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FATIGUED with want of
sleep, and almost nodding in his saddle, Ronald reached the camp a little
after sunrise. The Highlanders were under arms, formed in line on the
greensward between the long streets of tents and the margin of the Seine.
The ensigns had uncased the yellow silk colours, the drummers were bracing
up their instruments, and Campbell sat motionless on horseback at about a
hundred yards from the centre of the line, which he was surveying with a
watchful eye. He was looking very cross, so Stuart prepared to be rowed.
'A pretty fellow you are,
Ronald, to keep the whole regiment waiting in this manner! We were just
about to march without you.'
Ronald made no reply, but
dashed up at full gallop, raised his hand to his bonnet, and then wheeling
his charger round, backed him upon his haunches, causing him to curvet and
rear, that the rider might display a little horsemanship, as he galloped
round the flank of the grenadiers and came up in his place on the left of
the line with his sword drawn. As the band struck up, and the battalion
broke into sections of threes and moved off, a cheer burst from the lips
of every man, as a parting call to those comrades whom they were to leave
behind them.
Saint Germains was the
first stage. They were quartered for the night in the ancient palace,
which had long been uninhabited and empty, and was consequently hastening
to decay. Eighty years before, who could have imagined that the residence
of the exiled Stuarts would have become the quarters of a Scottish
regiment in the British service, and plaided and plumed in the garb of the
Gael? Who could have imagined that those desolate chambers, which had been
the scene of so many sorrows and troubles to the royal exiles, would
re-echo the strains of the heart-stirring pibroch? But the place was
dreary, damp, and desolate. The courtyard was overgrown with grass, the
gardens had become a wilderness, and the fountains and ornamental statues
were in ruins, and covered with the moss of years. Strange and old
associations connected with the palace and its inhabitants were awakened
in the hearts of the Highlanders, and Ronald-dhu, when the pipers played
the retreat in the quadrangle, desired that it should be the 'Prince's
Lament,' one of the most difficult pieces of our pipe music.
To the officers and
soldiers of the Gordon Highlanders, being generally men from the most
remote parts of the Highlands, the empty palace of Saint Germains formed a
scene of no common interest. It was intimately connected with the
misfortunes of that illustrious race, 'of which (says a modern writer) no
man can trace the beginning, and of which no Scotsman can bear to
contemplate the end,' and the kilted sons of the North, as they wandered
about its desolate chambers, made many observations which would have
startled honest old George III., and have caused the Horse Guards
authorities to stand quite aghast, had they heard them. Although time, as
it rolls on, is changing the manners of the Highlander and of his Lowland
neighbour, the same chivalric feeling which brought forth the host of 1745
exists in the bosom of the former, and a spark yet lingers there which
little might fan into a flame.
Mereville was the next
halt. At the gate of the town they were received by a French regiment of
royal volunteers, who had no uniform, but wore their cross-belts, etc.,
over their peasants' blouses of blue or white linen. They paid the
compliments of war in very good style, while their band played the
national anthem of Britain, and the burghers of Mereville rent the air
with shouts of applause. At the barrier appeared the main; arrayed in the
garb of a past age—a wide waistcoat and old-fashioned coat, with a
silver-hilted sword and ruffles, and a wig and queue. He invited the
officers to a dejeuner in the Hotel de Ville, where he made a long and
flourishing speech, descriptive of veneration for the British king and for
the Scottish people. He spoke of the field of Verneuil, where the Scot and
the Frenchman, drawing their swords side by side, as brothers and allies,
had tamed the pride of England. La belle Marie! He laid his hand on his
heart, and became quite eloquent on the subject of her wrongs and woes. He
spoke of the alliances between the houses of Stuart and Bourbon, and of
the many years of exile which the descendants from these marriages had
spent in each other's territories.
The worthy old fellow was
so much in earnest, and so enthusiastic on the occasion, that he even shed
tears, struck himself a thousand times on thebreast,and shrugged his
shoulders and turned up his eyes quite as often.
Campbell replied in a short
speech, which he had prepared during the long oration of Monsieur le Maire:
but the good-will he gained by the first part of his address was entirely
lost by some unlucky after-allusion to the plains of Egypt and Sir Ralph
Abercrombie.
From Mereville they marched
to Montfort l'Amaury, a town twenty-eight miles west of Paris, where they
were to join the 4th battalion of the Royals and the 42nd Highlanders,
also under orders for England.
At Beauvais, styled—because
it has never been taken by force of arms —La Pucelle, the 92nd, to their
no small joy, received intelligence that, on landing in England, their
destination was to be the capital of their native country, where they were
to be quartered for the ensuing winter.
Within four days afterwards
the streets of Calais rang to the notes of the pipe and drum, as the Scots
brigade, on its homeward march, passed through the city to the harbour,
where a fleet of small craft provided by the authorities lay in readiness
to carry them over the Passage of Calais, as the straits are named by the
French. The Cour de Guise, formerly the ancient English mint, was pointed
out to Stuart by a French staff-officer, who rode beside him part of the
way. He also showed him the statue of the patriotic Saint Pierre, which
stands above the entrance of the town-hall, with its neck encircled by a
rope—the emblem of Saint Pierre's heroism, and of the obduracy of an
English king. Many other places he pointed out which would have been
interesting to the mind of a South-Tweeder, for often had the bluff
English yeoman in his steel breastplate, and the strong-handed archer in
his doublet of Lincoln-green, kept watch and ward on the walls and towers
of Calais. As the
three Scots regiments marched along the spacious quay, a tremendous cheer
burst from them at the sight of the opposite shore. The first view of old
England, after a long absence, is worth a myriad of the commonplace
adventures of life. The land of promise lay before them, but its shore
seemed low and distant ; and its chalky cliffs were shining white as snow
in the morning sun, so pale and dim that they seemed more like the edge of
a vast field of ice than firm land. Every man strained his eyes towards
it, and pointed out to his comrades the spires and villages, which he
imagined he could trace through the dim haze that floated on the waters of
the Channel. Some gazed long and fixedly, with moistened eyes and silent
tongues. They thought of the land which lay five or six hundred miles
beyond the shore before them—the land of the rock and the cataract, the
broom and the heather—the land of their love and best affections, which
had never been once absent from their minds during all the danger, the
toil, and the glory of the great Peninsular war.
Poor Scotland! although she has lost her name
and her place among nations, she is not the less dear to her sons.
The harbour of Calais presented a very
animated scene. The frost had passed away; it was a warm, sunny morning,
and everything was bright and glistening. From the great quay two long
wooden piers jutted out into the water, which tossed and foamed around the
green and seaweed-covered piles which compose them. These piers were lined
by two or three battalions of French infantry, and behind them were dense
crowds of spectators. The French flag was flying on the beffroi, or
watch-tower, of the Hotel de Ville, and on the bastions of all the little
forts which defended the harbour. The basin was crowded with the boats and
craft for the conveyance of the British troops, whom the French
authorities were, no doubt, very glad to get rid of. Several British
man-o'-war boats were pulling about in different directions. These had
been sent by some of our Channel cruisers to superintend the embarkation.
As Ronald rode down towards a flight of steps,
to clear the way for the regiment, a man-o'-war's boat, manned by eight
oars, came sheering alongside the jetty. Stuart dismounted to speak to the
officer, who stepped forward from the stern, and, abandoning the
tiller-ropes, shook him heartily by the hand; while the crew, and the
crews of the other boats, pulled off their tarpaulin hats, and gave three
hearty cheers of welcome to the red-coats. The cheer was taken up by the
populace, and resounded along the quays; the French bands struck up the
favourite air, 'A good voyage to the gallant Scots,' while the troops
presented arms, and the officers saluted with their swords. As older
regiments than the Gordon Highlanders, the Royal Scots and 42nd embarked
first. About two hundred men were in each barge, and, as they moved from
the shore by the aid of sail and sweep, their bands played the 'Downfall
of Paris,' an air which could not have been very pleasant in French ears.
With better taste, the band of the other regiment played 'Vive Henri
Quatre' the notes of which mingled oddly with those of the bagpipes. The
pipers of the whole brigade were seated in the bows of the boats, blowing
a perfect storm of wild and discordant sounds.
The harbour, the shore, the crowded quays,
receded and lessened, the cheers of the people died away, but the sharp
rattle of the brass drums was still heard, and arms were seen glittering
on the beach. The French troops were wheeling into open column, and
marching through the gate of Calais, which faced the water. As the last
section filed through, Ronald looked back for an instant. He saw the flash
of French steel for the last time. Save himself, scarcely one had cast a
look astern; it was to the increasing shores of England that every eye was
directed. They were soon far out in the Channel, amid fleets of
merchantmen and stately ships of war. There is nothing which brings the
power, the might, and the majesty of Britain so vividly before the mind as
the splendid appearance of her ships of war. There is a something in the
aspect of the formidable row of cannon frowning from the red ports, and
the flag that waves above them, which a Briton never can behold without
pride, and a foreigner without terror, chagrin, and humiliation.
On clearing the harbour of Calais, and getting
fairly out into the Straits of Dover among the shipping, the French airs
gave place to 'Hearts of Oak,' and other national strains; and the cheers
with which the crew of every vessel they passed, merchantman or ship of
war, greeted the homeward-bound fleet of decked boats with their military
freight, afforded the utmost delight to the latter. These hearty welcomes
from their countrymen on the sea were but an earnest of what they were to
receive on the. land.
The long and glorious struggle in the
Peninsula, the victorious termination of the short but most decisive
campaign in Flanders, and the results, so important to Europe, of the
victory of Waterloo, were yet fresh in every man's mind, and the people of
Britain yearned to show their love for their countrymen who were now
returning, after having proved themselves the first troops in the world.
It was lucky for this brigade of Scots that
they returned so soon after Waterloo. Had those three thousand men fought
and gained the battle alone, it is impossible that greater admiration or
applause could have been lavished upon them.
The shore increased in magnitude, seeming to
rise from the water, and objects became more distinct. The wide extent of
yellow, sandy beach, the chalky cliffs, the lighthouses, the buoys, were
seen distinctly, and the flags of all the world were flying around them.
The little fleet of galleys moved bravely; a light breeze bore them
onward, and every stitch of canvas was set. The shore soon seemed close at
hand. The old village spires, overhung with ivy, the lawns, the castles,
the seats, and everything, from the black old towers of Dover to the boats
on the golden beach below, were all remarked and observed as objects of
wonder. 'First on the
shore! Hoich!' cried a Highlander, plunging into the water, as the boats,
containing some of the 42nd, grounded near the beach. Hurrah!' was the
cry, and a hundred eager fellows leaped overboard, knapsacks,
accoutrements, and everything; and, with their kilts and sporrans floating
on the surface of the water, waded ashore, while shouts of welcome rose
from a crowd of the Dover people collected on the sands. The boats
containing the Royals and part of the Gordon Highlanders, took the matter
more 'cannily,' and entering the harbour, landed their military passengers
on the pier, where a gentleman stepped forth from the immense concourse
assembled to witness the disembarkation, and formally welcomed them to
England; he then waved his hat as a signal to the people, and three hearty
cheers were given, with one more for the Duke of Wellington.
All the craft in the harbour were decorated
with flags and boughs of trees; standards and ribbons waved from every
house-top and window. The Waterloo medal, glancing on the breast of every
purple coat, attracted universal attention ; the people were excited to
the utmost pitch of enthusiasm and loyalty, and every proud feeling that
is truly British was at its height. Each man vied with the other in the
endeavour to show the esteem he felt for those whose deeds had been
attracting the attention of the whole civilized world, and whose arms had
arrested a torrent which once threatened to subvert every state in Europe.
The brigade was billeted for that night in Dover.
'Now, then, gentlemen, here we are at last, in
merry old England, cried Campbell in boisterous glee, as, with his
officers, he ascended the well-carpeted staircase of a handsome hotel in
Dover. 'Welcome roast beef and plum-pudding, with other substantials, and
a long farewell to castanos and garlic, to soup-maigre, potage au thou,
and the devil's broth. If the people would only grow wise and hang up all
the limbs of the law, England would be the happiest land on earth. Look
around you, gentlemen; here is comfort! Think on the wet tent and the
wetter bivouac ! But good-bye to them all! for awhile at least.'
The master of the hotel ushered them into a
splendid drawing-room, where the appearance of the rich carpet, and the
coal fire blazing in the polished grate, attracted so much attention, and
drew forth such encomiums, that mine host of the St. George marvelled in
what part of the earth they had been campaigning. He knew not that a coal
fire and a carpet are almost unknown on the Continent.
'We have been for some time strangers to this
kind of luxury, landlord,' said Ronald, observing his wonder. 'Our couch
and our carpet have long been the green sod, and our covering the sky, for
many a year.'
'England, merry old England !' exclaimed Campbell, throwing himself into a
chair, and stretching his long legs across the hearthrug. ' In spite of
all that demagogues may say to the contrary, I will uphold that it is the
happiest country in Europe ; and, as we have seen the most of them, we
should be good judges. This is excellent! It reminds me of our return from
Egypt. Now then, monsieur—pardon me, landlord; I forgot I was out of the
land of Johnny Crapaud. Ay, landlord, there is something truly British and
hospitable in that. Let us have the best dinner you can get ready on the
shortest notice; and tell the cooks they need not be very particular, as
we have not tasted a decent dinner since we landed below the castle of
Belem in 1809, a few months in Paddy's Land excepted. Let it be prepared
forthwith, and remember to provide lots of pudding for the ensigns.'
After dinner, the inhabitants of the hotel
were astounded by the ceremony of piping round the table, a practice
which, since dinners had become common with them, the Gordon Highlanders
had revived in full force. As soon as the dessert was removed, tall
Ronald-dhu,the piper-major, and eight pipers, entered the mess or
dining-room, and marched thrice round the table, and then downstairs,
blowing with all their force and power the tune usual on the occasion:
'Our ancient forefaithers agreed wi' the laird
To buy a bit grundie to mak' a kail-yard,' etc;
and the reader may imagine the effect of
seven-and-twenty drones of the great Highland war-pipe on English ears, to
which for many reasons its strains are so discordant. The hotel was
surrounded by a dense crowd, who kept up an incessant cheering, and in the
streets the Highlanders were absolutely mobbed. Perhaps it was the first
time the Scottish garb had been seen so far south in England, so that, as
the London papers said, ' the excitement was tremendous.'
In every town and village through which they
marched on the long route from Dover to Edinburgh, their reception was the
same: they were followed by mobs of shouting men and boys, while laurel
boughs and flags adorned with complimentary mottoes waved from the houses
and church steeples. Every inn or hotel at which the officers dined was
decorated with streamers and evergreens, and wreaths of laurel encircled
every plate and dish on the tables. Each day, during dinner, they were
regaled by a concert of thousands of tongues, shouting and screaming,
while the: bells in every spire rang as for some great national jubilee.
At Lincoln was erected a triumphal arch, which
spanned the highway at the entrance of the city. It was composed of the
usual materials— evergreens, and such flowers as could be procured at that
season of the year,—and was surmounted by the arms of Scotland, of
England, and of the famous old ecclesiastical city, merry Lincoln itself.
St. George's red cross was waving from the summit of the ruinous castle,
and great Tom of Lincoln was sending forth his tremendous ding-dong, deep,
hoarse, and solemn, from the Gothic spire of the cathedral, drowning the
mingled din of every other bell in the city. The streets were full of
enthusiastic people; the windows were full of faces, flags, and branches
of trees. All were in a state of merriment and uproar, while the shrill
fifes and hoarse brattling drums, succeeding the fine brass band, made the
streets re-echo with 'the British Grenadiers,' the most inspiriting of all
our national quicksteps.
Immediately within the triumphal arch stood a
carriage filled with ladies, two of whom, very beautiful girls, the
perfect personification of young English belles, with the cherry lips and
merry bright blue eyes of the south, held aloft bouquets of roses,
procured probably from some hothouse, for at that season of the year they
could not have been reared elsewhere. At the moment the ensigns were
passing with the colours, the ladies made some sign to Campbell, who
lowered the point of his sword in salute, and desired his orderly bugler
to sound the halt. Each of the fair English girls with a white riband
bound her roses to the top of the colour-poles, just below the
spear-heads, but not without blushes and hesitation, for the eyes of
thousands were turned upon them, and the hearts of the unshaven ensigns
were captured on the instant. The ladies managed to say part of some
address prepared for the occasion, 'regretting that they had not a wreath
of thistles to offer, and requesting that the soldiers would carry the
flowers home to their own country.' Campbell returned thanks. The ensigns,
who, luckily for the regiment, were both very handsome fellows, bore each
on his breast the Waterloo medal. They raised their bonnets, and retired
to their places in the centre ; the music struck up again, and the
Highlanders moved forward with the badge of England adorning the
shot-splintered poles of their colours.
Of the latter, nothing was left save the gold
tassels and that part of the silk which was stitched round the pole, with
a few shreds and remnants of embroider. The rest had all been shot away,
or torn to pieces by the rain and wind, by the battles and storms of
twenty-one years of continual warfare, in which the corps had borne a
distinguished part, since it had been embodied by the Duchess of Gordon,
in 1794. The appearance of the bare poles attracted universal attention in
every town and hamlet. The people were heard to exclaim with wonder, 'Look
at the colours! look at the colours!! which perhaps they supposed had been
reduced by, a single volley to the condition in which they then appeared.
The bouquets of the Lincoln ladies remained
long attached to the poles, but the first, frosty day completed their
destruction, and nothing but the stalks were left ; yet these still
remained when the regiment, after a march of many hundred miles, came in
sight of their native country.
Who can describe the wild delight of the
Highlandmen, when from the hills of Northumberland they beheld afar off
the snow-clad summit of the Cheviots, whose sides had been the scene of so
many gallant conflicts? A thousand bonnets rose at once into the air, and
the 'Hoigh, hurrah!' from a thousand tongues made the welkin ring. What a
joyous march had been theirs through merry England! How different in
appearance were its cities, its villages, its vast extent of cultivated
land, when compared with the ruined pueblas and desolate cities of
Portugal, or the barren hills and desert plains of Spanish Estremadura! In
the former country the soldiers of Massena had scarcely left one stone
standing upon another. What a change to these scenes and places seemed the
comforts, the luxuries, the happiness of England, especially to those who
had been enduring the starvation, the toil, the yearly, daily, hourly
danger and misery of continual service! Truly it was a merry march that
from Dover to Scotland, and never did private soldiers trudge with their
burden of seventy-five pounds weight more contentedly than the Gordon
Highlanders on that long but happy route. |
