did good service as a part of the Parliamentary army. Though generally
believed to be of Scotch origin, such is not the fact, for the regiment
originally came from Ireland, and was an Irish corps, its name being
taken from its first colonel and founder, Scot; hence Scot's Fusiliers;
or as it now stands, Scots Fusiliers. The regiment has, however, for
many years past been composed principally of Scotchmen; and after
the Crimean War the Queen's permission was given to the appointment
of a band of pipers in Highland garb to each of the two battalions.
But, as we have seen above, the Coldstreamers are the genuine Scotch
corps. There is little known authoritatively about the movements of the
Fusiliers previous to the time when they took up arms in the king's
service as the Third Regiment of Foot Guards. Since that interesting
and important event its brilliant services have equalled those of its
sister regiments on every occasion.
The regimental badge is the star of the order of St Andrew, with the
thistle, and the words, '_Nemo me impune lacesset_' (No one touches me
with impunity). On its colours are the words Lincelles, Egypt (with the
Sphinx), Talavera, Barrosa, Peninsula, Waterloo, Alma, Inkerman, and
Sevastopol.
Here we must remark that time-honoured traditions are amongst the most
treasured possessions of British regiments, for there is hardly a
corps in our army without a history of its own. And by some means or
another, every soldier, from the colonel to the smallest drummer-boy,
who takes a pride in his profession, becomes acquainted with these
traditions, and cherishes them with jealous care; for in those tattered
colours which are borne proudly before him, he views the record and
visible embodiment of deeds of valour, and resolves, when in the
battle-field, that no action of his shall sully the proud history of
his corps. Nelson's celebrated signal at Trafalgar trebled the strength
and pluck of the force under his command; and so likewise, in the heat
of a battle on land, the magic words 'Coldstreamers!' 'Fusiliers!'
'Black Watch!' (whichever the regiment may be) have precisely the same
effect, by conjuring up in every man's breast that _esprit de corps_
without which a regiment would be an utter nonentity. The soldier of
every nation is, as a rule, very sensitive with regard to the name and
distinctive badges of his regiment, and none more so than the British
soldier. Take these away, as some have actually proposed to do; simply
number the regiments from right to left; give them a universal badge,
with clothing of the same pattern; or, in other words, destroy that
regimental organisation which has made the British army famous, and
much of the romance and heroism of the British soldier is gone.
The uniform of the Guards has undergone many changes since the
Restoration, at which time it was of a very neat and picturesque
character. The bearskin head-dress of the present day is a
comparatively modern adoption, and was introduced into the English army
by the Duke of Wellington, in imitation of those worn by Napoleon's
Imperial Guard; while the present pattern tunic and waist-belt
superseded the swallow-tailed coats and clumsy cross-belts which were
in use so recently as the year 1855.
The three regiments, although doing duty principally in London, have
at all critical moments in the nation's history been ordered abroad,
to share in the glorious task of facing the foreign enemies of their
country; and we find them acquitting themselves nobly beneath the
banners of Marlborough, Moore, and Wellington. At the battle of
Fontenoy occurred that ever-memorable scene, when for the first time
the English and French Guards found themselves face to face, and
both corps hesitated, from a noble sense of chivalry, to commence
the attack. At length, Lord Charles Hay, a captain of the English
Guards, called out: 'Gentlemen of the French Guards, fire!' But with
characteristic courtesy and _sang-froid_, the French commander replied:
'Gentlemen, we never fire first; fire you first!'
The Coldstreamers and Fusiliers in 1801 proceeded to Egypt, where,
beneath the shadow of the Pyramids, they gained fresh laurels against
the French; and the former so distinguished themselves as to win the
distinctive badge (a red plume) which they wear to this day on the
right side of their bearskin caps. For their services in Egypt both
corps were permitted to bear upon their colours the word 'Egypt' with
the Sphinx above it. Again, all through the Peninsular War the Guards
did gallant service, which culminated in that noble and irresistible
charge at Waterloo which crushed Napoleon's power, and placed England
upon the pinnacle of fame.
Many are the deeds of daring which have been done by individual members
of these famous regiments, both officers and men; but as those of the
former rarely fail to be blazoned forth to the world, it will be our
pleasant task in these pages to record a few instances of the deeds
performed by heroes of humbler rank. Unrecorded deeds are like hidden
jewels, and it is not until they are exposed to the light of day,
that the world marvels at their value and worships them accordingly.
At Waterloo the defence of Hougoumont was intrusted to the flank
companies of the brigade of Guards, for it was the key of the English
position, and orders were issued that it was to be defended until not
a stone was left of it. It consisted of an old farm-house and outlying
buildings composed principally of wood; and no sooner were the Guards
posted there, than they began to loop-hole the walls and make every
preparation for its defence. Against this place Napoleon sent the
finest of his troops, who, to the number of many thousands, made a
desperate attack upon it, which lasted nearly the whole day. Again and
again were the French repulsed, only to renew the onset with greater
vigour and determination; but those five or six hundred Guardsmen were
invincible in their dogged tenacity, and would not yield even when the
buildings were blazing around them. In the midst of the mêlée, a young
sergeant of the Grenadiers approached his commanding officer, and with
tears in his eyes asked for a few moments' leave to perform a brotherly
duty. The astonishment of the officer was great, for but a few moments
before he had occasion to remark the bravery of his subordinate's
conduct.
'It must be something very important to take you away from your duty at
this critical moment,' said the officer with a gesture of impatience
and a reproachful look.
'See!' said the sergeant, pointing to a building which was in flames
from top to bottom; 'my brother lies there severely wounded, and in
a few moments more the roof will fall in: am I not, sir, to make an
effort to save him?'
'Go!' said the officer; 'and may you be successful.'
Away sprung the young soldier; and dashing into the midst of the
flaming pile without the least hesitation, he emerged in a few seconds,
singed and scorched all over, but bearing upon his shoulders a precious
burden--his wounded and still living brother. Scarcely had he left the
building ere the roof fell in with a terrific crash, that was heard
above the crackling of muskets and the booming of artillery. Bearing
his brother to a protected spot, he laid him gently down, and instantly
rejoined his company, where he arrived just in time to save his
captain's life!
In another part of the old farmyard of Hougoumont stood the heavy
wooden gate, which, of course, became a special object of attack on
the part of the French; and after several hours of hard and desperate
fighting (during which many useless attempts to open the gate had
been made), they at last succeeded in forcing it. The moment was a
critical one for the little garrison, and for a second or two, the
defenders of the gate seemed stupefied; but there is, seemingly, a hero
for every occasion, and a stout-built sergeant of the Coldstreams,
named Graham, stepped forward just as the enemy began to push in at
the gate, and placing his shoulder to the heavy structure, he, with
almost superhuman energy, shut it against the foe. The shoulders of
twenty or thirty stout men were instantly laid against the gate until
it could be barricaded more strongly than before; and when the battle
of Waterloo was won and lost, Hougoumont, though razed to the ground,
remained untaken. In addition to this brave act, Sergeant Graham had
also saved his captain's life several times during that eventful day;
and when, some time afterwards, the Duke of Wellington was made trustee
of a legacy of one hundred pounds left for the bravest man at Waterloo,
and had sent it to Captain Macdonald (the commander at Hougoumont),
the latter immediately returned it to the Duke with the reply, that
Sergeant Graham was the hero of Waterloo, for he had by his own
strength saved the British position. The sergeant eventually received
the legacy and a commission.
At the battle of the Alma, on the 20th September 1854, numerous
instances of bravery occurred in the ranks of the Guards, foremost
amongst which was the act of Sergeant Davis of the Scots Fusiliers,
who, when the officer who was carrying the regimental colour was
surrounded by the Russians and shot down, seized the sacred emblem of
his regiment's honour, and battling his way forward single-handed,
planted it triumphantly on the summit of the hard-won height.
At Inkerman, the soldiers' battle, the brave Coldstreamers--George
Monk's _Nulli Secundus_ men--made heroes of themselves, and
immortalised their name. They went into action with sixteen officers
and four hundred men; and of this small number they had thirteen
officers and more than two hundred men killed and wounded. Eight
of these officers were killed, amongst them being Colonels Cowell,
Elliott, and Mackinnon, who fell in the act of leading their men on to
the charge. At length the Grenadiers and Fusiliers, after much severe
fighting, cut their way to the spot where their gallant comrades were
being annihilated. Thus united, the three regiments bore down upon the
enemy in a line of _single file_ (so fearfully had they suffered), and
beat them back down the ravine.
When peace was proclaimed the Guards returned home to receive the
well-earned reward of their prowess. All London turned out to welcome
them, and a right hearty welcome it was. Her Majesty the Queen and the
Prince Consort witnessed the march of the three regiments from the
balcony of Buckingham Palace, and the former waved her handkerchief to
the brave fellows, as they passed on their way to Hyde Park, with their
ranks broken by the people, who, in their enthusiasm, demanded to shake
hands with the popular heroes. In Hyde Park, they were received by the
home battalions with military honours, and were afterwards reviewed
by the Queen, when, as a mark of high honour, the Crimean battalions
were permitted to march past their sovereign with their tattered
ensigns _flying_ instead of being lowered in the usual way. They had
nobly shewn their fidelity to Queen and country, and those _flying
colours_ was a simple but touching acknowledgment of the fact. Indeed,
the reception of these regiments was quite an ovation; and never had
soldiers better deserved the honours bestowed upon them.
A RAILWAY TRIP IN JAPAN.
Five years ago the only means by which communication was kept up
between the rapidly growing settlement of Yokohama and the capital of
the empire, Yedo, was by the Tocaido--the great main road--or by sea.
As the steamers on the latter route were under Japanese guidance, and
as blowings-up and runnings-ashore were unpleasantly frequent, the
majority of travellers chose the land-route. And even by this way the
annoyances and accidents were so serious and so frequent, that few,
except those who had pressing business on hand, or who were ardent
explorers, chose to leave the security of the European settlement
at all; so it may be said that until the introduction of railways,
Yedo remained almost unknown to Europeans. A rackety four-horse van,
barring accidents, made the journey and returned every day. The
road was execrable, and the people of the villages along the route
generally ill-disposed to 'white barbarians.' A week of fierce sun
converted the track into a bed of dust, a day of rain turned it into
an almost impassable quagmire. Overturnings and break-downs were of
daily occurrence; and the safe arrival at the capital was hailed as an
unlooked-for pleasure and surprise. English enterprise, however, backed
by English gold, has changed the order of things; and the pilgrimage
which formerly occupied five hours and cost ten dollars may now be
performed in forty minutes by _rail_ at the comparatively reasonable
price of one dollar.
The Yokohama terminus is admirably suited to the requirements of
the public, and it is difficult to stand there, surrounded by
waiting-rooms, cloak-rooms, refreshment-rooms, and ticket-offices,
jostled by diminutive natives clad in the orthodox British porter
costume, reading by-laws, advertisements, and notices in English, and
realise the fact that one is in the mystic land of Japan, fifteen
thousand miles from Ludgate Hill, King's Cross, or Edinburgh.
Everything is British belonging to the railway itself. The locomotives
are Sheffield built, and are driven by brawny specimens of the
Anglo-Saxon race, aided by native stokers. The carriages are from
Birmingham--constructed on the American principle--that is, with a
passage running from end to end, so that the guard may walk through
the train. Every signal-post, switch, and lamp comes from England. The
officials are almost without exception 'Samourai'--men of good birth,
and have taken wonderfully to their change of profession; the guards
are even learning to jump in and out of the trains when in motion with
the precision and agility of those at home. In fact during the short
journey between Yokohama and Yedo one is transported for a while into
the old country; and one only has to shut the eyes to the quaint forms
and faces of the passengers and the peculiarity of the scenery, to make
the illusion complete.
Leaving Yokohama, the train crosses the spit of land connecting the
settlement with the promontory known as Kawasaki Point, passes through
the pleasure part of the town--a sort of suburb, consisting entirely of
large tea-houses and places of entertainment, and stops at the first
station, Kanagawa. This was originally intended to be the foreign port,
but objections were raised by the European merchants that the depth of
water was insufficient to admit of large vessels anchoring conveniently
near, so that, in spite of government opposition, the present port of
Yokohama was chosen. To this day, however, all official documents are
dated from Kanagawa, and not from Yokohama.
Kanagawa, a long straggling village on the Tocaido or great road, has
always been a hotbed of disaffection towards foreigners. Many a bloody
record still tells of the days when the proud 'Samourai' or officers
felt that they were scarcely doing their duty towards their country
in allowing a European to pass unmolested on the road; and even now,
though feudalism, Samourai, and all have been swept away by the march
of civilisation, one cannot ride or walk along the narrow street
without being saluted as a 'beast' or 'foreign invader.' The temples
which were the first residences of the foreign consuls still exist, but
the natives have carefully wiped away all traces of foreign occupation,
and they are now used, as formerly, for purposes of Buddhist or
'Shinto' worship. From Kanagawa the railway passes under the great
road, and enters a broad fertile plain ablaze with many tinted crops,
fringed on the left hand by a picturesque range of hills, and bounded
on the right by the sea. The peasants are becoming accustomed to the
sight of the locomotive and its string of carriages, and rarely stop on
their path or rest from their work to gaze at what was but a few months
back a wonderful phenomenon. But the pack-horses are less tractable,
and dance and pirouette in all directions till the noise is over.
Tsurumi, a little village, also on the Tocaido, is the next station.
It is the centre of the snipe district, and on Saturdays and Sundays
the little platform is crowded with knickerbockered Britons with their
dogs; Frenchmen, fantastically arrayed in sporting costume; Israelites;
sailors and soldiers from the men-of-war in harbour, armed with every
variety of rifle, musket, or blunderbuss, all bent on wading through
the 'paddy' mud in the hopes of making some sort of a bag.
From Tsurumi, the train glides through a delicious stretch of
scenery--on the one side little villages nestle amidst the trees, and
the deep blue ocean glitters away into the distance; on the other, all
is a romantic jumble of hill, and wood, and dale. Here and there a
red temple roof breaks the sombre verdure of the hill-side, and at a
certain point a depression of the hills affords the traveller a peep
at the distant goblin-haunted range of mountains of which Oyama is the
chief, behind which the pure white cone of the sacred mountain Fuji
rises, solitary and grand, like a monarch in repose. All around is
pure unadulterated rusticity. The iron road cuts remorselessly through
pleasant vales and wooded hills, but nothing is changed; and if the
visitor will take the trouble to explore on either side, he will find
the old-world life of Japan still existing as it did centuries ago,
when the only Europeans in the land were a few Portuguese missionaries
and a small colony of Dutch traders cooped up in an island at Nagasaki.
After a fifteen minutes' run through this charming country,
Kawasaki--exactly half-way between Yokohama and Yedo--is reached. Here
the down-train from the capital meets us, and there is a stop of a few
minutes.
Kawasaki was in the old days one of the most important towns on the
great road. On their way from Kiyoto to Yedo, from the western capital
to the eastern, the great lords made Kawasaki their last halting-place,
and one may yet see the shadows of the great feudal age of Japan in
the magnificent tea-houses scattered through the town. Like the old
coaching inns on our great main roads in England, these tea-houses have
lost almost all their ancient prosperity, as the turmoil of revolution,
and above all the accomplishment of the railway, have diverted almost
all the traffic from this part of the Tocaido. In one or two of the
houses, however, splendidly adorned and painted suites of apartments,
pretty gardens, and huge ranges of out-buildings, still attest the
former splendour of the age; and although fowls and half-wild curs have
made the stabling and out-houses their home, and although the numerical
strength of the domestics is not sufficient to keep the dust and
cobwebs away from the gaily screened rooms, the proprietors still shew
the remains with some pride, and at the instigation of a cup of 'saké'
will tell many a quaint story of the doings in those half-forgotten
days and sigh that they can never return.
Moreover Kawasaki is the starting-point for pilgrims to two of the most
celebrated shrines in this part of the country, so that notwithstanding
the decay of its prosperity, Kawasaki is still sufficiently full of
life and animation, well fitted to repay a visit from the student of
Japanese life and manners. Within ten minutes' walk rises the huge
fane of Kobo-Daishi, a Buddhist saint of great renown and the reputed
originator of the syllabary now in common use. Hither repair on certain
days annually, from all parts of the empire, troops of pilgrims of both
sexes and all ages, attired in holiday costume, and though nominally on
devotional exercise bent, from the exuberance of their spirits and the
time they pass in the surrounding pleasure-houses, not at all inclined
to forego the enjoyment of a holiday.
Farther away from the town is the almost equally celebrated shrine of
Ikigami, dedicated to Iyeyas, the great self-raised priest who founded
the Tokugawa line of emperors, beautifully situated on a solitary
deeply wooded hill. This is one of the sweetest spots near Yokohama.
The most complete calm reigns over everything, only broken occasionally
by the tinkle of the old temple bell and the monotonous drone of the
officiating priests, or by the wind murmuring through the great trees.
Scattered about around a pagoda of quaint proportions are the tombs of
many of the old feudal lords--quaint curious examples of that reverence
for the dead so characteristic of the Japanese as of all oriental
nations. Except during the pilgrim season, until the opening of the
railway, one might wander about these solitudes for hours without any
chance of being disturbed. Now, however, that the railway has brought
Ikigami within easy access of Yokohama, the graves on the hill have
become a favourite resort of picnic parties and pleasure-seekers from
the great foreign settlement. New tea-houses have sprung up around the
base of the hill, and the place is rapidly assuming the tea-garden
character which has too often degraded beautiful spots near Yokohama.
At Kawasaki, the river runs which nominally is the boundary beyond
which foreigners may not explore. The law insisting on this, however,
is far more honoured in the breach than in the observance, and not a
day passes without scores of foreigners crossing the new bridge.
From Kawasaki the train speeds through huge apple-orchards, till the
houses become more frequent and less detached, and now skirting the
sea, one visibly approaches a large city, close to which are anchored
men-of-war, merchant-vessels, and junks.
The train stops at Shinagawa, the last station, at which, from its want
of interest, there is but little temptation for the visitor to alight.
The only pleasing bit to break the monotony of dull-coloured hovels is
the stately demesne and foreign-built mansion of one of the most ardent
supporters of the 'Advance' School of Japanese politicians. Soldiers,
coolies, and low-class women seem to compose the street population of
this suburb; whilst every other house is either a 'rowdy' tea-house
or a 'buvette' of the commonest type. Equestrians and pedestrians
therefore, if Europeans, may look out for a repetition of the scowls
and abuse of Kanagawa. Leaving the station, and proceeding towards
the terminus within the city gates, the train passes the temple,
formerly the seat of the British Legation, where the murderous attack
was made by hired bravoes of the anti-European party in Japan on Sir
Rutherford Alcock and suite, some years back. Farther on a collection
of hovels--for otherwise they cannot be designated--situated on a high
hill, was, till a year ago, the seat of English diplomatic power in
Japan.
The train passes on over the sites of old 'Yashikis' or palaces, and
through the once extensive hunting-grounds of the great prince of Tosa,
skims the vast barren tract which still marks the disastrous fire of
1871, and finally enters the Yedo terminus. The station is the exact
counterpart of that at Yokohama, and is situated in the busiest part
of the capital, close to the 'Foreign Concession,' where the Europeans
chiefly reside, and within ten minutes' walk of the celebrated 'Nihon
Bashi' or Bridge of Japan, from which all distances in the empire are
measured. Outside the station are waiting carriages, 'Jinrickishas'--or
chairs on wheels dragged by coolies--breaks, and even a Hammersmith
built omnibus; so that the traveller has but to take his choice and be
taken anywhere. The Japanese and, strange to say, the Chinese (who have
only just permitted a line to be made on their sacred soil) have taken
wonderfully to travelling by railway. All classes avail themselves
of it; and it is sometimes amusing to observe how Young Japan tries
to assume an air of nonchalance, and endeavours to appear as if he
had been accustomed to railways all his life. Every train is crowded,
especially on Sundays; and the pilgrims bound for the capital from
Mount Fuji or Oyama, hail the foreign engine and train waiting for them
at Kanagawa as a godsend and a saving of many hours of weary travelling
and, what is more important, much cash. The childish delight of the
natives at being rattled over the ground at twenty miles an hour is
ludicrous; and although the novelty has worn off, there are still
numbers who simply travel up and down the line for the sake of the
sensation.
A CURATE'S HOLIDAY.
IN FOUR CHAPTERS.--CHAPTER II.