A GRAND REVIEW.
A review of the armies of Europe, Austrian, Prussian, French, Russian,
British, Italian, Turkish—is only to be achieved on paper. According to a
recent calculation it appears that the numerical strength of the armies
of Europe is 4,735,782, and, however brilliant the spectacle might be, it
would occupy a weary while to see so many men pass by in marching order.
On paper it may be done, and so in imagination we take our stand by the
reader, to point out the finest troops, or call attention to this or that
particular regiment, as the living panorama of disciplined men sweeps on
before us. The air resounds with the strains of martial music; the earth
seems to shake beneath the feet of the legions, and the eye is dazed with
a blaze of colour.
The Austrians—the standing army of Austria is the oldest in Europe—lead
the van. The neatly-made white tunics of the infantry, collars and
facings marking the distinction between the regiments, and their
straight-peaked shakos made of black cloth, present a very noble
appearance. The sergeants and corporals are distinguished by woollen
stars on their collars, broad black and yellow cords on their shakos, and
sword-knots of the same unvarying colour made of wool. The knapsacks of
the men are of dark brown calf skin, and their cloaks are fastened on the
top of their knapsacks. The men are armed with short light muskets, but
to every regiment there are a certain number of grenadiers. The officers,
you observe, are fewer in comparison than those of so large a body of men
in an English army. To command this body of infantry we should have at
least two generals, four colonels, some ten lieutenant-colonels, majors,
and fifty-five captains; here the duty is performed by one colonel, six
field officers, and thirty-two captains. Perhaps, say you, it is too few.
Perhaps. But these fellows march in excellent order—tramp, tramp! and the
drummers play with wonderful precision.
These fellows in the light grey tunics are rifles—a good colour, grey.
How much better than the old invisible green, which was always visible!
And how well the men look in that Swedish felt hat with one side turned
up and fastened by a brush. They are some 32,000 strong, these men of the
rifle, and the regiments are justly regarded as the finest in the service.
Next in order of march come the border infantry, raised originally in the
reign of Maria Theresa; you may know them by their coffee-brown tunics
and black cross-belts. Disciplinary companies follow close upon them.
They march well, but if you look closely at some of the fellows you may
notice a rollicking daring in them quite foreign to the regular troops.
These disciplinary corps are established for the purpose of drafting in
those untamed spirits that have not yet learned how to obey, and the
discipline is pretty sharp. _You_ would not like it! _you_ would be
writing to the _Times_ about it, if you dared!
General Discipline in the Austrian army?—Well—almost as unpopular an
officer as Corporal Punishment—pardon so dull a joke on so bright a
day—well, the discipline is not so sharp as it used to be. We don’t hear
so much of the stick, and running the gauntlet has quite gone out of
fashion. That running of the gauntlet was terrible work. Stripped to the
waist the culprit was marched through the ranks of his comrades, every
soldier armed with a cane, every soldier striking a blow—a punishment so
severe that many a time a man having endured it has asked for a draught
of water, and died before the water could be brought. Now they do these
things better: imprison the culprit, put him to shot piling or on extra
drill, but—
Oh these men of iron! Hardy and brave as the men of iron who served under
old iron-handed Charlemagne! These are the Austrian heavy cavalry—these
the cuirassiers with their breast-plates of black polished iron, but
_no back-plates_. They wear low leathern helmets and a brass crest;
they have white tunics, and grey trousers covered with leather to the
knee. Powerful horses carry these powerful men, but we doubt whether
the grey-clad riflemen could not bring them down, notwithstanding their
iron breast-plates. Amid a cloud of dust the Cuirassiers and Dragoons
ride on, and close in their rear come the Lancers with their short dark
green tunics, with red collars and facings, richly decorated with yellow
epaulettes, aiguillettes and cords, green trousers with red stripe, white
cloaks and low-crowned chapkas of various colours with a tuft. Each man
carries a long lance decorated with a black and yellow pennon. These
Lancers are followed by the Hussars, wearing tightly fitting tunics and
trousers; and after that, thundering over the ground, the Artillery—an
Artillery equal to that of any in Europe. The gun carriages and limbers
are painted yellow with black wheels, and the men are riding on long
jaunting cars, their uniform consisting of brown tunics with red cuffs
and facings, light blue trousers, long grey cloaks, and felt hats with
one brim turned up and fastened by a black and yellow tuft. Their belts
are white, and they carry a short infantry sword.
A small company in dark brown tunics with blue facings, and small low
shakos, follow next. These form the Land Transport Corps. After them come
the Engineers, with a special corps for Pontoons, and another Special
Corps for Flotilla purposes; and, lastly, 19,000 strong, march the
Gendarmerie, as fine a body of men—to look at—as ever trod the ground.
The oldest standing army in Europe is that of Austria. Its history is
indissolubly connected with that of the Empire; but, while there is
no army in Europe which displays stronger traces of the Middle Ages,
no pains have been spared to make it the most efficient by a ready
adoption—since 1850—of all modern improvements.
The army, like the Empire, is a strange compound of nationalities.
Germans, Sclavons, Hungarians, Wallachs—all are included, the army being
made up by conscription through all the provinces of the Empire, and all
classes, with some few very exceptions, being subjected to it. The army
belongs to the Emperor and not to the Empire, and hence an officer may
serve in it for years without having any claim to the protection of the
State. Foreigners, ever since the period of the Thirty Years’ War, have
held high rank in the Emperor’s army, and it is asserted that one-half
of the officers now holding commissions in the Austrian army are not
Austrians by birth.
By the latest returns it appears that a considerable reduction is taking
place in the numerical strength of the Austrian army. The expenses,
which in 1863 were estimated at a sum equivalent to 10,000,000_l._, were
reduced in 1865 to 9,000,000_l._, and the estimates for 1866 are no more
than 8,000,000_l._
You notice that the men are marked by strange contrasts of physiognomy;
they are marked also by strong animosity to each other, not as
individuals, but as nations. The troops raised in one dependency of
Austria hate with a thorough hatred troops raised in another, and it is
very difficult sometimes to keep peace between them. It is a rule also
that troops raised in any particular district should never be permitted
to garrison that district; and, in fact, that no troops should remain
long in any one place. By this means all familiarity with civilians is
cut off; the men must associate together—the officers must associate
together. As to the men, they are tolerably well paid—always enough
to secure them a good breakfast, dinner, and supper, with twopence or
threepence over for a dram. The officers—especially those holding high
rank—are nothing like so well paid as officers similarly commissioned
in England. They do not meet at mess, but each officer dines where he
pleases, and thus—
But here come the soldiers of Prussia, the soldiers of the Great Army,
which bears something of the impress of Frederick the Great.
Here are the Prussian Rifles, in dark green tunics, with red collars
and facings, grey infantry trousers, and a shako with a peak before and
behind, and a horsehair brush. Their belts are of black leather, and the
_couteau de chasse_, which can be used as a bayonet, is worn on the same
belt as the cartouche-box. They are all capital marksmen, and rapidity of
firing is regarded as a _sine quâ non_.
The Rifles are closely followed by the whole body of Prussian infantry,
on a war footing, 360,436 strong. They wear short tunics of blue
cloth, the collars red in the front and blue behind. Why blue behind?
Because the helmet would soon wear the other colour dirty. The head
covering—_pickelhaube_—is a round helmet with projecting pike, the line
wearing the regimental number in front, while the Guard is distinguished
by a star. The Guard is also distinguished by horsehair plumes. Who are
those who wear a cross in front of their helmets? These are the Landwehr
Infantry. There is, if you will look closely, something in the uniform to
distinguish the corps: the regiments of Prussia Proper and Pomerania have
white shoulder straps; those of Saxony and Brandenburg, red; those of
Posen and Silesia, yellow; those of Westphalia and the Rhine, light blue.
The trousers of the men are of dark grey cloth with a red piping down
the side; they all wear boots, but on march put gaiters over them; their
cloaks are of dark grey cloth, and their belts are of black leather.
This strong body of cavaliers—every horse a model—forms the Prussian
Cavalry. Here are the Garde du Corps and Grand Cuirassiers. They have
back and breast-plates of polished steel, and wear short white tunics
with red, blue, green, yellow, black, or orange colour cuffs and collars,
according to their regiments; their trousers are of dark grey cloth;
their helmets of polished steel; their principal weapon, the long
cut-and-thrust sword, worn in a white buffalo belt.
Here come the heavy Landwehr Regiments, in dark blue tunics and bright
helmets; in their rear ride the Italians, their dark blue jackets, all
picked out with red, are armed with long lances with black and white
pennons. These are followed by the Dragoons, in light blue tunics with
different coloured facings; Hussars, with black fur shakos and cloaks,
and trousers of light grey. And after them thunder the Artillery, on a
war footing, with some 34,000 horses and a proportionate number of men.
In time of peace the Prussian army is only 122,260 strong, with 5500
officers; while on a war footing it numbers 299,401 men, who can take
the field, while 95,957 men are left behind for home contingencies. The
difference between the peace and war establishment of Prussia is greater
than in any other European nation.
Universal service is the rule in Prussia, and every healthy man, without
distinction of rank, must personally perform military duty; but the
period a soldier remains in the standing army is short. The majority
only serve three years—from twenty-one to twenty-four; after which they
are enrolled for two further years in the reserve, and then pass to the
Landwehr of the final levy. The Prussian is aware from his earliest
years that he will have to enter the army, and hence even his childish
amusements bear a military stamp, and military drill forms part of his
common education. It is no small thing to demand of a nation that its
entire population must belong to the army up to the thirty-fifth year,
and be ready at any moment to quit home and family and to march wherever
it is commanded. But so it is in Prussia.
The non-commissioned officers of the Prussian army as a body are probably
the best in the world. They have the privilege before them of a civil
appointment after twelve years’ service, and they would rather work hard
for this than obtain a commission. There is a striking difference between
them and the French sergeants, whose only ambition seems to be to rise
from the ranks—to pluck at the bâton which is found—with how much of
difficulty!—in every man’s knapsack.
The French! Well, the French, you know, are an enthusiastic people—they
lead, in civil as well as military circles, rather stagey lives. Have
you seen Gustave Doré’s admirable pictures illustrative of the life of
a certain Captain Castagnette? Now he loses an eye—now an arm—now two
legs; now he has a bomb in his back which cannot be extracted; and now,
finally, _sans_ everything, he dozes by the fireside, sets fire to his
wooden leg, expels that ugly lodger, the bomb in his back, and is himself
dashed into a thousand or more pieces, nothing remaining but the Cross of
the Legion! All is lost, save honour! It is very French.
But here are the Frenchmen, ready to fight for honour and glory. _Vive
l’Empereur!_ Here are they, 500,000 strong. “_L’Empire c’est la Paix_,”
is it? Every Frenchman is a soldier by birth. Born in the purple were
the imperial children of Rome—born, or cradled in the buckler are these
children of the modern Empire! It may serve the turn of a Russian or a
German to aver that the most stupid soldiers are the best—that it is
not a soldier’s business to think, but simply to obey. Not so think the
Frenchmen. Intelligent, active, independent, are these brave Gallic
heroes. “Your hand, brave comrade—nay, never apologize. If the right hand
has been knocked off in fair fighting, give me your _left_ hand.”
Here are the Infantry, in light blue tunics, longer and wider than
those of Prussia, a black belt, to which is attached cartouche box,
bayonet, and sabre sheath; knapsack of brown calf-skin; large fringe
epaulettes, red trousers, small low shako of blue cloth, with a brass
shield in front, short half-boots, and gaiters. Here are the buglers and
sappers, armed with short rifles, and here are twenty battalions of light
infantry, each battalion numbering more than 1200 men. There are the
Chasseurs, consisting entirely of picked, active, strong soldiers—hardy
mountaineers of Auvergne, the Vosges, the Ardennes, the French Alps,
the Pyrenees, and Corsica. Here are the bronze-visaged sons of Algeria,
the Zouaves, their ranks recruited by a vast number of Frenchmen, and
a sprinkling of Germans, Poles, and Italians, attracted by the fiery
impetuosity, almost boyish fun, and Oriental costume of the band. They
number about 8000 men. They are closely followed by battalions of Light
African Infantry, four battalions of Native African Skirmishers, wearing
the Zouave dress; and these, again, by the old Foreign Legion, made up
of Germans, Prussians, Bavarians, Poles, Hungarians, Spaniards, and
Italians. Next come the Disciplinary Corps, 1600 strong; and, lastly, six
companies of Hospital Orderlies, amounting to 1600 or 1700 men.
The helmeted men who ride those powerfully made horses, that you might
swear were raised in Normandy, are the Cuirassiers. They are all tall,
athletic men; so also are the Carbineers, who follow them. Next come
the Dragoons, forming a total of seventy-two squadrons, who can take
the field with 13,000 horses, and forty-eight squadrons of Lancers,
with 8,000 horses. The Light Cavalry consists of twelve regiments of
_Chasseurs à Cheval_ and nine Hussar regiments—on a war footing, 24,000
or 25,000 strong. The Hussar and Chasseur are only distinguished from
each other by their gay and overladen uniform; their arms and horses are
very much alike. They ride little, strong, but terribly ugly horses,
reared in the mountainous parts of France. Next come the _Chasseurs
d’Afrique_, numbering about 3,000. They wear light blue tunics of the
Polish cut, red shakos, and white capote cloaks. They are armed with
long rifles and light sabres. The Spahis—numbering about 3,000 men,
principally natives of Algeria, mounted on Moorish stallions, their
uniform, armament and horse equipment perfectly Oriental in style—next
pass in review; and then the eye is dazzled by the splendid spectacle of
the Cent Gardes. Their uniform is magnificent, and every man is fit for
a sculptor’s model. And lastly, there is a large body of the Imperial
Guard—the Cuirassiers—splendidly built fellows, mounted on sturdy horses
of the Norman breed.
Here’s the Artillery—the finest arm of the French service. Has not the
Emperor himself written a hand-book on artillery practice? The uniform
of the men is tasteful and richly decorated; red-fringed epaulettes and
red-bordered shakos, short dark blue jacket with red facings, trousers
of the same with a broad red stripe. All the foot artillerymen are armed
with a short straight sword; all who serve on horseback carry cavalry
sabres. The guns are horsed by country-bred horses—compact, strong
brutes, not particularly attractive to the eye, but useful, and well
able to stand any climate. If the French Artillery were placed on the
war establishment, it would number 60,000 strong, with 49,000 horses
and nearly 1200 guns. The Commissariat troops and the indispensable
Engineers, in their blue tunics, come next, and while they pass before us
we may offer a few words on the army in general.
The French army on a full war establishment is represented by 580,000
men, 82,000 cavalry horses, and 1182 guns; there is also a reserve,
made up of old non-commissioned officers and conscripts, whom it has not
been found necessary to call out, amounting to at least 150,000 men. All
the men are thoroughly in earnest; they don’t wear the “Emperor’s coat,”
but the uniform of their country; the regiments do not bear the name of
any varying possession, but has its own number and permanent place in
history. “We did so and so at Austerlitz,” say the men to this day, in
speaking of the regiment to which they belong. In France, too, any good
soldier can become a corporal, any corporal a lieutenant, and so on in
military rank. The words of the Great Emperor will never be eradicated
from the minds of the French troops: “Every soldier of France carries a
marshal’s bâton in his knapsack;” and indeed many a man who entered the
service in a blouse has died in a General’s uniform.
Ah, my friend, I see you are inattentive. I know what means that glow
upon your cheek and sparkle in your eyes; I hear the strain as well as
yourself:—
“Our plumes have waved in combats
That ne’er shall be forgot,
Where many a mighty squadron
Reel’d backward from our shot.
In charges with the bayonet
We lead our bold compeers,
But Frenchmen like to stay not
For _British Grenadiers_.
“Once boldly at Vimiera
They hoped to play their parts,
And sang fal lira lira
To cheer their drooping hearts.
But English, Scotch, and Paddy-whacks,
We gave three hearty cheers,
And the French soon turned their backs
To the _British Grenadiers_.
“And what could Buonaparte,
With all his Cuirassiers,
In battle do at Waterloo
With British Grenadiers?
Then ever sweet the drum shall greet
That march unto our ears,
Whose martial roll awakes the soul
Of _British Grenadiers_!”
You know the old colours, and the old familiar music of the
“spirit-stirring drum” and “ear-piercing fife” is a welcome sound.
Hurrah, for our soldiers! One, two, three! and a ringing one over the
young recruits. Now for another one after that. What is that for? The
Volunteers, of course.
The number of effectives in the British army by the last return was
204,057. They are scattered all over the world, scarcely more than 30,000
being at any one time at home; and under so many varied temptations as
they must be exposed to, both abroad and at home, it says much for the
men that during the last year there were only 1438 deserters and 466
cases of corporal punishment. As to what British troops have achieved—is
not the history of England full of it? The sheer pluck they have
displayed under all sorts of disadvantages has made them famous through
the world. All sorts of disadvantages—at home not over well paid, not
over well cared for in garrison; not incited to exertion by the prospect
of promotion above that of a non-commissioned officer; not encouraged
to feel himself a man as well as a soldier; exposed to a degrading
punishment; clad in a costume totally unfitted for the field or the
march; armed with heavy and cumbersome weapons; sent to all parts of the
globe in precisely the same uniform; no proper provision made for his
comfort or convenience; not taken care of by the authorities, not allowed
to take care of himself; not—
“Upon the plains of Flanders
Our fathers long ago,
They fought like Alexanders
Beneath old Marlborough!”
I know it, my friend, but they fought under great disadvantage. They were
ill-provided with everything; they were badly paid, and their pay, small
as it was, was kept; their sheer pluck, as we said before, won the battle—
“And still in fields of conquest
Our valour bright has shone,
With Wolfe and Abercrombie,
And Moore and Wellington.”
I am aware of it all, but they would have thrashed their foes as surely,
and certainly with less inconvenience to themselves, had they been better
cared for. “If you had to fight the battle of Waterloo again, how would
you like to be dressed?” said the Prince Regent to a Guardsman. “In my
shirt sleeves, your Majesty!” was the highly practical reply. Do you
remember what use they made of the Grenadiers’ bearskin caps in the
Crimea? They filled them with mud, and found them excellent building
material. Do you remember the outcry there was when the stiff dog collars
were taken off our half-strangled soldiers? Do you recollect how Miniés
and revolvers were ridiculed by plethoric old officers? “I’ll tell you
what, sir, our men didn’t want Miniés and revolvers and such new-fangled
bosh at Waterloo, sir. They won without them, and can do it again, sir.”
I observe that you are observing the march of the British soldiers, more
than my observations. Well—’tis a grand sight. Chobham and Aldershot have
done something for them. Those are the Guards: the Household Brigade,
composed of the Grenadiers, of three battalions, the Coldstream, of
two, and the Fusiliers, of two battalions: forming a total of seven
battalions, each with a strength of 900 men. They are fine, tall,
powerful fellows—picked men. How bravely they bestirred themselves
that foggy morning at Inkermann, when the Russians dropped in before
breakfast! Who can forget that soldiers’ battle? The men who follow are
the Infantry Regiments of the Line, all armed with rifles. There are 100
regiments, numbering somewhere about 130,000 men. There are the Rifle
Brigade, in their uniform of dark green cloth and dull metal buttons;
then a company of Amazons—no, the Highlanders, in their national garb.
The pibroch tells of their coming:
“Think on Scotia’s ancient heroes,
Think on foreign foes repelled;
Think on glorious Bruce and Wallace,
Who the proud usurpers quelled!
“See the northern clans advancing!
See Glengarry and Lochiel!
See the brandished broadsword gleaming!
Highland hearts are true as steel.”
And now the Cavalry appears on the scene—the so-called “Heavies” more
lightly, however, mounted than the French, Prussian, or Austrian
Cuirassiers; counterbalanced, perhaps, by the extreme heaviness of the
Light Dragoons when compared to continental Hussars. The Heavy Cavalry is
composed of three regiments of Guards, nine Heavy Dragoon regiments, one
Carabineer regiment; altogether thirteen regiments, comprising a strength
of about 6,000 men, with the same number of horses. The Guards form Her
Majesty’s Body Guard, and there is not a finer body of men in the world.
The English Light Cavalry is composed of Dragoons, Lancers, and Hussars.
The Artillery consists of what is called the Royal Regiment of Artillery,
which has a strength of about 800 officers, 1500 non-commissioned
officers, 1900 rank and file, with 4200 horses. In addition to this
Artillery Regiment, there is a brigade of Horse Artillery, comprised of
70 officers, 150 non-commissioned officers, and 2200 rank and file, with
1900 horses. All the material is excellent, no expense being spared to
raise this branch of the service to a proper degree of efficiency. The
Engineer Corps is an important addition to the army.[3] At Woolwich there
is a splendid school for the non-commissioned officers.
And here are the Volunteers!
“Altogether,” you say, “a splendid show, these British fellows. Only a
small item in this grand parade of European armies, but clearly there is
the might of men in them. They afraid!
“‘Come, if you dare!’ our trumpets sound.
‘Come, if you dare!’ the foes rebound.
‘We come, we come!’
Says the double beat of the thund’ring drum.
Now they charge on amain!
Now they rally again!
The gods from above the mad labour behold,
And pity mankind that will perish for gold.
The fainting foemen quit their ground,
Their trumpets languish in their sound—
They fly! they fly!
Victoria! Victoria!”
Ah, my dear friend, when your enthusiasm has a little cooled will you
kindly direct your attention to the troops _now_ passing under your
Roman—no—I mean your British—nose. These are Russians. How stolidly they
march, and how alike they are. There is a company of the Guards, and all
the men have light hair and blue eyes; there’s a company of the Guards
again, and all the men have black hair and dark eyes. Order is Russia’s
first law, and, this confest, all are and must be very like the rest.
One day a ship, with many officers and men on board, went down in the
Neva. The order was passed to the soldiers to save in the first place the
officers of the Guard. They therefore anxiously inquired of each officer
they got hold of if he belonged to the Guard? The poor fellows could
not answer, as their mouths were full of water, so they were allowed
to drown. On another occasion, as it was very dusty, the soldiers were
ordered to water the field for exercise. While employed in this duty it
came on to rain heavily, but they continued the task with the utmost
gravity. They had been ordered to do it, and that was enough. During the
siege of Warsaw a young grenadier addressed a veteran, and pointing to
the entrenchments, said, “Do you think, comrade, we shall take them?” “I
do not think we shall,” the other replied; “they are too strong.” “But,”
said the young man, “if we are ordered to take them?” “Oh, that will be
another thing; if we are ordered to take them of course we shall do so.”
Out of 65,000,000 to 70,000,000 men subject to the Czar, 40,000,000 to
45,000,000 are liable to the conscription. The infantry of the Russian
Imperial Guard consists of five grand infantry divisions, each composed
of two brigades, and these again subdivided into four regiments. The
Grenadier Corps is divided into six brigades or twelve regiments.
There are also attached three Carabineer regiments. There are six
Infantry Corps, each consisting of three divisions of six brigades, or
twelve regiments. One rifle regiment is attached to each division. The
Circassian Corps is subdivided precisely like the line infantry, but
the regiments are much stronger. The Finland Corps only consists of one
division of two brigades, subdivided into twelve battalions, equal to
12,600 men. The Siberian Corps is composed of one division; the Oremberg
Corps also comprises one division. The total strength of Russian infantry
amounts to about 540,000 fighting men. The total strength of the Russian
cavalry is estimated at 80,000 men. Those magnificent fellows that just
now rode by, in their white uniforms and black helmets and cuirasses, are
the picked men—the Cuirassiers of the Guard. The Russian Artillery is
formed of nine foot and two horse divisions—14,000 guns and 44,000 men.
Who are these? These are the Italians, just drawing long breaths of
liberty; and these, soldiers of Spain and Portugal; and these, sons of
Mohammed—weak descendants of a mighty race, who set the world aflame from
Delhi to Grenada!
All the colours of the rainbow, all the tongues of Babeldom, all the
varied physiognomies of all the races in all the world—they troop past
us: the wild, weird Cossack, with his tremendous lance; the dapper
English Volunteer, with his rifle sure as David’s sling; the Zouave, with
his cat upon his knapsack; the Prussian officer, very bare in pocket, but
proud of the “King’s coat”—here they pass before us; the air resounding
with the strains of military music, the rat-a-plan of the French troops,
the clash of Turkish cymbals, the ringing sound of the English bugle, the
shrill note of the Highland pibroch. Yes—here are our fighting men, ready
to⸺well—may Heaven grant that their swords may rest in their scabbards,
and that their artillery shall thunder only to usher in—with soldiers’
music—a Millennium of Peace!
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