THE BLACK WATCH.
War with Egypt had been declared, and in the Castle of Edinburgh, as
in every other fortress and barrack in the British Isles, the notes
of preparation were sounding, and the Black Watch, ever so glorious
in the annals of our army, was among the regiments bound for the land
where, eighty years before, it had gathered such a crop of laurels
under the gallant Abercrombie, in conflict, not against a feeble
horde of Egyptians, but when encountering forty thousand of the
veteran infantry of France.
From that day in the October of 1739 when the companies of _Freicudan
Dhu_, or Black Watch (so called from their sombre green tartans),
drawn from the Munroes of Ross, the Grants of Strathspey, and the
Campbells of Lochnelland Carrick, were first enrolled as a regiment
on the Birks of Aberfeldie, near the southern bank of the Tay, by the
gallant old Earl of Crawford, the 42nd has been second to none in
peace and war, and its very name and number are rendered dear to the
people of Scotland by innumerable ties of friendship and clanship, by
traditions and glorious exploits in battle.
In almost everything that has added strength or brilliance to the
British Empire the regiment has borne a leading part, and to attempt
to trace its annals would be to write the history of our wars since
the days of the second George.
Suffice it that the second year after the companies were constituted
a regiment, saw them fighting for the House of Austria against France
and Bavaria, and covering the rear of that British army which was
hurled from the heights of Fontenoy by the bayonets of the Irish
Brigades, and where, we are told, 'the gallantry of Sir Robert Munroe
of 'the gallantry of Sir Robert Munroe of Culcairn and his
Highlanders was the theme of admiration through all Britain.'
So it was with them in the old Flanders war, till 1758 saw them
attacking Ticonderoga in America, where, rushing from amid the
Reserve, where they disdained to linger, they hewed down the dense
abatis with their claymores, and, storming the breastworks, 'climbing
up one another's shoulders, and placing their feet in the holes made
in the face of the works by their swords and bayonets, no ladders
having been provided,' exposed the while to a dreadful fire of cannon
and musketry, under which six hundred and forty-seven of them fell;
and hence a cry for vengeance went through the country of the clans,
procuring so many recruits, and another battalion was formed, and
fresh glories were won in the West India Isles, where, at Martinique
and by the walls of the Moro, their pipes sent up the notes of
victory.
In the fatal strife of the American revolt they were ever in the van,
and the first years of the present century saw their tartans waving
darkly amid the battle-smoke of Aboukir, under the shadow of Pompey's
Pillar, and on the plains of Alexandria, where they cut to pieces the
French Invincibles, slew six hundred and fifty of them, captured
their colours, which were delivered to Major Stirling, together with
the cannon they had also seized; and ere long the mosques and towers
of Grand Cairo echoed to their martial music.
Who can record the brilliance of their valour in the long and
glorious war of the Peninsula--that war of victories, which began on
the banks of the Douro and continued to the hill of Toulouse? And
anon, their never-to-be-forgotten prowess on the plains of Waterloo,
when, under Macara, they formed the flower of Picton's superb
division, and where, with the Greys and Gordon Highlanders, they sent
up the cry which still finds echo in every Scottish heart, the
_cri-de-guerre_ of 'Scotland for ever!' while plunging into those
mighty French columns, which rolled away before their bayonets like
smoke before the wind.
There their total casualties were two hundred and ninety-seven of all
ranks.
'They fought like heroes, and like heroes fell--an honour to the
country,' to quote the War Office Record, page 145. 'On many a
Highland hill, and through many a Lowland valley, long will the deeds
of these brave men be fondly remembered and their fate deeply
deplored. Never did a finer body of men take the field; never did
men march to battle that were destined to perform such services to
their country, and to obtain such immortal renown.'
But equal renown did their services win on the banks of the Alma,
when old Colin Campbell led them into action, exclaiming,
'Now, men, the whole army is watching us; make me proud of my
Highland Brigade!'
And reason indeed had that grand old soldier to be proud of his lads
in the kilt, as they swept up the green hillsides to glory. 'The
ground they had to ascend,' says an eye-witness, the author of
'Eothen,' 'was a good deal more steep and broken than the slope
beneath the redoubt. In the land where those Scots were bred, there
are shadows of sailing clouds shimmering up the mountain side, and
their paths are rugged and steep, yet their course is smooth, easy,
and swift. Smoothly, easily, and swiftly the Black Watch seemed to
glide up the hill. A few minutes before their tartans ranged dark in
the valley; now their plumes were on the crest.'
Into the dense grey masses of the Kazan column, over which towered
the miraculous figure of St. Sergius, their steady volley swept like
a sheet of lead; anon their line of bayonets was flashing to the
charge like a hedge of steel, and a wail of despair broke from the
Muscovites, who, crying that 'the Angel of Death had come,' threw
away all that might impede their speed and fled.
'Then,' says the brilliant author we have quoted, 'rose the cheers of
the Highland Brigade. Along the Kourgané slopes, and thence west
almost home to the causeway, the hillsides were made to resound with
that joyous and assuring cry, which is the natural utterance of a
northern people so long as it is warlike and free.'
Their furious onset struck terror to many an Indian heart during the
dark years of the Sepoy revolt, and like sweetest music their pipes
were heard by that desperate and despairing band who fought for their
wives and children in beleaguered Lucknow; and as, of course, the old
Black Watch must be in everything, they bore their share in the
conquest of Coomassie, and were the first men in the sable city, as
their pipes announced to the army of Wolseley.
While on this subject, we cannot help quoting a Frenchman's estimate
of the Scottish troops. In the _Moniteur de Soir_ for 1868, a writer
says,
'The Scottish soldiers form without distinction the cream of the
British army, and the Highlander is the prototype of the excellent
soldier. He has all the requisite qualities without one defect.
Unluckily for Great Britain, the population of Scotland is not
numerous. Saving, it is true, to the point of putting by penny after
penny, the Scotsman, for all that, is honest, steadfast, and amiable
in his intercourse with others, enthusiastic and proud, most
chivalrous when the question is about shedding his blood. The old
traditions of clanship subsist, each company is grouped round an
illustrious name, and all and every man is sure to be the captain's
cousin. The Highlanders have a strange sort of bravery, which
partakes of French fire and English phlegm. They rush with
impetuosity, they charge with vigour, but are not hurried away by
anger. In the very hottest of an attack, a simple order suffices to
stop them. Formed in square, you would take them for Englishmen, but
in the bayonet charge you would swear they were French. For the rest
they are of Celtic origin, and the blood of our fathers flows in
their veins. In the eyes of the Turk, the Scots have one enormous
fault--that of showing their bare legs. In _our_ eyes they have but
one defect, but still excessively annoying--their depraved taste for
the screaming of the bagpipes. We know that the Highlanders would
not get under fire (with _élan_) without being excited by their
national airs being played on this discordant instrument. One of
their generals having put down this piercing music, they attacked the
enemy so languidly that the bagpipes had to be restored to them, and
then they took the position. In a word, we repeat that the Scots are
magnificent soldiers.'
We may smile at the Frenchman's idea of the pipes, for as the old
piper said of Count Flauhault when he expressed his disgust thereat,
'Maybe she heard owre muckle o' them at Waterloo.'
And now once again the Black Watch were going to the land of the sun
and the desert, where Abercrombie received his death-wound while
calling to them in the charge, 'My brave Highlanders, remember your
country--remember your forefathers!' And these glories, with all
'the stirring memories of a thousand years,' were not forgotten on
that day in the August of 1882 when, under the scion of a gallant
house, Cluny the younger, the regiment received its orders of
readiness and began to prepare for its departure from the Castle of
Edinburgh, while a mighty throb seemed to pervade the heart of the
city as its hour of departure approached.
All in its ranks, of course, had friends whom they sorrowed to
leave--all save poor Evan Cameron; and all were impatient and full of
ardour to join in the coming strife; but none, perhaps, were more
impatient than he, for he had to seek forgetfulness--oblivion from
his own thoughts--a refuge from his futile regrets--among other
scenes for the lost love of one who could never be more to him than a
tender memory now.