
assembled on a common near Highgate, and commenced their march to the
land of their birth. They had friends and sympathisers in the city who
supplied them with provisions. Their march was conducted with such
secrecy that for a week nothing was known of their route. They had
reached Lady Wood, between Brigstock and Deanthorp, about four miles
from Oundle, when Captain Ball, an officer of Wade’s regiment of horse,
was sent to treat with them. He requested them to lay down their arms
and surrender at discretion, but they declared with one voice that they
would be cut to pieces rather than submit, unless they were allowed to
retain their arms and received a free pardon. All that Captain Ball could
promise was to recommend them to mercy; but the pride of the Highlanders
revolted at such a proposal.
“Hitherto,” then exclaimed the captain, “I have been your friend; but
if you continue obstinate an hour longer not a man of you shall be left
alive; and for my part, I assure you, I shall give quarter to none.”
The Highlanders, who had too much generosity to resent this bold
language, sent two of their number to escort him out of the wood. The
guides were won over by his eloquence: one of them remained with him,
while the other returned and tried to persuade his comrades to submit.
Surrounded as they were by superior numbers, they were, after some
negotiation, induced to surrender. They received a free pardon, and soon
after embarked for Flanders, where their deeds of bravery atoned for
their temporary disaffection.
A similar incident occurred in the case of a Highland regiment in the
service of William III. It was the ardent love of country that led them
to refuse to embark for Holland, and their devotion to King James that
led them to drink his health while there in preference to that of their
own prince. Some one reported this to William.
“Do they fight well, these Highlanders?” asked the king.
“None better,” was the reply.
“Then,” said the king, “if they fight so well for me, let them drink my
father’s health as often as they choose.”
There was much magnanimity in these words. The Highlanders soon
learned to drink William’s health as heartily as they had done his
father-in-law’s.
In the year 1779 a circumstance occurred which proves in the most
striking manner the attachment which the Highlanders have ever cherished
for their own regiments. In the month of April two strong detachments
belonging to the 42nd and 71st regiments arrived at Leith from Stirling
Castle, _en route_ to North America to join their respective regiments.
On learning that they were about to be drafted into the 80th and 82nd,
both Lowland regiments, the men firmly refused to obey this order, or
to serve in any regiments save those for which they had been enlisted.
A little friendly remonstrance might have won them over, but the
authorities unfortunately adopted the idea of reducing them by force,
and troops were sent to Leith for the purpose of subduing the mutineers
and conveying them to Edinburgh Castle. This was no easy task, as the
event proved. The Highlanders offered an obstinate resistance, and in the
conflict which ensued, Captain Mansfield, of the South Fencible regiment,
and nine men were killed, and thirty-one soldiers wounded. At length,
overpowered by numbers, the Highlanders were compelled to surrender,
and were shut up in Edinburgh Castle. In the month of May three of the
prisoners, Charles Williamson and Archibald Mac Ivor, of the 42nd, and
Robert Budge, of the 71st, were tried by court-martial for having been
guilty of mutiny and inciting others to the same crime. The line of
defence they adopted gives us considerable insight into the state of the
Highlanders at this period. Mac Ivor and Williamson stated that they
enlisted in the 42nd, a regiment composed exclusively of Highlanders, and
wearing the Highland dress. Their native tongue was Gaelic, and they knew
no other, having been born in counties where English was almost unknown.
They had never worn breeches in their lives, and the only garb they
could wear with comfort was the garb of old Gael. This dress had indeed
been prohibited by Act of Parliament; but the government had connived
at the use of it, provided that it was made of plain cloth and not of
tartan. For these reasons they could neither understand the language
nor use the arms, or march in the dress of any other than a Highland
regiment. Budge’s defence was substantially the same. They submitted to
the court that, on reaching Leith, the officer who had conducted them
there informed them that they were now to consider themselves soldiers of
the 82nd, a regiment wearing the Lowland dress and speaking the English
tongue. No order from the commander-in-chief was shown to them, nor had
they any opportunity of submitting their grievances to him. They had no
intention to resist lawful authority; they only wished to remonstrate
against an act of flagrant injustice. They would have gone willingly to
the castle if the order had been explained to them; but the officer sent
for that purpose told them that they were to join the Hamilton regiment
immediately, and they considered themselves justified in repelling force
by force. Every reader will feel his blood boil with indignation on
learning that these three poor Highlanders were all found guilty and
sentenced to be shot. The spirit of clanship, however, was too strong
in the Highland regiments to admit of this sentence being carried into
effect, and the king was pleased to grant them a free pardon, “in full
confidence that they would endeavour, by a prompt obedience and orderly
behaviour, to atone for their atrocious offence.” Without passing an
opinion on the atrocity of the offence, we have much pleasure in adding
that all the prisoners proved themselves worthy of the royal clemency.
They were drafted into the second battalion of the 42nd, and were
uniformly distinguished for their steadiness and good conduct.
[Illustration: The Mutiny of the Black Watch.]
It may be safely affirmed that the Highland regiments never displayed a
spirit of insubordination, except on those occasions when the government
of the day attempted to treat them with injustice by transferring them
to Lowland regiments, or ordering them to embark for foreign service
when they had enlisted to serve for a limited period at home. The 77th
regiment, or Athole Highlanders, was raised in 1778 by the young Duke
of Athole. The Murrays have always been a warlike race, and their young
chief, the present Duke of Athole, the possessor of princely estates, is
serving in Canada with the 2nd battalion of the Scots Fusilier Guards.
The Athole Highlanders embarked for Ireland in June, 1778, and did
garrison duty there till the war was over. The part they had to play was
somewhat difficult; the Irish were disaffected, and hated the troops sent
to control them; but the conduct of the Highlanders was so exemplary as
to secure for them the respect of their enemies. Mr. Eden, afterwards
Lord Auckland, Secretary for Ireland, bears honourable testimony to this
fact. After alluding to the gentlemanly bearing of the officers, and the
excellent conduct of the men, he says—“Once, upon the sudden alarm of
invasion, I sent an order for the immediate march of this regiment to
Cork, when they showed their alacrity by marching at an hour’s notice,
and completed their march with a despatch beyond any instance in modern
times, and this, too, without leaving a single soldier behind.”
There are few regiments at the present day that could undertake the same
march at an hour’s notice, and complete it without leaving a single man
behind; such a fact says much for the discipline, strength, and pluck
of the Athole Highlanders. The government showed their appreciation of
these services by attempting to break faith with them. The Highlanders
had enlisted for three years. Their period of service had now expired,
and they naturally expected to be disbanded. Instead of this, they were
sent to Portsmouth to embark for foreign service. At first they offered
no resistance; when they caught the first view of the fleet at Spithead
as they crossed Portsdown Hill, they pulled off their bonnets and gave
three cheers at the prospect of a brush with Hyder Ali. If the government
had been wise enough to tempt them to re-enlist by the offer of a fresh
bounty, a gallant regiment might have been preserved to the British
army; but, unfortunately, they had no sooner reached Portsmouth than
emissaries from London began to poison their minds by pointing out to
them the injustice of the authorities in sending them abroad when they
ought to have been disbanded. It was even insinuated that they had been
sold to the East India Company at so much a head, and that their officers
had shared in the purchase-money. These representations had the desired
effect. The Highlanders, suspicious of their officers, and brooding over
their wrongs, refused to embark. For several days they remained in a
state of mutiny, during which they attempted to gain possession of the
main guard and garrison parade, when one of the invalids who opposed
them was accidentally killed. No sooner was it known that the poor man
had left a widow than the Highlanders expressed the deepest regret, and
raised a considerable sum for her relief.
The greatest anxiety was caused at Portsmouth by the presence of a
thousand men free from all restraint; but the lives and property of
the citizens were respected, and no complaints were ever made against
the Highlanders. Though they had reason to suspect their officers of
treachery, they almost invariably continued to treat them with deference
and respect. On hearing, however, that two or three regiments were
approaching to force them on board, they flew to arms and marched out to
offer them battle. On finding that it was a false report, they quietly
returned to their quarters. The Duke of Athole, his uncle, Major-General
Murray, and Lord George Lennox, hurried down to Portsmouth in the hope
that their presence and influence would induce the men to embark; but the
minds of the latter were too much embittered by a sense of injustice to
be swayed by the counsels of their hereditary chiefs. The discipline of
the regiment was as strict as if they had been still under the command
of their officers. Their arms and ammunition were placed in one of the
magazines, and a strong guard placed over them while the rest of the
regiment slept or partook of their meals. Twice a day they appeared
at the grand parade, along with the adjutant and other officers. They
were as careful of their dress and personal appearance as before. The
government were at a loss what to do with the dreaded Highlanders. One
day it was proposed to turn the great guns on the ramparts against them;
but, fortunately, this proposal was overruled; the bloodshed would have
been great, the result doubtful. At other times it was suggested to send
some regiments stationed in the neighbourhood against them. On hearing
this the Highlanders flew to arms, drew up the drawbridges, placed
sentinels on them, and prepared to offer an obstinate resistance.
At length the question of the mutiny was brought under the consideration
of Parliament, and the just claims of the Highlanders were admitted.
The regiment was disbanded, and the men spread through the Highlands
the report of the injustice with which they had been treated, and thus
prevented many of their countrymen from entering the army. When treating
of this affair, General Stewart observed that “If government had offered
a small bounty when the Athole Highlanders were required to embark,
there can be little doubt they would have obeyed their orders, and
embarked as cheerfully as they marched into Portsmouth.” This untoward
event will remind our readers of what occurred in India when the attempt
was recently made to transfer the European troops from the service of
the East India Company to that of the imperial government. Through the
niggardly policy then adopted, thousands of men inured to service in that
trying climate were roused into a state of mutiny, and compelled the
authorities to grant them their discharge. In this case, as in that of
the Athole Highlanders, a small bounty would have settled the difficulty
and satisfied every claim.
There are old people still alive in Scotland who remember the sensation
created in the days of their boyhood among all classes by “the affair of
the wild Macraes.” The Macraes never rose to the dignity of a clan; they
were a small sept that lived under the protection of the Mackenzies of
Seaforth. The Earl of Seaforth had forfeited his title and estates in
consequence of the part he took in the rebellion of 1715, when many of
the Northern gentry rose in favour of the Pretender. Kenneth Mackenzie,
the grandson of this earl, bought the family property from the crown,
and was created Viscount Portrose in the Irish peerage. In 1771 the
family title was restored to him, and the Earl of Seaforth, anxious to
prove his gratitude to the government of the day for the favours he had
received, offered in 1778 to raise a regiment among his own clan for
general service. The Highlanders had already acquired a distinguished
name on many a battle-field, and his offer was at once accepted. All the
gentlemen of the clan Mackenzie came to the aid of their chief, and a
corps of 1130 men was soon raised: 500 Highlanders belonged to Seaforth’s
estates; 400 to the Mackenzies of Scatwell, Kilcoy, Applecross, and
Redcastle; about 200 were Lowland Scotch; 43 were English and Irish. It
is interesting to mark the constitutional elements of this and other
Highland regiments. The fact is undeniable that the Highlands of Scotland
were far more populous a century ago than they are now. The poorer
inhabitants have been driven to Canada and other colonies; their small
farms have been changed into deer-parks or sheep-walks; the landlords
have increased their rentals, but the country has lost an important
class and reaped no adequate advantage in return. The regiment thus
embodied was known as the 78th, or Seaforth Highlanders. It is not to
be confounded, however, with the present 78th, or Ross-shire Buffs; it
is now represented by the 72nd, or Duke of Albany’s Own Highlanders.
Almost all the officers were Mackenzies, and the sons and brothers of the
different lairds vied with one another in selecting the best men that
could be found on their estates. The results of this care on their part
were apparent when the regiment was inspected at Elgin in May, 1778: of
those 1130 men not one was rejected—an astounding fact when we consider
that nearly one-fourth of our recruits are now pronounced unfit for
service in consequence of some physical defect. In the month of August
they embarked for Leith, where “the affair of the wild Macraes” occurred.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]