CAMPS, QUARTERS AND CASUAL PLACES

BY ARCHIBALD FORBES, LL. D. 

NOTE

My obligations for permission to incorporate some of the articles in thisvolume are due to Messrs. George Routledge and Sons, Mr. James Knowles ofthe _Nineteenth Century_, Mr. Percy Bunting of the _Contemporary Review_, and the Proprietor of _McClure's Magazine_. 

LONDON, _June_ 1896. 

CONTENTS

1. MATRIMONY UNDER FIRE

2. REVERENCING THE GOLDEN FEET

3. GERMAN WAR PRAYERS

4. MISS PRIEST'S BRIDECAKE

5. A VERSION OF BALACLAVA

6. HOW I "SAVED FRANCE"

7. CHRISTMAS IN A CAVALRY REGIMENT

8. THE MYSTERY OF MONSIEUR REGNIER

9. RAILWAY LIZZ

10. MY NATIVE SALMON RIVER

11. THE CAWNPORE OF TO-DAY

12. BISMARCK BEFORE AND DURING THE FRANCO-GERMAN WAR

13. THE INVERNESS "CHARACTER" FAIR

14. THE WARFARE OF THE FUTURE

15. GEORGE MARTELL'S BANDOBAST

16. THE LUCKNOW OF TO-DAY

17. THE MILITARY COURAGE OF ROYALTY

18. PARADE OF THE COMMISSIONAIRES

19. THE INNER HISTORY OF THE WATERLOO CAMPAIGN

MATRIMONY UNDER FIRE

The interval between the declaration of the Franco-German war of 1870-71, and the "military promenade, " at which the poor Prince Imperial receivedhis "baptism of fire, " was a pleasant, lazy time at Saarbrücken; to whichpretty frontier town I had early betaken myself, in the anticipation, which proved well founded, that the tide of war would flow that way first. What a pity it is that all war cannot be like this early phase of it, ofwhich I speak! It was playing at warfare, with just enough of the grimreality cropping up occasionally, to give the zest which the recklessFrenchwoman declared was added to a pleasure by its being also a sin. Theofficers of the Hohenzollerns--our only infantry regiment in garrison--drank their beer placidly under the lime-tree in the market-place, astheir men smoked drowsily, lying among the straw behind the stacked armsready for use at a moment's notice. The infantry patrol skirted thefrontier line every morning in the gray dawn, occasionally exchanging withlittle result a few shots with the French outposts on the Spicheren ordown in the valley bounded by the Schönecken wood. The Uhlans, theirpiebald lance-pennants fluttering in the wind, cantered leisurely roundthe crests of the little knolls which formed the vedette posts, despisingmightily the straggling chassepot bullets which were pitched at them fromtime to time in a desultory way; but which, desultory as they were, nowand then brought lance-pennant and its bearer to the ground--an occurrenceinvariably followed by a little spurt of lively hostility. 

I had my quarters at the Rheinischer Hof, a right comfortable hotel on theSt. Johann side of the Saar, where most of the Hohenzollern officersfrequented the _table d'hôte_ and where quaint little Max, the drollestimp of a waiter imaginable, and pretty Fraülein Sophie the landlord'sniece, did all that in them lay to contribute to the pleasantness andcomfort of the house. Not a few pleasant evenings did I spend at the tableof the long dining-room, with the close-cropped red head of silent andgenial Hauptmann von Krehl looming large over the great ice-pail, with its_chevaux de frise_ of long-necked Niersteiner bottles--the worthyHauptmann supported by blithe Lieutenant von Klipphausen, ever ready withthe _Wacht am Rhein_; quaint Dr. Diestelkamp, brimful of recollections of"six-and-sixty" and as ready to amputate your leg as to crack a joke orclink a glass; gay young Adjutant von Zülow--he who one day brought in aprisoner from the foreposts a red-legged Frenchman across the pommel ofhis saddle; and many other good fellows, over most of whom the turf of theSpicheren, or the brown earth of the Gravelotte plain, now lies lightly. 

But although the Rheinischer Hof associates itself in my mind with manymemories, half-pleasant, half-sad, it was not the most accustomed haunt ofthe casuals in Saarbrücken, including myself. Of the waifs and strayswhich the war had drifted down to the pretty frontier town the greatrendezvous was the Hôtel Hagen, at the bend of the turn leading from thebridge up to the railway station. The Hagen was a free-and-easy placecompared with the Rheinischer, and among its inmates there was no one whocould sing a better song than manly George--type of the Briton at whomforeigners stare--who, ignorant of a word of their language, whollyunprovided with any authorisation save the passport signed "Salisbury, "and having not quite so much business at the seat of war as he might haveat the bottom of a coal-mine, gravitates into danger with inevitablecertainty, and stumbles through all manner of difficulties and bothers byreason of a serene good-humour that nothing can ruffle and a coolresolution before which every obstacle fades away. Was there ever a morecompositely polyglot cosmopolitan than poor young de Liefde--halfDutchman, half German by birth, an Englishman by adoption, a Frenchman intemperament, speaking with equal fluency the language of all fourcountries, and an unconsidered trifle of some half-dozen Europeanlanguages besides? Then there was the English student from Bonn, who hadcome down to the front accompanied by a terrible brute of a dog, vast, shaggy, self-willed, and dirty; an animal which, so to speak, owned hisowner, and was so much the horror and disgust of everybody that on accountof him the company of his master--one of the pleasantest fellows alive--was the source of general apprehension. There was young Silberer themany-sided and eccentric, an Austrian nobleman, a Vienna feuilletonist andcorrespondent, a rowing man, a gourmet, ever thinking of his stomach andyet prepared for all the roughness of the campaign--warm-hearted, passionate, narrow-minded, capable of sleeping for twenty-three out of thetwenty-four hours, and the wearer of a Scotch cap. There was Küster, aGerman journalist with an address somewhere in the Downham Road; and Duff, a Fellow of ---- College, the strangest mixture of nervousness and coolcourage I ever met. 

We were a kind of happy family at the Hagen; the tone of the coterie wasthat of the easiest intimacy into which every newcomer slid quitenaturally. Thus when on the 31st July there was a somewhat sensationalarrival, the stolid landlord had not turned the gas on in the empty saalbefore everybody knew and sympathised with the errand of the strangers. The party consisted of a plump little girl of about eighteen with a bonnyround face and fine frank eyes; her sister who was some years older; and abrother, the eldest of the three. They had come from Silesia on rather astrange tryst. Little Minna Vogt had for her _Bräutigam_ a young Feldwebelof the second battalion of the Hohenzollerns, a native of Saarlouis. Thebattalion quartered there was under orders to join its first battalion atSaarbrücken, and young Eckenstein had written to his betrothed to come andmeet him there, that the marriage-knot might be tied before he should goon a campaign from which he might not return. The arrangement wascertainly a charming one; we should have a wedding in the Hagen! There wasno nonsense about our young _Braut_. She told me the little story atsupper on the night of her arrival in the most matter-of-fact waypossible, drank her two glasses of red wine, and went off serenely to bedwith a dainty lisping _Schlafen Sie wohl!_

While Minna was between the sheets in the pleasant chamber in the Hagenher lover was lying in bivouac some fifteen miles away. In the afternoonof the next day his battalion approached Saarbrücken and bivouacked abouttwo miles from the town. Of course we all went out to welcome it; somebearing peace-offerings of cigars, others the drink-offering of potentSchnapps. The Vogt family were left the sole inmates of the Hagen, delicacy preventing their accompanying us. The German journalist, however, had a commission to find out young Eckenstein and tell him of the blissthat awaited him two short miles away. Right hearty fellows were theofficers of the second battalion--from the grizzled Oberst down to thesmooth-faced junior lieutenant; and the men who had been marching andbivouacking for a fortnight looked as fresh as if they had not travelledfive miles. Küster soon found the young Feldwebel; and the Hauptmann ofhis company when he heard the state of the case, smiled a grim but kindlysmile, and gave him leave for two days with the proviso, that if anyhostile action should be taken in the interval he should rejoin thecolours immediately and without notice. "No fear of that!" wasEckenstein's reply with a significant down glance at his sword; and then, after a cheery "good-night" to the hardy bivouackers, we visitors startedin triumph on our return to the Hagen, the young Feldwebel in our midst Itwas good to see the unrestraint with which Minna--she of the apple faceand frank eyes--threw herself round the neck of her betrothed as she methim on the steps of the Hagen, and his modest manly blush as he returnedthe embrace. Ye gods! did not we make a night of it! Stolid Hagen came outof his shell for once, and swore, _Donner Wetter_ that he would give us asupper we should remember; and he kept his word. The good old pastor ofthe snow-white hair and withered cheeks--he had been engaged to performthe ceremony of the morrow--we voted into the chair whether he would ornot; and on his right sat Minna and Eckenstein, their arms interlacing andwhispering soft speeches which were not for our ears. The table wascovered with bottles of Blume de Saar, the champagne peculiar of the Hagen;and the speed with which the full bottles were converted into "deadmarines" was a caution to teetotallers. Then de Liefde the polyglot gavethe health of the happy couple in a felicitous but composite speech, inwhich half a dozen languages were impartially intermixed so that all mightunderstand at least a portion. George the jolly insisted in leading offthe honours with a truly British "three times three;" and that horribledog of Hyndman's gave the time, like a beast as he was, with stentorianbarkings. Then Minna and her sister retired, followed by Herr Pastor; andafter a considerable number of more bottles of Blume de Saar had met theirfate we formed a procession and escorted the happy Eckenstein to theRheinischer Hof where he was to sleep. 

Next morning by eleven, we had all reassembled in the second saal of theHagen. In the great room the marriage-breakfast was laid out, and in thekitchen Hagen and his Frau were up to their eyes in mystic culinaryoperations. Minna looked like a rosebud in her pretty low-necked bluedress, and the pastor in his cassock helped to the diversity of colour. Wehad done shaking hands with the bride and bridegroom after the ceremony, and were sitting down to the marriage feast, when young Eckenstein startedand made three strides to the open window. His accustomed ear had caught asound which none of us had heard. It was the sharp peremptory note of thedrum beating the alarm. As it came nearer and could no longer be mistaken, the bright colour went out from poor Minna's cheek and she clung with abrave touching silence to her sister. In two minutes more Eckenstein hadhis helmet on his head and his sword buckled on, and then he turned to sayfarewell to his girl ere he left her for the battle. The parting wassilent and brief; but the faces of the two were more eloquent than words. Poor Minna sat down by the window straining her eyes as Eckenstein, running at speed, went his way to the rendezvous. 

When I got up to the Bellevue the French were streaming in overwhelmingforce down the slope of the Spicheren into the intervening valley. It wasa beautiful sight; but I am not going to describe it here. Ere an hour wasover the shells and chassepôt bullets were sweeping across the ExercisePlatz, and it was no longer a safe spot for a non-combatant like myself. Before I got back into the Hagen after paying my bill at the Rheinischerand fetching away my knapsack, the French guns were on the Exercise Platz. I heard for the first time the angry screech of the mitrailleuse and sawthe hailstorm of its bullets spattering on the pavement of the bridge. Somehow or other the whole of our little coterie had found their way intothe Hagen; by a sort of common impulse, I imagine. The landlady wasalready in hysterics; the Vogt girls were pale but plucky. Presently theshells began to fly. The Prussians had a gun or two on the railwayesplanade above us, the fire of which the French began to return fiercely. Every shell that fell short tumbled in or about the Hagen; and a companyof the Hohenzollerns was drawn up in the street in front of it, in tryingto dislodge which the French fire could not well miss the Hagen and thehouses opposite. A shell burst in the back-yard and the landlady fainted. Another came crashing in through a first-floor window, and, bursting, knocked several bedrooms into one. Then we thought it time to get thewomen down into the cellar--rather a risky undertaking since the door ofit was in the backyard. However, we got them all down in safety and cameup into the second saal to watch the course of events. Hagen gave afearful groan as a shell broke into the kitchen behind us, and, burstingin the centre of the stove, sent his _chefs-d'oeuvre_ of cookery sputteringin all directions. He gave a still deeper groan as another shell crashedinto the principal dining-room and knocked the long table, laid out as itwas for the marriage-feast, into a chaos of splinters, tablecloth, andknives and forks. The Restauration Küche on the other side was in flames, so was the stable of the hotel to the left rear. In this pleasingsituation of affairs George produced a pack of cards and coolly proposed agame of whist. Küster, de Liefde, and Hyndman joined him; and the gameproceeded amidst the crashing of the projectiles. Silberer and myself tookcounsel together and agreed that the occupation of the town by the Frenchwas only a question of a few hours at latest. We were both correspondents;and although the French would do us no harm our communications with ourjournals would inevitably be stopped--a serious contingency to contemplateat the beginning of a campaign. We both agreed that evacuation of theHagen was imperative; but then, how to get out? The only way was up theesplanade to the railway station, and upon it the French shells werefalling and bursting in numbers very trying to the nerves. However, therewas nothing for it but to make a rush through the fire; and sayinggood-bye to the whist-players we sallied forth. To my disgust I found thatSilberer positively refused to make a rush of it. Although an Austrian allhis sympathies were Prussian, and he had the utmost contempt for theFrench. In his broken language his invariable appellation for them was"God-damned Hundsöhne!" and he would not run before them at any price. Iwould have run right gladly at top-speed; but I did not like to run whenanother man walked, and so he made me saunter at the rate of two miles anhour till we got under shelter. After a hot walk of several miles, wereached the Hôtel Till in the village of Duttweiler. After all the French, although they might have done so, did not occupy Saarbrücken; and towardsevening our friends came dropping into the Hôtel Till, singly or in pairs. Küster and George brought the Vogt sisters out in a waggon--it wassurprising to see the coolness and composure of the girls. By nightfall wewere all reunited, except one unfortunate fellow who had been slightlywounded and whom a Saarbrücken doctor had kindly received into his house. 

On the 6th August came the Prussian repossession of Saarbrücken and thedesperate storm of the Spicheren. The 40th was the regiment to which wasassigned the place of honour in the preliminary recapture of the ExercisePlatz height. Kameke rode up the winding road to the Bellevue; then camethe march across the broad valley and after much bloodshed the final stormof the Spicheren, in which the 40th occupied about the left centre of thePrussian advance. Three times did the blue wave surge up the green steep, to be beaten back three times by the terrible blast of fire that crasheddown upon it from above. Yet a fourth time it clambered up again, and thistime it lipped the brink and poured over the intrenchment at the top. ButI am not describing the battle. 

When it was over or at least when it had drifted away across the fartherplateau, I followed on in the broad wake of dying and dead which theadvance had left. The familiar faces of the Hohenzollerns were all aroundme; but either still in death or writhing in the torture of wounds. Aboutthe centre of the valley lay the genial Hauptmann von Krehl, more silentthan ever now, for a bullet had gone right through that red head of hisand he would never more quaff of the Niersteiner; neither would Lieutenantvon Klipphausen ever again stir the blood of the sons of the Fatherlandwith the _Wacht am Rhein_; he lay dead close by the first spur of theslope--what of him at least a bursting shell had left. On a little flathalf up sat quaint Dr. Diestelkamp, like Mark Tapley jolly underdifficulties; by his side lay a man who had just bled to death as the gooddoctor explained to me. While he had been applying the tourniquet under ahot fire his right arm had been broken; and before he could pull himselfup and go to the rear another bullet had found its billet in his thigh. There the little man sat, contentedly smoking till somebody would be goodenough to come and take him away. Von Zülow too--he of the gay laugh andsprightly countenance--was on his back a little higher up, with a bulletthrough the chest. I heard the ominous sound of the escaping air as Iraised him to give him a drink from my flask. What needs it to becomediffuse as to the terrible sights which that steep and the plateau aboveit presented on this beautiful summer evening? It was farther to theright, in ground more broken with gullies and ravines, that the secondbattalion of the Hohenzollerns had gone up; and I wandered along thereamong the carnage eking out the contents of my flask as far as I could, and when the wounded had exhausted the brandy in it filling it up withwater and still toiling on in a task that seemed endless. At last, in asitting posture, his back against a hawthorn tree in one of the grassyravines, I saw one whom I thought I recognised. "Eckenstein!" I cried as Iran forward; for the posture was so natural that I could not but think hewas alive. Alas! no answer came; the gallant young Feldwebel was dead, shot through the throat. He had not been killed outright by the fatalbullet; the track was apparent by the blood on the grass along which hehad crawled to the hawthorn tree against which I found him. His head hadfallen forward on his chest and his right hand was pressed against hisleft breast. I saw something white in the hollow of the hand and easilymoved the arm for he was yet warm; it was the photograph of the littlegirl he had married but three short days before. The frank eyes looked upat me with a merry unconsciousness; and the face of the photograph wasspotted with the life-blood of the young soldier. 

I sent the death-token to Saarlouis by post to the young widow. I neverknew whether she received it, for all the address I had was Saarlouis. Eckenstein I saw buried with two officers in a soldier's grave under thehawthorn. Any one taking the ascent up the fourth ravine Forbach-ward fromthe bluff of the Spicheren, may easily find it about halfway up. It may berecognised by the wooden cross bearing the rude inscription: "Hier ruhenin Gott 2 Officiere, 1 Feldwebel, 40ste Hohenzol. Fus. Regt. "

REVERENCING THE GOLDEN FEET

1879

By Christmas 1878 the winter had brought to a temporary standstill theoperations of the British troops engaged in the first Afghan campaign, andI took the opportunity of this inaction to make a journey into NativeBurmah, the condition of which seemed thus early to portend the interestwhich almost immediately after converged upon it, because of King Thebau'swholesale slaughter of his relatives. Reaching Mandalay, the capital ofNative Burmah, in the beginning of February 1879, I immediately set aboutcompassing an interview with the young king. Both Mr. Shaw, who was ourResident at Mandalay at the time of my visit, and Dr. Clement Williamswhose kindly services I found so useful, are now dead, and many changeshave occurred since the episode described below; but no description, sofar as I am aware, has appeared of any visit of courtesy and curiosity tothe Court of King Thebau of a later date than that made by myself at thedate specified. One of my principal objects in visiting Mandalay, or, inBurmese phrase, of "coming to the Golden Feet, " was to see the King ofBurmah in his royal state in the Presence Chamber of the Palace. Certaindifficulties stood in the way of the accomplishment of this object. I hadbut a few days to spend in Mandalay. With the approval of Mr. Shaw, theBritish Resident, I determined to pursue an informal course of action, andwith this intent I enlisted the good offices of an English gentlemanresident in Mandalay, who had intimate relations with the Ministers andthe Court. 

This gentleman, Dr. Williams, was good enough to help me with zeal andaddress. The line of strategy to adopt was to interest in my cause one ofthe principal Ministers. Of these there were four, who constituted the_Hlwot-dau_, or High Court and Council of the Monarchy. These "Woonghys"or "Menghyis, " as they were more commonly called--"Menghyi, " meaning"Great Prince"--were of equal rank; but the senior Minister, theYenangyoung Menghyi, who had precedence, was then in confinement, and, indeed, a decree of degradation had gone forth against him. Obviously hewas of no use; but a more influential man than he ever was, and having theadditional advantages of being at liberty, in power and in favour, was the"Kingwoon Menghyi. " He was in effect the Prime Minister of the King ofBurmah. His position was roughly equivalent to that of Bismarck inGermany, or of Gortschakoff in Russia, since, in addition to his internalinfluence, he had the chief direction of foreign affairs. Now this"Kingwoon Menghyi" had for a day or two been relaxing from the cares ofState. Partly for his own pleasure, partly by way of example, he had laidout a beautiful garden on the low ground near the river. Within thisgarden he had the intention to build himself a suburban residence, whichmeanwhile was represented by a summer pavilion of teak and bamboo. He wasa liberal-minded man, and it was a satisfaction to him that the shadywalks and pleasant rose-groves of this garden should be enjoyed by thepeople of Mandalay. He was a reformer, this "Kingwoon Menghyi, " andbelieved in the humanising effect of free access to the charms of nature. His garden laid out and his pavilion finished, he was celebrating theevent by a series of _fêtes. _ He was "at home" in his pavilion toeverybody; bands of music played all day long and day after day, in thekiosks, among the young palm trees and the rosebushes. Mandalay, high andlow, made holiday in the mazy walks of his garden and in an improvisedtheatre, wherein an interminable _pooey, _ or Burmese drama, was beingenacted before ever-varying and constantly appreciative audiences. Dr. Williams opined that it would conduce to the success of my object that weshould call upon the Minister at his garden-house and request him to usehis good offices in my behalf. 

It was near noon when we reached the entrance to the garden. Merry butorderly sightseers thronged its alleys, and stared with wonderingadmiration at a rather attenuated jet of water which rose into the clearair some thirty feet above a rockwork fountain in the centre. Dignitariesstrolled about under the stemless umbrellas like huge shields, with whichassiduous attendants protected them from the sun; and were followed byposses of retainers, who prostrated themselves whenever their mastershalted or looked round. Ladies in white jackets and trailing silk skirtsof vivid hue were taking a leisurely airing, each with her demure maidbehind her carrying the lacquer-ware box of betel-nut. As often as not thefair ones were blowing copious clouds from huge reed-like cheroots. Soundsof shrill music were heard in the distance. Walking up the central alleybetween the rows of palms and the hedges of roses, we found in the verandaa mixed crowd of laymen and priests, the latter distinguishable by theirshaved heads and yellow robes. The Minister was just finishing hismorning's work of distributing offerings to the latter, in commemorationof the opening of his gardens. In response to a message, he at once sentto desire that we should come to him. The great "shoe-question, " the_quaestio vexata_ between British officialism and Burmah officialism, didnot trouble me. I had no official position; I wanted to gain an object. Ihave a respect for the honour of my country, but I could not bring myselfto realise that the national honour centres in my shoes. So I parted withthem at the top of the steps leading up into the Minister's pavilion, andwalking on what is known as my "stocking-feet, " and feeling rathershuffling and shabby accordingly, was ushered through a throng ofprostrate dependents into the presence of the Menghyi. He came forwardfrankly and cordially, shook hands with a hearty smile with Dr. Williamsand myself, and beckoned us into an inner alcove, carpeted with rich rugsand panelled with mirrors. Placing himself in a half-sitting, half-kneeling attitude which did not expose his feet, he beckoned to us toget down also. I own to having experienced extreme difficulty in keepingmy feet out of sight, which was a point _de rigueur_; but his Excellencywas not censorious. There was with him a secretary who had resided severalyears in Europe, and who spoke fluently English, French, and Italian. Thisgentleman knew London thoroughly, and was perfectly familiar both with thename of the _Daily News_ and of myself. He introduced me formally to hisExcellency, who, I ought to have mentioned, was the head of the BurmeseEmbassy which had visited Europe a few years previously. That hisExcellency had some sort of knowledge of the political character of the_Daily News_ was obvious from the circumstance that when its name wasmentioned he nodded and exclaimed, "Ah! ah! Gladstone, Bright!" in tonesof manifest approval, which was no doubt accounted for by the fact that hehimself was a pronounced Liberal. I explained that I had come to Mandalayto learn as much about Burmese manners, customs, and institutions as waspossible in four days, with intent to embody my impressions in letters toEngland; and that as the King was the chief institution of the country, Ihad a keen anxiety to see him and begged of his Excellency to lend me hisaid toward doing so. He gave no direct reply, but certainly did not frownon the request. We were served with tea (without cream or sugar) in prettychina cups, and then the Menghyi, observing that we were looking at somequaint-shaped musical instruments at the foot of the dais, explained thatthey belonged to a band of rural performers from the Pegu district, andproposed that we should first hear them play and afterwards visit thetheatre and witness the _pooey_. We assenting, he led the way from hispavilion through the garden to a pretty kiosk half-embosomed in foliage, and chairs having been brought the party sat down. We had put on our shoesas we quitted the dais. The Menghyi explained that it was pleasanter forhim, as it must be for us, that we should change the manner of ourreception from the Burmese to the European custom; and we were quite freeto confess that we would sooner sit in chairs than squat on the floor. More tea was brought, and a plateful of cheroots. After we had sat alittle while in the kiosk we were joined by the chief Under-Secretary forForeign Affairs, the Baron de Giers of Burmah, a jovial, corpulent, elderly gentleman who had the most wonderful likeness to the late PioNono, and who clasped his brown hands over his fat paunch and kicked abouthis plump bare brown feet in high enjoyment when anything that struck himas humorous was uttered. He wholly differed in appearance from hissuperior, who was a lean-faced and lean-figured man, grave, and indeedsomewhat sad both of eye and of visage when his face was in repose. As wetalked, our conversation being through the interpreting secretary, therecame to the curtained entrance to the kiosk a very dainty little lady. Ihad noticed her previously sauntering around the garden under one of thegreat shield-like shades, with a following of serving-men andserving-women behind her. She greeted the Menghyi very prettily, with themost perfect composure, although strangers were present. She was clearly agreat pet with the Menghyi; he took her on his knee and played with herlong black hair, as he told her about the visitors. The little lady was inher twelfth year, and was the daughter of a colleague and a relative ofthe Menghyi. She had an olive oval face, with lovely dark eyes, like theeyes of a deer. She wore a tiara of feathery white blossoms. In her earswere rosettes of chased red gold. Round her throat was a necklace of adouble row of large pearls. Her fingers--I regret to say her nails werenot very clean--were loaded with rings set with great diamonds ofexceptional sparkle and water; one stone in particular must have beenworth many thousands of pounds. She wore a jacket of white silk, and roundher loins was girt a gay silken robe that trailed about her bare feet asshe walked. She shook hands with us with a pretty shyness and immediatelyhelped herself to a cheroot, affably accepting a light from mine. TheMenghyi told us she was a great scholar--could read and write withfacility, and had accomplishments to boot. 

By this time the provincial band had taken its place under one of thewindows of the kiosk, and it presently struck up. Its music was notpretty. There were in the strange weird strain suggestions of gongs, bagpipes, penny whistles, and the humble tom-tom of Bengal. The gentlemanwho performed on an instrument which seemed a hybrid between a flute and aFrench horn, occasionally arrested his instrumental music to favour uswith vocal strains, but he failed to compete successfully with thecymbals. I do not think the Menghyi was enraptured by the music of thestrollers from Pegu, for he presently asked us whether we were ready to goto the _pooey_. He again led the way through a garden, passing in onecorner of it a temporary house of which a company of Burmese nuns, short-haired, pallid-faced, unhappy-looking women, were in possession; andpassing through a gate in the wicker-work fence ushered us into the"state-box" of the improvised theatre. There is very little labourrequired to construct a theatre in Burmah. Over a framework of bamboopoles stretch a number of squares of matting as a protection from the sun. Lay some more down in the centre as a flooring for the performers. Tie afew branches round the central bamboo to represent a forest, the perpetualset-scene of a Burmese drama; and the house is ready. The performers actand dance in the central square laid with matting. A little space on oneside is reserved as a dressing and green room for the actresses; a similarspace on the other side serves the turn of the actors; and then come thespectators crowding in on all four sides of the square. It is an orderlyand easily managed audience; it may be added an easily amused audience. The youngsters are put or put themselves in front and squat down; thegrown people kneel or stand behind. Our "state-box" was merely a raisedplatform laid with carpets and cushions, from which as we sat we lookedover the heads of the throng squatting under and in front of us. Of thedrama I cannot say that I carried away with me particularly clearimpressions. True, I only saw a part of it--it was to last till thefollowing morning; but long before I left the plot to me had becomebewilderingly involved. The opening was a ballet; of that at least I amcertain. There were six lady dancers and six gentlemen ditto. The ladieswere arrayed in splendour, with tinsel tiaras, necklaces, and bracelets, gauzy jackets and waving scarfs; and with long, light clinging silkenrobes, of which there was at least a couple of yards on the "boards" abouttheir feet. They were old, they were ugly, they leered fiendishly; theirfaces were plastered with powder in a ghastly fashion, and their coquetrybehind their fans was the acme of caricature. But my pen halts when Iwould describe the gentlemen dancers. I believe that in reality they werenot meant to represent fallen humanity at all; but were intended topersonify _nats, _ the spirits or princes of the air of Burmese mythology. They carried on their heads pagodas of tinsel and coloured glass thattowered imposingly aloft. They were arrayed in tight-bodiced coats withaprons before and behind of fantastic outline, resembling the wings ofdragons and griffins, and these coats were an incrusted mass of spanglesand pieces of coloured glass. Underneath a skirt of tartan silk wasfitfully visible. Their brown legs and feet were bare. The expression oftheir faces was solemn, not to say lugubrious--one performer had a mostwhimsical resemblance to Mr. Toole when he is sunk in an abyss of dramaticwoe. They realised the responsibilities of their position, and there weremoments when these seemed too many for them. The orchestra, taken as awhole, was rather noisy; but it comprised one instrument, the "bambooharmonicon, " which deserves to be known out of Burmah because of itssweetness and range of tone. There were lots of "go" in the music, andevery now and then one detected a kind of echo of a tune not unfamiliar inother climes. One's ear seemed to assure one that _Madame Angot_ had beenlaid under contribution to tickle the ears of a Mandalay audience, yet howcould this be? The explanation was that the instrumentalists, occasionallyvisiting Thayet-myo or Rangoon, had listened there to the strains of ourmilitary bands, and had adapted these to the Burmese orchestra in somedeft inscrutable manner, written music being unknown in the musical worldof Burmah. 

Next day the Kingwoon Menghyi took the wholly unprecedented step ofinviting to dinner the British Resident, his suite, and his visitor--myself. Mr. Shaw accepted the invitation, and I considered myselfspecially fortunate in being a participator in a species of intercourse atonce so novel, and to all seeming so auspicious. 

About sundown the Residency party, joined _en route_ by Dr. Williams, rodedown to the entrance to the gardens. Here we were warmly received by theEnglish-speaking secretary, and by the jovial bow-windowed minister who somuch resembled the late Pio Nono. We were escorted to the verandah of thepavilion, where the Menghyi himself stood waiting to greet us, and wereushered up to the broad, raised, carpeted platform which may be styled thedrawing-room. Here was a semicircle of chairs. On our way to these, a longrow of squatting Burmans was passed. As the Resident approached, theMenghyi gave the word, and they promptly stood erect in line. He explainedthat they were the superior officers of the army quartered in the capital--generals, he called them--whom he had asked to meet us. Of these officersone commanded the eastern guard of the Palace, the other the western; twoothers were aides-de-camp after a fashion. Just as the Menghyi and hissubordinate colleagues represented the Ministry, so these military peoplerepresented the Court. The former was the moderate constitutional elementof the gathering; the latter the "jingo" or personal government element, for the Burmese Court was reactionary, and those military sprigs were ofthe personal suite of the King and were understood to abet him in hisfalling away from the constitutional promise with which his reign began. Their presence rendered the occasion all the more significant. That theywere deputed from the Palace to attend and watch events was prettycertain, and indeed the two aides went away immediately after dinner, their excuse being that his Majesty was expecting their personalattendance. After a little while of waiting, the _mauvais quart d'heure_having the edge of its awkwardness taken off by a series of introductions, dinner was announced, and the Menghyi, followed by the Resident, led theway into an adjoining dining-room. Good old Pio Nono, who, I ought to havesaid, had been with the Menghyi a member of the Burmese Embassy to Europe, jauntily offered me his arm, and gave me to understand that he did so incompliance with English fashion. The Resident sat on the right of theMenghyi, I was on his left; the rest of the party, to the number of aboutfifteen, took their places indiscriminately; Mr. Andrino, an Italian inBurmese employ, being at the head of the table, Dr. Williams at the foot. Our meal was a perfectly English dinner, served and eaten in the Englishfashion. The Burmese had taken lessons in the nice conduct of a knife andfork, and fed themselves in the most irreproachably conventional manner, carefully avoiding the use of a knife with their fish. Pio Nono, who satopposite the Menghyi, tucked his napkin over his ample paunch and went inwith a will. He was in a most hilarious mood, and taxed his memory forreminiscences of his visit to England. These were not expressed withuseless expenditure of verbiage, nor did they flow in unbroken sequence. It was as if he dug in his memory with a spade, and found every now andthen a gem in the shape of a name, which he brandished aloft in triumph. He kept up an intermittent and disconnected fire all through dinner, withan interval between each discharge, "White-bait!" "Lord Mayor!""Fishmongers!" "Cremorne!" "Crystal Palace!" "Edinburgh!" "Dunrobin!""Newcastle!" "Windsor!"--each name followed by a chuckle and a successionof nods. The Menghyi divided his talk between the Resident and myself. Hetold me that of all the men he had met in England his favourite was thelate Duke of Sutherland; adding that the Duke was a nobleman of great andstriking eloquence, a trait which I had not been in the habit of regardingas markedly characteristic of his Grace. He spoke with much warmth of apleasant visit he had paid to Dunrobin, and said he should be heartilyglad if the Duke would come to Burmah and give him an opportunity ofreturning his hospitality. Here Pio Nono broke in with one of hisperiodical exclamations. This time it was "Lady Dudley. " Of her, and ofher late husband, the Menghyi then recalled his recollections, and if morecourtly tributes have been paid to her ladyship's charms and grace, Iquestion if any have been heartier and more enthusiastic than was theappreciation of this Burmese dignitary. The soldier element was at firstsomewhat stiff, but as the dinner proceeded the generals warmed inconversation with the Resident. But the aides were obstinatelysupercilious, and only partially thawed in acknowledgment of complimentson the splendour of their jewelry. Functionaries attached to the personalsuite of his Majesty wore huge ear-gems as a distinguishing mark. Theaides had these in blazing diamonds, and were good enough to take out theornaments and hand them round. The civil ministers wore no ornaments andtheir dress was studiously plain. We were during dinner entertained bymusic, instrumental and vocal, sedulously modulated to preventconversation from being drowned. The meal lasted quite two hours, and whenit was finished the Menghyi led the way to coffee in one of the kiosks ofthe garden. I should have said that no wine was on the table at dinner. The Burmese by religion are total abstainers, and their guests werewilling to follow their example for the time and to fall in with theirprejudices. After coffee we were ushered into the drawing-room, andlistened to a concert. The only solo-vocalist was the prima donna _parexcellence, _ Mdlle. Yeendun Male. The burden of her songs was love, but Icould not succeed in having the specific terms translated. Then she sangan ode in praise of the Resident, and gracefully accepted his pecuniaryappreciation of her performance. Pio Nono then beckoned to her to flatterme at close quarters; but, mistaking the index, she addressed herself tothe Residency chaplain in strains of hyperbolical encomium. The mistakehaving been set right, much to the reverend gentleman's relief, thesongstress overpowered my sensitive modesty by impassioned requests inverse that I should delay my departure; that, if I could not do so, Ishould take her away with me; and that, if this were beyond my power, Ishould at least remember her when I was far away. The which was anallegory and cost me twenty rupees. 

When the good-nights were being said, the Menghyi gratified me by theinformation that the King had given his consent to my presentation, andthat I was to have the opportunity next morning of "Reverencing the GoldenFeet. "

The Royal Palace occupied the central space of the city of Mandalay. Itwas almost entirely of woodwork, and was not only the counterpart of thepalace which Major Phayre saw at Amarapoora, but the identical palaceitself, conveyed piecemeal from its previous site and re-erected here. Itsoutermost enclosure consisted of a massive teak palisading, beyond whichall round was a wide clear space laid out as an esplanade, the farthermargin of which was edged by the houses of ministers and court officials. The Palace enclosure was a perfect square, each face about 370 yards. Themain entrance, the only one in general use, was in the centre of theeastern face, almost opposite to which, across the esplanade, was the_Yoom-daù_, or High Court. This gate was called the _Yive-daù-yoo-Taga_, or the Royal Gate of the Chosen, because the charge of it was entrusted tochosen troops. As I passed through it on my way to be presented to hisMajesty, the aspect of the "chosen" troops was not imposing. They wore nouniform, and differed in no perceptible item from the common coolies ofthe outside streets. They were lying about on charpoys and on the ground, chewing betel or smoking cheroots, and there was not even the pretence ofthere being sentries under arms. Some rows of old flintlock guns stood inracks in the gateway, rusty, dusty, and untended; they might have beenuntouched since the last insurrection. Crossing an intermediate spaceovergrown with shrubbery, we passed through a high gateway cut in theinner brick wall of the enclosure; and there confronted us the greatMyenan of Mandalay--the Palace of the "Sun-descended Monarch. " The firstimpression was disappointing, for the whole front was covered withgold-leaf and tawdry tinsel-work which had become weather-worn and dingy. But there was no time now to halt, inspect details, and rectify perchancefirst impressions. A message came that the Kingwoon Menghyi, my host ofthe previous evening--substantially the Prime Minister of Burmah, desiredthat we--that was to say, Dr. Williams, my guide, philosopher, and friend, and myself--should wait upon him in the _Hlwot-daù_, or Hall of theSupreme Council, before entering the Palace itself. The _Hlwot-daù_ was adetached structure on the right front of the Palace as one entered by theeastern gate. It was the Downing Street of Mandalay. Its sides were quiteopen, and its fantastic roof of grotesquely carved teak plastered withgilding, painting, and tinsel, was supported on massive teak pillarspainted a deep red. Taking off our shoes we ascended to the platform ofthe _Hlwot-daù_, where we found the Menghyi surrounded by a crowd of minorofficials and suitors squatting on their stomachs and elbows, with theirlegs under them and their hands clasped in front of their bent heads. TheMenghyi came forward several paces to meet us, conducted us to his mat, and sitting down himself and bidding us do the same, explained that as itwas with him a busy day, he would not be able personally to present me tothe King as he had hoped to have done, but that he had made allarrangements and had delegated the charge of us to our old friend whom Ihave ventured to call "Pio Nono. " That corpulent and jovial worthy madehis appearance at this moment along with his English-speaking subordinate, and with cordial acknowledgments and farewells to the Menghyi we left the_Hlwot-daù_ under their guidance. They led us along the front of thePalace, passing the huge gilded cannon that flanked on either side thecentral steps leading up into the throne-room; and turning round thenorthern angle of the Palace front, conducted us to the Hall of the_Bya-dyt_, or Household Council. We had to leave our shoes at the foot ofthe steps leading up to it. The _Bya-dyt_ was a mere open shed; its loftyroof borne up by massive teak timbers. What splendour had once been its inthe matter of gilding and tinsel was greatly faded. The gold-leaf had beenworn off the pillars by constant friction, and the place appeared to beused as a lumber-room as well as a council-chamber. On the front of one ofa pile of empty cases was visible, in big black letters, the legend, "Peek, Frean, and Co. , London. " State documents reposed in the receptacleonce occupied by biscuits. Clerks lay all around on the rough dustyboards, writing with agate stylets on tablets of black papier-mâche; andthere was a constant flux and reflux of people of all sorts, who appearedto have nothing to do and who were doing it with a sedulously loungingdeliberation that seemed to imply a gratifying absence of arrears ofofficial work. We sat down here for a while along with Pio Nono and hisassistant, who busied himself in dictating to a secretary a description ofmyself and a catalogue of my presents to be read by the herald to hisMajesty when I should be presented. Then Pio Nono went away and presentlycame back, saying that it was intended to bestow upon me some souvenirs ofMandalay, and that to admit of the preparation of these the audience wouldnot take place for an hour or so. He invited us in the meantime to inspectthe public apartments of the Palace itself and the objects of interest inthe Palace enclosure. So we got up, and still without our shoes walkedthrough the suite leading to the principal throne-room or great hall ofaudience. 

These were simply a series of minor throne-rooms. The first one in orderfrom the private apartments was close to the _Bya-dyt_. It must be bornein mind that the whole suite, including the great audience hall, were notrooms at all in our sense of the word. They were simply open-roofedspaces, the roofs gabled, spiked, and carved into fantastic shapes, ladenwith dingy gold-leaf garishly picked out with glaring colours and studdedwith bits of stained glass; the roofs, or rather I should say, the onecontinuous roof, supported on massive deep red pillars of teak-wood. Thewhole palace was raised from the ground on a brick platform some 10 feethigh. The partitions between the several walls were simply skirtings ofplanking covered with gold-leaf. The whole palace seemed an armoury. Someten or twelve thousand stand of obsolete muskets were ranged along thesepartitions and crammed into the anteroom of the throne-room proper. Thewhole suite was dingy, dirty, and uncared-for; but on a great day, withthe gilding renewed, carpets spread on the rugged boards, banners waving, and the courtiers in full dress, no doubt the effect would have beenmaterially improved. The vista from the throne of the great hall ofaudience looked right through the columned arcade to the "Gate of theChosen"; and that we might imagine the scene more vividly, we consideredourselves as on our way to Court on one of the great days, and going backto the gate again began our pilgrimage anew. The pillared front of thePalace stretched before us raised on the terrace, its total length 260feet. Looking between the two gilded cannon, we saw at the foot of thecentral steps a low gate of carved and gilded wood. That gate, it seemed, was never opened except to the King--none save he might use those centralsteps. Raising our eyes we looked right up the vista of the hall to thelofty throne raised against the gilded partition that closed at once thevista and the hall. We had been looking down the great central nave, as itwere, toward the west gate, in the place of which was the throne. Butalong the eastern front of the terrace ran a long colonnade, whose wingsformed transepts at right angles to the nave. The throne-room was shapedlike the letter T, the throne being at the base of the letter and thecross-bar representing the colonnade. Entering at the extremity of one ofthese, we traversed it to the centre and then faced the nave. The thronewas exactly before us, at the end of the pillared vista. Five steps led upto the dais. Its form was peculiar, contracting by a gradation of stepsfrom the base upwards to mid-height, and again expanding to the top, onwhich was a cushioned ledge such as is seen in the box of a theatre. Onthe platform, which now was bare planks, the King and Queen on a greatreception day would sit on gorgeous carpets. The entrance was throughgilded doors from a staircase in the ante-room beyond. There was a rack ofmuskets round the foot of the throne, and just outside the rails ahalf-naked soldier lay snoring. Our Burman companion assured us thatseeing the throne-room now in its condition of dismantled tawdriness, Icould form no idea of the fine effect when King and Court in all theirsplendour were gathered in it on a ceremonial day. I tried to accept hisassurances, but it was not easy to imagine such forlorn dinginess changedinto dazzling splendour. Just over the throne, and in the centre of thePalace and of the city, rose in gracefully diminishing stages of fantasticwoodcarving a tapering _phya-sath_ or spire similar to those surmountingsacred buildings, and crowned with the gilded _Htee_, an honour whichroyalty alone shared with ecclesiastical sanctity. The spire, likeeverything else, had been gilt, but it was now sadly tarnished and hadlost much of its brilliancy of effect. 

Having looked at the hall of audience we strolled through the Palaceesplanade. A wall parted this off from the private apartments and thepleasure grounds occupying the western section of the Palace enclosure. Aseries of carved and gilded gables roofed with glittering zinc plates wasvisible over the wall. The grounds were said to be well planted withflowering shrubs and fruit trees and to contain lakelets and rockeries. Built against the outer wall and facing the enclosed space were barracksfor soldiers and gun sheds. The accommodation was as primitive as are theweapons, and that was saying a good deal. Pio Nono led us across to a bigwooden house, scarcely at all ornamented, which was the everyday abode ofthe "Lord White Elephant. " His "Palace, " or state apartment, was notpointed out to us. His lordship, in so far as his literal claim to bestyled a white elephant, was an impostor of the deepest dye and a verygrim and ugly impostor to boot. He was a great, lean, brown, flat-sidedbrute, his ears, forehead, and trunk mottled with a dingy cream colour. But he belonged all the same to the lordly race. "White elephants" were ascience which had a literature of its own. According to this science, itwas not the whiteness that was the criterion of a "white elephant. " Somuch, indeed, was the reverse, that a "white elephant" according to thescience may be a brown elephant in actual colour. The points were themottling of the face, the shape and colour of the eyes, the position ofthe ears, and the length of the tail. Certainly the "Lord White Elephant"had, to the most cursory observation, a peculiar and abnormal eye. Theiris was yellow, with a reddish outer annulus and a small, clear, blackpupil. It was essentially a shifty, treacherous eye, and I noticed thateverybody took particularly good care to keep out of range of hislordship's trunk and tusks. The latter were superb--long, massive, andsmooth, their tips quite meeting far in front of his trunk. His tail wasmuch longer than in the Indian elephants, and was tipped with a bunch oflong, straight, black hair. Altogether he was an unwholesome, disagreeable-looking brute, who munched his grass morosely and had noelephantine geniality. He was but a youngster--the great, old, reallywhite elephant which Yule describes had died some time back, after anincumbency dating from 1806. The "White Elephant" was never ridden now, but the last King but one used frequently to ride its predecessor, actingas his own mahout. We did not see his trappings, as our visit was paidunawares when he was quite in undress; but Yule says that when arrayed inall his splendour his head-stall was of fine red cloth, studded with greatrubies, interspersed with valuable diamonds. When caparisoned he wore onhis forehead, like other Burmese dignitaries including the King himself, agolden plate inscribed with his titles and a gold crescent set withcircles of large gems between the eyes. Large silver tassels hung in frontof his ears, and he was harnessed with bands of gold and crimson setfreely with large bosses of pure gold. He was a regular "estate of therealm, " having a _woon_ or minister of his own, four gold umbrellas, thewhite umbrellas which were peculiar to royalty, with a large suite ofattendants and an appanage to furnish him with maintenance wherewithal. When in state his attendants had to leave their shoes behind them whenthey enter his Palace. In a shed adjacent to that occupied by the "LordWhite Elephant" stood his lady wife, a browner, plumper, and generallymore amiable-looking animal. Contrary to universal experience elsewhere, elephants in Burmah breed in captivity, but this union was unfertile andthe race of "Lord White Elephants" had to be maintained _ab extra_. Theso-called white elephants are sports of nature, and are of no specialbreed. They are called Albinoes, and are more plentiful in the Siam regionthan in Burmah. 

By this time the hour was approaching that had been fixed for thepresentation, and we returned to the _Bya-dyt_. The summons came almostimmediately. Ushered by Pio Nono and accompanied by several courtiers, wetraversed some open passages and finally reached a kind of pagoda or kioskwithin the private gardens of the Palace. The King was not to appear instate, and this place had been selected by reason of its absoluteinformality. There was no ornament anywhere, not so much as a speck ofgilding or an atom of tinsel. We solemnly squatted down on a low platformcovered with grass matting, through which pierced the teak columnssupporting the lofty roof. A space had been reserved for us in the centre, on either side of which, their front describing a semicircle, a number ofcourtiers lay crouching on their stomachs but placidly puffing cheroots. On our left were two or three superior military officers of the Palaceguard, distinguishable only by their diamond ear-jewels. My presents--they were trivial: an opera-glass, a few boxes of chocolate, and awork-box--were placed before me as I sat down. There were other offeringsto right and to left of them--a huge bunch of cabbages, a basket of_Kohl-rabi_, and three baskets of orchids. In the clear space in front Iobserved also a satin robe lined with fur, a couple of silver boxes, and aruby ring. These, I imagined, were also for presentation, but it presentlyappeared they were his Majesty's return gifts for myself. Before us, at ahigher elevation, there was a plain wooden railing with a gap in thecentre, and the railing enclosed a sort of recess that looked like agarden-house. Over a ledge where the gap was, had been thrown a richcrimson and gold trapping that hung low in front, and on the ledge were acrimson cushion, a betel box, and a tall oval spittoon in gold set withpearls. A few minutes passed, beguiled by conversation in a low tone, whensix guards armed with double-barrelled firearms of very diverse patterns, mounted the platform from the left side and took their places on eitherside, squatting down. The guards wore black silk jackets lined with furand with scarlet kerchiefs bound round their heads. Then a door opened inthe left side of the garden-house, and there entered first an old gauntbeardless man--the chief eunuch--closely followed by the King, otherwiseunattended. His Majesty came on with a quick step, and sat down, restinghis right arm on the crimson cushion on the ledge in the centre of therailing. He wore a white silk jacket, and a _loonghi_ or petticoat robe ofrich yellow and green silk. His only ornaments were his diamondear-jewels. As he entered all bent low, and when he had seated himself aherald lying on his stomach read aloud my credentials. The literaltranslation was as follows:--"So-and-so, a great newspaper teacher of the_Daily News_ of London, tenders to his Most Glorious Excellent Majesty, Lord of the Ishaddan, King of Elephants, master of many white elephants, lord of the mines of gold, silver, rubies, amber, and the nobleserpentine, Sovereign of the empires of Thunaparanta and Tampadipa, andother great empires and countries, and of all the umbrella-wearing chiefs, the supporter of religion, the Sun-descended Monarch, arbiter of life, andgreat, righteous King, King of kings, and possessor of boundlessdominions, and supreme wisdom, the following presents. " The reading wasintoned in a uniform high recitative, strongly resembling that used whenour Church Service is intoned; and the long-drawn "Phya-a-a-a-a" (my lord)which concluded it, added to the resemblance, as it came in exactly likethe "Amen" of the Liturgy. 

The reading over, the return presents were picked up by an official andbundled over to me without any ceremony, the King meanwhile looking on insilence, chewing betel and smoking a cheroot. Several of the courtierswere following his example in the latter respect. Presently the King spokein a distinct, deliberate voice--

"Who is he?"

Dr. Williams acting as my introducer, replied in Burmese--

"A writer of the _Daily News_ of London, your Majesty. "

"Why does he come?"

"To see your Majesty's country, and in the hope of being permitted toreverence the Golden Feet. "

"Whence does he come?"

"From the British army in Afghanistan, engaged in war against the Princeof Cabul. "

"And does the war prosper for my friends the English?"

"He reports that it has done so greatly and that the Prince of Cabul is afugitive. "

"Where does Cabul lie in relation to Kashmir?"

"Between Kashmir and Persia, in a very mountainous and cold region. "

There had been pauses more or less long between each of these questions;the King obviously reflecting what he should ask next; then there was alonger, and, indeed, a wearisome pause. Then the King spoke again. 

"Where is the Kingwoon Menghyi?"

"In Court, your Majesty, " replied Pio Nono. "It is a Court day. "

"It is well. I wish the Ministers to make every day a Court day, and tolabour hard to give prompt justice to suitors, so that there be nocomplaint of arrears. "

With this laudable injunction, his Majesty rose and walked away, and theaudience was over. 

The King of Burmah, when I saw him, was little over twenty, and he hadbeen barely four months on the throne. He was a tall, well-built, personable young man, very fair in complexion, with a good forehead, clear, steady eyes, and a firm but pleasant mouth. His chin was full andsomewhat sensual-looking, but withal he was a manly, frank-faced youngfellow, and was said to have gained self-possession and lost the earlynervous awkwardness of his new position with great rapidity. Circumstanceshad even then occurred to prove that he was very far from destitute of awill of his own, and that he had no favour for any diminution of the RoyalPrerogative. As we passed out of the Palace after the interview a house inthe Palace grounds was pointed out to me, within which had been imprisonedin squalid misery ever since the mortal illness of the previous King, anumber of the members of the Burmese blood royal. 

_P. S. _--A few days after my visit, all these unfortunately were massacredwith fiendish refinements of cruelty. 

GERMAN WAR PRAYERS 1870-71

In the multifarious ramifications of their military organisation theGermans by no means neglect religion. Each army corps is partitioned intotwo divisions and each division has its field chaplain. In those corps inwhich there is a large admixture of the Catholic element, there is acleric of that denomination to each division as well as a Protestantchaplain. The former is known as a _Feldgeistliger_, a word which initself means nothing more distinctive than a "field ecclesiastic, " whilethe Protestant chaplain has usually the title of _Feldpastor_. Of thepriest I can say but little. The pastors, for the most part, are young andenergetic men. They may be divided into two classes: those who have athome no stated charges, and those who have temporarily left their chargefor the duration of the war. The former generally are regularly posted toa division; the latter, equally recognised but not perhaps quite soofficial, are chiefly to be found in the lazarettoes, in the battlefieldvillages whither the wounded are borne to have their fresh wounds roughlyseen to, and on the battlefield itself. Not that the regular divisionalchaplains do not face the dangers of the battlefield with devoted courage;but their duties, in the nature of their special avocation, lie more amongthe hale and sound who yet stand up before an enemy, than with the poorfellows who have been stricken down. Earnestness and devotion are thechief characteristics of those pastors. It struck me that their educationwas not of a very high order--certainly not on a par with that of theaverage regimental officer. 

The _Feldpastor_ wears an armlet of white and light purple to denote hiscalling; but indeed it is not easy to mistake him for anything else thanhe is. He has his quarters with the Divisional General, and preacheswhenever and wherever it is convenient to get a congregation. A church ispassed on the wayside, a regiment halts and defiles into it, and thepastor mounts the steps of the altar and holds forth therefrom for half anhour. There is a quiet meadow near a village, in which a brigade is lying. Looking over the hedge, you may see in the meadow a hollow square ofhelmeted men with the general and the pastor in the centre, the latterspeaking simple, fervent words to the fighting men. When, as during thesiege of Paris, a division occupies a certain district for a long time, you may chance--let me say on a New Year's night--on the village churchall ablaze with light. The garrison have decorated the gaunt old Normanarches with laurels and evergreens; they have cleared out themarket-vendor's stock of tallow-dips to illuminate the church wherewithal. The band has been practising the glorious _Nun Danket alle Gott_ for aweek; the vocalists of the regiments have been combining to perfectthemselves in part-singing. The gorgeous trumpery of Roman Catholic churchparaphernalia, unheeded as it is, looks strangely out of place andcontrasts curiously with the simple Protestant forms. 

The church is crowded with a denser congregation than ever its wallscontained before. The _Oberst_ sits down with the under-officer; thegeneral gropes for half a chair between two stalwart _Kerle_ of the line. Hymn-cards are distributed as at the Brighton volunteer service in thePavilion on Easter Sunday. As the pastor enters and takes his way up thealtar steps--he goes not to the pulpit--there bursts out a volume of vocaldevotional harmony, which is so pent in the aisles and under the archesthat the sound seems almost to become a substance. Then the pastordelivers a prayer and there is another hymn. He enunciates no text when henext begins to speak; he chops not a subject up into heads, as thegrizzled major who listens to him would partition out his battalion intocompanies. There is no "thirteenthly and lastly" in his simple address. But he gets nearer the hearts of his hearers than if he assailed them witha battery of logic with multitudinous texts for ammunition. For he speaksof the people at home, in the quiet corners of the Fatherland; he tellsthe soldier in language that is of his profession, how the fear of theLord is a better arm than the truest-shooting _Zündnadelgewehr_; howpreparedness for death and for what follows after death, is a part of hisaccoutrement that the good soldier must ever bear about with him. 

Herr Pastor has other functions than to preach to the living. The dayafter a battle, his horse must be very tired before the stable-door isreached. The burial parties are excavating great pits all over the field, while others pick up the dead in the vicinity and bear them unto the brinkof the common grave. Herr Pastor cannot be ubiquitous. If he is not nearwhen the hole is full, the _Feldwebel_ who commands the party bares hishead, and mutters, "In the name of God, Amen, " as he strews the firsthandful of mould on the dead--it may be on friends as well as on foes. Ifthe pastor can reach the brink of the pit, it is his to say the few wordsthat mark the recognition of the fact that those lying stark and grimbelow him are not as the beasts that perish. The Germans have no setfuneral service, and if they had, there would be no time for it here. "Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope ofthe resurrection to eternal life, _durch unsern Herr Jesu Christe_. Amen;"words so familiar, yet never heard without a new thrill. 

They are slightly uncouth in several matters, these _Feldpastoren_, andwould not quite suit sundry metropolitan charges one wots of. They do notwear gloves, nor are they addicted to scent on their pocket-handkerchiefs. Their boots are too often like boats, and when they are mounted there isfrequently visible an interval of more or less dusky stocking between theboot-top and the trouser-leg. They slobber stertorously in the consumptionof soup, and cut their meat with a square-elbowed energy of determinationthat might make one think that they had vanquished the Evil One and hadhim down there under their knife and fork. But they are simple-hearted andvaliant servants of their Master. Who was it, in the bullet-storm thatswept the slope of Wörth, from facing which the stout hearts of thefighting men blenched and quailed, that there walked quietly into it, tospeak words of peace and consolation to the dying men whom that terriblestorm had beaten down? A smooth-faced stripling with the _Feldpastor's_badge on his arm, the gallant Christian son of an eminent Prussian divine, Dr. Krummacher of Berlin. At one of the battles (I forget which) a pastorcame to fill a grave, not to consecrate it. Shall I ever forget theunswerving hurry to the front of Kummer's divisional chaplain when the_Landwehrleute_, his flock, were going down in their ranks as they heldwith stubbornness unto death the villages in front of Maizières les Metz?Let the _Feldpastoren_ slobber and welcome, say I, while they gild theirslobbering with such devotion as this! But there must be times and seasonswhen Herr Pastor is not at hand; nor can the ministration of any pastorstand in the stead of private prayer. The German soldier's simple needs inthis matter are not disregarded. Each man is served out when he gets hiskit with a tiny gray volume less than quarter the size of this page, thetitle of which is _Gebetbuch für Soldaten_--the Soldier's Prayer-Book. Itis supplied from the Berlin depôt of the Head Society for the Promotion ofChristian Knowledge in Germany, and it is a compendium of simple warprayers for almost every conceivable situation, with one significantexception--there is no prayer in defeat. The word is blotted out of theGerman war vocabulary. It has been said that the belief in the divinity ofour Saviour is rapidly on the wane in Germany. If this war prayer-bookavails aught, the taint of the heresy may not enter into the army. 

Germany is at war. While Paris is frantically shouting _A Berlin!_, whileall Germany is singing and meaning _Die Wacht am Rhein_, Moltke's ordergoes forth into the towns and villages of the Fatherland for themobilisation of the Reserves. Hans was singing _Die Wacht am Rhein_ lastnight over his beer; but there is little heart for song left in him as helooks from that paper on the deal table into Gretchen's face. She isweeping bitterly as her children cling around her, too young to realisethe cause of their parents' sorrow. Hans rises moodily, and pulling downwhat military belongings he has not given into the arsenal after the lastdrill, falls a turning over of them abstractedly. By chance his hand restsupon the little gray volume, the _Gebetbuch für Soldaten_. It opens in hishand, and he comes and sits down by Gretchen and reads in a voice thatchokes sometimes, the

PRAYER IN STRAIT AND SORROW

O Lord Jesus Christ! let the crying and sighing of the poor come beforeThee. Withhold not Thy countenance from the tears and beseechings of thewoebegone. Help by Thine outstretched arm, and avert our sorrow from us. Awake us who are lying dead in sin and in great danger, and whose thoughtsoften wander from Thee. Let us trust with all our hearts that nothing canbe so broad, so deep, so high, nor so arduous that Thy grace and favourcannot overcome it; that we so can and must be holpen out of everydifficulty and discomfiture when Thou takest compassion upon us. Help us, then, through grace, and so I will praise Thee from now to all eternity. 

Hans has bidden good-bye to Gretchen, and has kissed the children he maynever see more. He has marched with his fellows to the depôt, and got hisuniform and arms. The _Militärzug_ has carried him to Kreuznach, andthence he has marched sturdily up the Nahe Valley and over the ridge intothe Kollerthaler Wald. His last halt was at Puttingen, but Kameke has sentan aide back at the gallop to summon up all supports. The regiment stacksarms for ten minutes' breathing-time while the cannon-thunder is bornebackward on the wind to the ears of the soldiers. In two hours more theywill be across the French frontier, storming furiously up the SpicherenBerg. As Hans gropes in his tunic pocket for his tinder-box, the littlewar prayer-book somehow gets between his fingers. He takes it out with thepipe-light, and finds in its pages a prayer surely suited to thesituation--the prayer

FOR THE OUTMARCHING

O gracious God! I defile from out my Fatherland and from the society of myfriends, [1] and out of the house of my father into a strange land, tocampaign against the enemies of our king. Therefore I would cast myselfwith life and soul upon Thy divine bosom and guardianship; and I prayThee, with prostrate humility, that Thou willst guide me with Thine eye, and overshadow me with Thy wings. Let Thine angels camp round about me, and Thy grace protect me in all the difficulties of the marches, in allcamps and dangers. Give me wisdom and understanding for my ways and works. Give success and blessing to our ingoings and outcomings, so that we maydo everything well, and conquer on the field of battle; and after victorywon, turn our steps homeward as the heralds who announce peace. So shallwe praise Thee with gladsomeness, O most gracious Father, for Thy dearSon's sake, Jesus Christ!

[Footnote 1: Every now and then one comes across a German worduntranslatable in its compact volume of expressiveness. How weakly am Iforced to render _Freundschaft_ here! "Outmarching, " though a literal, isa poor equivalent for _Ausmarsch_. In the old Scottish language we find anexact correspondent for _aus_; the "Furthmarch" gives the idea to ahair's-breadth. ]

It is the morning of Gravelotte. King Wilhelm has issued his laconic orderfor the day, and all know how bloody and arduous is the task before hishost. The French tents are visible away in the distance yonder by theauberge of St. Hubert, and already the explosion of an occasional shellgives earnest of the wrath to come. The regiment in which Hans is aprivate has marched to Caulre Farm, and is halted for breakfast therebefore beginning the real battle by attacking the French outpoststronghold in Verneville. The tough ration beef sticks in poor Hans'throat. He is no coward, but he thinks of Gretchen and the children, andthe Reserve-man draws aside into the thicket to commune with his ownthoughts. He has already found comfort in the little gray volume, and sohe pulls it out again to search for consolation in this hour of gloom. Hefinds what he wants in the prayer

FOR THE BATTLE

Lord of Sabaoth, with Thee is no distinction in helping in great things orin small. We are going now, at the orders of our commanders, to do battlein the field with our enemies. Let us give proof of Thy might and honour. Help us, Lord our God, for we trust in Thee, and in Thy name we go forthagainst the enemy. Lord Christ, Thou hast said, "I am with thee in thehour of need; I will pull thee out, and place thee in an honourableplace. " Bethink Thee, Lord, of Thy word, and remember Thy promise. Come toour aid when we are sore pressed, when the close grapple is imminent, whenthe enemy overmatches us, and we have been surrounded by them. Stand by usin need, for the aid of man is of no avail. Through Thee we will vanquishour enemies, and in Thy name we will tread under the foot those who haveset themselves in array against us. They trust in their own might, and arepuffed up with pride; but we put our trust in the Almighty God, who, without one stroke of the sword, canst smite into the dust not only thosewho are now formed up against us, but also the whole world. God, we awaiton Thy goodness. Blessed are those who put their trust in Thee. Help us, that our enemies may not get the better of us, and wax triumphant in theirmight; but strike disorder into their ranks, and smite them before oureyes, so that we may overwhelm them. Show us Thy goodness, Thou Saviour, of those who trust in Thee. Art Thou not God the Lord unto us who arecalled after Thy name? So be gracious unto us, and take us--life and soul--under the protection of Thy grace. And since Thou only knowest what isgood for us, so we commend ourselves unto Thee without reserve, be it forlife or for death. Let us live comforted; let us fight and endurecomforted; let us die comforted, for Jesus Christ, Thy dear Son's sake. Amen. 

Alvensleben is sitting on his horse on the little hillock behind thehamlet of Flavigny, pulling his gray moustache, and praying that he mightsee the _Spitze_ of Barneckow's division show itself on the edge of theplain up from out the glen of Gorze. Rheinbaben's cavalry are half of themdown, the other half of them are rallying for another charge to save theGerman centre. Hans is in the wood to the north of Tronville, helping tokeep back Leboeuf from swamping the left flank. The shells from the Frenchartillery on the Roman Road are crashing into the wood. The bark is jaggedby the slashes of venomous chassepot bullets. Twice has Ladmirault comeraging down from the heights of Bruville, twice has he been sentstaggering back. Now, with strong reinforcements, he is preparing for athird assault. Meanwhile there is a lull in the battle. Hans, grimed andpowder-blackened, may let the breech of his _Zündnadelgewehr_ cool and maywipe his blood-stained bayonet on the forest moss. He has a moment for aglance into the little gray volume, and it opens in his blackened fingersat the prayer

IN THE AGONY OF THE BATTLE

O Thou Lord and Ruler of Thine own people, awake and look now in graceupon Thy folk. Lord Jesus Christ, be now our Jesus, our Helper andDeliverer, our rock and fortress, our fiery wall, for Thy great name'ssake. Be now our Emmanuel, God with us, God in us, God for us, God by theside of us. Thou mighty arm of Thy Father, let us now see Thy great power, so that men shall hail Thee their God, and the people may bend their kneesunto Thee. Strengthen and guide the fighting arm of Thy believingsoldiers, and help them, Thou invincible King of Battles. Gird Thyself up, Thou mighty fighting Hero; gird Thy sword on Thy loins, and smite ourenemy hip and thigh. Art Thou not the Lord who directest the wars of thewhole world, who breakest the bow, who splinterest the spear, and burnestthe chariots with fire? Arouse Thyself, help us for Thy good will, andcast us not from Thee, God of our Saviour; cease Thy wrath against us, andthink not for ever of our sins. Consider that we are all Thine handiwork;give us Thy countenance again, and be gracious unto us. Return unto us, OLord, and go forth with our army. Restore happiness to us with Thy helpand counsel, Thou staunch and only King of Peace, who with Thy sufferingand death hast procured for us eternal peace. Give us the victory and anhonourable peace, and remain with us in life and in death. Amen. 

Hans has marched from before Metz towards the valley of the Meuse, and theregimental camp for the night is on the slopes of the Ardennes, overagainst Chemery. The setting sun is glinting on the windows of the Châteauof Vendresse, where the German King is quartered for the night. The birdsare chirruping in the bosky dales of the Bar. The morrow is fraught withthe hot struggle of Sedan, but honest Hans, a simple private man, knowsnought of strategic moves and takes his ease on the sward while he may. Hehas oiled the needle-gun and done his cooking; a stone is under his headand his mantle is about him. As he ponders in the dying rays of thesetting sun there comes over him the impulse to have a look into the pagesof the _Gebetbuch_, and he finds there this prayer

IN THE BIVOUAC

Heavenly Father, here I am, according to Thy divine will, in the serviceof my king and war-master, as is my duty as a soldier; and I thank Theefor Thy grace and mercy that Thou hast called me to the performance ofthis duty, because I am certain that it is not a sin, but is an obedienceto Thy wish and will. But as I know and have learnt through Thy graciousWord that none of our good works can avail us, and that nobody can besaved merely as a soldier, but only as a Christian, I will not rely on myobedience and upon my labours, but will perform my duties for Thy sake, and to Thy service. I believe with all my heart that the innocent blood ofThy dear Son Jesus Christ, which He has shed for me, delivers and savesme, for He was obedient to Thee even unto death. On this I rely, on this Ilive and die, on this I fight, and on this I do all things. Retain andincrease, O God, my Father, this belief by Thy Holy Ghost. I commend bodyand soul to Thy hands. Amen. 

It is the evening of Sedan, the most momentous victory of the century. Thebivouac fires light up the sluggish waters of the Meuse, not yet run clearfrom blood. The burning villages still blaze on the lower slopes of theArdennes, and the tired victors, as they point to the beleaguered town, exclaim in a kind of maze of sober triumph, "_Der Kaiser ist da!_" Hans isjoyous with his fellows, chaunts with them Luther's glorious hymn, _NunDanket alle Gott_; and as the watch-fire burns up he rummages in the_Gebetbuch_ for something that will chime with the current of histhoughts. He finds it in the prayer

AFTER THE VICTORY

God of armies! Thou hast given us success and victory against our enemies, and hast put them to flight before us. Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but to Thy holy name alone be all the honour! Thou hast done great thingsfor us, therefore our hearts are glad. Without Thy aid we should have beenworsted; only with God could we have done mighty deeds and subdued thepower of the enemy. The eye of our general Thou hast quickened and guided;Thou hast strengthened the courage of our army, and lent it stubbornvalour. Yet not the strategy of our leader, nor our courage, but Thy greatmercy has given us the victory. Lord, who are we, that we dare to standbefore Thee as soldiers, and that our enemies yield and fly before us? Weare sinners, even as they are, and have deserved Thy fierce wrath andpunishment; but for the sake of Thy name Thou hast been merciful to us, and hast so marked the sore peril of our threatened Fatherland, and hastheard the prayer of our king, our people, and our army, because we calledupon Thy name, and held out our buckler in the name of the Lord ofSabaoth. Blessed be Thy holy name for ever and ever. Amen. 

The surrender of the French army of Sedan has been consummated, andNapoleon has departed into captivity; while Hans, marching down by Rethel, and through grand old Rheims, and along the smiling vinebergs of the MarneValley, is now _vor Paris_. He is on the _Feldwache_ in the forest ofBondy before Raincy, and his turn comes to go on the uttermost sentrypost. As the snow-drift blows to one side he can see the Frenchwatch-fires close by him in Bondy; nearer still he sees the three stonesand the few spadefuls of earth behind which, as he knows, is the Frenchoutpost sentry confronting him. The straggling rays of the watery moon nowobscured by snow-scud, now falling on him faintly, could not aid him inreading even if he dared avert his eyes from his front. But Hans had cometo know the value of the little gray volume; and while he lay in the_Feldwache_ waiting for his spell of sentry go, he had learnt by heart thefollowing prayer

FOR OUTPOST SENTRY DUTY

Lord Jesus Christ, I stand here on the foremost fringe of the camp, and amholding watch against the enemy; but wert Thou, Lord, not to guard us, then the watcher watcheth in vain. Therefore, I pray Thee, cover us withThy grace as with a shield, and let Thy holy angels be round about us toguard and preserve us that we be not fallen upon at unawares by the enemy. Let the darkness of the night not terrify me; open mine eyes and ears thatI may observe the oncoming of the enemy from afar, and that I may studywell the care of myself and of the whole army. Keep me in my duty fromsleeping on my post and from false security. Let me continually call toThee with my heart, and bend Thyself unto me with Thine almighty presence. Be Thou with me and strengthen me, life and soul, that in frost, in heat, in rain, in snow, in all storms, I may retain my strength and return inhealth to the _Feldwache_. So I will praise Thy name and laud Thyprotection. Amen. 

It is the evening of the 2nd of December. Duerot has tried his hardest tosup in Lagny, and has been balked by German valour. But not withoutterrible loss. On the plateau and by the party wall before Villiers, deadand wounded Germans lie very thick. In one of the little corries in thevineberg poor Hans has gone down. The shells from Fort Nogent are burstingall around, endangering the _Krankenträger_ while prosecuting their dutiesof mercy and devotion. Hans has somehow bound up his shattered limb; andas he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket the little _Gebetbuch_ hasdropped out with it. There is none on earth to comfort poor Hans; let himopen the book and find consolation there in the prayer

FOR THE SICK AND WOUNDED

Dear and trusty Deliverer, Jesus Christ, I know in my necessity and painsno whither to flee to but to Thee, my Saviour, who hast suffered for me, and hast called unto all ailing and miserable ones, "Come unto Me, all yewho are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest. " Oh, relieve me, also, of Thy love and kindness, stretch out Thy healing and almighty hand, and restore me to health. Free me with Thy aid from my wounds and mypains, and console me with Thy grace who art vouchsafed to heal the brokenheart, and to console all the sorrowful ones. Dost Thou take pleasure inour destruction? Our groaning touches Thee to the heart, and those whomThou hast cast down Thou wilt lift up again. In Thee, Lord Jesus, I put mytrust; I will not cease to importune Thee that Thou bringest me not toshame. Help me, save me, so I will praise Thee for ever. Amen. 

Alas for Gretchen and her brood! The 4th of December has dawned, and stillHans lies unfound in the corrie of the vineberg. He has no pain now, forhis shattered limb has been numbed by the cruel frost. His eyes are waxingdim and he feels the end near at hand. The foul raven of the battlefieldcroaks above him in his enfeebled loneliness, impatient for its meal. Thegrim king of terrors is very close to thee, poor honest soldier of theFatherland; but thou canst face him as boldly as thou hast faced the foe, with the help of the little book of which thy frost-chilled fingers havenever lost the grip. The gruesome bird falls back as thou murmurest theprayer

AT THE NEAR APPROACH OF DEATH

Merciful heavenly Father, Thou God of all consolation, I thank Thee thatThou hast sent Thy dear Son Jesus Christ to die for me. He has through Hisdeath taken from death his sting, so that I have no cause to fear himmore. In that I thank Thee, dear Father, and pray Thee receive my spiritin grace, as it now parts from life. Stand by me and hold me with Thinealmighty hand, that I may conquer all the terrors of death. When my earscan hear no more, let Thy Spirit commune with my spirit, that I, as Thychild and co-heir with Christ, may speedily be with Jesus by Thee inheaven. When my eyes can see no more, so open my eyes of faith that I maythen see Thy heaven open before me and the Lord Jesus on Thy right hand;that I may also be where He is. When my tongue shall refuse its utterance, then let Thy Spirit be my spokesman with indescribable breathings, andteach me to say with my heart, "Father, into Thy hands I commit myspirit. " Hear me, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen. 

Would it harm the British soldier, think you, if in his kit there was a_Gebetbuch für Soldaten_?

MISS PRIEST'S BRIDECAKE

1879

In broad essentials the marryings and givings in marriage of Indianowadays do not greatly differ from these natural phenomena at home; butto use a florist's phrase, they are more inclined to "sport. " The old daysare over when consignments of damsels were made to the Indianmarriage-market, in the assured certainty that the young ladies would bebrides-elect before reaching the landing ghât. The increased facilitieswhich improved means of transit now offer to bachelors for running home onshort leave have resulted in making the Anglo-Indian "spin" rather a drugin the market; and operating in the same untoward direction is the growingpredilection on the part of the Anglo-Indian bachelor for other men'swives, in preference to hampering himself with the encumbrance of a wifeof his own. Among other social products of India old maids are nowoccasionally found; and the fair creature who on her first arrival wouldsmile only on commissioners or colonels has been fain, after a few--yettoo many--hot seasons have impaired her bloom and lowered herpretensions, to put up with a lieutenant or even with a dissenting_padre_. Slips between the cup and the lip are more frequent in India thanin England. Loving and riding away is not wholly unknown in theAnglo-Indian community; and indeed, by both parties to the contract, engagements are frequently regarded in the mistaken light of ninepins. Hearts are seldom broken. At Simla during a late season a gallant captainpersistently wore the willow till the war broke out, because he had beenjilted in favour of a colonel; but his appetite rapidly recovered its toneon campaign, and he was reported to have reopened relations bycorrespondence from the tented field with a former object of hisaffections. Not long ago there arrived in an up-country station a boxcontaining a wedding trousseau, which a lady had ordered out from home asthe result of an engagement between her and a gallant warrior. But in theinterval the warrior had departed elsewhere and had addressed to the ladya pleasant and affable communication, setting forth that there wasinsanity in his family and that he must have been labouring under anaccess of the family disorder when he had proposed to her. It was hard toget such a letter, and it must have been harder still for her to gaze onthe abortive wedding-dress. But the lady did not abandon herself todespair; she took a practical view of the situation. She determined tokeep the trousseau by her for six months, in case she might within thattime achieve a fresh conquest, when it would come in happily. Shouldfortune not favour her thus far she meant to advertise the wedding-gearfor sale. 

Miss Priest was no "spin" lingering on in spinsterhood against her will. It is true that when I saw her first she had already been "out" threeyears, but she might have been married a dozen times over had she chosen. I have seen many pretty faces in the fair Anglo-Indian sisterhood, butMiss Priest had a brightness and a sparkle that were all her own. Atflirting, at riding, at walking, at dancing, at performing in amateurtheatricals, at making fools of men in an airy, ruthless, good-heartedfashion, Miss Priest, as an old soldier might say, "took the right of theline. " There was a fresh vitality about the girl that drew men and womenalike to her. You met her at dawn cantering round Jakko on her pony. Before breakfast she had been rinking for an hour, with as likely as not awaltz or two thrown in. She never missed a picnic to Annandale, theWaterfalls, or Mashobra. Another turn at the Benmore rink before dinner, and for sure a dance after, rounded off this young lady's normal dayduring the Simla season. But if pleasure-loving, capricious, and reckless, she scraped through the ordeal of Simla gossip without incurring scandal. She was such a frank, honest girl, that malign tongues might assail herindeed, but ineffectually. And she had given proof that she knew how totake care of herself, although her only protectress was a perfectlyinoffensive mother. On the occasion of the Prince of Wales's visit toLahore, had she not boxed the ears of a burly and somewhat boorish swain, who had chosen the outside of an elephant as an eligible _locale_ for aproposal, the uncouth abruptness of which did not accord with her notionof the fitness of things?

Miss Priest may be said to have lived in a chronic state of engagements. The engagements never seemed to come to anything, but that was on accountmostly of the young lady's wilfulness. It bothered her to be engaged tothe same man for more than from a week to ten days on end. No bones werebroken; the gentleman resigned the position at her behest, and she wouldgenially dance with him the same night. Malice and heartburning were outof the question with a lissom, winsome, witching fairy like this, whoplayed with her life as a child does with soap-bubbles, and who was aselusory and irresponsible as a summer-day rainbow. But one season atMussoorie Miss Priest contracted an engagement somewhat less evanescent. Mussoorie of all Himalayan hill-stations is the most demure and proper. Simla occasionally is convulsed by scandals, although dispassionateinquiry invariably proves that there is nothing in them. The hot blood ofthe quick and fervid Punjaub--casual observers have called the Punjaubstupid, but the remark applies only to its officials--is apt to stir thecurrent of life at Murree. The chiefs of the North-West are invariably sointolerably proper that occasional revolt from their austerity is all butforced on Nynee Tal, the sanatorium of that province. But Mussoorie, undisturbed by the presence of frolicsome viceroys or austerelieutenant-governors, is a limpid pool of pleasant propriety. It is not somuch that it is decorous as that it is genuinely good; it is a favouriteresort of clergymen and of clergymen's wives. It was at Mussoorie thatMiss Priest met Captain Hambleton, a gallant gunner. They danced togetherat the Assembly Rooms; they rode in company round the Camel's Back; theywent to the same picnics at "The Glen. " The captain proposed and wasaccepted. For about the nineteenth time Miss Priest was an engaged younglady. And Captain Hambleton was a lover of rather a different stamp fromthe men with whom her name previously had been nominally coupled. He wasin love and he was a gentleman; he had proposed to the girl, not that heand she should be merely engaged but that they should be married also. This view of the subject was novel to Miss Priest and at first she thoughtit rather a bore; but the captain pegged away and gradually the lady camerather to relish the situation. Men and women concurred that the waywardpinions of the fair Bella were at last trimmed, if not clipped; and to doher justice the general opinion was that, once married, she would make anexcellent wife. As the close of the Mussoorie season approached theinvitations went out for Bella Priest's wedding, and for "cake and wineafterwards at the house. " The wedding-breakfast is a comparatively rare_tamasha_ in India; the above is the formula of the usual invitation atthe hill-stations. 

It happened that just two days before the day fixed for the marriage ofMiss Priest and Captain Hambleton, there was a fancy-dress ball in theAssembly Rooms at Mussoorie. I think that as a rule fancy-dress balls aregreater successes in India than at home. People in India give their mindsmore to the selection and to the elaboration of costumes; and there isless of that _mauvaise honte_ when masquerading in fancy costume, whichmakes a ball of this description at home so wooden and wanting in go. At afancy ball in India "the devil" acts accordingly, and manages his tailwith adroitness and grace. It is a fact that at a recent fancy-dress ballin Lahore a game was played on the lap of a lady who appeared as "chess, "with the chess-men which had formed her head-dress. This Mussoorie ball, being the last of the season, was to excel all its predecessors ininventive variety. A _padre's_ wife conceived the bright idea of appearingas Eve; and only abandoned the notion on finding that, no matter whatspecies of thread she used, it tore the fig-leaves--a result which, besides causing her a disappointment, imperilled her immortal soul byengendering doubts as to the truth of the Scriptural narrative of thecreation. Miss Priest determined to go to this ball, although doing sounder the circumstances was scarcely in accordance with the _convenances_;but she was a girl very much addicted to having her own way. CaptainHambleton did not wish her to go, and there was a temporary coolnessbetween the two on the subject; but he yielded and they made it up. Theprinciple as to her going once established, Miss Priest's next task was toset about the invention of a costume. It was to be her last effort as a"spin"; and she determined it should be worthy of her reputation forbrilliant inventiveness. She had shone as a _Vivandière_, as the Daughterof the Regiment, as a Greek Slave, Grace Darling, and so forth, times outof number; but those characters were stale. Miss Priest had a form ofsupple rounded grace, nor had Diana shapelier limbs. A great inspirationcame to her as she sauntered pondering on the Mall. Let her go as Ariel, all gauze, flesh-tints, and natural curves. She hailed the happy thoughtand invested in countless yards of gauze. She had the tights already byher. 

Now Miss Priest, knowing the idiosyncrasy of Captain Hambleton, had littledoubt that he would put his foot down upon Ariel. But she knew he lovedher, and with characteristic recklessness determined to trust to that andto luck. She too loved him, even better, perhaps, than Ariel; but shehoped to keep both the captain and the character. She did not, however, tell him of her design, waiting perhaps for a favourable opportunity. Buteven in Arcadian Mussoorie there are the "d----d good-natured friends" ofwhom Byron wrote; and one of those--of course it was a woman--told CaptainHambleton of the character in which Miss Priest intended to appear at thefancy ball. The captain was a headstrong sort of man--what in India iscalled _zubburdustee_. Instead of calling on the girl and talking to heras a wise man would have done, he sat down and wrote her a terse letterforbidding her to appear as Ariel, and adding that if she should persistin doing so their engagement must be considered at an end. Miss Priestnaturally fired up. Strangely enough, being a woman, she did not reply tothe captain's letter; but when the evening of the ball came, she dulyappeared as Ariel with rather less gauze about her shapely limbs than hadbeen her original intention. She created an immense sensation. Some of theladies frowned, others turned up their noses, yet others tucked in theirskirts when she approached; and all vowed that they would decline to touchMiss Priest's hand in the quadrille. Miss Priest did not care a jot forthese demonstrations, and she never danced square dances. Among thegentlemen she created a perfect furore. 

Captain Hambleton was present at the ball. For the greater part of theevening he stood near the door with his eye fixed on Miss Priest, apparently rather in sorrow than in anger. His gaze seemed but tostimulate her to more vivacious flirtation; and she "carried on above abit, " as a cynical subaltern remarked, with the gallant major to whom shehad been penultimately engaged. Toward the close of the evening CaptainHambleton relinquished his post of observation, seemed to accept thesituation, and was observed at supper-time paying marked attention to amarried lady with whom his name had been to some extent coupled not longbefore his engagement to Miss Priest. 

Next morning Miss Priest took time by the forelock. She waited for nofurther communication from Captain Hambleton; he had already sent hisultimatum and she had dared her fate. The morrow was the day fixed for themarriage. Many people had been bidden. Mussoorie, including Landour, is alarge station, and the postal delivery of letters is not particularlypunctual. So she adopted a plan for warning off the wedding-guestsidentical with that employed in Indian stations for circulatingnotifications as to lawn-tennis gatherings and unimportant intimationsgenerally. At the head of the paper is written the notification, underneath are the names of the persons concerned. The document isintrusted to a messenger known as a _chuprassee_, who goes away on hiscircuit; and each person writes "Seen" opposite his or her name intestimony of being posted in the intelligence conveyed in thenotification. Miss Priest divided the invited guests into four rounds anddespatched four _chuprassees_, each bearing a document curtly announcingthat "Miss Priest's marriage will not come off as arranged, and theinvitations therefore are to be regarded as cancelled. "

Miss Priest had no fortune, and her mother was by no means wealthy. It mayseem strange to English readers--not nearly so much so, however, as toAnglo-Indian ones--that Captain Hambleton had thought it a graceful andkindly attention to provide the wedding-cake. It had reached him acrossthe hills from Peliti's the night of the ball, and now here it was on hishands--a great white elephant. Whether in the hope that it might beregarded as an olive-branch, whether that he burned to be rid of itsomehow, or whether, knowing that Miss Priest was bound to get marriedsome day and thinking that it would be a convenience if she had abridecake by her handy for the occasion, there is no evidence. Anyhow, hesent it to Mrs. Priest with his compliments. That very sensible woman didnot send it back with a cutting message, as some people would have done. Having considerable Indian experience, she had learned practical wisdomand the short-sighted folly of cutting messages. She kept the bridecake, and enclosed to the gallant captain Gosslett's bill for the dozen ofsimkin that excellent firm had sent in to wash it down wherewithal. 

Bridecakes are bores to carry about from place to place, and Miss Priestand her mother were rather birds of passage. Peliti declined to take thisparticular bridecake back, for all Simla had seen it in his window and hesaw no possibility of "working it in. " So the Priests, mother anddaughter, determined to realise on it in a somewhat original and indeedcynical fashion. The cake was put up to be raffled for. 

All the station took tickets for the fun of the thing. Captain Hambletonwas anxious to show that there was no ill-feeling, and did not findhimself so unhappy as he had expected--perhaps from the _redintegratioamoris_ in another quarter; so he took his ticket in the raffle like otherpeople. It is needless to say that he won; and the cake duly came back tohim. 

Had Captain Hambleton been a superstitious man, he might have regardedthis strange occurrence as indicating that the Fates willed it that heshould compass somehow a union with Miss Priest. But the captain had nosuperstition in his nature; and, indeed, had begun to think that he waswell out of it; besides which it was currently reported that Miss Priesthad already re-engaged herself to another man. But the bridecake was uponhim as the Philistines upon Samson; and the question was, what the devilto do with it? He could not raffle it over again; nobody would taketickets. He had half a mind to trundle it over the _khud_ (_Anglice_, precipice) and be done with it; but then, again, he reflected that thiswould be sheer waste and might seem to indicate soreness on his part. Itcost him a good many pegs before he thought the matter out in all itsbearings, for, as has been said, he was a gunner, but as he sauntered awayfrom the club in the small hours a happy thought came to him. 

He would give a picnic at which the bogey bridecake should figureconspicuously, and then be laid finally by the process of demolition. Hisleave was nearly up; he had experienced much hospitality and a picnicwould be a graceful and genial acknowledgment thereof. And he would askthe Priests just like other people, and no doubt they would enter into thespirit of the thing and not send a "decline. " Bella, he knew, likedpicnics nearly as well as balls, and it must be a powerful reason indeedthat would keep her away from either. 

Captain Hambleton's picnic was the last of the season, and everybodycalled it the brightest. "The Glen" resounded to the laughter at tiffin, and the shades of night were falling ere stray couples turned up from itsmore sequestered recesses. Amid loud cheers Miss Priest, although stillMiss Priest, cut up her own bridecake with a serene equanimity that provedthe charming sweetness of her disposition. There was no marriage-bell yetall went merry as a marriage-bell, which is occasionally rather a sombretintinnabulation; and the _débris_ of the bridecake finally fell to thesweeper. 

I would fain that it were possible, having a regard to truth, to round offthis little story prettily by telling how in a glade of "The Glen" afterthe demolition of the bridecake, Miss Priest and the captain "squaredmatters, " were duly married and lived happily ever after, as thestory-books say. But this consummation was not attained. Miss Priestindeed was in the glade, but it was not with the captain, or at least thisparticular captain; and as for him, he spent the afternoon placidlysmoking cigarettes as he lay at the feet of his married consoler. To thebest of my knowledge Miss Priest is Miss Priest still. 

A VERSION OF BALACLAVA

Referring to a particular phase of this memorable combat, Mr. Kinglakewrote: "The question is not ripe for conclusive decision; some of thosewho, as is supposed, might throw much light upon it, have hithertomaintained silence. " It was in 1868 that the fourth volume--the Balaclavavolume--of Mr. Kinglake's History was published. Since he wrote, singularly few of those who could throw light on obscure points of thebattle have broken silence. Lord George Paget's Journal furnished littlefresh information, since Mr. Kinglake had previously used it extensively. There is but a spark or two of new light in Sir Edward Hamley's morerecent compendium. As the years roll on the number of survivors diminishesin an increasing ratio, nor does one hear of anything valuable left behindby those who fall out of the thinning ranks. The reader of the period, indefault of any other authority, betakes himself to Kinglake. There arethose who term Kinglake's volumes romance rather than history--or, moremildly, the romance of history. But this is unjust and untrue. It would beimpertinent to speak of his style; that gift apart, his quest for accurateinformation was singularly painstaking, searching, and scrupulous. Yet itcannot be said that he was always well served. He had perforce to lean onthe statements of men who were partisans, writing as he did so near hisperiod that nearly all men charged with information were partisans. British officers are not given to thrusting on a chronicler tales of theirown prowess. But _esprit de corps_ in our service is so strong--and, spiteof its incidental failings that are almost merits what lover of hiscountry could wish to see it weakened?--that men of otherwise implicitveracity will strain truth, and that is a weak phrase, to exalt theconduct of their comrades and their corps. No doubt Mr. Kinglakeoccasionally suffered because of this propensity; and, with every respect, his literary _coup d'oeil_, except as regards the Alma where he saw forhimself, and Inkerman where no _coup d'oeil_ was possible, was somewhatimpaired by his having to make his picture of battle a mosaic, eachfragment contributed by a distinct actor concentrated on his ownparticular bit of fighting. If ever military history becomes a fine art wemay find the intending historian, alive to the proverb that "onlookers seemost of the game, " detailing capable persons with something of the duty ofthe subordinate umpire of a sham fight, to be answerable each for a givensection of the field, the historian himself acting as the correlative ofthe umpire-in-chief. 

[Illustration: MAP OF BALACLAVA PLAIN. 

EXPLANATIONS. 

 * * * * *

Figures 1 to 6 indicate Redoubts. 

A. Point of collision. 

B. "C" Troop R. H. A. 's position during combat, in support Heavy Cavalry. 

C. "C" Troop in action against fugitive Russian Cavalry about D. , rangeabout 750 yards. 

E. Lord Lucan's position watching advance of Russian Cavalry mass. 

F. Position "C" Troop when approached by Cardigan and Paget after LightCavalry charge. 

G. Position "C" Troop in support Light Cavalry charge. 

H. Russian Cavalry mass advancing at trot up "North" valley. 

HH. Russian Cavalry General and Staff trotting along Causeway heights, with view into both valleys. 

K. Line of Light Cavalry charge. 

L. Light Brigade during Heavy Cavalry charge. 

M. "I" Troop R. H. A. During ditto. 

N. Lord Raglan's position (approximate). 

O. Scarlett's five squadrons beginning their advance. 

P. Russian Cavalry mass halted. ]

It is true that the battle of Balaclava was fought to "a gallery"consisting of the gazers who looked down into the plain from the upland ofthe Chersonese. But of close and virtually independent spectators of thebattle's most thrilling episodes, so near the climax of the Heavy Cavalrycharge that they heard the clash of the sabres, so close to the lip of theValley of Death that they discerned the wounds of our stricken trooperswho strewed its sward and could greet and be greeted by the broken groupsthat rode back out of the "mouth of hell, " there was but one small body ofpeople. This body consisted of the officers and men of "C" Troop, RoyalHorse Artillery. "C" Troop had been encamped from 1st October until themorning of the battle close to the Light division, in that section of theBritish position known as the Right Attack. When the fighting began in theBalaclava plain on the morning of the 25th, it promptly started for thescene of action. Pursuing the nearest way to the plain by the Woronzoffroad, at the point known as the "Cutting" it received an order from LordRaglan to take a more circuitous route, as by the more direct one it wasfollowing it might become exposed to fire from Russian cannon on theFedoukine heights. Pursuing the circuitous route it came out into theplain through the "Col" then known as the "Barrier, " crossed the "South"or "Inner" valley, and reached the left rear of Scarlett's squadronsformed up for the Heavy Cavalry charge. Here it received an order fromBrigadier-General Strangways, who commanded the Artillery, with which itcould not comply; and thenceforward "C" Troop throughout the day actedindependently, at the discretion of its enterprising and self-reliantcommander. What it saw and what it did are recorded in a couple ofchapters of a book entitled _From Coruña to Sevastopol_. [Footnote: _FromCoruña to Sevastopol_: The History of "C" Battery, "A" Brigade (late "C"Troop), Royal Horse Artillery. W. H. Allen and Co. ] This volume waspublished some years ago, but the interesting and vivid details given inits pages of the Balaclava combats and the light it throws on many obscureincidents of the day have been strangely overlooked. The author of thechapters was an officer in the Troop whose experiences he shared anddescribes, and is a man well known in the service to be possessed of acuteobservation, strong memory, and implicit veracity. The present writer hasbeen favoured by this officer with much information supplementary to thatgiven in his published chapters, which is embodied in the followingaccount throughout which the officer will be designated as "the 'C' Troopchronicler. "

The "Plain of Balaclava" is divided into two distinct valleys by a lowridge known as the "Causeway Heights, " which bisects it in the directionof its length and is everywhere easily practicable for all arms. Thevalley nearest to the sea and the town of Balaclava has been variouslytermed the "South" and the "Inner" valley; it was on the slope descendingto it from the ridge that our Heavy Cavalry won their success; the valleybeyond the ridge is the "North" or "Outer" valley, down which, their facesset eastward, sped to glorious disaster the "noble six hundred" of theLight Brigade. On the north the plain is bounded by the Fedoukine heights;on the west by the steep face of the Chersonese upland whereon was theallied main position before Sevastopol during the siege; on the south bythe broken ground between the plain and the sea; on the east by the RiverTchernaya and the Kamara hills. Our weakness in the plain invited attack. At Kadiköi, on its southern verge, Sir Colin Campbell covered Balaclavawith a Scottish regiment, a Field battery, and some Turks. Near thewestern end of the South valley were the camps of the cavalry division. Straggled along the Causeway heights was a series of weak earthworks whosetotal armament consisted of nine iron guns, and among which weredistributed some six or seven battalions of Turkish infantry. At daybreakof 25th October the Russian General Liprandi with a force of 22, 000infantry, 3300 cavalry, and 78 guns, took the offensive by driving theTurkish garrisons out of these earthworks in succession, beginning withthe most easterly--No. 1, known as "Canrobert's Hill. " The Turks holdingit fought well and stood a storm and heavy loss before they were expelled. The other earthworks fell with less and less resistance, and the firstthree, with seven out of their nine guns, remained in the Russianpossession. 

During the morning, while the Russians were taking the earthworks alongthe ridge, our two cavalry brigades, in the words of General Hamley, hadbeen manoeuvring so as to threaten the flanks of any force which mightapproach Balaclava, without committing themselves to an action in whichthey would have been without the support of infantry. Ultimately, untilhis infantry should become available, Lord Raglan drew in the cavalrydivision to a position on the left of redoubt No. 6, near the foot of theChersonese upland. 

While it was temporarily quiescent there Liprandi was engaging in anoperation of enterprise rare in the record of Russian cavalry. GeneralRyjoff at the head of a great body of horse started on an advance up theNorth valley. Presently he detached four squadrons to his left, whichmoved toward where Sir Colin Campbell was in position at the head of theKadiköi gorge, was repulsed without difficulty by that soldier's fire, androde back whence it had come. The main body of Russian horse, computed byunimaginative authorities to be about 2000 strong, continued up the valleytill it was about abreast of redoubt No. 4 [Footnote: See Map. ], when ithalted; checked apparently, writes Kinglake, by the fire of two guns froma battery on the edge of the upland. The "C" Troop chronicler states thatin addition to "a few" shots fired by this battery (manned by Turks), theguns of "I" troop R. H. A. , temporarily stationed in a little hollow infront of the Light Brigade [Footnote: See Map. ], fired rapidly one roundeach, "haphazard, " over the high ground in their front. General Hamleyassigns no ground for the Russian halt, but mentions that just at themoment of collision between our Heavies and the Russian mass "three guns"on the edge of the upland were fired on the latter. From whatever cause, the Russian cavalry wheeled obliquely to the leftward, crossed theCauseway heights about redoubt No. 5, and began to descend the slope ofthe South valley. Kinglake heard of no ground for believing that theRussian horse thus wheeling southward, were cognisant of the presence ofthe Heavies in the valley they were entering. But the "C" Troop chroniclerstates that as the Troop was crossing the plain a few Russian horsemenwere seen by it trotting fast along the top of the ridge [Footnote: SeeMap. ], who, when almost immediately afterwards the head of the Russiancolumn showed itself on the skyline, were set down as the Generalcommanding it and his staff. 

Kinglake observes that the Russians have declared their object in thisoperation to have been the destruction of a non-existent artillery parknear Kadiköi, while some of our people imagined it to have been a realattempt on Balaclava. But up the centre of the North valley was neitherthe directest nor the safest way to Kadiköi, much less to Balaclava. Is itnot more probable that the enterprise was of the nature merely of a sortof "snap-offensive"; while as yet the allied infantry visibly pouring downthe slopes of the upland were innocuous because of distance and while thesole occupants of the plain were a couple of weak cavalry brigades and asingle horse battery? Ryjoff on the ridge could see in his front at leastportions of the Light Brigade; its fire told him the horse battery wasthereabouts too, and there were those shots from the cannon on the upland. Is it not feasible that, looking down on his left to Scarlett's poor sixsquadrons--his two following regiments were then some distance off--andseeing those squadrons as yet without accompanying artillery, he shouldhave judged them his easier quarry and ordered the wheel that should bringhis avalanche down on them?

Kinglake recounts how, while our cavalry division yet stood intact nearthe foot of the upland, Lord Raglan had noticed the instability of theTurks under Campbell's command at Kadiköi and had sent Lord Lucandirections to move down eight squadrons of Heavies to support them; howScarlett started with the Inniskillings, Greys, and Fifth Dragoon Guards, numbering six squadrons, to be followed by the two squadrons of the Royals;how the march toward Kadiköi was proceeding along the South valley, whenall of a sudden Elliot, General Scarlett's aide-de-camp, glancing upleftward at the ridge "saw its top fretted with lances, and in anothermoment the skyline broken by evident squadrons of horse. " Then, Kinglakeproceeds, Scarlett's resolve was instantaneous; he gave the command "Leftwheel into line!" and confronted the mass gathering into sight overagainst him. Soon after Scarlett had started Lord Lucan had learned of theadvance up the North valley of the great mass of Russian cavalry, which hehad presently descried himself, as also its change of direction southwardacross the Causeway ridge; and after giving Lord Cardigan "partinginstructions" which that officer construed into compulsory inactivity onhis part when a great opportunity presented itself, he had galloped off atspeed to overtake Scarlett and give him directions for prompt conflictwith the Russian cavalry. Thus far Kinglake. 

The testimony of the "C" Troop chronicler differs from the above statementin every detail. He significantly points out that Kinglake does not, as ishis custom, quote the words of Lord Raglan's order directing the march ofthe Heavies to Kadiköi. His averment is to the following effect. When thecavalry division after its manoeuvring of the morning was retiring by LordRaglan's command along the South valley toward the foot of the upland, itwas followed as closely as they dared by some Cossacks who busiedthemselves in spearing and capturing the unfortunate Turks flying from theridge toward Kadiköi athwart the rear of the British squadrons. Eventuallythe Cossacks reached the camp of the Light Brigade and set about stabbingand hacking at the sick and non-effective horses left standing at thepicket-lines. Lord Raglan from his commanding position on the upland sawthose Cossacks working mischief in our lines, and sent a message to LordLucan "to take some cavalry forward and protect the camp from beingdestroyed. " The "C" Troop chronicler has in his possession a letter fromthe actual bearer of this message, to the effect that he duly delivered itto Lord Lucan and that consequent on it his lordship moved forward someheavy cavalry into the plain toward the picket-lines. Testimony to bepresently noted will indicate the importance of this statement. Thechronicler denies that Lord Lucan, as Kinglake states, galloped afterScarlett after having given Lord Cardigan his "parting instructions. " Nodoubt he did give those instructions, when apprised by Lord Raglan'saide-de-camp of the threatening advance of Russian horse. But what he thendid, assured as he was of the stationary attitude of the heavy squadronssent out to protect the camp, was to ride forward along the ridge-line todiscern for himself where, if indeed anywhere, the Russians were intendingto strike. He most daringly remained at a forward and commanding point ofthe ridge [Footnote: See Map. ] until actually chased off his ground by thevan of the Russian wheel, and he then galloped straight down the slope tojoin Scarlett drawing out his squadrons for the conflict with the Russianmass whose leading files Elliot's keen eye had discerned on the skyline. 

If Kinglake were right as to his alleged movement of the Heavies towardKadiköi and its sudden arrestment because of Elliot's discovery, "C"Troop, as it approached them, would have seen the squadrons still inmotion. But the chronicler testifies that "C" Troop, while moving to thescene of action and when still more than a mile and a half distant (atleast fifteen minutes at the pace the weakened gun-teams travelled), had afull view of the South valley. And it then saw five squadrons of heavycavalry thus early halted in the plain near the cavalry picket-lines, fronting towards the ridge and apparently perfectly dressed--the Greys(two squadrons deep) in the centre, recognised by their bearskins; ahelmeted regiment (also two squadrons deep) on the left (afterwards knownto be the 5th Dragoon Guards); and one helmeted squadron on the right (2ndsquadron Inniskillings). A sixth squadron (1st Inniskillings) was visiblesome distance to the right rear and it was also fronting towards theridge. This force, so and thus early positioned, consisted, avers thechronicler, of the identical troops which Kinglake erroneously describesas straggling hurriedly into deployment under the urgency of Scarlett andLucan to cope with the suddenly disclosed adversary. 

When "C" Troop and its chronicler reached the rear of the formed-upsquadrons they were found in the same formation as when first observed, but the whole had in the interval been moved somewhat to the right, farther into the plain, with intent no doubt to be clear of obstacles onthe previous front. Kinglake speaks throughout of the force that firstcharged under Scarlett--"Scarlett's three hundred, " as consisting of threesquadrons ranked thus:--

------------------- ------------------- ------------------- 2nd squad. Lst squad. 2nd squad. Inniskillings

 \__________________________/ Greys. 

And, although his words are not so clear as usual, he appears to believethat the 5th Dragoon Guards, whom in his plan he places some littledistance to the left rear of the Greys, were actually the last to move tothe attack, of all the five regiments participating in the heavy cavalryonslaught. The "C" Troop chronicler, noting details, be it remembered, from his position immediately in rear of the cavalry force which firstcharged, describes its composition and formation thus:--

 ------------------- ------------------- -------------------Front squad. 5th Dr. Guards. 1st squad. Greys. 2nd squad. Inniskillings. ------------------- -------------------Rear squad. 5th Dr. Guards. 2nd squad. Greys. 

in all five squadrons, instead of Mr. Kinglake's three. Nor, according tothe chronicler, did the three squadrons in first line startsimultaneously, as Kinglake distinctly conveys. The leading squadron ofthe Greys moved off first, and just as it was breaking into a gallop wastemporarily hampered by the swerving of the horse of Colonel Griffiths, who was struck in the head by a bullet from the halted Russians' carbinefire. Next moved, almost simultaneously, the 2nd squadron Inniskillingsand the front squadron 5th Dragoon Guards; thirdly, the 2nd squadronGreys, and finally the rear squadron 5th Dragoon Guards. Lord Lucan isrepresented as having been "personally concerned in or approving ofeverything connected with the five squadrons at this moment, " galloping toeach in succession, giving orders when and in what sequence it was tostart, what section of the Russian front it was to strike, and exertinghimself to the utmost to have everything fully understood. His errors werein omitting to call in the outlying regiments of the brigade, and eithernow--or earlier before he left the ridge, specifically to order LordCardigan to fall on the flank of the Russians at the moment when theirfront should be _aux prises_ with Scarlett's heavy squadrons. "C" Troop'sposition was such that it could command, over the heads of the stationaryHeavies, the gradual slope up to the Russian front, and every detail ofthe charge was under its eyes. Scarlett's burnished helmet and plain bluecoat were conspicuous in front. The Troop also had the opportunity ofmaking a deliberate study of the Russian cavalry both before and duringthe combat. 

Its front had the appearance of three strong squadrons; its formation waseither close or quarter distance column--probably the former, since thecolumn could nowhere be seen through from front to rear; its depth haltedwas about the same as its breadth of front; its pace across the ridge wasa sharp trot and its discipline was indicated by the smartness with whichit took ground to the left. Kinglake describes the serried mass asencircled by a loose fringe of satellites, but the "C" Troop chroniclersaw neither skirmishers, flankers, nor scouts; and no guns were discernedor heard, although General Hamley says that as the huge cohort swept downbatteries darted out from it and threw shells against the troops on theupland. No Lancers were seen with the column, certainly none with pennons. The "partial deployment" of which Kinglake speaks, consisting of "wings orforearms" devised to cover the flanks or fold inwards on the front, didnot make itself apparent to any observer of "C" Troop; and indeed thepresent writer never knew a Russian who had heard of it, the species offormation adumbrated, so far as he is aware, being confined to Zulu impis. It was noticed, and this is not rare, that on the halt the centre pulledup a little earlier than the flanks, so that the latter were somewhatprolonged and advanced. The halt was quite brief and a slower advanceensued without correction of the frontal dressing. Presently there wasanother halt and some pistol or carbine fire from the central squadron onthe advancing first squadron of the Greys. Kinglake makes the Russianfront meet our assault halted, but the "C" Troop chronicler declares thatwhen the collision occurred the mass were actually moving forward but at"a pace so slow that it could hardly be called a trot. " General Hamleydescribes "the impetus of the enemy's column carrying it on, and pressingour combatants back for a short space, " and the chronicler speaks of theRussians as surging forward after the impact, but without bearing back ourpeople. 

It is extremely difficult for the reader of a detailed narrative of acombat that may become a landmark in the military history of a nation, torealise that it may have been fought and finished in no longer time thanit has taken him to read the few paragraphs of introductory matter. Mr. Kinglake has devoted a whole volume to the battle of Balaclava, andfour-fifths of it deals with the two cavalry fights--Scarlett's charge, and the charge of the Light Brigade. The latter deed was enacted fromstart to finish within the space of five-and-twenty minutes; as regardsthe former, from the first appearance of the Russian troopers on theskyline to their defeat and flight a period of eight minutes is theoutside calculation. General Hamley, an eyewitness, says "some four orfive minutes. " During those minutes "C" Troop R. H. A. Under Brandling'sshrewd and independent guidance was moving slowly forward on the right ofthe ground that had been covered by the charging Heavies. There was noopportunity for its intervention while the melley lasted. Even when theRussian squadrons broke it could not for the moment act while the redcoatswere still blended with the gray. But Brandling saw that his chance wasnigh; he galloped forward to the point marked C on the map, unlimbered, and stood intent. Kinglake states that the fugitive Russians, hangingtogether as closely as they could, retreated by the way they had come andHamley describes them as vanishing beyond the ridge. Kinglake also saysthat "I" Troop R. H. A. (accompanying the Light Brigade) fired a few shotsat the retreating horsemen, against whom Barker's battery, from itsposition near Kadiköi, also came into action. The "C" Troop chroniclertraverses those statements. His testimony is that the Russian line ofretreat was by their left rear along the slope of the South valley, andnot immediately over the ridge; that the mass was spread over acres ofground; and that their officers were trying to rally the men and hadactually got some ranks formed, when "C" Troop opened fire from aboutpoint C in the general direction of point D. "I" Troop was out of sight, he says, and Barker out of range; neither came into action; but "C" Troop, of whose presence in the field Kinglake apparently was unaware, firedforty-nine shot and shells, broke up the attempted rally, and punished theRussians severely. The range was about 750 paces. 

At the time when the Light Brigade started on its "mad-brained" chargedown the North valley, "C" Troop was halted dismounted on the slope of theSouth valley a little below redoubt No. 5. In rear of it was the HeavyCavalry Brigade, halted on the scene of its recent victorious combat. LordLucan was some little distance to the front. "C" Troop presently saw himtrot away over the ridge in the direction of the Light Brigade, a scrap ofpaper in his hand at which he kept looking--doubtless the memorable orderwhich Nolan had just brought him--and a group of staff officers, amongwhom was Nolan, behind him. Out of curiosity Brandling with his trumpeterrode up to the crest, whence he commanded a view into the North valley. Byand by some of the Heavies were moved over the crest, no doubt the Royalsand Greys which Scarlett was to lead forward in support of the LightBrigade. All was still quiet but for an occasional shot from a Russianbattery about redoubt No. 2, when suddenly Brandling came galloping backshouting "Mount! mount!" and telling his officers as he came in that theLight Cavalry had begun an advance on the other side of the ridge. Butthat he had happened to ride to the crest, the charge of the Light Brigadewould have begun and ended without the knowledge of "C" Troop. No orderfrom any source reached it, and Brandling, acting on his own initiative, took his guns rapidly to the front along the inner edge of the ridge andunlimbered at point G. He durst not fire into the bottom of the Northvalley where our light horsemen were mixed up with the enemy; all thediversion he could effect was to open on the Russian cannon-smoke directlyin his front, about redoubt No. 2. Even from this he had soon to desist, being without support and threatened by the Russian cavalry, and heretired by the way he had advanced, to point F, where the troop haltednear the Heavies, whose advance Lord Lucan had arrested resolving thatthey at all events should not be destroyed. These regiments had been movedtoward the ridge out of the line of fire in the North valley, and werekept shifting their position and gradually retiring, suffering frequentcasualties from the Russian artillery about redoubt No. 2 until theyfinally halted near the crest in the vicinity of "C" Troop's latestposition at point F. 

At this point only the left-hand gun of "C" Troop was on the crest, with aview into the North valley; the other guns were on the southern slope. Butlittle had been previously seen of the terrible and glorious experiencesof the Light Brigade; and now what was witnessed was not the glory but thehorror of battle. For the wounded of the charge were passing to the rear, shattered and maimed, some staggering on foot, others reeling in theirsaddles, calling to the gunners and the Heavies to look at a "poor brokenleg" or a dangling arm. Brandling and his officers held their flasks tothe poor fellows' mouths as long as the contents lasted. The "C" Troopchronicler, whose narrative I have been following, tells how CaptainMorris, who commanded the 17th Lancers, was carried past the front of thetroop towards Kadiköi, dreadfully wounded about the head and callingloudly: "Lord, have mercy on my soul!" Kinglake gives a wholly differentaccount of Captain Morris's removal from the field; but the "C" Troopchronicler is quite firm on his version, and explains that the 17thLancers and "C" Troop having lain together shortly before the war all thepeople of the latter knew and identified Captain Morris. 

Balaclava is rather an old story now, and some readers may require to bereminded that the Light Brigade charged in two lines, the first line beingled by Lord Cardigan, the second by Lord George Paget; that the first linerode into the Russian batteries considerably in advance of the second, thelatter having advanced at a more measured pace; and that the second line, with sore diminished ranks and accompanied by a couple of groups ratherthan detachments of the first, came back later than did the few survivorsof Cardigan's regiments other than the groups referred to. The aspersionon Cardigan was that he returned prematurely, instead of remaining toshare the fortunes of the second line of his brigade, and this he did notdeny. Kinglake's statement is that "he rode back alone at a pacedecorously slow, towards the spot where Scarlett was halted. " He adds thatGeneral Scarlett maintained that Lord Lucan was present at the time; butLord Lucan's averment was that Lord Cardigan did not approach him untilafterwards when all was over. Kinglake relates further that when LordGeorge Paget came back at the head of the last detachment, some officersrode forward to greet him one of whom was Lord Cardigan. Seeing himapproach composedly from the rear Lord George exclaimed: "Halloa, LordCardigan, weren't you there?" to which, according to one version of thestory, Cardigan replied: "Wasn't I, though? Here, Jenyns, didn't you seeme at the guns?"

The reasonable inferences from Kinglake are that Cardigan's first halt wasmade and that his earliest remarks were uttered when he reached Scarlett, and that he and Paget met after the charge for the first time when thealleged question and answer passed. 

The "C" Troop chronicler's narrative of events is right in the teeth ofthese inferences. While the troop was halted at point F and after a greatmany wounded and disabled men had already passed it going to the rear, Lord Cardigan came riding by at a "quiet pace" close under the crest. Hehad passed the troop on his left for several horse-lengths, when he cameback and halted within a yard or two of the left-hand gun, the only onefairly on the crest. He was not alone, but attended by Cornet Yates of hisown old regiment the 11th Hussars, a recently commissioned ranker. "LordCardigan was in the full dress _pelisse_ (buttoned) of the 11th Hussars, and he rode a chestnut horse very distinctly marked and of grandappearance. The horse seemed to have had enough of it, and his lordshipappeared to have been knocked about but was cool and collected. Hereturned his sword, undid a little of the front of his dress and pulleddown his underclothing under his waistbelt. Then, in a quiet way, as ifrather talking to himself, he said, 'I tell you what it is: thoseinstruments of theirs, ' alluding to the Russian weapons, 'are deuced blunt;they tickle up one's ribs!' Then he pulled his revolver out of hisholster as if the thought had just struck him, and said, 'And here's thisd----d thing I have never thought of until now. ' He then replaced it, drewhis sword, and said, 'Well, we've done our share of the work!' andpointing up toward the Chasseurs d'Afrique on our left rear (ignorant oftheir opportune service), he added, 'It's time they gave those dappledgentry a chance. ' Afterwards he asked, 'Has any one seen my regiment?' Themen answered, 'No, sir. '" Brandling was holding aloof; and his lordshipturned his horse and rode away farther back. 

Just then a cheer was raised by some Heavies who had lately formed infront of "C" Troop. Cardigan, so the chronicler tells, looked backward tosee the occasion, and saw the cheer was in compliment to the 8th Hussarscoming back with Colonel Sewell in front and Colonel Mayow, thebrigade-major, behind on the left. Cardigan wheeled, trotted back towardsthe 8th, turned round in front of Colonel Sewell, and took up the "walk. "Then occurred something "painful to witness. It was seen from the left of'C' Troop that the moment Cardigan's back was toward the 8th as he headedthem, Colonel Mayow pointed toward him, shook his head, and made signs tothe officers on the left of the Heavies as much as to say, 'See him; hehas taken care of himself. '" Men in the ranks of the 8th also pointed andmade signs to the troopers of the Heavies as they were passing left toleft. There was, as well, a little excited undertalk from one corps to theother. Colonel Sewell neither saw nor took part in this wretched business;and of course Cardigan did not know that he was being thus ridiculed anddisparaged while he was smiling and raising his sword to the cheers of theHeavies and the gunners. 

Immediately after this episode the returning 4th Light Dragoons cameobliquely across the North valley at a sharp pace, but fell into the"walk" as they came within a hundred yards of "C" Troop. Lord GeorgePaget, who led what remained of the regiment, rode up to the flank of "C"Troop and halted on the very spot where Cardigan had stood a few minutesearlier. Lord George had the look of a man who had ridden hard, and washeated and excited. He exclaimed in rather a loud tone, "It's a d----dshame; there we had a lot of their guns and carriages taken, and receivedno support, and yet there's all this infantry about--it's a shame!"Meanwhile Lord Cardigan had come back and was close behind Lord Georgewhile he was speaking, without the other knowing it. He called out, "LordGeorge Paget!"; and on the latter turning round said to him in anundertone, "I am surprised!"; and "tossing his head in the air added someother remark which was not heard. " Lord George lowered his sword to thesalute, and, without speaking turned his horse and rode on after his men. The "C" Troop chronicler is positive that both officers visited "C" Troopbefore going to any general or to any other command, and that they metthere for the first time after the combat. 

When Lord Raglan came down from the upland after all was over, the "C"Troop chronicler says that he went straight for Lucan then in front of theHeavy Cavalry brigade, having first sent for Cardigan to meet him. After afew moments the latter repassed the troop on his way toward the remnant ofhis brigade. "Then Lord Raglan took Lucan a little forward by himself outof hearing of the group of staff officers, and his gesticulations of headand arm were so suggestive of passionate anger, that the onlookers did notneed to be told that the Commander-in-Chief did not charge the blamechiefly on Cardigan. " Lord Raglan's subsequent interview with GeneralScarlett, which occurred in the hearing of "C" Troop, was of a differentcharacter. After complimenting the gallant old warrior his lordship said, "Now tell me all about yourself. " Scarlett replied, "When the Russiancolumn was moving down on me, sir, I began by sending first a squadron ofthe Greys at them, and--" but at the word "and" Lord Raglan struck in, saying, "And they knocked them over like the devil!" He then turned hishorse away, as if he did not need to hear any more. 

HOW I "SAVED FRANCE"

These be big words, my masters! I can only say they are not mine, --I amfar too modest to utter any such high-sounding phrase on my ownresponsibility, --but they are the exact terms used by a high municipaldignitary in characterising the result of what he was pleased to term my"chivalrous conduct. " My sardonic chum, on the contrary, --an individualwholly abandoned to the ignoble vice of punning, --asserts that my conductwas simply "barbarous. " It will be for the reader to judge. 

St. Meuse--let us call it St. Meuse--is a town of what is still FrenchLorraine; and to St. Meuse I came drifting up the Marne Valley, over theflat expanse of the plain of Châlons, and by St. Menehould, the proudstronghold of pickled pigs' feet, in the second week of September 1873. St. Meuse was one of the last of the French cities held in pawn by theGermans for the payment of the milliards. The last instalment ofblood-money had been paid and the _Pickelhaubes_ were about to evacuateSt. Meuse as soon as the cash had been methodically counted, and afterthey should have leisurely filled their baggage trains and packed theirportmanteaus. My intention in going to St. Meuse was to witness thisevacuation scene, and to be a spectator of the return of light-heartednessto the French population of the place, on the withdrawal of the Teutonincubus which for three years had lain upon the safety-valve of theirconstitutional sprightliness. I had been a little out of my reckoning oftime, and when I reached St. Meuse I found that I had a week to stay therebefore the event should occur which I had come to witness; but theinterval could not be regarded as lost time, for St. Meuse is a verypleasant city and the conditions which were so soon to terminate presenteda most interesting field of study. 

You must know that St. Meuse is a fortress. It has a citadel or at leastsuch fragments of a citadel as the bombardment had left, and the quaintold town is surrounded with bastions which are linked by curtains andflanked by lunettes, the whole being girdled by a ditch, beyond thecounterscarp of which spreads a sloping glacis which makes a very pleasantpromenade. The defensive strength of the place is reduced to zero in thesedays of far-reaching rifled siege artillery, for it lies in a cup and issurrounded on all sides by hills the summits of which easily command thefortifications. But the consciousness that it is obsolete as a fortresshas not yet come home to St. Meuse. It has, in truth, a very good opinionof itself as a valorous, not to say heroic, place; nor can it be deniedthat its title to this self-complacency has been fairly earned. In theFranco-German war, spite of its defects, it stood a siege of over twomonths and succumbed only after a severe bombardment which lasted forseveral days. And while as yet it was not wholly beleaguered, it was veryactive in making itself disagreeable to the foreign invader. It was apatrolling party from St. Meuse that intercepted the courier on his wayfrom the battlefield of Sedan to Germany, carrying the hurried lines tohis wife which the Crown Prince of Prussia scrawled on the fly-leaf of anorderly book while as yet the last shots of the combat were dropping inthe distance; carrying too the notes of the momentous battle which WilliamHoward-Russell had jotted down in the heat of the action and had taken thesame opportunity of despatching. St. Meuse, then, had balked the Princessof the first tidings of her husband's safety, and the great Englishnewspaper of the earliest details of the most sensational battle of theage. It had fallen at last, but not ingloriously; and the iron of defeathad not entered so deeply into its soul as had been the case with someFrench fortresses, of which it could not well be said that they had donetheir honest best to resist their fate. Its self-respect, at least, wasleft to it, and it was something to know that when the German garrisonshould march away, it was bound to leave to St. Meuse the artillery andmunitions of war of the fortress just as they had been found on the day ofthe surrender. 

I came to like St. Meuse immensely in the course of the days I spent in itwaiting for the great event of the evacuation. The company at the _tabled'hôte_ of the Trois Maures was varied and amusing. The Germans ate in aroom by themselves, so that the obnoxious element was not present overtlyat the general _table d'hôte. _ But we had a few German officials in plainclothes--clerks in General Manteuffel's bureau, contractors, cigarmerchants, etc. , who spoke French even among themselves, and werepainfully polite to the French habitués who were as painfully polite inreturn. There was a batch of Parisian journalists who had come to St. Meuse to watch the evacuation, and who wrote their letters in the caféover the way to the accompaniment of _verres_ of absinthe and bocks ofbeer. Then there was the gallant captain of gendarmes, who had arrived inSt. Meuse with a trusty band of twenty-five subordinates to take over fromthe Germans the municipal superintendence of the place, and, later, theoccupation of the fortress. He was the most polite man I ever knew, thiscaptain of gendarmes, with a clever knack of turning you outside in in thecourse of half an hour's conversation, and the peculiar attribute ofhaving, to all appearance, eyes in the back of his head. To him, as heplacidly ate his food, there came, from time to time, quiet and ratherbashful-looking men in civilian attire of a slightly seedy description. Sometimes they merely caught his eye and went out again without speaking;sometimes they handed to him little notes; sometimes they held with him abrief whispered conversation during which the captain's nonchalance wasimperturbable. These respectable individuals who, if they saw you once inconversation with their chief, ever after bowed to you with the greatestempressement, were members of the secret police. 

As for the inhabitants of St. Meuse, they appeared to await the hour oftheir delivery with considerable philosophy. Physically they are thefinest race I ever saw in France; their men, tall, square, and muscular, their women handsome and comely. Numbers of both sexes are fair-haired, and the sandiness of hair which we are wont to associate with the ScottishCelt is by no means uncommon. A sardonic companion whom I had picked up bythe way, attributed those characteristics to the fact that in the greatwar St. Meuse was a depôt for British prisoners of war who had in some waycontrived to imbue the native population with some of their own physicalattributes. He further prophesied a wave of Teuton characteristics as theresult of the German occupation which was about to terminate; but hisinsinuations seemed to me to partake of the scurrilous, especially as heinstanced Lewes, once a British depôt for prisoners of war, as a field inwhich similar phenomena were to be discerned. But, nevertheless, Iunquestionably found a good deal of what may be called national hybridismin St. Meuse. I used to buy photographs of a shopkeeper over whose doorwas blazoned the Scottish name Macfarlane. Outwardly Macfarlane was a"hielanman" all over. He had a shock-head of bright red hair such as mighthave thatched the poll of the "Dougal cratur;" his cheek-bones were high, his nose of the Captain of Knockdunder pattern, and his mouth of trueCeltic amplitude. One felt instinctively as if Macfarlane were bound toknow Gaelic, and that the times were out of joint when he evinced greaterfondness for _eau sucrée_ than for Talisker. It was with quite a sense ofdislocation of the fitness of things that I found Macfarlane could talknothing but French. But although he had torn up the ancient landmarks, orrather suffered them to lapse, he yet was proud of his ancestry. Hisgrandfather, it appeared, was a soldier of the "Black Watch" who had beena prisoner of war in St. Meuse, and who, when the peace came, preferredtaking unto himself a daughter of the Amalekite and settling in St. Meuse, to going home to a pension of sevenpence a day and liberty to ply as anEdinburgh caddie. 

As for the German "men in possession, " they pursued the even tenor oftheir way in the precise yet phlegmatic German manner. Their guards keptthe gates and bridges as if they meant to hold the place till the crack ofdoom, instead of being under orders to clear out within the week. Therecruits drilled on the citadel esplanade, straightening their legs andpointing their toes as if their sole ambition in life was to kick theirfeet away into space, down to the very eve of evacuation. Their battalionspractised skirmishing on the glacis with that routine assiduity which isthe secret of the German military success. Old Manteuffel was living inthe prefecture holding his levees and giving his stiff ceremoniousdinner-parties, as if he had done despite to Dr. Cumming's warnings andtaken a lease of the place. The German officers thronged their café, eachman, after the manner of German officers, shouting at the pitch of hisvoice; and at the café of the under-officers tough old _Wachtmeisters_ andgrizzled sergeants with many medals played long quiet games at cards, orknocked the balls about on the chubby little pocketless tables with cuesthe tips of which were as large as the base of a six-pounder shell. 

The French journalists insisted I should accept it as an article of faith, that these two races dwelling together in St. Meuse hated each other likepoison. They would have it that while discipline alone prevented theGermans from massacring every Frenchman in the place, it was only ahumiliating sense of weakness that hindered the Frenchmen from rising inhot fury against the Germans who were their temporary masters. I am afraidthe gentlemen of the Parisian press came rather to dislike me on accountof my obdurate scepticism in such matters. That there was no greatcordiality was obvious and natural. Some of the Germans were arrogant anddomineering. For instance, having a respect for the Germans, it pained andindeed disgusted me to hear a colonel of the German staff, in answer to myquestion whether the evacuating force would march out with a rearguard asin war time, reply, "Pho, a field gendarme with a whip is rearguard enoughagainst such _canaille!_" But in the mouths of Hans and Carl and Johann, the stout _Kerle_ of the ranks, there were no such words of bitter scornfor their compulsory hosts. The honest fellows drew water for thegoodwives on whom they were billeted, did a good deal of stolidlove-making with the girls, and nursed the babies with a solicitude thatput to shame the male parents of these youthful hopes of Troy. I takeleave, as a reasonable person, to doubt whether it can lie in the heart ofa family to hate a man who has dandled its baby and whether a man can berancorous against a family whose baby he has nursed. But fashion's sway isomnipotent in emotion as in dress. Ever since the war, journalists, authors, and public opinion generally had hammered it into the Frenchnation that if it were not to be a traitor to its patriotism, the firstarticle of its creed must be hatred against the Germans; and that thebitterer this hate the more fervent the patriotism. It was not indeedincumbent on Frenchmen and Frenchwomen to accept this creed, but itbehoved them at least to profess it; and it must be admitted that they didthis for the most part with an intensity and vigour which seemed to provethat with many profession had deepened into conviction. 

While as yet the evacuation had been a thing of the remote future, thepeople of St. Meuse had borne the yoke lightly, and indeed had, I believe, privily congratulated themselves on the substantial advantages in the wayof money spent in the place and the immunity from taxation which wereincidental to the foreign occupation. But as the day for the evacuationdrew closer and closer, one became dimly conscious of an electricalcondition of the social atmosphere which any trifle might stimulate into athunderstorm. Blouses gathered and muttered about the street-corners, scowling at and elbowing the German soldiers as they strode to buysausages to stay them in the homeward march. The gamins, always covertlyinsolent, no longer cloaked their insolence, and wagged little tricolourflags under the nose of the stolid German sentry on the Pont St. Croix. Atthe _table d'hôte_ the painful politeness of the German civilians had noeffect in thawing the studied coldness of the French habitués. 

As for myself, I was a neutral, and professing to take no side, flatteredmyself that I could keep out of the vortex of the soreness. Soon after myarrival at St. Meuse I had called upon the Mayor at his official quartersin the Hôtel de Ville, and had received civil speeches in return for civilspeeches. Then I had left my card on General Manteuffel, with whom Ihappened to have a previous acquaintance; and those formal duties of abenevolent neutral having been performed I had held myself free to choosemy own company. Circumstances had some time before brought me intofamiliar contact with very many German officers, and I had imbibed aliking for their ways and conversation, noisy as the latter is. Several ofthe officers then in St. Meuse had been personal acquaintances in otherdays and it was at once natural and pleasant for me to renew theintercourse. I was made an honorary member of the mess; I spent many hoursin the officers' casino; I rode out with the officers of the squadron ofUhlans. All this was very pleasant; but as the day of the evacuationbecame close I noticed that the civility of the French captain ofgendarmes grew colder, that the cordiality of the French habitués of the_table d'hôte_ visibly diminished, and that I encountered not a fewunfriendly looks when I walked through the streets by myself. It began todawn upon me that St. Meuse was getting to reckon me a German sympathiser, and as there was no half-way house, therefore not in accord with theemotions of France and St. Meuse. 

On the afternoon immediately preceding the morning that had been fixed forthe evacuation, there came to me a polite request that I should visit M. Le Maire at the Hôtel de Ville. His worship was elaborately civil butobviously troubled in mind. He coughed nervously several times after theinitiatory compliments had passed, and then he began to speak. "Monsieur, you are aware that the Germans are going to-morrow morning?"

I replied that I had cognisance of this fact. "Do you also know that thelast of the German officials depart by the 5 A. M. Train, not caring toremain here after the troops are gone?"

Of this also I was aware. 

"Let me hope, " continued the Mayor, "that you are going along with them, or at all events will ride away with Messieurs the officers?"

On the contrary, was my reply, I had come not only to witness theevacuation but to note how St. Meuse should bear herself in the hour ofher liberation; I desired to witness the rejoicings; I was not lessanxious to be a spectator of any disturbance if such unhappily shouldoccur. Why should M. Le Maire have conceived this desire to balk mynatural curiosity?

M. Le Maire was obviously not a little embarrassed; but he persevered andwas candid. This deplorable occupation was now so nearly finished andhappily, as yet, everything had been so tranquil, that it would be athousand pities if any untoward event should occur to detract from thedignified attitude which the territory now to be evacuated had maintained. It was of critical importance in every sense that St. Meuse should notgive way to riot or disorder on that occasion. He hoped and believed itwould not--here M. Le Maire laid his hand on his heart--but a spark, as Iknew, fired tinder, and the St. Meuse populace were at present figurativetinder. I might be that spark. 

"You much resemble a German, " said M. Le Maire, "with that great yellowbeard of yours, and your broad shoulders, as if you had carried arms. Ourcitizens have seen you much in the society of Messieurs the Germanofficers; they are not in a temper to draw fine distinctions ofnationality; and, dear sir, I ask you to go away with the Germans lestperchance our blouses, reckoning you for a German, should not be verytender with you when the spiked helmets are out of the place. The truthis, " said the worthy Maire with a burst of plain speaking, "I'm afraidthat you will be mobbed and that there will be a row, and that then theGermans may come back and the evacuation be postponed, and I'll get wiggedby the Prefect and the Minister of the Interior and bully-ragged in thenewspapers, and St. Meuse will get abused and the fat will be generally inthe fire!"

Here was an awkward fix. I could not comply with the Mayor's request; thatwas not to be thought of for reasons I need not mention here. I had noparticular desire to be mobbed. Once before I had experienced the tendermercies of a French mob and I knew that they were very cruel. But strongerthan the personal feeling was my sincere sympathy with the Mayor'scritical position; and also my anxiety, by what means might be within mypower, to contribute to the maintenance of a tranquillity so desirable. But, then, what means were within my power? I could not go; I could notpromise to stop indoors, for it was incumbent on me to see everything thatwas to be seen. And if through me trouble came I should be responsibleheaven knows for what!--with a skinful of sore bones into the bargain. 

"If Monsieur cannot go, "--the Mayor broke in upon my cogitation, --"ifMonsieur cannot go, will he pardon the exigency of the occasion if Isuggest one other alternative? It is, "--here the Mayor hesitated--"it isthe yellow beard which gives to Monsieur the aspect of a German. With onlywhiskers nobody could take Monsieur for anything but an Englishman. IfMonsieur would only have the complaisance and charity to--to--"

Cut off my beard! Great powers! shear that mane that had been growing foryears!--that cataract of hair that has been, so to speak, my oriflamme;the only physical belonging of which I ever was proud, the only thing, sofar as I know, that I have ever been envied! For the moment the suggestionknocked me all of a heap. There came into my head some confusedreminiscence of a story about a girl who cut off her hair and sold it tokeep her mother from starving, or redeem her lover from captivity, orsomething of the kind. But that must have been before the epoch of parishrelief, and kidnapping is now punishable by statute. What was St. Meuse tome that for her I should mow my hirsute glories? But then, if people grewsavage, they might pull my beard out by the roots. And there had beenlately dawning on me the dire truth that its tawny hue was becomingsomewhat freely streaked with gray, a colour I abhor, except in eyes. Imade up my mind. 

"I'll do it, sir, " said I to the Mayor, with a manly curtness. My heartwas too full for many words. 

He respected my emotion, bowed in silence over the hand which he hadgrasped, and only spoke to give me the address of his own barber. 

This barber was a patriot of unquestioned zeal; but I am inclined to thinkhis extraction was similar to that of Macfarlane, for he combinedpatriotism with profit in a most edifying manner. He shaved the Germanofficers during the whole of their stay in St. Meuse; he accompanied themon their march to the frontier; he earned the last centime in Conflans;and then, driving forward to the frontier line, he unfurled the tricolouras the last German soldier stepped over it. It is seldom that one in thisworld sees his way to being so adroitly ambidextrous. 

But this is a digression. In twenty minutes, shorn and shaven, I was backagain in the Mayor's parlour. The tears of gratitude stood in his eyes. Ilearned afterwards that a decoration was contingent on his preservation ofthe public peace on the occasion of the evacuation. 

Started by the Mayor, the report rapidly circulated through St. Meuse thatI had cut off my beard rather than that it should be possible that any oneshould mistake me for a German. From being a suspect I became a popularidol. The French journalists entertained me to a banquet at night at whichin libations of champagne eternal amity between France and England waspledged. Next morning the Germans went away and then St. Meuse kicked upits heels and burst into exuberant joy. The Mayor took me up to thestation in his own carriage to meet the French troops, and introduced meto the colonel of the battalion as a man who had made sacrifices for _labelle France_. The colonel shook me cordially by the hand and I wasembraced by the robust vivandière, who struck me as being in the practiceof sustaining life on a diet of garlic. When we emerged from the station Iwas cheered almost as loudly as was the colonel, and a man waved atricolour over my head all the way back to the town, treading at frequentintervals on my heels. In the course of the afternoon I happened toapproach the civic band which was performing patriotic music in the PlaceSt. Croix. When the bandmaster saw me he broke off the programme andstruck up "Rule Britannia!" in my honour, to the clamorous joy of theaudience, who were thwarted in their aim of carrying me round the Placeshoulder-high only by the constancy with which I clung to the railingswhich surround Chevert's statue. But the crowning recognition of mysacrifice came at the banquet which the town gave to the French officers. The Mayor proposed the toast of "our English friend. " "We had all, " hesaid, "made sacrifices for _la Patrie_--he himself had sustained the lossof a wooden outhouse burned down in the bombardment; the gallant colonelon his right had spilt his blood at St. Privat. Them it behoved to sufferand they would do it again cheerfully, for it was, as he had said, for _laPatrie_. But what was to be said of an honourable gentleman who hadsacrificed the most distinguishing ornament of his physical aspect withoutthe holy stimulus of patriotism, and simply that there might be obviatedthe risk of an embroilment to the possible consequence of which he wouldnot further allude? Would it be called the language of extravaganthyperbole, or would they not rather be words justified by facts, when heventured before this honourable company to assert that his respectedEnglish friend had by his self-sacrifice saved France from a great peril?"The Mayor's question was replied to by a perfect whirlwind of cheering. Everybody in the room insisted upon shaking hands with me and I was forcedto get on my legs and make a reply. Later in the evening I heard the Mayorand the town clerk discussing the project of conferring upon me thefreedom of the city. 

CHRISTMAS IN A CAVALRY REGIMENT

1875

The civilian world, even that portion of it which lives by the profusestsweat of its brow, enjoys an occasional holiday in the course of the yearbesides Christmas Day. Good Friday brings to most an enforced cessationfrom toil. Easter and Whitsuntide are recognised seasons of pleasure inmost grades of the civilian community. There are few who do not compasssomehow an occasional Derby day; and we may safely aver that the amount ofwork done on New Year's Day is not very great. But in all the year thesoldier has but one real holiday--a holiday with all the gloriousaccompaniments of unwonted varieties of dainties and full liberty to be asjolly as he pleases without fear of the consequences. True, the individualsoldier may have his day's leave, nay, his month's furlough; but hisenjoyments resulting therefrom are not realised in the atmosphere of thebarrack-room, but rather have their origin in the abandonment for thenonce of his military character and a _pro tempore_ return into civilianlife. Christmas Day is the great regimental merry-making, free to andappreciated by the veteran and the recruit alike; and as such it is lookedforward to for many a month prior to its advent and talked of many a dayafter it is past and gone. 

About a month before Christmas the observer skilled in the signs of thetimes may begin to notice the tokens of its approach. Self-deniantfellows, men who can trust themselves to carry a few shillings about withthem without experiencing a chronic sensation that the accumulated pelf isburning a hole in their pockets, busy themselves in constructing"dimmocking bags" for the occasion, such being the barrack-room term forreceptacles for money-hoarding purposes. The weak vessels, those whomistrust their own constancy under the varied temptations of dry throats, empty stomachs, and a scant allowance of tobacco, manage to cheat theirfragility of "saving grace" by requesting their sergeant-major to put them"on the peg, "--that is to say, place them under stoppages, so that theaccumulation takes place in his hands and cannot be dissipated by anypremature weaknesses of the flesh. Everybody becomes of a suddenastonishingly sober and steady. There is hardly any going out of barracksnow; for a walk involves the expenditure of at least "the price of apint, " and in the circumstances this extravagance is not allowable. Theguard-room is unwontedly empty--nobody except the utterly reckless willget into trouble just now; for punishment at this season involves theforfeiture of certain privileges and the incurring of certain penalties--the former specially prized, the latter exceptionally disgusting at thisChristmas season. 

Slowly the days roll on with anxious expectancy, the coming event formingthe one engrossing topic of conversation alike in barrack-room, in stable, in canteen, and in guard-room. The clever hands of the troop are deep indevising a series of ornamentations for the walls and roof of the commonhabitation. One fellow spends all his spare time on the top of a tablewith a bed on top of that again, embellishing the wall above the fireplacewith a florid design in a variety of colours meant to be an exact copy ofthe device on the regiment's kettledrums, with the addition of the legend, "A Merry Christmas to the old Straw-boots, " inscribed on a waving scrollbelow. The skill of another decorator is directed to the clipping ofsundry squares of coloured paper into wondrous forms--Prince of Wales'sfeathers, gorgeous festoons, and the like--with which the gas pendants andthe edges of the window-frames are disguised out of their originalnakedness and hardness of outline, so as to be almost unrecognisable bythe eye of the matter-of-fact barrack-master himself. What is thisfelonious-looking band up to--these four determined rascals in theforbidden high-lows and stable overalls who go slinking mysteriously outat the back gate just at the gloaming? Are they Fenian sympathisers boundfor a secret meeting, or are they deserters making off just at the timewhen there is the least likelihood of suspicion? Nay, they are neither;but, nevertheless, their errand is a nefarious one. Watch at the gate foran hour and you will see them come back again each man laden with thespoils of the shrubberies--holly, mistletoe, and evergreens--ruthlesslyplundered under cover of the darkness. A couple of days before "the day, "the sergeant-major enters the barrack-room, a smile playing upon hisrubicund features. We all know what his errand is and he knows right wellthat we do; but he cannot refrain from the customary short patronisingharangue, "Our worthy captain--liberal gent you know--deputed me--what youlike for dinner--plum-puddings, of course--a quart of beer a man; make upyour minds what you'll have--anything but game and venison;" and so hevanishes grinning a saturnine grin. The moment is a critical one. We oughtto be unanimous. What shall we have? A council of deliberation isconstituted on the spot and proceeds to the discussion of the weightyquestion. The suggestions are not numerous. The alternative lies betweenpork and goose. The old soldiers, for some inscrutable reason, go forgoose to a man. The recruits have a carnal craving after the flesh of thepig. I did once hear a "carpet-bag" recruit[1] hesitatingly broach the ideaof mutton, but he collapsed ignominiously under the concentrated stare ofrighteous indignation with which his heterodox suggestion was received. Goose versus pork is eagerly debated. As regards quantity the questionis a level one, since the allowance from time immemorial has been a gooseor a leg of pork among three men. 

[Footnote 1: "Carpet-bag" recruit is the barrack-room appellation ofcontempt for the young gentleman recruit who joins his regiment _omnibusimpedimentis_--who, in fact, brings his baggage with him, to find it, ofcourse, utterly useless. ]

At length the point is decided during the evening stable-hour, accordingas old or young soldiers predominate in the room. The sergeant-major isinformed of the conclusion arrived at, and in the evening the corporal ofeach room accompanies him on a marketing expedition into the town. Anotherimportant duty devolves upon the said corporal in the course of thismarketing tour. The "dimmocking bags" have been emptied; the accumulationsin the sergeant-major's hands have been drawn, and the corporal, freightedwith the joint savings, has the task of expending the same in beer. Inthis undertaking he manifests a preternatural astuteness. He is not to beinveigled into giving his order at a public-house, --swipes from thecanteen would do as well as that, --nor do the bottled-beer merchants tempthim with their high prices for dubious quality. No, he goes direct to thefountain-head. If there be a brewery in the place he finds it out andbestows his order upon it, thus triumphantly securing the pure article atthe wholesale price. His purchasing calculation is upon the basis of twogallons per man. If, as is generally the case, the barrack-room herepresents contains twelve men, he orders a twenty-four gallon barrel ofporter--always porter; and if he has a surplus left he disburses it in thepurchase of a bottle or two of spirits, for the behoof of any fairvisitors who may haply honour the barrack-room with their presence. 

It is Christmas Eve. The evening stable-hour is over and all hands aremerrily engaged in the composition of the puddings; some stoning fruit, others chopping suet, beating eggs, and so forth. The barrel of beer is inthe corner but it is sacred as the honour of the regiment! Nothing wouldinduce the expectant participants in its contents to broach it before itsappointed time shall come. So there is beer instead from the canteen inthe tin pails of the barrack-room, and the work of pudding-compoundinggoes on jovially to the accompaniments of song and jest. Now, there is afear lest too many fingers in the pudding may spoil it--lest a multitudeof counsellors as to the proportions of ingredients and the process ofmixing may be productive of the reverse of safety. But somehow a man witha specialty is always forthcoming, and that specialty is pudding-making. Most likely he has been the butt of the room--a quiet, quaint, retiring, awkward fellow who seemed as if he never could do anything right. But hehas lit upon his vocation at last--he is a born pudding-maker. He riseswith the occasion, and the sheepish "gaby" becomes the knowing practicalman; his is now the voice of authority, and his comrades recant on thespot, acknowledge his superiority without a murmur, and perform "ko-tow"before the once despised man of undeveloped abilities. They pull out theirclean towels with alacrity in response to his demand for pudding-cloths;they run to the canteen enthusiastically for a further supply on a hintfrom him that there is a deficiency in the ingredient of allspice. Andthen he artistically gathers together the corners of the cloths and tiesup the puddings tightly and securely; whereupon a procession is formed toescort them into the cook-house, and there, having consigned them into thedepths of the mighty copper, the "man of the time" remains watching thecaldron bubble until morning, a great jorum of beer at his elbow the readycontribution of his now appreciative comrades. 

The hours roll on; and at length out into the darkness of thebarrack-square stalks the trumpeter on duty, and the shrill notes of the_réveille_ echo through the stillness of the yet dark night. On anordinary morning the _réveille_ is practically negatived, and nobodythinks of stirring from between the blankets till the "warning" soundsquarter of an hour before the morning stable-time. But on this morningthere is no slothful skulking in the arms of Morpheus. Every one jumps up, as if galvanised, at the first note of the _réveille_. For the fulfilmentof a time-honoured custom is looked forward to--a remnant of the old dayswhen the "women" lived in the corner of the barrack-room. The soldier'swife who has the cleaning of the room and who does the washing of itsinmates--for which services each man pays her a penny a day, has from timeimmemorial taken upon herself the duty of bestowing a "morning" on theChristmas anniversary upon the men she "does for. " Accordingly, about aquarter to six, she enters the room--a hard-featured, rough-voiced dame, perhaps, with a fist like a shoulder of mutton, but a soldier herself tothe very core and with a big, tender heart somewhere about her. Shecarries a bottle of whisky--it is always whisky, somehow--in one hand anda glass in the other; and, beginning with the oldest soldier administers acalker to every one in the room till she comes to the "cruity, " upon whom, if he be a pullet-faced, homesick, bit of a lad, she may bestow a maternalsalute in addition, with the advice to consider the regiment as his mothernow, and be a smart soldier and a good lad. 

Breakfast is not an institution in any great acceptation in a cavalryregiment on Christmas morning. When the stable-hour is over a great manyof the troopers do not immediately reappear in the barrack-room. Indeedthey do not turn up until long after the coffee is cold; and, when they doreturn there is a certain something about them which, to the experiencedobserver, demonstrates the fact that, if they have been thirsty, they havenot been quenching their drought at the pump. It is a standing puzzle tothe uninitiated where the soldier in barracks contrives to obtain drink ofa morning. The canteen is rigorously closed. No one is allowed to go outof barracks and no drink is allowed to come in. A teetotallers'meeting-hall could not appear more rigidly devoid of opportunities forindulgence than does a barrack during the morning. Yet I will venture tosay, if you go into any barrack in the three kingdoms, accost any soldierwho is not a raw recruit, and offer to pay for a pot of beer, that youwill have an instant opportunity afforded you of putting your free-handeddesign into execution any time after 7 A. M. I don't think it would beexactly grateful in me to "split" upon the spots where a drop can beobtained in season; many a time has my parched throat been thankful forthe cooling surreptitious draught and I refuse to turn upon a benefactorin a dirty way. Therefore suffice it to say that many a bold dragoon whenhe re-enters the barrack-room to get ready for church parade, has awateriness about the eye and a knottiness in the tongue which tell ofsomething stronger than the matutinal coffee. Indeed, when the trumpetsounds which calls the regiment to assemble on the parade-ground, there isdire misgiving in the mind of many a stalwart fellow, who is consciousthat his face, as well as his speech, "berayeth him. " But the lynx-eyedmen in authority who another time would be down on a stagger like acard-player on the odd trick and read a flushed face as a passport to theguard-room, are genially blind this morning; and so long as a manpossesses the capacity of looking moderately straight to his own front andof going right-about without a flagrant lurch, he is not looked at in acritical spirit on the Christmas church parade. And so the regimentmarches off to church, the band playing merrily in its front. I much fearthere is no very abiding sense in the bosoms of the majority of the sacrederrand on which they are bound. 

But there are two of the inmates of each room who do not go to church. Theclever pudding-maker and a sub of his selection are left to cook theChristmas dinner. This, as regards the exceptional dainties, is done atthe barrack-room fire, the cook-house being in use only for the nowdespised ration meat and for the still simmering puddings. The handy mancunningly improvises a roasting-jack, and erects a screen consisting ofbed-quilts spread on a frame of upright forms, for the purpose ofretaining and throwing back the heat. He is a most versatile genius, thishandy man. Now we see him in the double character of cook and salamander, and anon he develops a special faculty as a clever table-decorator aswell. This latter qualification asserts itself in the face of difficultieswhich would be utterly discomfiting to one of less fertility of resource. There is, indeed, a large expanse of table in every barrack-room; but theWar Department has not yet thought proper to consider private soldiersworthy to enjoy the luxury of table-linen. Yet bare boards at a Christmasfeast are horribly offensive to the eye of taste. Something must be done;something has already been done. Ever since the last issue of cleansheets, one or two whole-souled fellows have magnanimously abjured theseluxuries _pro bono publico_. Spartan-like they have lain in blankets, andsaved their sheets in their pristine cleanliness wherewithal to cover theChristmas table. So now these are brought forth, not snow-white certainly, nor of a damask texture, being indeed somewhat sackclothy in theirappearance, but still they are immeasurably in advance of the bare boards;and when the covers are laid, with each man's best knife and fork, with alittle additional crockery-ware borrowed of a beneficent married woman andwith the dainty sprigs of evergreen stuck on every available coign, theeffect is triumphantly enlivening. 

By the time these preparations are complete the men are back from church;and after a brief attendance at stables to water and feed they assemblefully dressed in the barrack-room, hungrily silent. The captain enters theroom and _pro formâ_ asks whether there are "any complaints?" A chorus of"No, sir, " is his reply; and then the oldest soldier in the room withprofuse blushing and stammering takes up the running, thanks the officerkindly in the name of his comrades for his generosity, and wishes him a"Happy Christmas and many of 'em" in return. Under cover of the responsivecheer the captain makes his escape, and a deputation visits thesergeant-major's quarters to fetch the allowance of beer which forms partof the treat. Then all fall to and eat! Ye gods, how they eat! Let the manwho affirmed before the Recruiting Commission that the present scale ofmilitary rations was liberal enough show himself now, and then for everhide his head! The troopers seem to have become sudden converts toCarlyle's theory on the eloquence of silence. It reigns supreme, brokenonly by the rattle of knives and forks and by an occasional gurgleindicative of a man judiciously stratifying the solids and liquids, for aspace of about twenty minutes, by which time--be the fare goose or pork--it is, barring the bones, only "a memory of the past. " The puddings, turned out of the towels in which they have been boiled, then undergo thebrunt of a fierce assault; but the edge of appetite has been blunted bythe first course and with most of the men a modicum of pudding goes on theshelf for supper. The soldier is very sensitive on the subject of hisChristmas pudding. I remember once seeing a cook put on the table andformally "strapped" for allowing the pudding to stick to the bottom of thepot for lack of stirring. 

At length dinner is over. Beds are drawn up from the sides of the room soas to form a wide circle of divans round the fire, and the big barrel'stime has come at last. A clever hand whips out the bung, draws a pailful, and reinserts the bung till another pailful is wanted, which will be verysoon. The pail is placed upon the hearthstone and its contents aredecanted into the pint basins, which do duty in the barrack-room for allpurposes from containing coffee and soup to mixing chrome-yellow andpipe-clay water. The married soldiers come dropping in with their wives, for whom the corporal has a special drop of "something short" stowed inreserve on the shelf behind his kit. A song is called for; anotherfollows, and yet another and another. Now it is matter of notice that thesongs of soldiers are never of the modern music-hall type. You might gointo a hundred barrack-rooms or soldier's haunts and never hear such aditty as "Champagne Charley" or "Not for Joseph. " The soldier takesespecial delight in songs of the sentimental pattern; and even when for abrief period he forsakes the region of sentiment, it is not to indulge inthe outrageously comic but to give vent to such sturdy bacchanalianoutpourings as the "Good Rhine Wine, " "Old John Barleycorn, " and "Simonthe Cellarer. " But these are only interludes. "The Soldier's Tear, " "TheWhite Squall, " "There came a Tale to England, " "Ben Bolt, " "Shells of theOcean, " and other melodies of a lugubrious type, are the specialfavourites of the barrack-room. I remember once hearing a cockney recruitattempt "The Perfect Cure" with its accompanying gymnastic efforts; but hewas I not appreciated, and indeed, I think broke down in the middle forwant of encouragement. 

Songs and beer form the staple of the afternoon's enjoyment, intermingledwith quiet chat consisting generally of reminiscences of bygoneChristmases. Here and there a couple get together who are "townies, " i. E. Natives of the same district; and there is a good deal of undemonstrativefeeling in the way they talk of the scenes and folks of boyhood. There isno speechifying. Your soldier is not an oratorical animal. Not but what heheartily enjoys a speech; but he somehow cannot make one, or will not try. I remember me, indeed, of a certain quiet Scotsman who one Christmastimebeing urgently pressed to sing and being unblessed with a tuneful voice, volunteered in utter desperation a speech instead. He referred in feelinglanguage to the various troop-mates who had left us since the precedingChristmas, made a touching allusion to the happy home circle in which theChristmases of our boyhood had been spent, referred to the manner in whichthe old "Strawboots" had cut their way to glory through the dense massesof Russian horsemen on the hillside of Balaclava, and wound upappropriately by proposing the toast of "our noble selves. " He created animmense sensation, was vociferously applauded, and, indeed, was the heroof the hour; but ere next Christmas he was among the "have beens" himself, and his mantle not having devolved upon any successor we had to contentourselves with the songs and the beer. 

It is a lucky thing for a good many that there is no roll-call at theChristmas evening stable-hour. The non-commissioned officers mercifullylimit their requirements to seeing the horses watered and bedded down bythe most presentable of the roisterers, whose desperate efforts tosimulate abject sobriety in order to establish their claim forstrong-headedness are very comical to witness. It has often been matter ofwonderment to me how the orders for the following day which are "read out"at the evening stable-hour, are realised on Christmas evening withclearness sufficient to ensure their being complied with next day withouta hitch; but the truth is that, as we shall presently see, a certain orderof things for the morning after Christmas has become stereotyped. 

This interruption of the evening stable-hour over the circle re-formsround the fire, and the cask finally becomes a "dead marine. " The cap isthen sent round for contributions towards a further instalment of thefoundation of conviviality, which is fetched from the canteen or thesergeant's mess; and another and yet another supply is sent for, as longas the funds hold out and somebody keeps sober enough to act as Ganymede. The orderly sergeant is not very particular to-night about hiswatch-setting report, for he knows that not many have the physical abilityto be absent if they were ever so eager. And so the lights go out; the sunof the dragoon may be said to set in beer and he is left to do his best tosleep himself sober. For in the morning the reins of discipline aretightened again. The man who is foolish enough to revivify the drink which"is dying out in him" by a refresher is apt to find himself an inmate ofthe black-hole on very scant warning. Headaches and thirst are curiouslyrife, and the consumption of "fizzers"--a temperance beverage of aneffervescent character vended by an individual with the profoundest trustin human nature on the subject of deferred payments--is extensive enoughto convert the regiment into a series of walking reservoirs of carbonicacid gas. The authorities display a demoniacal ingenuity in working thebeer out of the system of the dragoon. The morning duty on the dayfollowing Christmas is invariably "watering order with numnahs, " thenumnah being a felt saddle-cloth without stirrups. Every man withoutexception rides out--no dodging is permitted--and the moment the maliciousfiend of an orderly officer gets clear of the barracks he gives the word"Trot!" Six miles of it without a break is the set allowance; and it beatsvinegar, pickles, tea smoked in a tobacco-pipe, or any other nostrum, asan effectual generator of sobriety. Six miles at the full trot withoutstirrups on a rough horse I can conscientiously recommend to theinebriated gentleman who fears to encounter a justly irate wife at two inthe morning. I wont answer for the integrity of his cuticle when it isover; but I will stake my existence on the abject profundity of hissobriety. The process would extract the alcohol from a cask of spirits ofwine, let alone dispel an average skinful of beer. 

And thus evaporates the last vestige of the dragoon's Christmas festivity. It may be urged that the enjoyments of which I have endeavoured to give afaithful narrative are gross and have no elevating tendency. I fear themen of the spur and sabre must bow to the justice of the criticism; and Iknow of nothing to advance in mitigation save the old Scotch proverb: "Itis ill to mak' a silk purse out o' a sow's ear. "

THE MYSTERY OF MONSIEUR REGNIER

In these modern days men live fast and forget fast; yet, since it wasbarely twenty-six years ago, numbers among us must still vividly rememberthe lurid autumn of 1870. Eastern and Northern France had been delugedwith French and German blood. During the month of fighting from the 2nd ofAugust to the 1st of September the regular armies of France had suffereddefeat on defeat, and were now blockaded in Metz or were tramping from thecatastrophe of Sedan to captivity in Germany. The Empire in France hadfallen like a house of cards; Napoleon the Third was a prisoner of war inCassel; the Empress and the ill-fated Prince Imperial were forlorn exilesin England. To the Empire had succeeded, at not even a day's notice--forin France a revolution is ever a summary operation--the Government ofNational Defence with the watchword of "War to the bitter end" rather thancede a foot of territory or one stone of a fortress. The Germans made nodelay. The blood-tint had scarcely faded out of the waters of the Meuse, the unburied dead of Sedan yet festered in the sun-heat, and the blackenedruins of Bazeilles still smoked and stank, when their heads of columns setforth on the march to Paris. The troops were full of ardour; but in theRoyal headquarters there was not a little disquietude. The old King made along stay in the old cathedral city of Rheims, while men all over Europewere asking each other whether the catastrophe of Sedan had not virtuallyended the war and were hoping for the white dove of peace to alight on theblood-stained land. But that happy consummation was not yet to be. WhenKing Wilhelm crossed the frontier he had proclaimed that he warred notwith the French nation but with its ruler. That ruler was now his prisoner;but Wilhelm had for adversary now the French nation, because it had takenup the quarrel which might have gone with the _Déchéance_ and in effecthad made it its own. In the absence of overtures there was no alternativebut to march on Paris. 

But Bismarck, although he carried a blithe front, was far fromcomfortable. He would fain have had peace--always on his own terms; butthe question with him was with whom could he negotiate, capable, in theexisting confusion, of furnishing adequate guarantees for the fulfilmentof conditions? That requisite he could not discern in the self-constitutedbody which styled itself the Government of National Defence, but of whichhe spoke as "the gentlemen of the pavement. " He had all the monarchicaldislike and distrust of a republic, and before the German army hadinvested Paris he already had begun to ponder as to the possibility ofreinstating the dethroned dynasty. Possibly indeed, he had already feltthe pulse of Marshal Bazaine on this subject. 

It was on the 23rd of September when the Royal headquarters was atFerrières, Baron Rothschild's château on the east of Paris, that thereeither presented himself to Bismarck an intriguant, or that the Chancellorevoked for himself an instrument for whom the way was made open topenetrate the beleaguerment of Metz and submit to Bazaine certainconsiderations. In connection with this mission we heard a good deal atthe time of a mysterious "Mons. M. " and an equally mysterious "Mons. N. "Both were myths: "M. " and "N. " were alike pseudonyms of the realgo-between, a certain Edmond Regnier who died in Paris on the 23rd ofJanuary 1894, after a strange and varied career of which the episode to bedetailed in this article is the most remarkable. In a now very rarepamphlet published by Regnier in November 1870, he describes himself as aFrench landed proprietor with financial interests in England yielding himan income of £800 per annum, and as having come to England with his familyin the end of August of that year in consequence of the proximity ofGerman troops to his French residence. The painstaking compilers of theindictment against Bazaine give rather a different account of thecharacter and antecedents of M. Regnier. Their information is that hereceived an imperfect education, sufficiently proven by his extraordinarystyle and vicious orthography. He studied, with little progress, law andmedicine; later he took up magnetism. He was curiously mixed up in theevents of the revolution of 1848. He had some employment in Algeria as anassistant surgeon. Returning to France he developed a quarry ofpaving-stone, and afterwards married in England a wife who brought him acertain competence. "Regnier, " continues the Report, "is a sharp, audacious fellow; his manners are vulgar--vain to excess he considershimself a profound politician. Was he induced to throw himself into themidst of events by one of the monomanias which are engendered by periodsof storm and revolution? Was he simply an intriguer, plying his trade? Itis difficult to tell. But however that may be, the established fact isthat we find him in England in September 1870 besieging with his projectsthe _entourage_ of the Empress. "

Regnier's siege of the forlorn colony at Hastings took the form of abombardment of letters, his principal victim being Madame Le Breton, thelady-in-waiting of the Empress and the sister of the unfortunate GeneralBourbaki, then in command of the Imperial Guard at Metz. He was about tohave his passport viséd by the German Ambassador in London, rather anequivocal proceeding for a French subject; and on the 12th of September hewrote thus to Madame Le Breton, desiring that the letter should becommunicated to Her Majesty:--

The Ambassador in London of the North German Confederation may possiblysay, "I think the King of Prussia would prefer treating for peace with theImperial Government rather than with the Republic. " If so, I shall startto-morrow for Wilhelmshöhe, after having paid a visit to the Empress. Thefollowing are the propositions I intend to submit to the Emperor: (1) Thatthe Empress-Regent ought not to quit French territory; (2) That theImperial fleet _is_ French territory; (3) That the fleet which greeted HerMajesty so enthusiastically on its departure for the Baltic, or at least aportion of it, however small, be taken by the Regent for her seat ofgovernment, thus enabling her to go from one to another of the Frenchports where she can count upon the largest number of adherents, and soprove that her government exists both _de facto_ and _de jure_. Further, that the Empress-Regent issue from the fleet four proclamations--viz. Toforeign governments, to the fleet, to the army, and to the French people. 

It will suffice to quote two of those suggested proclamations:--

To foreign governments! To firmly insist upon the fact that the ImperialGovernment is the _actual_ government, as it is the government by right. To the fleet! That just as the Emperor remained to the last in the midstof his army, sharing the chances of war, so also does the Regent, the onlyexecutive power legally existing, come with gladness to trust herpolitical fortune to the Imperial fleet. 

There followed a voluminous screed of irrelevant dissertation. 

Regnier confessedly made no way with the Empress. He saw, indeed, MadameLe Breton on the 14th, but only to be told, in language worthy of apatriot sovereign, that "Her Majesty's feeling was that the interests ofFrance should take precedence of those of the dynasty; that she wouldrather do nothing than incur the suspicion of having acted from an undueregard for dynastic interests, and that she has the greatest horror of anystep likely to bring about a civil war. " Those high-souled expressionsought to have given definite pause to Regnier's importunity; but thatbusybody was indefatigable. A second letter to Madame Le Breton for theEmpress simply elicited from the gentlemen of her suite the informationthat Her Majesty, having read his communications, had expressed thegreatest horror of anything approaching a civil war. A final letter fromhim, containing the following significant passage:--

I myself, or some other person, ought already to have been secretly andconfidentially in communication with M. De Bismarck; our conditions forpeace must be more acceptable than those to which the _soi-disant_Republican Government may have agreed; every action of theirs ought to beturned to our advantage--we ourselves must _act_, evoked the ultimatum that "the Empress would not stir in the matter. "Regnier then said that as he found no encouragement at Hastings he wouldprobably go to Wilhelmshöhe, where he would perhaps be better understood;and he produced a photographic view of Hastings on which he begged thatthe Prince Imperial would write a line to his father. On the followingmorning the Prince's equerry returned him the photographic view at thefoot of which were the simple and affectionate words: "Mon cher Papa, jevous envoie ces vues d'Hastings; j'espère qu'elles vous plairont. Louis-Napoléon. " I am personally familiar with the late Prince Imperial'shandwriting and readily recognise it in this brief sentence. Regnieraverred that it was with Her Majesty's consent that this paper was givenhim; but admitted that he was told she added: "Tell M. Regnier that theremust be great danger in carrying out his project, and that I beg him notto attempt its execution. " In other words, the Empress was willing that heshould visit the Emperor at Cassel, authenticating him thus far by thePrince Imperial's little note; but she put her veto on his undertakingintrigues detrimental to the interests of France. 

Regnier by no means took the road for Wilhelmshöhe. At 7 P. M. Of Sundaythe 18th he read in the special _Observer_ that Jules Favre was next dayto have an interview with Bismarck at Meaux. Eager to anticipate theRepublican Foreign Minister he promptly took the night train for Paris. Notrains were running beyond Amiens and he did not reach Meaux untilmidnight of the 19th, to learn that Bismarck and the headquarters had thatday gone to Ferrières. At 10 A. M. Of the 20th he reached that château andappealed to Count Hatzfeld, now German Ambassador in London, for animmediate interview with Bismarck, stating that he had come direct fromHastings. He was informed that the Chancellor had an appointment withJules Favre at eleven and that it was improbable he could be received inadvance. But Bismarck having been apprised of his arrival the fortunateRegnier was immediately ushered into his presence. Regnier congratulateshimself on having anticipated the French Minister, ignorant of thecircumstance that on the previous day the latter had two interviews withBismarck and that their then impending interview was simply for thepurpose of communicating to Favre the German King's final answer to theFrench proposals. 

Regnier says that he drew from his portfolio the photograph of Hastingswith the Prince Imperial's little note to his father at its foot andhanded the paper in silence to Bismarck; and that after the latter hadlooked at it for some moments, Regnier said, "I come, Count, to ask you togrant me a pass which will permit me to go to Wilhelmshöhe and give thisautograph into the Emperor's hands. " Why he should have applied toBismarck for this is not apparent, since he might have gone direct fromHastings to Wilhelmshöhe without any necessity for invoking theChancellor's offices. It seems extremely probable that the request for apass was a mere pretext to gain an interview, and the more so sinceBismarck made no allusion to the subject, but after a few moments, according to Regnier, addressed that person as follows:--

Sir, our position is before you; what can you offer us? with whom can wetreat? Our determination is fixed so to profit by our present position asto render impossible for the future any war against us on the part ofFrance. To effect this object, an alteration of the French frontier isindispensable. In the presence of two governments--the one _de facto_, theother _de jure_--it is difficult, if not impossible, to treat with either. The Empress-Regent has quitted French territory, and since then has givenno sign. The Provisional Government in Paris refuses to accept thiscondition of diminution of territory, but proposes an armistice in orderto consult the French nation on the subject. We can afford to wait. Whenwe find ourselves face to face with a government _de facto_ and _de jure_, able to treat on the basis we require, then we will treat. 

Regnier suggested that Bazaine in Metz and Uhrich in Strasburg, if theyshould capitulate, might do so in the name of the Imperial Government. Bismarck replied that Jules Favre was assured that the garrisons of thosefortresses were staunchly Republican; but that his own belief was thatBazaine's army of the Rhine was probably Imperialist. Then Regnier offeredto go at once to Metz. "If you had come a week earlier, " said Bismarck, "it was yet time; now, I fear, it is too late. " Upon this the Chancellorwent away to meet Jules Favre with the parting words to Regnier, "Be sogood as to present my respectful homage to his Imperial Majesty when youreach Wilhelmshöhe. " At a subsequent meeting the same evening Regnierrepeated his anxiety to go at once to Metz and Strasburg and make anagreement that these places should be surrendered only in the Emperor'sname. Bismarck was clearly not sanguine, but he said, "Do what you can tobring us some one with power to treat with us, and you will have renderedgreat service to your country. I will give orders for a 'generalsafe-conduct' to be given you. A telegram shall precede you to Metz, whichwill facilitate your entrance there. You should have come sooner. " Sothese two parted; Régnier received his "safe-conduct" and started fromFerrières early on the morning of the 21st. But this indefatigableletter-writer could not depart without a farewell letter:--

I shall leave (he wrote to Bismarck) your advanced posts near Metz, givingorders for the carriage to await my return. I shall wrap myself in ashawl, which will hide a portion of my face. In the event of MarshalBazaine acceding to my conditions, either Marshal Canrobert or GeneralBourbaki, acquainted with all that will be requisite for the success of myplans, may go out with my papers, dressed in my clothes, wrapped in myshawl, and depart for Hastings, after giving me his word of honour thatfor every one, except the Empress, he was to be simply Mons. Regnier. Ifeverything succeeded according to my anticipation, he might then establishhis identity, and place himself at the head of the army, with orders todefend the Chamber assembled, if possible, at a seaport town, where aloyal portion of the fleet should also be present. If the project shouldmiscarry, the Marshal or the General would return and resume his post. 

Bismarck must have smiled grimly as he read this strange farrago; yet, whatever may have been his motives, he furthered the errand on whichRegnier was going to Metz. 

That person reached the headquarters of Prince Frederick Charles at Corny, outside of Metz, on the afternoon of 23rd September and was promptlypresented to the Prince, who said that Count Bismarck had informed him ofhis wish to enter Metz and had left it to him to decide as to theexpediency of complying with it. This, said the Prince, he was prepared todo and he gave Regnier the requisite pass. The same evening that activeindividual presented himself at the French forepost line, and havingstated that he had a mission to Marshal Bazaine and desired to see himimmediately, he was driven to Ban-Saint-Martin where the Marshal wasresiding. Bazaine at once received him in his study. At the outset adiscrepancy manifests itself in the subsequent testimony of theinterlocutors. The Marshal states that Regnier said he came on the part ofthe Empress with the consent of Bismarck; while Regnier declares that hedid not state to the Marshal that he had any mission from the Empress. Onother points, with one important exception, the versions given of theinterview by the two participants fairly agree, and Bazaine's account ofit may be summarised. After Regnier had stated that his commission waspurely verbal he went on to observe that it was to be regretted that atreaty of peace had not put an end to the war after Sedan; that themaintenance of the German armies on French territory was ruinous to thecountry; and that it would be doing France a great service to obtain anarmistice preparatory to the conclusion of peace. That as regarded this, the French army under the walls of Metz--the only army remainingorganised--would be in a position to give guarantees to the Germans if itwere allowed its liberty of action; but that without doubt they wouldexact as a pledge the surrender of the fortress of Metz. 

I replied (says Bazaine) that certainly if we--the "Army of the Rhine"--could extricate ourselves from the _impasse_ in which we now were, withthe honours of war--that is to say, with arms and baggage--in a wordcompletely constituted as an army, we would be in a position to maintainorder in the interior, and would cause the provisions of the convention tobe respected; but a difficulty would occur as to the fortress of Metz, thegovernor of which, appointed by the Emperor, could not be relieved exceptby His Majesty himself. 

One of Regnier's stated objects, continues the Marshal, was to bring itabout that either Marshal Canrobert or General Bourbaki should go toEngland, inform the Empress of the situation at Metz, and place himself ather disposition. The departure of whichever of the two high officersshould undertake this duty was to be surreptitious; and for this Regnierhad provided with Prussian assistance. Seven Luxembourg surgeons who hadbeen in Metz ever since the battle of Gravelotte had written to MarshalBazaine for leave to go home through the Prussian lines. This letter, sentto the Prussian headquarters, was replied to in a letter carried into Metzby Regnier and by him given to Bazaine, to the effect that the _nine_surgeons were free to depart. As there were but seven surgeons, theimplication is obvious that the safe-conduct was expanded to cover theincognito exit, along with the surgeons, of Regnier and the French officerbound for Hastings. 

Regnier gave me (writes Bazaine) so many details of his _soi-disant_relations with the Empress and her _entourage_ that, notwithstanding thestrangeness of the apparition, I put faith in his mission, and believedthat I ought not, in the general interest, to neglect the opportunityopened to me of putting myself in communication with the outside world. Iconsequently told him that he would be duly brought into relations withMarshal Canrobert and General Bourbaki, whom I would inform in regard tohis proposals, and whom I would place at liberty to act as each mightchoose in the matter. 

Finally Regnier produced the photograph of Hastings with the PrinceImperial's signature at the foot, and begged the Marshal to add his, whichhe did "as a souvenir of the interview" explained Regnier, according tothe Marshal; according to Regnier, that he could exhibit the signature toBismarck in proof that he had the Marshal's assent to his proposals. Diplomacy conducted by chance signatures on casual photographs has acertain innocent simplicity, but is not in accordance with modern methods. Perhaps, however, the strangest thing in connection with this strangeinterview is Bazaine's final comment:--

All this which I have narrated was only a simple conversation to which Iattached a merely secondary importance, since M. Regnier had no writtenauthority from the Empress nor from M. De Bismarck. . . . This personage, therefore, appeared to act without the knowledge of the German militaryauthorities, and it was not until considerably later that I becameconvinced of their cognisance, and of their mutual understanding asregards M. Regnier's visit to Metz. 

And this in the face of General Stiehle's letter to him in his hand, brought in by Regnier, sanctioning the exit of the _nine_ surgeons; andthe Marshal's promise to Régnier that he and the officer who should acceptthe mission to Hastings should quit the camp incognito along with theLuxembourg surgeons. 

Reference has been made to a discordance between the testimony of MarshalBazaine and of Regnier on a very important point in regard to thisinterview. In his notes taken at the time the latter writes:--

The Marshal tells me of his excellent position, of the long period forwhich he can hold out; that he considers himself as the Palladium of theEmpire. He speaks of the very healthy condition of the troops; and, if Imay judge by his own rosy face, he is quite right. He tells of all thesuccessful sallies he had made, and of the facility with which he canbreak through the besieging lines whenever he chooses to do so. 

Later, he contradicts all this, explaining that finding himself in thePrussian lines and his papers liable to be read, he had written just thereverse of what he was told by the Marshal. He says that what Bazaineactually informed him was that the bread ration had been alreadydiminished and would be necessarily further reduced in a few days; thatthe horses lacked forage and had to be used for food; and that in suchconditions and taking into account the necessity of carrying four or fivedays' rations for the army and keeping a certain number of horses incondition to drag the guns and supplies, there would be great difficultyin holding out until the 18th of October. Bazaine, for his part, vehemently denied having given Regnier any such information, and it seemsutterly improbable that he should have done so. It is nevertheless thefact that the 18th of October was the last day on which rations wereissued to the army outside Metz. Regnier must have been a wizard; orBazaine must have leaked atrociously; or there must have been lying on theMarshal's table during the interview with Regnier, the most recent statefurnished by the French intendance, that of the 21st of September whichspecified the 18th of October as the precise date of the final exhaustionof the army's supplies. 

At midnight of the 23rd Regnier went to the outposts and next morning toCorny, where he found a telegram from Bismarck authorising the departurefor Hastings of a general from the army of Metz. He was back again atBan-Saint-Martin on the afternoon of the 24th, when Marshal Canrobert andGeneral Bourbaki were summoned to headquarters to meet him and theLuxembourg surgeons were assembled. Canrobert declined the proposedmission on the plea of ill-health. Bourbaki had to be searched for and wasultimately found at St. Julien with Marshal Lebceuf. As he dismounted atthe headquarters he asked Colonel Boyer--they had both been of theintimate circle of the Empire--whether he knew the person walking in thegarden with the Marshal?

"No, " replied Boyer. 

"What?" rejoined Bourbaki; "have you never seen him at the Tuileries?"

"No, " said Boyer. "I forget names, but not faces--I never saw this fellow. He is neither a familiar of the Tuileries nor an employé. " Whereupon thetwo aristocrats despised the bourgeois Regnier. But Bourbaki, nevertheless, had to endure the presentation to him of the "fellow, " whopromptly entered on a political discourse to the effect that the GermanGovernment was reluctant to treat with the Paris Government, which it didnot consider so lawful as that of the Empress, and that if it treated withher the conditions would be less burdensome; that the intervention of thearmy of Metz was indispensable; that it was all-important that one of itschiefs should repair to the side of the Empress to represent the army withher; and that he, Bourbaki, was the fittest person to occupy that positionon the declinature of Marshal Canrobert. Bourbaki turned from the man ofverbiage to Bazaine and asked, "Marshal, what do you wish me to do?" TheMarshal answered that he desired him to repair to the Empress. 

"I am ready, " answered Bourbaki, "but on certain conditions: you will havethe goodness to give me a written order; to announce my departure in armyorders; not to place a substitute in my command; and to promise that, pending my return, you will not engage the Guard. " His terms were accepted;he was told that he was to leave immediately and he went to his quartersto make his preparations. 

It was understood that the general's departure was to be by way of beingincognito, so that it should not get wind. He had no civilian clothes andBazaine fitted him out in his; Regnier had obtained from one of theLuxembourger surgeons a cap with the Geneva Cross which completed thecostume. At the Prussian headquarters General Stiehle, Prince FrederickCharles's chief of staff, desired to pay his respects to a man whosebrilliant courage he admired. Bourbaki's bitter answer to Regnier whocommunicated to him Stiehle's wish, was that he would see "none of them, nor even eat a morsel of their bread, " which, he said, would choke him. Hepresently started with the surgeons, travelling in Regnier's name and onRegnier's passport, on an enterprise which was to lead to the wreck of afine career. At the same time Regnier quitted Corny on his return toFerrières to report to Bismarck, having promised Bazaine that he wouldreturn to Metz within six days. His bolt was about shot. But he had notrealised this fact. He maintains in his curious pamphlet that, to quotehis own words, "the Minister had given me to understand that if I werebacked by Bazaine and his army he would treat with me as if I were therepresentative of the Emperor or the Regent. I had obtained from theMarshal a capitulation with the honours of war, which the Minister--forthe furtherance of our political ends--had consented to accord to him. " Hehurried expectant to Ferrières; there to be summarily disillusioned. Bismarck gave him an interview on the 28th, and crushed him in a fewtrenchant sentences:--

I am surprised and sorry (said the Chancellor) that you, who appeared tobe a practical man, after having been permitted to enter Metz with thecertainty of being able to leave it, a favour never before accorded, should have left it without some more formal recognition of your right totreat than merely a photograph with the Marshal's signature on it. But I, Sir, am a diplomatist of many years' standing, and this is not enough forme. I regret it; but I find myself compelled to relinquish all furthercommunication with you till your powers are better defined. 

Regnier expressed his regret at having been so cruelly deceived butthanked Bismarck for his kindness, whereupon the latter offered to givehim a last chance. "I would certainly, " he said, "have treated with you asto peace conditions, had you been able to treat in the name of a Marshalat the head of 80, 000 men; as it is, I will send this telegram to theMarshal: 'Does Marshal Bazaine authorise M. Regnier to treat for thesurrender of the army before Metz in accordance with the conditions agreedupon with the last-named?'" On the 29th came Bazaine's somewhat diffusereply:--

I cannot reply definitely in the affirmative to the question. Regnierannounced himself the emissary of the Empress without written credentials. He asked the conditions on which I could enter into negotiations withPrince Frederick Charles. My answer was that I could only accept aconvention with the honours of war, not to include the fortress of Metz. These are the only conditions which military honour permits me to accept. 

Regnier bombarded the Chancellor with letters until the 30th, when CountHatzfeld informed him that the Minister would listen to nothing more untilRegnier could show full powers without evasion; that the matter mustimperatively be conducted openly and above board; and that his Excellencyhoped Regnier would be able to get clear of it with honour, and that soon. 

So Regnier quitted Ferrières in great dejection. He gives vent ruefully tothe belief that Bismarck regarded him as an unaccredited agent of theEmpress, while, curiously enough, the partisans of the Empress took himfor an emissary of Bismarck. Reaching Hastings on the 3rd of October hefound that the Empress was now at Chislehurst. He had telegraphed inadvance to "M. Regnier, " the name which he had instructed General Bourbakito pass under until the true Regnier should reach England. But Bourbakihad cast away the false name at the instigation of a brother officer whilepassing through Belgium. On arriving at Chislehurst he learned from theEmpress that he had been made the victim of a mystification on the part ofRegnier, and that she had never expressed the desire to have with hereither Marshal Canrobert or himself. This intelligence, of which thenewspapers had given him a presentiment, struck him to the heart. Althoughcovered by his chief's order he found himself in a false position; and hewrote to the late Lord Granville, then Foreign Secretary, begging his goodoffices to obtain for him an authorisation to return to his post. Anassurance was given that this would be accorded, and he hurried toLuxembourg there to await intimation of permission to re-enter Metz. Somedelay occurred in the transmission of the Royal order to this effect andalthough Bourbaki was assured that the decision would shortly reach him, he became impatient, went into France, and placed himself at thedisposition of the Provisional Government. But thenceforth he was a souredand dispirited man. The _ci-devant_ aide-de-camp of an Emperor writhedunder the harrow of Gambetta and Freycinet. 

As for Regnier, on his return to England he seems to have hauntedChislehurst. Once, so he frankly writes, after waiting a full hour inexpectation of an audience of the Empress Madame Le Breton came to tellhim that Her Majesty was sorry to have kept him waiting so long, but thatshe had now definitely resolved not to receive him. Yet he hung on, andthe same evening he tells that he was called somewhat abruptly into a roomin which stood several gentlemen, when a lady suddenly rose from a couchand addressed him standing. At last he was face to face with the Empress. "Sir, " said Her Majesty, "you have been persistent in wishing to speakwith me personally; here I am; what have you to say?" Then Regnier, by hisown account, harangued that august and unfortunate lady in a manner whichin print seems extremely trenchant and dictatorial. It was all in vain, heconfesses; he could not alter the convictions of the Empress. He says that"she feared that posterity, if she yielded, would only see in the act aproof of dynastic selfishness; and that dishonour would be attached to thename of whoever should sign a treaty based on a cession of territory. "Probably Her Majesty spoke from a more lofty standpoint than Regnier wasable to comprehend or appreciate. 

Regnier's subsequent career during that troublous period was both curiousand dubious. General Boyer states that on the 28th of October he foundRegnier _tête-à-tête_ with Prince Napoleon (Plon-Plon). Later he went toCassel, where he busied himself in trying to implicate in politicalmachinations sundry French officers who were prisoners there. Presently wefind him at Versailles, figuring among the conductors of the _MoniteurPrussien_, Bismarck's organ during the German occupation of that city, inwhich journal he published a series of articles under the title of _JeanBonhomme_. During the armistice after the surrender of Paris he betookhimself to Brussels, where he told General Boyer that he had gone toVersailles to attempt a renewal of negotiations tending towards anImperial restoration. He showed the general the original safe-conductwhich Bismarck had given him at Ferrières, and a letter of Count Hatzfeldauthorising him to visit Versailles. The last item during this periodrecorded of this strange personage--and that item one so significant as tojustify Mrs. Crawford's shrewd suspicion "that Regnier played a doublegame, and that Prince Bismarck, if he chose, could clear up the mysterywhich hangs over Regnier's curious negotiations"--is found in a page ofthe _Procès Bazaine_. This is the gem: "On the 18th of February 1871 hewas in Versailles, where he met a person of his acquaintance, to whom heuttered the characteristic words--'I do not know whether M. De Bismarckwill allow me to leave him this evening. '" He is said to have later beenconnected with the Paris police under the late M. Lagrange. WhetherRegnier was more knave or fool--enthusiast, impostor, or "crank"--willprobably be never known. 

RAILWAY LIZZ

BY AN HOSPITAL MATRON

We see many curious phases of humanity--we who administer to the sick inthe great hospitals which are among the boasts of London. The mask worn bythe face of the world is dropped before us. We see men as they are, andwhile the sight is often not calculated to enhance our estimate of humannature, there are occasionally strong reliefs which stand out from themass of shadow. There are curious opinions entertained in the outer worldas to the internal economy of hospitals, not a few "laymen" imagining thatthe main end of such establishments is that the doctors may have somethingto experiment upon for the advancement of their professional theories--something which, while it is human, is not very valuable in the socialscale and therefore open to be hacked and hewn and operated upon with afreedom begotten of the knowledge that the subject is a mere vile corpus. 

Nor is this the only delusion. Many people think that the hospital nurseis but another name for a heartless harpy, brimful of callous selfishness. Her attentions--kindness is an inadmissible word--are believed to bepurely mercenary. Those who themselves can afford to fee her or who havefriends able and willing to buy her services, may purchase civil treatmentand careful nursing while the poor wretch who has neither money norfriends may languish unheeded. There is no greater mistake than this. Yearby year the character of hospital nursing has improved. It is not to bedenied that in times gone by there were nurses the mainsprings of whoseactions may be said to have been money and gin; but these have long sincebeen driven forth with contumely. I have seen a poor wretch of adischarged soldier without a single copper to bless himself with, nursedwith as much tender assiduity and real feeling as if he were in a positionto pay his nurses handsomely. 

Indeed, in most hospitals now the practice of accepting money presents isaltogether forbidden; and if the prohibition, as in the case of railwayporters and guards, is sometimes looked upon in the light of a deadletter, there is, I sincerely believe, no such thing as any grasping aftera guerdon nor any neglect in a case where it is evident no guerdon is tobe expected. There is an hospital I could name in which the nurses areprohibited from accepting from patients any more substantial recognitionof their services than a nosegay of flowers. The wards of this hospitalare always gay with bright, fragrant posies, most of them thecontributions of those who, having been carefully tended in their need, retain a grateful recollection of the kindness and now that they are inhealth again take this simple, pretty way of showing their gratitude. Itis two years ago since a rough bricklayer's labourer got mended in theaccident ward of this hospital of some curiously complicated injuries hehad received by tumbling from the top of a house. Not a Sunday afternoonhas there been since the house-surgeon told him one morning that he mightgo out, that he has not religiously visited the "Albert" ward and broughthis thank-offering in the shape of a cheap but grateful nosegay. 

Those nurses who thus devote themselves to the tending of sick have oftencurious histories if anybody would be at the trouble of collecting them. It is by no means always mere regard for the securing of the necessariesof life which has brought them to the thankless and toilsome occupation. We have all read of nunneries in which women immured themselves, anxiousto sequester themselves from all association with the outer world and todevote themselves to a life of penance and devotion. After all their pietywas aimless and of no utility to humanity. There was a concentratedselfishness in it which detracted from its ambitious aspiration. But inthe modern nuns of our hospitals methinks we have women who, abnegatingwith equal solicitude the pleasures and dissipations of the world, find amore philanthropic opening for their exertions in their retirement than insleeping on hair pallets, and in eating nothing but parched peas. 

It was towards the autumn of a recent year that a modest-looking youngwoman applied to me for a situation on our nursing staff. She wore awidow's dress and seemed a self-contained, reserved little woman, withsomething weighing very heavily on her mind. Her testimonials of characterwere ample and of a very high order but they did not enlighten me with anygreat freedom as to her past history, and she for her part appeared by nomeans eager to supplement the meagre information furnished by them. However, people have a right to keep their own counsel if they please, andthere was no sin in the woman's reticence. We happened to be very short ofefficient nurses at the time and she was at once taken upon trial; hersomewhat strange stipulation, which she made absolute, being agreed to--that she should not be compelled to reside in the hospital, but merelycome in to perform her turn of nursing, and that over, be at liberty toleave the precincts when she pleased. I say the stipulation was a strangeone, because attached to it there was a considerable pecuniary sacrificeas well as a necessity for entering a lower grade. 

She made a very excellent nurse, with her quiet, reserved ways and hermanner of moving about a ward as if she studied the lightness of everyfootfall. But she had her peculiarities. I have already said that she wasnot given to be communicative, and for the first three months she was inthe place I do not believe she uttered a word to any one within the wallsexcept on subjects connected with the performance of her duties. Then, too, she manifested a curious fondness for being on duty in the accidentward. Most nurses have very little liking for this ward--the work is veryheavy and unremitting and frequently the sights are more than usuallyrepulsive. But she specially made application to be placed in it, and themore terrible the nature of the accident the more eager was her zeal tominister to the poor victim. It seemed almost a morbid fondness which shedeveloped for waiting, in particular, upon people injured by railwayaccidents. When some poor mangled plate-layer or a railway-porter crushedalmost out of resemblance to humanity would be borne in and laid on anempty cot in the accident ward, this woman was at the bedside with aseemingly intuitive perception of what would best conduce to soothe andease the poor shattered fellow; and she would wait on him "hand and foot"with an intensity of devotion far in excess of what mere duty, howeverconscientiously fulfilled, would have demanded of her. Indeed, herpartiality for railway "cases" was so marked that it appeared to amount toa passion; and among the other nurses, never slow to fix upon anypeculiarity and base upon it some not unfriendly nickname, our quietfriend went by the name of "Railway Lizz. " Nobody ever got any clue to thereason, if there was one, for this predilection of hers. Indeed, nobodyever was favoured with the smallest scrap of her confidence. I confess tohave felt much interest in the sad-eyed young widow and to have severaltimes given her an opening which she might have availed herself of fornarrating something of her past life; but she always retired withinherself with a sensitiveness which puzzled me not a little, satisfied as Iwas that there was nothing in her antecedents of a character which wouldnot bear the light. 

There are few holidays within an hospital. Physical suffering is not to bemitigated by a gala day; the pressure of disease cannot be lightened byjollity and merry-making. One New Year's Eve, when the world outside ourwalls was glad of heart, a poor shattered form was borne into the accidentward. It was a railway-porter whom a train had knocked down and passedover, crushing the young fellow almost out of the shape of humanity. Railway Lizz was by his side in a moment, wetting the pain-parched lipsand smoothing the pillow of the half-conscious sufferer. The house-surgeoncame and went with that silent shake of the head we know too surely how tointerpret, and the mangled railway-porter was left in the care of hisassiduous nurse. It was almost midnight when I again entered the accidentward. The night-lamp was burning feebly, shedding a dull dim light overthe great room and throwing out huge grotesque shadows on the floor andthe walls. I glanced toward the railway-porter's bed, and the tell-talescreen placed around it told me that all was over and that the life hadgone out of the shattered casket. As I walked down the room toward thescreen I heard a low subdued sound of bitter sobbing behind it; and when Istepped within it, there was the sad-faced widow-nurse weeping as if herheart would break. When she saw me she strove hard to repress her emotionand to resume the quiet, self-possessed demeanour which it was her wont towear; but she failed in the attempt and the sobs burst out in almostconvulsive rebellion against the effort to repress them. I put my armround the neck of the poor young thing and stooping down kissed her wetcheek as a tear from my own eye mingled with her profuse weeping. Theevidence of feeling appeared to overpower her utterly; she buried her headin my lap, and lay long there sobbing like a child. When the acuteness ofthe emotion had somewhat spent itself I gently raised her up, and asked ofher what was the cause of a grief so poignant. I found that I was now atlast within the intrenchments of her reserve; with a deep sigh she said, in her Scottish accent, that it was "a lang, lang story, " but if I caredto hear it she would tell it. So sitting there, we two together in the dimtwilight of the night-lamp, with the shattered corpse of therailway-porter lying there "streekit" decently before us, she told thefollowing pathetic tale:--

"I am an Aberdeen girl by birth. My father was the foreman at a factory, avery stiff, dour man, but a gude father, and an upright, God-fearing man. When I was about eighteen, I fell acquainted with a railway-guard, awinsome, manly lad as ever ye would wish to see. If ye had kent my Alick, ye wadna wonder at me for what I did. My father was a proud man, and hecouldna bear that I should marry a man that he said wasna my equal instation; and in his firm, masterful way he forbade Alick from coming aboutthe house, and me from seeing him. It was a sair trial, and I dinna thinkony father has a right to put doon his foot and mar the happiness of twayoung folks in the way mine did. The struggle was a bitter ane, between afather's commands and the bidding of true luve; and at last, ae nightcoming home from a friend's house, Alick and I forgathered again, and heswore he would not gang till I had promised I would marry him afore theweek was out. 

"I'll not trouble ye with lang details of the battle that I fought withmysel', and how in the end Alick conquered. We were married in the WestKirk the Sunday after, and we twa set up our simple housekeeping in asingle room in a house by the back of the Infirmary. Oh, mem, we werehappy young things! Alick was the fondest, kindest man ye could ever thinkof. Sometimes he wad take me a jaunt the length of Perth in the van withhim, and point out the places of interest on the road as we went flashingby them. Then on the Sunday, when he was off duty, we used to take a walkout to the Torry Lighthouse, or down by the auld brig o' Balgownie, andthen hame to an hour's read of the Bible afore I put down the kebbuck andthe bannocks. My father keepit hard and unforgiving; they tellt me he hadsworn an oath I should never darken his door again, and at times I feltvery sairly the bitterness of his feeling toward me, whan I was sitting upwaiting for Alick's hame-coming whan he was on the night turn; but then hewad come in with his blithe smile and cheery greeting and every thoughtbut joy at his presence wad flee awa as if by magic. Some of the friends Ihad kent when a lassie at home still keepit up the acquantance, and weused sometimes to spend an evening at one of their houses. The New Yeartime came, and Alick and myself got an invitation to keep our New Year'sEve at the house of a decent, elderly couple that lived up near the KittyBrewster Station--quiet, retired folk that had been in business and madeenough to live comfortable on. It was Alick's night for the late mailtrain from Perth, but he would be at Market Street Station in time to getup among us to see the auld year out and the new ane in; and I was tospend the evening there and wait for his arrival. 

"It was a vera happy time. The auld couple were as kind as kind could be, and their twa or three young folks keepit up the fun brisk and lively. I took a hand at the cairts and sang a lilt like the rest; but I wasluiking for Alick's company to fill up my cup of happiness. The time woreon, and it was getting close to the hour at which he might be expectit. Ikenna what ailed me, but I felt strangely uneasy and anxious for hiscoming. 'Here he is at last!' I said to myself, as my heart gave a jump atthe sound of a foot on the gravel walk. As it came closer, I kent it wasnaAlick's step, and a strange, cauld grip of fear and doubt caught me at theheart. Mr. Thomson, that was the name of our old friend, was called out, and I overheard the sound of a whispered conversation in the passage. Thenhe put his head in and called out his wife; I could see his face was aswhite as a sheet, and his voice shook in spite of himself. The boding ofmisfortune came upon me with a force it was in vain to strive against, andI rose up and gaed out into the passage amang them. The auld man wasshakin' like an aspen leaf; the gudewife had her apron ower her face andwas greeting like a bairn, and in the door stood Tarn Farquharson, arailway-porter frae the station. I saw it aa' quicker nor I can tell it toyou, leddy. I steppit up to Tarn and charged him simple and straught. 

"'Tam, what's happent to my Alick?'

"The wet tears stood in Tarn's e'en as he answered, 'Dinna speer, Lizzie, my puir lass, dinna speer, whan the answer maun be a waefu' ane. '

"'Tell me the warst, Tam, ' says I; 'let me hear the warst, an' pit me ooto' my pain!'

"The words are dirlin' and stoonin' in my ears yet--

"'The engine gaed ower him, and he's lyin' dead at Market Street. '

"I didna faint, and I couldna greet. Something gied a crack inside myhead, and my e'en swam for a minute; but the next I was putting on mybonnet and shawl and saying good-nicht to Mrs. Thomson. They tried to stopme. I heard Tam whisper to the auld man, 'She maunna see him. He ismangled oot o' the shape o' man. '

"But I wasna to be gainsaid, and Tam took my airm as we gaed doon throughthe toon to Market Street. There they tried hard to keep him oot frae mysight. They tellt me he wasna fit to be seen, but there's nae law that cankeep a wife frae seeing her husband's corpse. He was lying in awaiting-room covered up with a sheet, and, oh me, he was sair, sairmangled--that puir fellow there is naething to him; but the winsome, manlyface, with the sweet, familiar smile on it, was nane spoiled; and lang, lang, I sat there, us twa alane, with my hand on his cauld forehead, playing wi' his bonnie waving hair. They left me there, in theirconsiderate kindliness, till the cauld light o' the New Year's morningbegan to break, and syne they came and tellt me I maun go. But I wadnagang my lane. He was mine, and mine only, sae lang as he was abune themools; and I claimed my dead hame wi' me, to that hoose he had left saebrisk and sprichtly whan he kissed me in the morning. Four of therailway-porters carried him up to that hame which had lost its hame-lookfor me now. I keepit him to mysel' till they took him awa' frae me andlaid him under a saugh tree in the Spittal Kirkyard. "

She paused in her story, overcome by the bitter memory of the past, and Iwanted no formal application now to give me the clue to her strangepreference for the accident ward and her hitherto inexplicable fondnessfor "railway cases. " Poor thing, with what inexpressible vividness mustthe circumstances in which this New Year's night was passing with her haverecalled the sad remembrances of that other New Year's night the narrativeof which she had just given me! Presently she recovered her voice, andbriefly concluded the little history. 

"Leddy, I was wi' bairn whan my Alick was taken from me. Oh, how I used topray that God would be gude to me, and give me a living keepsake of mydead husband! I troubled naebody. I never speered if my father would doanything for me; but I got work at the factory, and I lived in prayerfulhope. My hour of trouble came, and a fatherless laddie was born into thisweary world, the very picture o' him that was sleeping under the tree inthe Spittal Kirkyard. I needna tell ye I christened him Alick, and thebairn has been my joy and comfort ever since God gifted me with him. Ifound the sichts and memories of Aberdeen ower muckle for me, sae I cameup to London here, and ye ken the rest about me. It was because of beingwith my bairn that I wouldna agree to live in the hospital here like therest of the nurses, and whan I gang hame noo to my little garret, he willwaken up out of his saft sleep, rosy and fresh, and hold up his bonniemou', sae like his father's, for 'mammie's kiss. '"

MY NATIVE SALMON RIVER

None of the greater rivers of Scotland makes so much haste to reach theocean as does the turbulent and impatient Spey. From its parent lochlet inthe bosom of the Grampians it speeds through Badenoch, the country ofCluny MacPherson, the chief of Clan Chattan, a region to this day redolentof memories of the '45. It abates its hurry as its current skirts thegrave of the beautiful Jean Maxwell, Duchess of Gordon, who raised the92nd Highlanders by giving a kiss with the King's shilling to everyrecruit, and who now since many long years

 Sleeps beneath Kinrara's willow. 

But after this salaam of courtesy the river roars and bickers down thelong stretch of shaggy glen which intervenes between the upper and lowerRocks of Craigellachie, whence the Clan Grant, whose habitation is thisruggedly beautiful strath, takes its slogan of "Stand fast, Craigellachie, " till it finally sends its headlong torrent shooting milesout through the salt water of the Moray Firth. In its course of over ahundred miles its fierce current has seldom tarried; yet now and again itspreads panting into a long smooth stretch of still water when weariedmomentarily with buffeting the boulders in its broken and contorted bed;or when a great rock, jutting out into its course, causes a deep blacksullen pool whose sluggish eddy is crested with masses of yellow foam. Merely as a wayfaring pedestrian I have followed Spey from its source toits mouth; but my intimacy with it in the character of a fisherman extendsover the five-and-twenty miles of its lower course, from the confluence ofthe pellucid Avon at Ballindalloch to the bridge of Fochabers, the nativevillage of the Captain Wilson who died so gallantly in the recent fightingin Matabeleland. My first Spey trout I took out of water at the foot ofthe cherry orchard below the sweet-lying cottage of Delfur. My firstgrilse I hooked and played with trout tackle in "Dalmunach" on the Lagganwater, a pool that is the rival of "Dellagyl" and the "Holly Bush" for theproud title of the best pool of lower Spey. My first salmon I brought tothe gaff with a beating heart in that fine swift stretch of water known as"The Dip, " which connects the pools of the "Heathery Isle" and the "RedCraig, " and which is now leased by that good fisherman, Mr. Justice North. I think the Dundurcas water then belonged to the late Mr. Little Gilmour, the well-known welter-weight who went so well to hounds season afterseason from Melton Mowbray, and who was as keen in the water on Spey as hewas over the Leicestershire pastures. A servant of Mr. Little Gilmour wasdrowned in the "Two Stones" pool, the next below the "Holly Bush;" and thenext pool below the "Two Stones" is called the "Beaufort" to this day--named after the present Duke, who took many a big fish out of it in thedays when he used to come to Speyside with his friend Mr. Little Gilmour. 

In those long gone-by days brave old Lord Saltoun, the hero of Hougomont, resided during the fishing season in the mansion-house of Auchinroath, onthe high ground at the mouth of the Glen of Rothes. One morning, somefive-and-forty years ago, my father drove to breakfast with the old lordand took me with him. Not caring to send the horse to the stable, he leftme outside in the dogcart when he entered the house. As I waited rathersulkily--for I was mightily hungry--there came out on to the doorstep avery queer-looking old person, short of figure, round as a ball, his headsunk between very high and rounded shoulders, and with short stumpy legs. He was curiously attired in a whole-coloured suit of gray; a droll-shapedjacket the great collar of which reached far up the back of his head, surmounted a pair of voluminous breeches which suddenly tightened at theknee. I imagined him to be the butler in morning dishabille; and when heaccosted me good-naturedly, asking to whom the dogcart and myselfbelonged, I answered him somewhat shortly and then ingenuously suggestedthat he would be doing me a kindly act if he would go and fetch me out ahunk of bread and meat, for I was enduring tortures of hunger. 

Then he swore, and that with vigour and fluency, that it was a shame thatI should have been left outside; called a groom and bade me alight andcome indoors with him. I demurred--I had got the paternal injunction toremain with the horse and cart. "I am master here!" exclaimed the oldperson impetuously; and with further strong language he expressed hisintention of rating my father soundly for not having brought me insidealong with himself. Then a question occurred to me, and I ventured to ask, "Are you Lord Saltoun?" "Of course I am, " replied the old gentleman; "whothe devil else should I be?" Well, I did not like to avow what I felt, butin truth I was hugely disappointed in him; for I had just been readingSiborne's _Waterloo_, and to think that this dumpy old fellow in theduffle jacket that came up over his ears was the valiant hero who had heldHougomont through cannon fire and musketry fire and hand-to-hand bayonetfighting on the day of Waterloo while the post he was defending wasablaze, and who had actually killed Frenchmen with his own good sword, wasa severe disenchantment. When I had breakfasted he asked leave of myfather to let me go with him to the waterside, promising to send me homesafely later in the day. When he was in Spey up to the armpits--for the"Holly Bush" takes deep wading from the Dundurcas side--the old lordlooked even droller than he had done on the Auchinroath doorstep, and Icould not reconcile him in the least to my Hougomont ideal. He wasdelighted when I opened on him with that topic, and he told me with greatspirit of the vehemence with which his brother-officer Colonel Macdonnell, and his men forced the French soldiers out of the Hougomont courtyard, andhow big Sergeant Graham closed the door against them by main force ofmuscular strength. Before he had been in the water twenty minutes the oldlord was in a fish; his gillie, old Dallas, who could throw a fine line inspite of the whisky, gaffed it scientifically, and I was sent homerejoicing with a 15 lb. Salmon for my mother and a half-sovereign formyself wherewith to buy a trouting rod and reel. Lord Saltoun was thefirst lord I ever met, and I have never known one since whom I have likedhalf so well. 

Spey is a river which insists on being distinctive. She mistrusts thestranger. He may be a good man on Tweed or Tay, but until he has beenformally introduced to Spey and been admitted to her acquaintance, she ischary in according him her favours. She is no flighty coquette, nor is shea prude; but she has her demure reserves, and he who would stand well withher must ever treat her with consideration and respect. She is not asthose facile demi-mondaine streams, such as the Helmsdale or the Conon, which let themselves be entreated successfully by the chance comer on thefirst jaunty appeal. You must learn the ways of Spey before you canprevail with her, and her ways are not the ways of other rivers. It was invain that the veteran chief of southern fishermen, the late FrancisFrancis, threw his line over Spey in the _veni, vidi, vici_ manner of onewho had made Usk and Wye his potsherd, and who over the Hampshire Avon hadcast his shoe. Russel, the famous editor of the _Scotsman_, the Delane ofthe north country, who, pen in hand, could make a Lord Advocate squirm, and before whose gibe provosts and bailies trembled, who had drawn outleviathan with a hook from Tweed, and before whom the big fish of Forthcould not stand--even he, brilliant fisherman as he was, could "come naespeed ava" on Spey, as the old Arndilly water-gillie quaintly worded it. 

Yet Russel of the _Scotsman_ was perhaps the most whole-souled salmonfisher of his own or any other period. His piscatorial aspirationsextended beyond the grave. Who that heard it can ever forget theperoration, slightly profane perhaps, but entirely enthusiastic, of hisspeech on salmon fishing at a Tweedside dinner? "When I die, " he exclaimedin a fine rapture, "should I go to heaven, I will fish in the water oflife with a fly dressed with a feather from the wing of an angel; should Ibe unfortunately consigned to another destination, I shall neverthelesshope to angle in Styx with the worm that never dieth. " To his editorialsuccessor Spey was a trifle more gracious than she had been to Russel; butshe did not wholly open her heart to this neophyte of her stream, servinghim up in the pool of Dellagyl with the ugliest, blackest, gauntest oldcock-salmon of her depths, owning a snout like the prow of an ancientgalley. 

Spey exacts from those who would fish her waters with success a peculiarand distinctive method of throwing their line, which is known as the "Speycast. " In vain has Major Treherne illustrated the successive phases of the"Spey cast" in the fishing volume of the admirable Badminton series. Itcannot be learned by diagrams; no man, indeed, can become a proficient init who has not grown up from childhood in the practice of it. Yet its useis absolutely indispensable to the salmon angler on the Spey. Rocks, trees, high banks, and other impediments forbid resort to the overheadcast. The essence and value of the Spey cast lies in this--that his linemust never go behind the caster; well done, the cast is like the dart froma howitzer's mouth of a safety rocket to which a line is attached. Towatch it performed, strongly yet easily, by a skilled hand is a liberaleducation in the art of casting; the swiftness, sureness, low trajectory, and lightness of the fall of the line, shot out by a dexterous swish ofthe lifting and propelling power of the strong yet supple rod, illustratea phase at once beautiful and practical of the poetry of motion. Among thenative salmon fishermen of Speyside, _quorum ego parva pars fui, _ thereare two distinct manners which may be severally distinguished as the easystyle and the masterful style. The disciples of the easy style throw afairly long line, but their aim is not to cover a maximum distance. Whatthey pride themselves on is precise, dexterous, and, above all, light andsmooth casting. No fierce switchings of the rod reveal their approachbefore they are in sight; like the clergyman of Pollok's _Course of Time_they love to draw rather than to drive. Of the masterful style the mostbrilliant exponent is a short man, but he is the deepest wader in Spey. Ibelieve his waders fasten, not round his waist, but round his neck. I haveseen him in a pool, far beyond his depth, but "treading water" whilesimultaneously wielding a rod about four times the length of himself, andsending his line whizzing an extraordinary distance. The resolution of hisattack seems actually to hypnotise salmon into taking his fly; and, oncehooked, however hard they may fight for life, they are doomed fish. 

Ah me! These be gaudy, flaunting, flashy days! Our sober Spey, in thematter of salmon fly-hooks, is gradually yielding to the garish influenceof the times. Spey salmon now begin to allow themselves to be captured bysuch indecorous and revolutionary fly-hooks as the "Canary" and the"Silver Doctor. " Jaunty men in loud suits of dittoes have come into thenorth country, and display fly-books that vie in the variegated brilliancyof their contents with a Dutch tulip bed. We staunch adherents to thetraditional Spey blacks and browns, we who have bred Spey cocks for thesake of their feathers, and have sworn through good report and throughevil report by the pig's down or Berlin wool for body, the Spey cock forhackle, and the mallard drake for wings, have jeered at the kaleidoscopicfantasticality of the leaves of their fly-books turned over by adventurersfrom the south country and Ireland; and have sneered at the notion that aself-respecting Spey salmon would so far demoralise himself as to beallured by a miniature presentation of Liberty's shop-window. But thesalmon has not regarded the matter from our conservative point of view;and now we, too, ruefully resort to the "canary" as a dropper whenconditions of atmosphere and water seem to favour that gaudy implement. And it must be owned that even before the "twopence-coloured" gentry cameamong us from distant parts, we, the natives, had been side-tracking fromthe exclusive use of the old-fashioned sombre flies into the occasionaluse of gayer yet still modest "fancies. " Of specific Spey hooks in favourat the present time the following is, perhaps, a fairly correct andcomprehensive list: purple king, green king, black king, silver heron, gold heron, black dog, silver riach, gold riach, black heron, silvergreen, gold green, Lady Caroline, carron, black fancy, silver spale, goldspale, culdrain, dallas, silver thumbie, Sebastopol, Lady Florence March, gold purpie, and gled (deadly in "snawbree"). The Spey cock--a crossbetween the Hamburg cock and the old Scottish mottled hen--was fifty yearsago bred all along Speyside expressly for its feathers, used in dressingsalmon flies; but the breed is all but extinct now, or rather, perhaps, has been crossed and re-crossed out of recognition. It is said, however, to be still maintained in the parish of Advie, and when the late Mr. Basshad the Tulchan shootings and fishings his head keeper used to breed andsell Spey cocks. 

Probably the most extensive collection of salmon fly-hooks ever made wasthat which belonged to the late Mr. Henry Grant of Elchies, a property onwhich is some of the best water in all the run of Spey. His father was adistinguished Indian civil servant and of later fame as an astronomer; andhis elder brother, Mr. Grant of Carron, was one of the best fishermen thatever played a big fish in the pool of Dellagyl. Henry Grant himself hadbeen a keen fisherman in his youth, and when, after a chequered and rovinglife in South Africa and elsewhere, he came into the estate, he sethimself to build up a representative collection of salmon flies for allwaters and all seasons. His father had brought home a large and curiousassortment of feathers from the Himalayas; Mr. Grant sent far and wide forfurther supplies of suitable and distinctive material, and then he devotedhimself to the task of dressing hundred after hundred of fly-hooks ofevery known pattern and of every size, from the great three-inch hook forheavy spring water to the dainty little "finnock" hook scarcely largerthan a trout fly. A suitable receptacle was constructed for thiscollection from the timber of the "Auld Gean Tree of Elchies"--the largestof its kind in all Scotland--whose trunk had a diameter of nearly fourfeet and whose branches had a spread of over twenty yards. The "Auld GeanTree" fell into its dotage and was cut down to the strains of a "lament, "with which the wail and skirl of the bagpipes drowned the noise of thewoodmen's axes. Out of the wood of the "Auld Gean Tree" a local artificerconstructed a handsome cabinet with many drawers, in which were stored theElchies collection of fly-hooks classified carefully according to theirsizes and kinds. The cabinet stood--and, I suppose, still stands--in theElchies billiard-room; but I fear the collection is sadly diminished, forHenry Grant was the freest-handed of men and towards the end of his lifeanybody who chose was welcome to help himself from the contents of thedrawers. Yet no doubt some relics of this fine collection must stillremain; and I hope for his own sake that Mr. Justice A. L. Smith thepresent tenant of Elchies, is free of poor Henry's cabinet. 

It is a popular delusion that Speyside men are immortal; this is true onlyof distillers. But it is a fact that their longevity is phenomenal. If Dr. Ogle had to make up the population returns of Strath Spey he could notfail to be profoundly astonished by the comparative blankness of themortality columns. Frederick the Great, when his fellows were ratherhanging back in the crisis of a battle, stung them with the biting taunt, "Do you wish to live for ever?" If his descendant of the present day wereto address the same question to the seniors of Speyside, they wouldprobably reply, "Your Majesty, we ken that we canna live for ever; but, faith, we mak' a gey guid attempt!" A respected relative of mine died afew years ago at the age of eighty-five. Had he been a Southron, he wouldhave been said to have died full of years; but of my relative the localpaper remarked in a touching obituary notice that he "was cut offprematurely in the midst of his mature prime. " When I was young, Speysidemen mostly shuffled off this mortal coil by being upset from their gigswhen driving home recklessly from market with "the maut abune the meal;"but the railways have done away in great measure with this cause of death. Nowadays the centenarians for the most part fall ultimate victims toparalysis. In the south it is understood, I believe, that the third shockis fatal; but a Speyside man will resist half a dozen shocks before hesuccumbs, and has been known to walk to the kirk after having endured evena greater number of attacks. 

Among the senior veterans of our riverside I may venture to name two mostworthy men and fine salmon fishers. Although both have now wound in theirreels and unspliced their rods, one of them still lives among us hale andhearty. "Jamie" Shanks of Craigellachie is, perhaps, the father of thewater. He himself is reticent as to his age and there are legends on thesubject which lack authentication. It is, however, a matter of traditionthat Jamie was out in the '45; and that, cannily returning home whenCharles Edward turned back at Derby, he earned the price of a croft byshowing the Duke of Cumberland the ford across Spey near the presentbridge of Fochabers, by which the "butcher duke" crossed the river on hismarch to fight the battle of Culloden. It is also traditioned that Jamiedanced round a bonfire in celebration of the marriage of "bonnie Jean, "Duchess of Gordon, an event which occurred in 1767. Apart from the DarkAges one thing is certain regarding Jamie, that the great flood of 1829swept away his croft and cottage, he himself so narrowly escaping that heleft his watch hanging on the bed-post, watch and bed-post beingsubsequently recovered floating about in the Moray Firth. The greatesthonour that can be conferred on a fisherman--the Victoria Cross of theriver--has long belonged to Jamie; a pool in Spey bears his name, and manya fine salmon has been taken out of "Jamie Shanks's Pool, " the swirlingwater of which is almost at the good old man's feet as he shifts the "coo"on his strip of pasture or watches the gooseberries swelling in his prettygarden. His fame has long ago gone throughout all Speyside for skill inthe use of the gaff: about eight years ago I was witness of the calm, swift dexterity with which he gaffed what I believe was his last fish. Inthe serene evening of his long day he still finds pleasant occupation indressing salmon flies; and if you speak him fair and he is in good humour"Jamie" may let you have half a dozen as a great favour. 

The other veteran of our river of whom I would say something was that mostworthy man and fine salmon fisher Mr. Charles Grant, the ex-schoolmasterof Aberlour, better known among us who loved and honoured the fine oldHighland gentleman as "Charlie" Grant. Charlie no longer lives; but to thelast he was hale, relished his modest dram, and delighted in his quiet yetgraphic manner to tell of men and things of Speyside familiar to himduring his long life by the riverside. Charles Grant was the first personwho ever rented salmon water on Spey. It was about 1838 that he took alease from the Fife trustees of the fishing on the right bank from theburn of Aberlour to the burn of Carron, about four miles of as good wateras there is in all the run of Spey. This water would to-day be cheaplyrented at £250 per annum; the annual rent paid by Charles Grant was twoguineas. A few years later a lease was granted by the Fife trustees of theperiod of the grouse shootings of Benrinnes, the wide moorlands of theparishes of Glass, Mortlach, and Aberlour, including Glenmarkie the bestmoor in the county, at a rent of £100 a year with four miles of salmonwater on Spey thrown in. The letting value of these moors and of thiswater is to-day certainly not less than £1500 a year. 

Charles Grant had a great and well-deserved reputation for finding a fishin water which other men had fished blank. This was partly because fromlong familiarity with the river he knew all the likeliest casts; partlybecause he was sure to have at the end of his casting-line just the properfly for the size of water and condition of weather; and partly because ofhis quiet neat-handed manner of dropping his line on the water. There is astory still current on Speyside illustrative of this gift of Charlie infinding a fish where people who rather fancied themselves had failed--astory which Jamie Shanks to this day does not care to hear. Mr. Russel ofthe _Scotsman_ had done his very best from the quick run at the top of thepool of Dalbreck, down to the almost dead-still water at the bottom ofthat fine stretch, and had found no luck. Jamie Shanks, who was with Mr. Russel as his fisherman, had gone over it to no purpose with a fresh fly. They were grumpishly discussing whether they should give Dalbreck anotherturn or go on to Pool-o-Brock the next pool down stream, when CharlesGrant made his appearance and asked the waterside question, "What luck?""No luck at all, Charlie!" was Russel's answer. "Deevil a rise!" wasShanks's sourer reply. In his demure purring way Charles Grant--who in hismanner was a duplicate of the late Lord Granville--remarked, "There oughtto be a fish come out of that pool. " "Tak' him out, then!" exclaimedShanks gruffly. "Well, I'll try, " quoth the soft-spoken Charlie; and justat that spot, about forty yards from the head of the pool, where thecurrent slackens and the fish lie awhile before breasting the upper rapid, he hooked a fish. Then it was that Russel in the genial manner which madeprovosts swear, remarked, "Shanks, I advise you to take a half year at Mr. Grant's school!" "Fat for?" inquired Shanks sullenly. "To learn to fish!"replied the master of sarcasm of the delicate Scottish variety. 

Respectful by nature to their superiors, the honest working folk ofSpeyside occasionally forget themselves comically in their passionateardour that a hooked salmon shall be brought to bank. Lord Elgin, now inhis Indian satrapy, far away from what Sir Noel Paton in his fine elegy onthe late Sir Alexander Gordon Cumming of Altyre called

 The rushing thunder of the Spey, one day hooked a big fish in the "run" below "Polmet". The fish headedswiftly down stream, his lordship in eager pursuit, but afraid of puttingany strain on the line lest the salmon should "break" him. Down round thebend below the pool and by the "Slabs" fish and fisherman sped, till thelatter was brought up by the sheer rock of Craigellachie. Fortunately afisherman ferried the Earl across the river to the side on which he wasable to follow the fish. On he ran, keeping up with the fish, under thebridge, along the margin of "Shanks's Pool, " past the "Boat of Fiddoch"pool and the mouth of the tributary; and he was still on the run along theedge of the croft beyond when he was suddenly confronted by an aged man, who dropped his turnip hoe and ran eagerly to the side of the youngnobleman. Old Guthrie could give advice from the experience of a couple ofgenerations as poacher, water-gillie, occasional water-bailiff, and fromas extensive and peculiar acquaintance with the river as Sam Wellerpossessed of London public-houses. And this is what he exclaimed: "MaLord, ma Lord, gin ye dinna check him, that fush will tak' ye doun taeSpeymouth--deil, but he'll tow ye oot tae sea! Hing intil him, hing intilhim!" His lordship exerted himself accordingly, but did not secure the oldfellow's approval. "Man! man!" Guthrie yelled, "ye're nae pittin' atwa-ounce strain on him; he's makin' fun o' ye!" The nobleman tried yetharder, yet could not please his relentless critic. "God forgie me, but yecanna fush worth a damn! Come back on the lan', an' gie him the butt wi'pith!" Thus adjured, his lordship acted at last with vigour; the sage, having gaffed the fish, abated his wrath, and, as the salmon was being"wetted, " tendered his respectful apologies. 

In my time there have been three lairds of Arndilly, a beautiful Speysideestate which is margined by several miles of fishing water hardly inferiorto any throughout the long run of the river. Many a man, far away now from"bonnie Arndilly" and the hoarse murmur of the river's roll over itsrugged bed, recalls in wistful recollection the swift yet smooth flow of"the Dip;" the thundering rush of Spey against the "Red Craig, " in thedeep, strong water at the foot of which the big red fish leap like troutwhen the mellowness of the autumn is tinting into glow of russet andcrimson the trees which hang on the steep bank above; the smooth restfulglide into the long oily reach of the "Lady's How, " in which a fishermanmay spend to advantage the livelong day and then not leave it fished out;the turbulent half pool, half stream, of the "Piles, " which always holdslarge fish lying behind the great stones or in the dead water under thedaisy-sprinkled bank on which the tall beeches cast their shadows; the"Bulwark Pool;" the "Three Stones, " where the grilse show their silversides in the late May evenings; "Gilmour's" and "Carnegie's, " the latternow, alas! spoiled by gravel; the quaintly named "Tam Mear's Crook" andthe "Spout o' Cobblepot;" and then the dark, sullen swirls of "Sourdon, "the deepest pool of Spey. 

The earliest of the three Arndilly lairds of my time was the Colonel, ahandsome, generous man of the old school, who was as good over HighLeicestershire as he was over his own moors and on his own water, and who, while still in the prime of life, died of cholera abroad. Good in thesaddle and with the salmon rod, the Colonel was perhaps best behind a gun, with which he was not less deadly among the salmon of the Spey than amongthe grouse of Benaigen. His relative, old Lord Saltoun, was hard put to itonce in the "Lady's How" with a thirty-pound salmon which he had hookedfoul, and which, in its full vigour, was taking all manner of libertieswith him, making spring after spring clean out of the water. The beast wasso rebellious and strong that the old lord found it harder to contend withthan with the Frenchmen who fought so stoutly with him for the possessionof Hougomont. The Colonel, fowling-piece in hand, was watching thestruggle, and seeing that Lord Saltoun was getting the worst of it awaitedhis opportunity when the big salmon's tail was in the air after a spring, and, firing in the nick of time, cut the fish's spine just above the tail, hardly marking it elsewhere. The Colonel occasionally fished the riverwith cross-lines, which are still legal although their use is nowconsidered rather the "Whitechapel game. " He resorted to the cross-lines, not in greed for fish but for the sake of the shooting practice theyafforded him. When the hooked fish were struggling and in their strugglesshowing their tails out of water, he several times shot two right and leftbreaking the spine in each case close to the tail. 

The Colonel was succeeded by his brother, who had been a planter inJamaica before coming to the estate on the death of his brother. Hardlywas he home when he contested the county unsuccessfully on the oldnever-say-die Protectionist platform against the father of the presentDuke of Fife; on the first polling-day of which contest I acquired a blackeye and a bloody nose in the market square of a local village at the handsof some gutter lads, with whose demand that I should take the Tory rosetteout of my bonnet I had declined to comply. Later, this gentleman became anassiduous fisher of men as a lay preacher, but he was as keen after salmonas he was after sinners. He hooked and played--and gaffed--the largestsalmon I have ever heard of being caught in Spey by an angler--a fishweighing forty-six pounds. The actual present laird of Arndilly is a lady, but in her son are perpetuated the fishing instincts of his forbears. 

My reminiscences of Spey and Speyside are drawing to an end, and I nowwith natural diffidence approach a great theme. Every Speyside man willrecognise from this exordium that I am about to treat of "Geordie. " It isquite understood throughout lower Speyside that it is the moral supportwhich Geordie accords to Craigellachie Bridge, in the immediate vicinityof which he lives, that chiefly maintains that structure; and that if hewere to withdraw that support, its towers and roadway would incontinentlycollapse into the depths of the sullen pool spanned by the gracefulerection. The best of men are not universally popular, and it must be saidthat there are those who cast on Geordie the aspersion of being "somethrawn, " for which the equivalent in south-country language is perhaps "atrifle cross-grained. " These, however, are envious people, who are jealousof Geordie's habitual association with lords and dukes, and who resent thetrivial stiffness which is no doubt apparent in his manner to ordinarypeople for the first few days after the illustrious persons referred tohave reluctantly permitted him to withdraw from them the light of hiscountenance. For my own part I have found Geordie, all things considered, to be wonderfully affable. That his tone is patronising I do not deny; butthen there is surely a joy in being patronised by the factotum of a duke. 

I have never been quite sure, nor have I ever dared to ask Geordie, whether he considers the Duke to be his patron, or whether he regardshimself as the patron of that eminent nobleman. From the "aucht-and-fortydaugh" of Strathbogie to the Catholic Braes of Glenlivat where fifty yearsago the "sma' stills" reeked in every moorland hollow, across to beautifulKinrara and down Spey to the fertile Braes of Enzie, his Grace is thebenevolent despot of a thriving tenantry who have good cause to regard himwith esteem and gratitude. The Duke is a masterful man, whom no factorneed attempt to lead by the nose; but on the margin of Spey, from theblush-red crags of Cairntie down to the head of tide water, he owns hiscenturion in Geordie, who taught him to throw his first line when alreadyhe was a minister of the Crown, and who, as regards aught appertaining tosalmon fishing, saith unto his Grace, Do this and he doeth it. 

Geordie is a loyal subject, and when a few years ago he had theopportunity of seeing Her Majesty during her momentary halt at Elginstation, he paid her the compliment of describing her as a "sonsie wife. "But the heart-loyalty of the honest fellow goes out in all its tender yetimperious fulness towards the Castle family, to most of the members ofwhich, of both sexes, he has taught the science and practice of killingsalmon. Hint the faintest shadow of disparagement of any member of thatnoble and worthy house, and you make a life enemy of Geordie. On no othersubject is he particularly touchy, save one--the gameness and vigour ofthe salmon of Spey. Make light of the fighting virtues of Spey fish--exaltabove them the horn of the salmon of Tay, Ness, or Tweed--and Geordieloses his temper on the instant and overwhelms you with the strongestlanguage. There is a tradition that among Geordie's remote forbears wasone of Cromwell's Ironsides who on the march from Aberdeen to Invernessfell in love with a Speyside lass of the period, and who, abandoning hisIronside appellation of "Hew-Agag-in-Pieces, " adopted the surname whichGeordie now bears. This strain of ancestry may account for Geordie'ssmooth yet peremptory skill as a disciplinarian. It devolves upon himduring the rod-fishing season to assign to each person of the fishingcontingent his or her particular stretch of water, and to tell off to eachas guide one of his assistant attendants. 

It is a great treat to find Geordie in a garrulous humour and to listen toone of his salmon-fishing stories, told always in the broadest ofnorth-country Doric. His sense of humour is singularly keen, notwithstanding that he is a Scot; and it is not in his nature to minimisehis own share in the honour and glory of the incident he may relate. Oneof Geordie's stories is vividly in my recollection, and may appropriatelyconclude my reminiscences of Speyside and its folk. There was a stoup of"Benrinnes" on the mantelpiece and a free-drawing pipe in Geordie's mouth. His subject was the one on which he can be most eloquent--an incident ofthe salmon-fishing season, on which the worthy man delivered himself asfollows:--

"Twa or three seasons back I was attendin' Leddy Carline whan she wasfushin' that gran' pool at the brig o' Fochabers. She's a fine fusher, Leddy Carline: faith, she may weel be, for I taucht her mysel'. She hookita saumon aboot the midst o' the pool, an' for a while it gied gran' sport;loupin' and tumblin', an' dartin' up the watter an' doon the watter at sica speed as keepit her leddyship muvin' gey fast tae keep abriesht o't. Weel, this kin' o' wark, an' a ticht line, began for tae tak' the spunkoot o' the saumon, an' I was thinkin' it was a quieston o' a few meenitswhan I wad be in him wi' the gaff; but my birkie, near han' spent thoughhe was, had a canny bit dodge up the sleeve o' him. He made a bit whamlin'run, an' deil tak' me gin he didna jam himself intil a neuk atween twarocks, an' there the dour beggar bade an' sulkit. Weel, her leddyshipkeepit aye a steady drag on him, an' she gied him the butt wi' power; butshe cudna get the beast tae budge--no, nae sae muckle as the breadth o' mythoomb-nail. Deil a word said Leddy Carline tae me for a gey while, as shevrought an' vrought tae gar the saumon quit his neuk. But she cam naespeed wi' him; an' at last she says, says she, 'Geordie, I can makenothing of him: what in the world is to be done?' 'Gie him a shairp upwardyark, my leddy, ' says I; 'there canna be muckle strength o' resistanceleft in him by this time!' Weel, she did as I tellt her--I will say thisfor Leddy Carline, that she's aye biddable. But, rugg her hardest, thefush stuck i' the neuk as gin he waur a bit o' the solid rock, an' herleddyship was becomin' gey an' exhaustit. 'Take the rod yourself, Geordie, ' says she, 'and try what you can do; I freely own the fish is toomany for me. ' Weel, I gruppit the rod, an' I gied a shairp, steady, upwarddrag; an' up the brute cam, clean spent. He hadna been sulkin' aifter aa';he had been fairly wedged atween the twa rocks, for whan I landit him, loan' behold! he was bleedin' like a pig, an' there was a muckle gash i' theside o' him, that the rock had torn whan I draggit him by main force upan' oot. The taikle was stoot, ye'll obsairve, or else he be tae haebroken me; but tak' my word for't, Geordie is no the man for tae lippentae feckless taikle. 

"Weel, I hear maist things; an' I was tellt that same nicht hoo at thedenner-table Leddy Carline relatit the haill adventur', an' owned, fat wastrue aneuch, that the fush had fairly bestit her. Weel, amo' the veesitorsat the Castle was the Dowager Leddy Breadanham; an' it seemed that whanLeddy Carline was through wi' her narrateeve, the dowager be tae gie akin' o' a scornfu' sniff an' cock her neb i' the air; an' she said, whabut she, that she didna hae muckle opingin o' Leddy Carline as a saumonfisher, an' that she hersel' didna believe there was a fush in the run o'Spey that she cudna get the maistery ower. That was a gey big word, min'ye; it's langidge I wadna venture for tae make use o' mysel', forbye asouth-countra dowager. 

"Weel, I didna say muckle; but, my faith, like the sailor's paurot, Ithoucht a deevil o' a lot. The honour o' Spey was in my hauns, an' itbehuvit me for tae hummle the pride o' her dowager leddyship. The morn'smornin' cam, an' by that time I had decided on my plan o' operautions. Byguid luck I fand the dowager takin' her stroll afore brakfast i' thefloor-gairden. I ups till her, maks my boo, an' says I, unco canny an'respectfu', 'My leddy, ye'll likely be for the watter the day?' She saidshe was, so says I, 'Weel, my leddy, I'll be prood for tae gae wi' yemysel', an' I'll no fail tae reserve for ye as guid water as there is inthe run o' Spey!' She was quite agreeable, an' so we sattlit it. 

"The Duke himsel' was oot on the lawn whan I was despatchin' the itherfushin' folk, ilk ane wi' his or her fisherman kerryin' the rod. 'Geordie, ' said his Grace, 'with whom will you be going yourself?' 'Wi'the Dowager Leddy Breadanham, yer Grace!' says I. 'And where do you thinkof taking her ladyship, Geordie?' speers he. 'N'odd, yer Grace, ' says I, 'I am sattlin in my min' for tae tak' the leddy tae the "Brig o'Fochabers" pool;' an' wi' that I gied a kin' o' a respectfu' half-wink. The Duke was no' the kin' o' man for tae wink back, for though he's ayegrawcious, he's aye dignifeed; but there was a bit flichter o' humourroun' his mou' whan he said, says he, 'I think that will do very well, Geordie!'

"Praesently me an' her leddyship startit for the 'Brig o' Fochabers' pool. She cud be vera affauble whan she likit, I'll say that muckle for thedowager; an' me an' her newsed quite couthie-like as we traivellt. Isaftened tae her some, I frankly own; but than my hert hardent again whanI thoucht o' the duty I owed tae Spey an' tae Leddy Carline. Of coorsethere was a chance that my scheme wad miscairry; but there's no a man onSpey frae Tulchan tae the Tug Net that kens the natur' o' saumon betternor mysel'. They're like sheep--fat ane daes, the tithers will dae; an'gin the dowager hookit a fush, I hadna muckle doobt fat that fush wad dae. The dowager didna keep me vera lang in suspense. I had only chyngt her flyance, an' she had maist fushed doon the pool a secont time, whan in theripple o' watter at the head o' the draw abune the rapid a fush took her'Riach' wi' a greedy sook, an' the line was rinnin' oot as gin there hadbeen a racehorse at the far end o't, the saumon careerin' up the pool likea flash in the clear watter. The dowager was as fu' o' life as was thefush. Odd, but she kent brawly hoo tae deal wi' her saumon--that I willsay for her! There was nae need for me tae bide closs by the side o' aleddy that had boastit there was na a fush in Spey she cudna maister, saeI clamb up the bank, sat doun on ma doup on a bit hillock, an' took theleeberty o' lichtin' ma pipe. Losh! but that dowager spanged up an' dounthe waterside among the stanes aifter that game an' lively fush; an'troth, but she was as souple wi' her airms as wi' her legs; for, rinnin'an' loupin' an' spangin' as she was, she aye managed for tae keep her lineticht. It was a dooms het day, an' there wasna a ruffle o' breeze; sae naedoobt the fush was takin' as muckle oot o' her as she was takin' oot o'the fush. In aboot ten meenits there happent juist fat I had expectit. Thefush made a sidelins shoot, an' dairted intil the vera crevice occupeed byLeddy Carline's fush the day afore. 'Noo for the fun!' thinks I, as I satstill an' smokit calmly. She was certently a perseverin' wummun, thatdowager--there was nae device she didna try wi' that saumon tae force himoot o' the cleft. Aifter aboot ten meenits mair o' this wark, she shot atme ower her shouther the obsairve, 'Isn't it an obstinate wretch?' 'Aye, 'says I pawkily, 'he's gey dour; but he's only a Spey fush, an' of coorseye'll maister him afore ye've dune wi' him!' I'm thinkin' she unnerstudethe insinivation, for she uttert deil anither word, but yokit tee againfell spitefu' tae rug an' yark at the sulkin' fush. At last, tae mak alang story short, she was fairly dune. 'Geordie, ' says she waikly, 'thebeast has quite worn me out! I'm fit to melt--there is no strength left inme; here, come and take the rod!' Weel, I deleeberately raise, poocht mapipe, an' gaed doun aside her. 'My leddy, ' says I, quite solemn, an'luikin' her straucht i' the face--haudin' her wi' my ee, like--'I hae beentellt fat yer leddyship said yestreen, that there wasna a saumon in Speyye cudna maister. Noo, I speer this at yer leddyship--respectfu' butdireck; div ye admit yersel clean bestit--fairly lickit wi' that fush, Spey fush though it be? Answer me that, my leddy!' 'I do own myselfbeaten, ' says she, 'and I retract my words. ' 'Say nae mair, yerleddyship!' says I--for I'm no a cruel man--'say nae mair, but maybe ye'llhae the justice for tae say a word tae the same effeck in the Castle whaurye spak yestreen?' 'I promise you I will, ' said the dowager--'here, takethe rod!' Weel, it was no sae muckle a fush as was Leddy Carline's. I hadit oot in a few meenits, an' by that time the dowager was sae far revivedthat she was able to bring it in aboot tae the gaff; an' sae, in thehinner end, she in a sense maistert the fush aifter aa'. But I'm thinkin'she will be gey cautious in the futur' aboot belittlin' the smeddum o'Spey saumon!"

THE CAWNPORE OF TO-DAY

The traveller up the country from Calcutta does not speedily reach placesthe names of which vividly recall the episodes of the great Mutiny. It isa chance if, as the train passes Dinapore, he remembers the defection ofthe Sepoy brigade stationed there which Koer Singh seduced from itsallegiance. Arrah may possibly recall a dim memory of Wake's splendiddefence of Boyle's bungalow and of Vincent Eyre's dashingly executedrelief of the indomitable garrison. Benares is a little off the main line--Benares, on the parade ground of which Neill first put down thatperemptory foot of his, where Olpherts was so quick with those guns ofhis, and where Jim Ellicott did his grim work with noose and cross-beamuntil long after the going down of the summer sun. But when thetraveller's eye first rests on the gray ramparts of Akbar's hoary fortressin the angle where the Ganges and the Jumna meet and blend one withanother, the reality of the Mutiny begins to impress itself upon him. Allahabad was the scene of a terrible tragedy; it was also the point ofdeparture whence Havelock set forward on Cawnpore with his column, notindeed of rescue, but of retribution. The journey from Allahabad toCawnpore, although perchance performed in the night, is not one to beslept through by any student of the story of the great rebellion. TheIndian moon pours her flood of light on the little knoll hard byFuttehpore, where Havelock stood when Jwala Pershad's first round shotcame lobbing, through his staff in among the camp kettles of the 64th. That village beyond the mango tope is Futtehpore itself, whence the rebelsowars swept headlong down the trunk road till Maude's guns gave them theword to halt. The pools are dry now through which, when Hamilton's voicehad rung out the order--"Forward, at the double!" the light company of theRoss-shire Buffs splashed recklessly past the abandoned Sepoy guns, intheir race with the grenadier company of the 64th that had for its goalthe Pandy barricade outside the village. In that cluster of mud huts--itsname is Aoong--the gallant Rénaud fell with a shattered thigh, as he ledhis "Lambs" up to the _épaulement_ which covered its front. One fight aday is fair allowance anywhere, but those fellows whom Havelock led weregluttons for fighting. Spanning that deep rugged nullah there, down whichthe Pandoo flows turbulently in the rainy season, is the bridge acrosswhich in the afternoon of the morning of Aoong, Stephenson with hisFusiliers dashed into the Sepoy battery and bayoneted the gunners beforethey could make up their minds to run away. And it was in the gray morningfollowing the day of that double battle (the 15th of July) that theGeneral, having heard for the first time that there were still alive inCawnpore a number of women and children who had escaped the massacre ofthe boats, told his men what he knew. "With God's help, " shouted Havelock, with a break in his voice that was like a sob, as he stood with his hatoff and his hand on his sword--"with God's help, men, we will save them, or every man die in the attempt!" One answer came back in a great cheer;but a sadder answer to the aspiration, a bitter truth that made thataspiration futile and hopeless, had lain ever since the evening of the daybefore in the Beebeegur, and almost as the chief was speaking the Well wasreceiving its dead inmates. Where the train begins to slacken its pace onapproaching the station, it is passing over the field of the first--thecreditable--battle of Cawnpore. Fresh from the butchery Nana Sahib(Dhoondoo Punth) himself had come out to aid in the last stand against theavengers. Yonder is the mango tope which formed the screen for Hamilton'sturning movement. It needs little imagination to recall the scene. Closeby, at the cross-roads, stands the Sepoy battery, and those horsemen stillnearer are reconnoitring sowars. Beyond the road the Highlanders aredeploying on the plain as they clear the sheltering flank of the mangotrees, amidst a grim silence broken only by the crash of the burstingshells and the cries of the bullock-drivers as the guns rattle on to openfire from the reverse flank. The flush rises in Hamilton's face and theeyes of him begin to sparkle, as he shouts "Ross-shire Buffs, wheel intoline!" and then "Forward!" Quick as lightning the trails of the Sepoy gunsare swung round and shot and shell come crashing through the ranks, whilethe rebel infantry, with a swiftness which speaks well for their Britishdrill, show a front against this inroad on their flank. In silent grimimperturbability the Highland line stalks steadily on with the longspringy step to be learned only on the heather. Now they are within eightyyards of the muzzles of the guns, and they can see the colour of themustaches of the men plying and supporting them. Then Hamilton, with hissword in the air and his face all ablaze with the fighting blood in him, turns round in the saddle, shouts "Charge!" and bids the pipers to strikeup. Wild and shrill bursts over that Indian plain the rude notes of theNorthern music. But louder yet, drowning them and the roll of theartillery, rings out that Highland war-cry that has so often presagedvictory to British arms. The Ross-shire men are in and over the guns erethe gunners have time to drop their lint-stocks and ramming-rods; theyfall with bayonets at the charge upon the supporting infantry, and thesupporting infantry go down where they huddle together, lacking theopportunity to break and run away in time. But the battle rages all day, and the white soldiers, as they fight their way slowly forward, hear thebursts of military music that greet the Nana as he moves from place toplace, _not_ in the immediate front. Barrow and his handful of cavalryvolunteers crash into the thick of them with the informal order to hismen, "Give point, lads; damn cuts and guards. " Young Havelock, mounted bythe side of the gallant and ill-fated Stirling trudging forward on foot, brings the 64th on at the double against the great 24-pounder on theCawnpore road that is vomiting grape at point-blank range. The night fallsand the battle ceases, but among the wearied fighting men there is none ofthe elation of victory; for through the ranks, after the going down of thesun, had throbbed the bruit, originating no one knew where, that the womenand children in Cawnpore had been butchered on the afternoon of the daybefore, while Stephenson and his Fusiliers were carrying the bridge of thePandoo Nuddee. 

The railway station of Cawnpore is distant more than a mile from thecantonment. Close to the road and not far from the station, the explorereasily finds the massive pile of the "Savada House, " now allotted asresidences for railway officials. English children play now in thecorridors once thronged by the minions of the Nana, for here were hisheadquarters during part of the siege. Its verandas all day long were fullof ministers, diviners, courtiers, and creatures. Here strolled thesupple, panther-like Azimoolah, the self-asserted favourite of homesociety in the pre-Mutiny days. Teeka Sing, the Nana's war minister, hadhis "bureau" in a tent under the peepul tree there. In that other clump oftrees, where an ayah is tickling a white baby into laughter, was thepavilion of the Nana himself, who inherited the Mahratta preference forcanvas over bricks and mortar. And here, while the crackle of the musketryfire and the din of the big guns came softened on the ear by distance, satthe adopted son of the Peishwa while Jwala Pershad came for orders aboutthe cavalry, and Bala Rao, his brother, explained his devices forharassing the sahibs, and Tantia Topee, Hoolass Sing, Azimoolah, and theNana himself devised the scheme of the treachery. But the Savada House haseven a more lurid interest than this. Hither the women and children whoman unkind fate had spared from dying with the men were brought back fromthe Ghaut of Slaughter. You may see the two rooms into which 125unfortunates were huddled after that march from before the presence of onedeath into the presence of another. As they plodded past the intrenchmentso long held, and across the plain to the Nana's pavilion, "I saw, " says aspectator, "that many of the ladies were wounded. Their clothes had bloodupon them. Two were badly hurt and had their heads bound up withhandkerchiefs; some were wet, covered with mud and blood, and some hadtheir dresses torn; but all had clothes. I saw one or two children withoutclothes. There were no men in the party, but only some boys of twelve orthirteen. Some of the ladies were barefoot. " Hither, too, were sent laterthe women of that detachment of the garrison which had got off from theghaut in the boat defended by Vibart, Ashe, Delafosse, Bolton, Moore, andThomson, and which had been captured at Nuzzufghur by Baboo Ram Bux. Ithad been for those people a turbulent departure from the Suttee ChowraGhaut, but it was a yet more fearful returning. "They were brought back, "testified a spy; "sixty sahibs, twenty-five memsahibs, and four children. The Nana ordered the sahibs to be separated from the memsahibs, and shotby the 1st Bengal Native Infantry. . . . 'Then, ' said one of the memsahibs, 'I will not leave my husband. If he must die I will die with him. ' So sheran and sat down behind her husband, clasping him round the waist. Directly she said this, the other memsahibs said, 'We also will die withour husbands, ' and they all sat down each by her husband. Then theirhusbands said, 'Go back, ' and they would not. Whereupon the Nana orderedhis soldiers, and they went in, pulling them forcibly away. " . . . 

The drive from the railway station to the European cantonments is pleasantand shaded. At a bend in the road there comes into view a broad, flat, treeless parade ground. This plain lies within a circle of foliage, abovewhich, on the south-eastern side, rise the balconies and flat tops of along range of barracks built in detached blocks, while around the rest ofthe circle the trees shade the bungalows of the cantonment. Near thecentre of this level space there is an irregular enclosure defined by ashallow sunk wall and low quickset hedge, and in the middle of thisenclosure rises the ornate and not wholly satisfactory structure known asthe "Memorial Church. " It is built on the site of the old dragoonhospital, which was the very focus of the agony of the siege. It isimpossible to analyse the mingled emotions of amazement, pride, pity, wrath, and sorrow which fill the visitor to this shrine of British valour, endurance, and constancy. The heart swells and the eyes fill as one, standing here with all the arena of the heroism lying under one's eyes, recalls the episodes of the glorious, piteous story. The blood stirs whenone remembers the buoyant valour of the gallant Moore, who, "wherever hepassed, left men something more courageous and women something lessunhappy, " the reckless audacity of Ashe, the cool daring of Delafosse, thedeadly rifle of Stirling, the heroic devotion of Jervis. And a great lumpgrows in the throat when one bethinks him of the beautiful constancy andfearful sufferings of the women; of British ladies going barefoot andgiving up their stockings as cases for grape-shot; of Mrs. Moore'sjourneys across to No. 2 Barrack; of the hapless gentlewomen, "unshod, unkempt, ragged, and squalid, haggard and emaciated, parched with drought, and faint with hunger, sitting waiting to hear that they were widows. " Andwhat a place it was which the garrison had to defend! Not a foot of allthe space bomb-proof, an apology for an intrenchment such as "an activecow might jump over. " The imagination has to do much work here, for mostof the landmarks are gone. The outline of the world-famous earthwork isalmost wholly obliterated; only in places is it to be dimly recognised bybrick-discoloured lines, and a low raised line on the smooth _maidan_. Theenclosure now existing has no reference to the outlines of theintrenchment. That enclosure merely surrounds the graveyard, in the midstof which stands the "Memorial Church, " a structure that cannot becommended from an architectural point of view. But the space enclosedaround its gaunt red walls is pregnant with painful interest. We comefirst on a railed-in memorial tomb, bearing an inscription in raisedletters, on a cross let into the tessellated pavement: "In three graveswithin this enclosure lie the remains of Major Edward Vibart, 2nd BengalCavalry, and about seventy officers and soldiers, who, after escaping fromthe massacre at Cawnpore on the 27th June 1857, were captured by therebels at Sheorapore, and murdered on the 1st July. " The inmates of thesegraves were originally buried elsewhere, and were removed hither when theenclosure was formed. In another part of the enclosure is a raised tomb, the slab of which bears the inscription: "This stone marks a spot whichlay within Wheeler's intrenchment, and covers the remains and is sacred tothe memory of those who were the first to meet their death whenbeleaguered by mutineers and rebels in June 1857. " Two only lie in thisgrave, Mr. Murphy and a lady who died of fever. These two perished on thefirst day of the siege and had the exclusive privilege of being decentlyinterred within the precincts of the intrenchment. After the first day ofthe siege there was scant leisure for funeral rites. To find the lastresting-place of the remaining dead of this siege, we must quit theenclosure and walk across the _maidan_ to a spot among the trees by theroadside under the shadow of No. 4 Barrack. There was an empty well herewhen the siege begun; three weeks after, when the siege ended, this wellcontained the bodies of 250 British people. With daylight the battle ragedaround that sepulchre, but when the night came the slain of the day wereborne thither with stealthy step and scant attendance. Now the well isfilled up, and above it, inside a small ornamental enclosure formed byiron railings, there rises a monument which bears the followinginscription: "In a well under this enclosure were laid by the hands oftheir fellows in suffering the bodies of men, women, and children, whodied hard by during the heroic defence of Wheeler's intrenchment whenbeleaguered by the rebel Nana. " Below the inscription is this appositequotation from Psalm cxli. 7: "Our bones are scattered at the grave'smouth, as when one cutteth and cleaveth wood upon the earth. But mine eyesare unto Thee, O God the Lord. " At the corners of the flower-plot aresmall crosses bearing individual names. One commemorates Sir GeorgeParker, the cantonment magistrate; a second, Captain Jenkins; a third, Lieutenant Saunders and the men of the 84th Regiment; a fourth, LieutenantGlanville and the men of the Madras Fusiliers; and here, too, liesstout-hearted yet tender-hearted John MacKillop of the Civil Service thehero of another well, that from which the team of buffaloes are nowdrawing water to make the mortar for the Memorial Church. Thence wasprocured the water for the garrison and it was a target also for the rebelartillery, so that the appearance of a man with a pitcher by day and bynight the creaking of the tackle, was the signal for a shower of grape. But John MacKillop, "not being a fighting-man, " made himself useful as hemodestly put it, for a week as captain of the Well, till a grape-shot senthim to that other well thence never to return. 

The Memorial Church is in the form of a cross, and now that it has beenfinished is not destitute of beauty as regards its interior. Perhaps it isin place, but the noblest monument that could commemorate Cawnpore wouldhave been the maintenance, for the wonder of the world unto all time, ofthe intrenchment and what it surrounded, as nearly as possible in thecondition in which they were left on the evacuation of the garrison. Thegrandest monument in the world is the Residency of Lucknow, which remainsand is kept up substantially in the condition in which it was left whenSir Colin Campbell brought out its garrison in November 1857; and theCawnpore intrenchment would have been a still nobler memorial as theabiding testimony to a defence even more wonderful, although unfortunatelyunsuccessful, than that of Lucknow. But the Memorial Church of Cawnporewill always be interesting by reason of its site and of the memorialtablets on the walls of its interior. In the left transept is a tablet "Tothe memory of the Engineers of the East Indian Railway, who died and werekilled in the great insurrection of 1857; erected in affectionateremembrance by their brother Engineers in the North-West Provinces. " Onthe left side of the nave are several tablets. One is to the memory ofpoor young John Nicklen Martin, killed in the battle at Suttee ChowraGhaut. Another commemorates three officers, two sergeants, two corporals, a drummer, and twenty privates of the 34th Regiment, killed at the(second) Battle of Cawnpore on the 28th November 1857; the day on whichthe Gwalior Contingent, seduced into rebellion by Tantia Topee, madeitself so unpleasant to General Windham, the "Cawnpore Runners, " and otherregiments of that officer's command. A third tablet is "To the memory ofA. G. Chalwin, 2nd Light Cavalry, and his wife Louisa, who both perishedduring the siege of Cawnpore in July 1857. These are they which came outof great tribulation. " A fourth commemorates Captain Gordon and LieutenantHensley, of the 82nd Foot, also victims of the Gwalior Contingent. In theright of the nave there is a tablet "Sacred to the memory of Philip HayesJackson, who, with Jane, his wife, and her brother Ralf Blyth Croker, weremassacred by rebels at Cawnpore on 27th June. " Another is to LieutenantAngelo, of the 16th Grenadiers Bengal Native Infantry, who also fell inthe boat massacre; and a third is to the memory of the gallant StuartBeatson, who was Havelock's adjutant-general, and who, dying as he was ofcholera, did his work at Pandoo Nuddee and Cawnpore in a _dhoolie_. In theright transept are tablets in memory of the officers of the ConnaughtRangers, and of the officers and men of the 32nd Cornwall Regiment "whofell in defence of Lucknow and Cawnpore and subsequent campaign"--fourteenofficers and 448 "women and men. " And here, too, is perhaps the mostaffecting memorial of any--a tablet "In memory of Mrs. Moore, Mrs. Wainwright, Miss Wainwright, Mrs. Hill, forty-three soldiers' wives andfifty-five children, murdered in Cawnpore in 1857. "

It is easy enough now to follow the footsteps of Mrs. Moore, dangerous aswas that journey of hers, from the intrenchment to the corner of No. 2Barrack, which she was wont to make when her husband went on duty there tostrengthen the hands of Mowbray Thomson. There is no trace now and thevery memory of its whereabouts is lost, of the bamboo hut in a shelteredcorner which the garrison of this exposed post built for the bravegentlewoman. But No. 2 Barrack, except that it is finished and tenanted, stands now very much as it did when Glanville first, and when he fell thenMowbray Thomson, defended with a success which seems so wonderful when welook at the place defended and its situation. The garrison was not alwaysthe same. "My sixteen men, " writes Thomson, "consisted in the firstinstance of Ensign Henderson of the 56th Native Infantry, five or six ofthe Madras Fusiliers, two plate-layers, and some men of the 84th. Thefirst instalment was soon disabled. The Madras Fusiliers were all shot attheir posts. Several of the 84th also fell, but in consequence of theimportance of the position, as soon as a loss in my little corps wasreported, Captain Moore sent us over a reinforcement from theintrenchment. Sometimes a soldier, sometimes a civilian, came. The ordersgiven us were not to surrender with our lives, and we did our best to obeythem. " And in a line with No. 2 Barrack is No. 4 Barrack, held with equalstanchness by a party of Civil Engineers who had been employed on the EastIndian Railroad, and who had for their commander Captain Jenkins. Seven ofthe engineers perished in defence of this post. 

There is nothing more to see on the _maidan_, and one feels his angerrising at the obliteration of everything that might help towards thelocalisation of associations. Let us leave the scene of the defence andfollow the track of the defenders as they marched down to the scene of thegreat treachery. The distance from the intrenchment to the ghaut is barelya mile. Think of that stirrup-cup--that _doch an dhorras_--of cold water, in which the hapless band pledged one another. The noble Moore cheerilyleads the way down the slope to the bridge with the white rails with anadvance guard of a handful of his 32nd men. The palanquins with the women, the children, and the wounded follow, the latter bandaged up with stripsof women's gowns and petticoats, and fragments of shirt-sleeves. And thencome the fighting-men--a gallant, ragged, indomitable band. A martinetcolonel would stand aghast--for save a regimental button here and there, he would find it hard to recognise the gaunt, hairy, sun-scorched squadfor British soldiers. But let who might incline to disown these fewwar-worn men in their dirty flannel rags and fragmentary nankeen breeches, their foes know them for what they are, and make way for the white sahibswith no dressing indeed in their ranks, but each man with his rifle on hisshoulder, the deadly revolver in his belt, and the fearless glance in thehollow eye. The wooden bridge with the white rails spans at right angles arough irregular glen which widens out as it approaches the river, somethree hundred yards distant from the bridge. It is a mere footpath thatleaves the road on the hither side of the bridge, and skirting the dry bedof the nullah touches the river close to the old temple. By this footpathit was that our countrymen and countrywomen passed down to the cruelambush which had been laid for them in the mouth of the glen. There arefew to whom the details of that fell scene are not familiar. What acontrast between the turmoil and devilry of it and the serene calmness ofthe all but solitude the ghaut now presents! On the knolls of the fartherside snug bungalows nestle among the trees, under the veranda of one ofwhich a lady is playing with her children. The village of Suttee Chowra onthe bluff on the left of the ghaut, where Tantia Topee's sepoys wereconcealed, no longer exists; a pretty bungalow and its compound occupy itssite. The little temple on the water's edge by the ghaut is slowlymouldering into decay; on the plaster of the coping of its river wall youmay still see the marks of the treacherous bullets. The stair which, builtagainst its wall, led down to the water's edge, has disappeared. TantiaTopee's dispositions for the perpetration of the treachery could not nowsucceed, for the Ganges has changed its course and there is deep waterclose in shore at the ghaut. In the stream nearest to the Oude side theriver has cast up a long narrow dearah island, in the fertile mud of whichmelons are cultivated where once whistled the shot from the guns on theOude side of the river. A Brahmin priest is placidly sunning himself onthe river platform of the temple over the dome of which hangs the foliageof a peepul tree. A dhobie is washing the shirts of a sahib in the streamthat once was dyed with the blood of the sahibs. There is no monumenthere, no superfluous reminder of the terrible tragedy. The man is not tobe envied whose eyes are dry, and whose heart beats its normal pulsations, while he stands here alone on this spot so densely peopled by associationsat once so tragic and so glorious. 

The scene of the final massacre lies some distance higher up the river. Aswe cross the Ganges canal, the native city lying on our left, there risesup before us the rich mass of foliage that forms the outer screen of thebeautiful Memorial Gardens. The hue of the greenery would be sombre butfor the blossoms which relieve it, emblem of the divine hope whichmitigated the gloom of despair for our countrywomen who perished socruelly in this balefully historic spot. Of the Beebeeghur, the term bywhich among the natives is known the bungalow where the massacre wasperpetrated, not one stone now remains on another but neither its memorynor its name will be lost for all time. Natives are strolling in the shadyflower-bordered walks of the Memorial Gardens, the prohibition which longdebarred their entrance having been wisely removed. In the centre of thegarden rises, fringed with cypresses, a low mound, the summit of which iscrowned by a circular screen, or border, of light and beautiful open-workarchitecture. The circular space enclosed is sunken, and from the centreof this sunken space there rises a pedestal on which stands the marblepresentment of an angel. There is no need to explain what episode in thetragic story this monument commemorates; the inscription round the capitalof the pedestal tells its tale succinctly indeed, but the words burn. "Sacred, " it runs, "to the perpetual memory of the great company ofChristian people, chiefly women and children, who near this spot werecruelly massacred by the followers of the rebel, Nana Doondoo Punth ofBlithoor; and cast, the dying with the dead, into the well below, on the15th day of July 1857. " A few paces to the north-west of the monument isthe spot where stood the bungalow in which the massacre was done; and now, where the sight they saw maddened our countrymen long ago to a frenzy ofrevenge, there bloom roses and violets. And a step farther on, in athicket of arbor vitae trees and cypresses, is the Memorial Churchyard, with its many nameless mounds, for here were buried not a few who diedduring the long occupation of Cawnpore, and in the combats around it. Herethere is a monument to Thornhill, the Judge of Futtehghur, Mary his wife, and their two children, who perished in the massacre. Thornhill was one ofthe males brought out from the bungalow and shot earlier in the afternoonthan when the women's time came. Another monument bears this inscription:"Sacred to the memory of the women and children of the 32nd, this monumentis raised by twenty men of the same regiment, who were passing throughCawnpore, 21st Nov. 1857. " And among the tombstones are those of gallantDouglas Campbell of the 78th, Woodford of the 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade, and Young of the 4th Bengal Native Infantry. 

BISMARCK

BEFORE AND DURING THE FRANCO-GERMAN WAR

The ex-Chancellor of the German Empire owed nothing of his unique careerto adventitious advantages. Otto von Bismarck-Schoenhausen, who for morethan a generation was the most prominent and most powerful personality ofEurope, was essentially a self-made man. He was a younger son of a cadetfamily of a knightly and ancient but somewhat decayed house, ranking amongthe lesser nobility of the Alt Mark of Brandenburg. The square solidmansion in which he was born, embowered among its trees in the regionbetween the Elbe and the Havel, might be taken by an Englishman for thecountry residence of a Norfolk or Somersetshire squire of moderatefortune. But memories cling around the massive old family place ofSchoenhausen, such as can belong to no English residence of equal date. Inthe library door of the Brandenburg mansion are seen to this day threedeep fissures made by the bayonet points of French soldiers fresh from thebattlefield of Jena, who in their brutal lawlessness pursued the young andbeautiful chatelaine of the house and strove to crush in the door whichthe fugitive had locked behind her. The lady thus terrified and outragedwas the mother of Bismarck; and the story told him in boyhood of his lovedmother's narrow escape from worse than death, and of his father's havingto conceal her in the depth of the adjoining forest, may well haveinspired their son with the ill-feeling against the French nation which henever cared to disguise. 

The Bismarcks had been fighting men from time immemorial, and thecombatant nature of the great scion of their race displayed itself infrequent duels during his university career at Göttingen. In the series ofsome eight-and-twenty duels in which he engaged during his first threeterms, he was wounded but twice--once in the leg and again on the cheek, the mark of which latter wound he bears to this day. At one time he seemsto have all but decided to embrace the military career but for familyreasons he became a country gentleman, and if Europe had remainedundisturbed by revolution he might have lived and died a bucolic squire, "Dyke Captain" of his district, with a seat in the Provincial Diet, aliking for history and philosophy, a propensity to rowdyism and drinkingbouts of champagne and porter, and a character which defined itself in hislocal appellation of "Mad Bismarck. " _Dis aliter visum_. The Revolution of1848 swept over Europe and Bismarck rallied to the support of hissovereign. When in 1851 the young Landwehr lieutenant was sent toFrankfort by that sovereign as the representative of Prussia in the GermanDiet, he carried with him a reputation for unflinching devotion to theCrown, for a conservatism which had been styled not only "mediaeval" but"antediluvian, " and for startling originality in his views as well asfearlessness in expressing them. The latter attribute he displayed when, in reply to a remark of a French diplomat on a question of policy, "_Cettepolitique va vous conduire à Jena_, " Bismarck significantly retorted, "_Pourquoi pas à Leipsic ou à Waterloo?_" During his tenure of office atFrankfort his conviction steadfastly strengthened that Prussia couldbecome a great nation only by shaking herself free from the Austriansupremacy in Germany. "It is my conviction, " he placed on record in adespatch soon after the Crimean War, "that at no distant time we shallhave to fight with Austria for our very existence;" and he was yet moreemphatic when he wrote just before leaving Frankfort to take up his newposition as German Ambassador to Russia in the beginning of 1859: "Irecognise in our relations with the Bund a certain weakness affectingPrussia, which, sooner or later, we shall have to cure _ferro et igni_"--with fire and sword--words which embodied the first distinct enunciationof that policy of "blood and iron" which was destined ultimately to bringabout the unification of Germany. His disgust was so strong that Prussiadid not assert herself against Austria in 1858 when the latter's handswere full in Italy, that his continued presence at Frankfort wasconsidered unadvisable. He remained "in ice"--to use his own expression--at St. Petersburg until early in 1862; and in September of that year, after a few months of service as Prussian Ambassador at Paris, he wasappointed by King Wilhelm to the high and onerous post ofMinister-President with the portfolio of Foreign Secretary. It was thenthat his great career as a European statesman really began. 

The impression is all but universal that King Wilhelm throughout theeventful years which followed was but the figure-head of the ship at thehelm of which stood Bismarck, strong, shrewd, subtle, cynical, andunscrupulous. This conception I believe to be utterly wrong. I holdWilhelm to have been the virtual maker of the united Germany and thecreator of the German Empire; and that the accomplishment of both thoseobjects, the former leading up to the latter, was already quietly in hismind long before he mounted the throne. I consider him to have possessedthe shrewdest insight into character. I believe him to have been quiteunscrupulous, when once he had brought himself to cross the threshold of aline of action. I discern in him this curious, although not very rare, phase of character, that although resolutely bent on a purpose he was aptto be irresolute and even reluctant in bringing himself to consent tomeasures whereby that purpose was to be accomplished. He was that apparentcontradiction in terms, a bold hesitator; he habitually needed, and knewthat he needed, to have his hand apparently forced for the achievement ofthe end he was most bent upon. He knew full well that his aspirationscould be fulfilled only at the bayonet point; and recognising the defectsof the army, he had while still Regent set himself energetically to thetask of making Prussia the greatest military power of Europe. He it waswho had put into the hands of Prussian soldiers the weapon that wonKöniggrätz. With his clear eye for the right man he had found Moltke andplaced the premier strategist of his day at the head of the General Staff. Roon he picked out as if by intuition from comparative obscurity, andassigned to him the work of preparing and carrying out that scheme of armyreform which all continental Europe has copied. 

And then, constant in the furtherance of his purposes, Wilhelmdeliberately invented Bismarck. He had steadfastly taken note of the manwhom he chose to be his minister from the big Landwehr lieutenant's firstcommission to the Frankfort Diet in 1851; probably, indeed, earlier, whenBismarck was a rare but forcible speaker in Frederick Wilhelm's"quasi-Parliament. " In Bismarck Wilhelm saw precisely the man he wanted--the complement of himself; arbitrary as he was, unscrupulous as he was, but bolder and at the same time more wise. Knowing where he himself waslacking, he recognised the man who, when he himself should have theimpulse to balk and hesitate, was of that hardier nature--"grit" theAmericans call it--to take him hard by the head and force him over thefence which all the while he had been longing to be on the other side of. To a monarch of this character Bismarck was simply the ideal guide andsupport--the man to urge him on when hesitating, to restrain him whenover-ardent. Wilhelm had all along thoroughly realised that war withAustria was among the inevitables between him and the accomplishment ofhis aims, and had accepted it as such when it was yet afar off; but whenconfronted full with it his nerve failed him, and Bismarck--engaged amongother things for just such an emergency--had to act as the spur to prickthe side of his master's intent. The spur having done its work Wilhelm washimself again; he really enjoyed Königgrätz and would fain have dictatedpeace to Austria from the Hofburg of Vienna. In his zeal for promotingGerman unity at Prussia's bayonet point he lost his head a little, and onBismarck devolved, in his own words, "the ungrateful duty of diluting thewine of victory with the water of moderation. " One of the beads on thesurface of the former fluid was certainly thus early the Imperial idea;but the time for its fulfilment Bismarck wisely judged not yet ripe. As itapproached four years later, the diary of the Crown Prince depicts withunconscious humour the amusing progress of the "weakening" of Wilhelm'sopposition to the Kaisership; it weakened in good time quite out of thesort of existence it had ever had, and Wilhelm was ready for theKaisership before the Kaisership was ready for him. 

Bismarck as Premier began as he meant to go on, with uncompromisingmasterfulness. The Chamber and the nation might probably have fallen inwillingly with Wilhelm's scheme for the reorganisation and reinforcementof the army, had it been possible to divulge the intent in furtherance ofwhich the increased armament was being created. But since neither monarchnor minister could even hint at the objects in view, the nation was setagainst that increased armament for which it could discern no apparentuse. So the Chamber, session after session, went through the accustomedformula of rejecting the military reorganisation bill as well as themilitary expenditure estimates. "No surrender" was the steadfast motto ofBismarck and his royal master. The constitution, such as it was, in effectwas suspended. The Upper House voted everything it was asked to vote;loans were duly effected, the revenues were collected and the militarydisbursements were made, right in the teeth of the popular will and theveto of the representatives of the nation. Bismarck became the best-hatedman in Prussia. He was compared to Catiline and Strafford; he wasthreatened with impeachment; the House and the nation clamoured to theKing for his dismissal and for the sovereign's return to the path ofconstitutional government. 

But the long "conflict-time" was drawing near its close, and the triumphof the monarch and his minister over the constitution was approaching. Thepolicy of doing political evil that national advantage might come was, foronce at least, to stand vindicated. War with Austria as the outcome ofBismarck's astute if unscrupulous statecraft was imminent when the hostileparliament was dissolved; and a general election took place amidst thefervid outburst of enthusiasm which the earlier victories of the Prussianarms in the "Seven Weeks' War" stirred throughout the nation. The prospectof war had been unpopular in the extreme, but the tidings of the firstsuccess kindled the flame of patriotism. Bismarck lost for ever the titleof the "best-hated man in Prussia" in the loud volume of the enthusiasticgreetings of the populace, and on the day of Münchengrätz and SkalitzPrussia now rejoiced to put her stubborn neck under the great minister'sfoot. 

The mingled truculence and tortuousness of the diplomacy by which Bismarcksapped up to the short but decisive war, the issue of which gave toPrussia the virtual headship of Germany and contributed so greatly towardthe unification of the Fatherland, constitute a striking illustration ofhis methods in statecraft. He was fairly entitled to say, "_Ego quifeci_. " He had achieved his aim in defiance of the nation. The Court threwits weight into the scale against the war; to the Crown Prince the strifewith Austria was notoriously repugnant. The King himself, as the crisisapproached, evinced marked hesitation. How triumphantly the eventvindicated the policy of the great Premier, is a matter of history. He hasfrankly owned that if the decisive battle should have resulted in aPrussian defeat, he had resolved not to survive the shipwreck of his hopesand schemes. And there was a period in the course of the colossal struggleof Königgrätz, when to many men it seemed that the wielders of theneedle-gun were having the worst of the battle. An awful hour forBismarck, conscious of the load of responsibility which he carried. Withgreat effort he could indeed maintain a calm visage, but his heart wasbeating and every pulse of him throbbing. In his torture of suspense hecaught at straws. Moltke asked him for a cigar. As Bismarck handed him hiscigar case he snatched a shred of comfort from the inference that ifmatters were very bad Moltke could hardly care to smoke. But Moltke wasnot only in a frame for tobacco but Bismarck watched with what deliberatecoolness the great strategist inspected and smelt at cigar after cigarbefore making his final selection; and he dared to infer that the man whobest understood the situation was in no perturbation as to the ultimateoutcome. The opportune arrival of the Crown Prince's army on the Austrianright flank decided the business, and that arrival Bismarck was the firstto discern. Lines were dimly visible on the hither slope of the Chlumheights; but they were pronounced to be ploughed ridges. Bismarck closedhis field-glasses with a snap and exclaimed, "No, these are not ploughfurrows; the spaces are not equal; they are marching lines!" And he wasright. 

Eighteen days after the victory of Königgrätz the Prussian hosts were inline on the historic Marchfeld whence the spires of Vienna could be dimlyseen through the heat-haze. The soldiers were eager for the storm of thefamous lines of Florisdorf and King Wilhelm was keen to enter the Austriancapital. But now the practical wisdom of Bismarck stepped in and hisarguments for moderation prevailed. The peace which ended the Seven Weeks'War revolutionised the face of Germany. Austria accepted her utter exilefrom Germany, recognised the dissolution of the old Bund, and consented tonon-participation in the new North German Confederation of which Prussiawas to have the unquestioned military and diplomatic leadership. Prussiaannexed Hanover, Electoral Hesse, Nassau, Sleswig and Holstein, Frankfort-on-Main, and portions of Hesse-Darmstadt and Bavaria. Herterritorial acquisitions amounted to over 6500 square miles with apopulation exceeding 4, 000, 000, and the states with which she had been inconflict paid as war indemnity sums reaching nearly to £10, 000, 000sterling. In a material sense, it had not been a bad seven weeks forPrussia; in a sense other than material, she had profited incalculablymore. She was now, in fact as in name, one of the "Great Powers" ofEurope. The nation realised at length what manner of man this Bismarck wasand what it owed to him. When the inner history of the period comes to bewritten, it will be recognised that at no time of his extraordinary careerdid Bismarck prove himself a greater statesman than during the five daysof armistice in July 1866, when he fought his diplomatic Königgrätz in theCastle of Nikolsburg and assuaged the wounds of the Austrian defeat byterms the moderation of which went far to obliterate the memory of therancour of the recent strife. 

He had been wily enough to secure by vague non-committal half-promises theneutrality of France during the weeks while Prussia was crushing the armedstrength of Austria in Bohemia. But the issue of Königgrätz startledNapoleon and set France in ferment. Bismarck dared to refuse point-blankthe demand which the French Emperor made for the fortress of Mayence, madethough that demand was under threat of war. The Prussian commanders wouldhave liked nothing better than a war with France, and Roon indeed hadwarned for mobilisation 350, 000 soldiers to swell the ranks of the forcesalready in the field; but Bismarck was wise and could wait. He allowedNapoleon to exercise some influence in the negotiations in the characterof a mediator; and to French intervention was owing the stipulation thatthe South German States should be at liberty to form themselves into aSouth German Confederation of which Napoleon hoped to be the patron. ButBismarck was a better diplomatist than Napoleon. While he formed and knittogether the North German Confederation in which Prussia was dominant, hequietly negotiated an alliance offensive and defensive with each of theSouthern States separately. No Southern bund was ever formed, and when theFranco-German War broke out in 1870 Napoleon saw the shipwreck of hisabortive devices in the spectacle of the troops of Bavaria and Würtembergmarching on the Rhine in line with the battalions of Prussia. 

The unity of Germany was not yet; that consummation and the Kaisership--the two greatest triumphs of Bismarck's life--required another and agreater war to bring about their accomplishment. During the intervalbetween 1866 and 1870, while the armed strength of Northern Germany wasbeing quietly but sedulously perfected, Bismarck with dexterous cautionwas smoothing the rough path toward the ultimate unification. He would nothave his hand forced by the enthusiasts for "the consummation of thenational destiny. " "No horseman can afford to be always at a gallop" wasthe figure with which he met the clamourers of the Customs Parliament. Heinvoked the terms of the treaty of Prague against the spokesmen of thePan-German party inveighing vehemently against the policy of delay. He wasstaunch in his conviction that the South for its own safety's sake wouldcome into the union the moment that the North should engage in war. He wasa few weeks out in his reckoning; the Southern States waited until Sedanhad been fought, when the prospect of the spoils of victory was assured;and this measured delay on their part was the best justification ofBismarck's sagacious deliberateness. The negotiations were tedious, but atlength, on the evening of 23rd November 1870 the Convention with Bavariawas signed, and the unity of Germany was an accomplished fact. Buschvividly depicts the great moment:--

The Chief came in from the salon, and sat down at the table. "Now, " heexclaimed excitedly, "the Bavarian business is settled and everything issigned. _We have got our German Unity and our German Emperor_. " There wassilence for a moment. "Bring a bottle of champagne, " said the Chief to aservant, "it is a great occasion. " After musing a little, he remarked, "The Convention has its defects, but it is all the stronger on account ofthem. I count it the most important thing that we have accomplished duringrecent years. "

Notwithstanding that there was still before Bismarck a period of twentyyears of virtual omnipotence, it was in the memorable years of 1870 and1871 that the apostle of blood and iron attained the zenith of hisextraordinary career. Germany was his wash-pot; over France had he casthis shoe. The years of _Sturm und Drang_ were behind him, during which hehad wrought out the military supremacy of Prussia in spite of herself; andin 1870 he had no misgivings as to the ultimate result. So confidentindeed was he that before he crossed the French frontier on the second dayafter the twin victories of Wörth and Spicheren, he had already resolvedon annexing to the Fatherland the old German province of Alsace which hadbeen part of France for a couple of centuries. Bismarck was at his best in1870 in certain attributes; in others he was at his worst, and a bitterbad worst that worst was. He was at his best in clear swift insight, infirm masterful grasp of every phase of every situation, in an instinctiveprescience of events, in lucid dominance over German and European policy. If patriotism consists in earnest efforts to advantage and aggrandiseone's native land _per fas aut nefas_, than Bismarck during theFranco-German War there never was a grander patriot. His hands were clean, he wanted nothing for himself except, curiously enough, the only thingthat his old master was strong enough to deny him, the rank of FieldMarshal when that military distinction was conferred on Moltke. He was athis worst in many respects. He had, or affected, a truculence which wassimply brutal, its savagery intensified rather than mitigated by a bluff, boisterous bonhomie. Jules Favre complained to him that the German cannonin front of Paris fired upon the sick and blind in the Blind Institute, Bismarck in those days of swaggering prosperity had a fine turn ofbadinage. "I don't know what you find so hard in that, " he retorted, "youdo far worse; you shoot at our soldiers who are hale and useful fightingmen. " It is to be hoped that Favre had a sense of humour; he needed it allto relish the grim pleasantry. 

I do not suppose, if he had had a free hand, that Bismarck would haveexhibited the courage of his opinions; but if his sentiments as expressedcount for anything he would fain have seen the methods of warfare in theDark Ages reverted to. "Prisoners! more prisoners!" he once exclaimed atVersailles, after one of Prince Frederick Charles's victories in the Loirecountry--"What the devil do we want with prisoners? Why don't they make abattue of them?" His motto, especially as regarded Francs-tireurs, was "Noquarter, " forgetful of the swarms of free companions and volunteer bandswhose gallant services in Prussia's War of Liberation are commemorated tothis day in song and story. It was told him that among the Frenchprisoners taken at Le Bourget were a number of Francs-tireurs--by the way, they were the volunteers _de la Presse_ and wore a uniform. "That theyshould ever take Francs-tireurs prisoners!" roared Bismarck in disgust. "They ought to have shot them down by files!" Again, when it was reportedthat Garibaldi with his 13, 000 "free companions" had been taken prisoners, the Chancellor exclaimed, "Thirteen thousand Francs-tireurs, who are noteven Frenchmen, made prisoners! Why on earth were they not shot?" And whenhe heard that Voights Rhetz having experienced some resistance from theinhabitants of the open town of Tours, had shelled it into submission, Bismarck waxed wrath because the General had ceased firing when the whiteflag went up. "I would have gone on, " said he, "throwing shells into thetown till they sent me out 400 hostages. " The simple truth is that inspite of his long pedigree and good blood Bismarck was not quite agentleman in our sense of the word; and as this accounts for his ferociousbluster and truculent bloodthirsty utterances when he was in power in thewar time, so it was the keynote to his more recent undignified attitudeand howls of querulous impatience of his altered situation. It must besaid of him, however, that he was a man of cool and undaunted courage. Ihave seen him perfectly impassive under heavy fire. In Bar-le-Duc, inRheims, and over and over again in Versailles, I have met him walkingalone and unarmed through streets thronged with French people whorecognised him by the pictures of him, and who glared and spat and hissedin a cowed, furtive, malign fashion that was ugly to see. 

I vividly remember the first occasion on which I saw Bismarck. It was onthe little tree-shaded _Place_ of St. Johann, the suburb of Saarbrücken, in the early evening of the 8th August, the next day but one after thebattle of the Spicheren. Saarbrücken was full to the door-sills with thewounded of the battle and stretcher-parties were continually tramping tothe "warriors' trench" in the cemetery, carrying to their graves soldierswho had died of their wounds. The Royal Headquarters had arrived a coupleof hours earlier, and I was staring with all my eyes at a fresh-faced, white-haired old gentleman who was sitting in one of the windows ofGuepratt's Hotel and whom I knew from the pictures to be King Wilhelm. Twoofficers in general's undress uniform were walking up and down under thepollarded lime-trees, talking as they walked. Presently from out a houseopposite the hotel there emerged a very tall burly man of singularlyupright carriage and with a certain air of swashbucklerism in his gait. Along cavalry sabre trailed and clanked on the rough pavement as headvanced to join the two sauntering officers under the trees. He wore thelong blue double-breasted frockcoat with yellow cuffs and facings andwhite cap which I knew to be the undress uniform of the BismarckCuirassiers, but he was only partially in undress since the longcuirassier thigh-boots in which he strode were conventionally fulluniform. The wearer of this costume was Bismarck; nor did I ever see himotherwise attired except on four occasions--at the Château Bellevue on themorning after Sedan, in the Galerie des Glaces in the Château ofVersailles on 18th January, in the Place de la Concorde of capitulatedParis, and in the triumphal entry into Berlin; when he appeared in fulluniform. Saluting His Majesty and then the two officers whom I recognisedas Moltke and Roon, he joined the pedestrian couple, taking post betweenthem and joining in their promenade and conversation. We heard his voiceand laugh above the rumble of the waggon wheels on the causeway; the othertwo spoke little--Moltke, as he moved with bent head and hands claspedbehind his back, scarcely anything. 

One would have imagined that those three men, the chief makers of thatempire which was soon to come to the grand but not brilliant old gentlemanin the window-seat, were on the most intimate and cordial terms. Inreality they were jealous of each other with an inconceivable intensity. Bismarck had umbrage with Moltke because the great strategist withheldfrom the great statesman the military information which the latter held heought to share. Moltke has roundly disclosed in his posthumous book hisconviction that Roon's place as Minister of War was at home in Germany, not on campaign, embarrassing the former's functions. Roon envied Moltkebecause of the latter's more elevated military position, and dislikedBismarck because that outspoken man made light of Roon's capacity. I haveknown the headquarter staff of a British army whose members were on badterms one with the other, and the result, to put it mildly, wasunsatisfactory. But those three high functionaries, each with bitternessin his heart against his fellows, nevertheless co-operated earnestly andloyally in the service of their sovereign and for the advantage of theircountry. Their common patriotism had the mastery in them of their mutualhatred and jealousy. Ardt's line: _"Sein Vaterland muss grösser sein!"_was the watchword and inspiration of all three, and dominated theirdiscordancies. 

On the 17th August, the day of comparative quietude intervening betweenthe day of Mars-la-Tour and the day of Gravelotte I was wandering aboutamong the hamlets and farmsteads to the southward of Mars-la-Tour, waitingthe arrival in their appointed bivouacs about Puxieux of my early friendsof the Saxon Army Corps. Since in the battle of the previous day some32, 000 men had fallen killed or wounded within a comparatively small area, it may be imagined--or rather, without having seen the horror of carnageit cannot be imagined--how shambles-like was the aspect of this Aceldama. Scrambling up through the Bois la Dame with intent to obtain a wider viewfrom the plateau above it, I found in a farmyard in the hamlet ofMariaville a number of wounded men under the care of a single and ratherhelpless surgeon. The water supply was very short and I volunteered tocarry some bucketsful from the stream below. The surgeon told me thatamong his patients was Count Herbert Bismarck, the Chancellor's eldestson, who--as was also his younger brother Count "Bill"--was a volunteerprivate in the 2nd Guard Dragoons, and who had been shot in the thigh inthe desperate charge made by that fine regiment to extricate fromannihilation the Westphalian regiments which had suffered so severely nearBruville. A little later I saw Bismarck who had left the King on theFlavigny height, and who was riding about, as I assumed, in quest of hiswounded son's whereabouts. I ventured to inform him on this point and hethanked me with some emotion. He was greatly moved at the meeting with hisson but their interview was short; then he addressed himself to reprovingthe surgeon for not having had the Mariaville poultry killed for the useof the wounded, and presently rode away to order up a supply of water inbarrels. I remember thinking him an exceedingly practical man. 

The English Warwick was styled the "King-maker"; but it was for thePrussian Bismarck to be Emperor-breaker and Emperor-maker within the samesix months. The most wretched morning of Napoleon's life was thatfollowing the fatal day of Sedan, spent in and before the weaver's cottageon the Donchery road with Bismarck by his side, telling him in stern ifcourteous terms that as a prisoner of war his power to exercise theImperial functions had fallen from him. It has been said that "the eggfrom which was hatched the German Empire was laid on the battlefield ofSedan. " But, not to speak of the offer of the Imperial Crown to KingFrederick Wilhelm by the Frankfort Parliament in 1848, Bismarck more thana year before the Austro-Prussian war had spoken to Lord Augustus Loftus, then British Ambassador to Prussia, of his ultimate intention that theKing of Prussia should become the Emperor of an united Germany. The_Kaiserthum_ permeated the air of Northern Germany throughout the yearsfrom 1866 to 1870. But Bismarck had the true statesman's sense of theproper sequence of things. He would move no step toward the Kaisershipuntil German unity was in near and clear sight. Then, and not till then, in spite of the Crown Prince's ardour, was the Imperial project broughtforward, discussed, and finally carried through by Bismarck's tact anddiplomacy. 

On the 18th January 1871, the anniversary of the coronation of the firstking of his house, Wilhelm was proclaimed German Emperor in the Galeriedes Glaces of the Château of Versailles. Behind the grand old monarch onthe dais were ranged the regimental colours which had been borne tovictory at Wörth and the Spicheren, at Mars-la-Tour, Gravelotte, andSedan. On Wilhelm's right was his handsome and princely son; to right andto left stood potentates and princes and the leaders of the hosts ofUnited Germany. Stalwart and square, somewhat apart on the extreme left ofthe great semicircle of which his sovereign was the centre, with a face ofdeadly pallor--for he had risen from a sick-bed--stood Bismarck in fullcuirassier uniform leaning on his great sword, the man of all others whomight that day most truly say, _"Finis Coronat Opus. "_ His strong massivefeatures were calm and self-possessed, yet elevated as it were by someinternal power which drew all eyes to the great immobile figure with theindomitable lineaments instinct with will--force and masterfulness. Afterthe solemn religious service His Majesty in a loud yet broken voiceproclaimed the re-establishment of the German Empire, and that theImperial dignity so revived was vested in him and his descendants for alltime in accordance with the unanimous will of the German people. Bismarckthen stood forward and read in sonorous tones the proclamation which theEmperor addressed to the German nation. As his final words rang throughthe hall the Grand Duke of Baden strode forward and shouted with all hisforce, "Long live the Emperor Wilhelm!" With a tempest of cheering, amidstwaving of swords and of helmets the new title was acclaimed, and theEmperor with streaming tears received the homage of his liegemen. Thefirst on bended knees to kiss his sovereign's hand was the Crown Prince, the second was Bismarck. The band struck up the National Anthem. Louderthan the music, heard above the clamour of the cheering, sounded thethunder of the French cannon from Mont Valérien, the _Ave Caesar_ from thereluctant lips of worsted France. Bismarck, impassive as he seemed, musthave had his emotions as he quitted this scene of triumph for thebanquet-table of the Kaiser of his own making. He knew himself for themost conspicuous man in Europe, the greatest subject in the world. It wasthe proudest day of his life. 

There were many proud days still to occur in his long life. One of thosewas on the occasion of the German entry into Paris during the armisticewhich resulted in peace. The war had been of his making, and he chose towitness with his own eyes the actual triumph of his craft. It was astrange spectacle. There, helmet on head and sword on thigh, he sat in theshadow of the crape-shrouded statue of Strasburg on the Place de laConcorde. About him had gathered a group of extremely sinister French ofthe Belleville type. They had recognised him, and their lurid upwardglances at the massive form on the great war-horse were charged withbaleful meaning. Bismarck once or twice looked down on them with a grimsmile under his moustache. At length the most daring of the "patriots"emitted a tentative hiss. With a little polite wave of his gloved handBismarck bent over his holster and requested "Monsieur" to oblige him witha light for his cigar. The man writhed as he compelled himself to comply. Little doubt that in his heart he wished the lucifer were a dagger andthat he had the courage to use it. 

THE INVERNESS "CHARACTER" FAIR

1873

"_Thursday_. --Gathering, hand-shaking, brandy and soda and drams. 

"_Friday_. --Drinking, dandering, and feeling the way in the forenoon; theordinary in the afternoon; at night a spate of drink and bargaining. 

"_Saturday_. --Bargaining and drink. 

"_Sunday morning_. --Bargains, drink, and the kirk. "

Such was the skeleton programme of the Inverness "Character" Fair given bya farmer friend to me, who happened to be lazily rusticating in the northof Scotland during the pleasant month of July. My friend asked me toaccompany him in his visit to this remarkable institution and theprogramme was too tempting for refusal. As we drove to the station hehanded me Henry Dixon's _Field and Fern_, open at a page which gave someparticulars of the origin and character of the great annual sheep and woolmarket of the north. "Its Character Market, " wrote "The Druid, "--nolonger, alas! among us--"is the great bucolic glory of Inverness. TheFort-William market existed before, but the Sutherland and Caithness men, who sold about 14, 000 sheep and 15, 000 stones of wool annually so far backas 1816, did not care to go there. They dealt with regular customers yearafter year, and roving wool-staplers with no regular connection went aboutand notified their arrival on the church door. Patrick Sellar, 'the agentfor the Sutherland Association, ' saw exactly that some great _caucus_ ofbuyers and sellers was wanted at a more central spot; and on 27th February1817 that meeting of the clans was held at Inverness which brought thefair into being. Huddersfield, Wakefield, Halifax, Burnley, Aberdeen, andElgin signified that their leading merchants were favourable and ready toattend. Sutherland, Caithness, Wester Ross, Skye, the Orkneys, Harris, andLewis were represented at the meeting; Bailie Anderson also 'would statewith confidence that the market was approved of by William Chisholm, Esq. , of Chisholm, and James Laidlaw, tacksman, of Knockfin;' and so the matterwas settled for ever and aye, and the _Courier_ and the _MorningChronicle_ were the London advertising media. This Highland WoolParliament was originally held on the third Thursday in June, but now itbegins on the second Thursday of July and lasts till the Saturday; andArgyllshire, Nairnshire, and High Aberdeenshire have gradually joined in. The plain-stones in front of the Caledonian Hotel have always been thescene of the bargains, which are most truly based on the broad stone ofhonour; not a sheep or fleece is to be seen and the buyer of the yearbefore gets the first offer of the cast or clip. The previous proving andpublic character of the different flocks are the purchasers' guide farmore than the sellers' description. "

Thus far "The Druid"; and my companion as we drove supplemented hisinformation. It is from the circumstance that not a head of sheep or atait of wool is brought to the market but that everything is sold andbought unseen and even unsampled, that the market derives its appellationof "character" fair. Of the value of the business transacted, the amountof money turned over, it is impossible to form with confidence even anapproximate estimate since there is no source for data; but none with whomI spoke put the turnover at a lower figure than half a million. In a goodseason such as the past, over 200, 000 sheep are disposed of exclusive oflambs, and of lambs about the same number. The stock sold from the hillsare for the most part Cheviots and Blackfaces; from the low groundshalf-breds, being a cross between Leicester and Cheviot and crossesbetween the Cheviot and Blackface. All the sales of sheep and lambs are bythe "clad score" which contains twenty-one. The odd one is thrown in tomeet the contingency of deaths before delivery is effected. Establishedwhen there was a long and wearing journey for the flocks from the hillswhere they were reared down to their purchasers in the lowlands or thesouth country, the altered conditions of transit have stimulated farmersto efforts for the abolition of the "clad score. " Now that sheep aretrucked by railway instead of being driven on foot or conveyed from theislands to their destination in steamers specially chartered for thepurpose, the farmers grudge the "one in" of the "clad score. " In 1866 theyseized the opportunity of an exceptionally high market and keencompetition to combine against the old reckoning and in a measuresucceeded. But next year was as dull as '66 had been brisk, and then thebuyers and dealers had their revenge and re-established the "clad score"in all its pristine firmness of position. The sheep-farmers wean theirlambs about the 24th of August and delivery of them is given to the buyersas soon as possible thereafter. The delivery of ewes and wethers is timedby individual arrangement. A large proportion of the old ewes--no ewes aresold but such as are old--go to England where a lamb or two is got fromthem before they are fattened. Most of the lambs are bought bysheep-farmers who, not keeping a ewe flock, are not themselves breeders, and are kept till they are three years old--"three shears" as they aretechnically called--and sold fat into the south country. There they getwhat Mr. M'Combie called the last dip and the butcher sells them as "primefour-year-old wedder mutton. "

The size of some of the Highland sheep farms is to be reckoned by milesnot by acres; and the stock, as in Australia, by the thousand. The largestsheep-owner, perhaps, that the Highlands ever knew was Cameron ofCorrichollie, now dead. He was once examined before a Committee of theHouse of Commons, and came to be questioned on the subject of hisownership of sheep. "You may have some 1500 sheep, probably, sir?" quoththe interrogating M. P. "Aiblins, " was Corrichollie's quiet reply as hetook a pinch of snuff; "aiblins I have a few more nor that. " "Twothousand, then?" "Yes, I pelieve I have that and a few more forpye, "calmly responded the Highlander with another pinch. "Five thousand?" "Oh, ay, and a few more. " "Twenty thousand, sir?" cried the M. P. , capping witha burst his previous bid. "Oh, ay, and some more forpye, " was theimperturbable response. "In Heaven's name how many sheep have you, man?"burst out the astonished catechist. "I'm no very sure to a thousan' ortwo, " replied Corrichollie in his dry laconic way and with an extra bigpinch; "but I'm owner of forty thousan' sheep at the lowest reckoning. "Lochiel, known to the Sassenach as Mr. Cameron, M. P. , is perhaps thelargest living sheep-owner in Scotland. He has at least 30, 000 sheep onhis vast tracks of moorland on the braes of Lochaber. In the Island ofSkye Captain Cameron of Talisker has a flock of some 12, 000; and there areseveral other flocks both in the islands and on the mainland of more thanequal magnitude. Sheep-farming, at least in many instances, is anhereditary avocation, and some families can trace a sheep-farming ancestryvery far back. The oldest sheep-farming family in Scotland are theMackinnons of Corrie in Skye. They have been on Corrie for four hundredyears and they were holding sheep-farms elsewhere even earlier. TheMacraes of Achnagart in Kintail, paid rent to Seaforth for two hundredyears. For as long before they had held Achnagart on the tenure of a bunchof heather exigible annually and their fighting services as good clansmen. Two hundred years ago an annual rental of £5 was substituted for theheather "corve"; the clansmen's service continuing and being rendered uptill the '45. Now clanship is but a name: a Seaforth Mackenzie is nolonger chief in Kintail, and the Macrae who has succeeded his forbears inAchnagart finds the bunch of heather and the £5 alike superseded by thevery far other than nominal rent of £1000. The modern Achnagart with hisbroad shoulders and burly frame, looks as capable as were any of hisancestry to render personal service to his chief if a demand were madeupon him; and very probably would be quite prepared to accept a reductionof his money rental if an obligation to perform feudal clan-service weresubstituted. Achnagart with his £1000 a year rental by no means tops thesheep-farming rentals of his county. Perhaps Robertson of Achiltie, whosesheep-walks stretch up on to the snow-patched shoulders of Ben Wyvis andfar away west to Loch Broom, pays the highest sheep-farming rental inRoss-shire, when the factor has pocketed his half-yearly check for £800. 

Part of this I learn from my friend as we drive to the station; part Igather afterwards from other sources. The station for which we are boundis Elgin, the county town of Morayshire. Between Elgin and Inverness, itis true, we shall see but few of the great sheep-farmers and flock-mastersof the west country, who converge on the annual tryst from other points ofthe compass and by various routes--by the Skye railway, by that portion ofthe Highland line which extends north of Inverness, through Ross intoSutherland, by the Caledonian Canal, etc. But it is promised to me that Ishall see many of the notable agriculturists of Moray land, who go to themarket as buyers; and a contingent of sheep-breeders are sure to join usat Forres, coming down the Highland line from the Inverness-shireHighlands on Upper Strathspey. There is quite an exceptional throng on theplatform of the Elgin station, of farmers, factors, lawyers, andex-coffee-planters--all very plentiful in Elgin; tanners bound forinvestments in prospective pelts; and men of no avocation yet as muchbound to visit Inverness to-day as if they meant to invest thousands. In acorner towers the mighty form of Paterson of Mulben, famous among breedersof polls with his tribe of "Mayflowers. " From beneath a kilt peep out thebrawny limbs of Willie Brown of Linkwood and Morriston, nephew of stoutold Sir George who commanded the light division at the Alma, son to afactor whose word in his day was as the laws of the Medes and Persiansover a wide territory, and himself the feeder of the leviathan cross redox and the beautiful gray heifer which took honours so high at one of therecent Smithfield Christmas Shows. There is the white beard and heartyface of Mr. Collie, late of Ardgay, owner erstwhile of "Fair Maid ofPerth" and breeder of "Zarah. " Here, too, is a fresh, sprightly gentlemanin a kilt whom his companions designate "the Bourach. " Requesting anexplanation of the term I am told that "Bourach" is the Gaelic for"through-other, " which again is the Scottish synonym for a kind of amalgamof addled and harum-scarum. A jolly tanner observes: "I'll get acompartment to oursels. " The reason of the desire for this exclusiveaccommodation is apparent as soon as we start. A "deck" of cards isproduced and a quartette betake themselves to whist with half-crown stakeson the rubber and sixpenny points. This was mild speculation to that whichwas engaged in on the homeward journey after the market, when a Strathspeysheep-farmer won £8 between Dalvey and Forres. As my friends shuffle anddeal, I look out of window at the warm gray towers of the cathedral, beautiful still spite of the desecrating hand of the "Wolf of Badenoch. "Our road lies through the fertile "Laigh of Moray, " one of the richestwheat districts in the Empire and as beautiful as fertile. At Alves wepick up a fresh, hale gentleman, who is described to me as "the laird ofthree properties, " bought for more than £100, 000 by a man who began lifeas the son of a hillside crofter. We pass the picturesque ruins of KinlossAbbey and draw up at Forres station, whose platform is thronged with notedagriculturists bound for the "Character" Fair. Here is that spiritedEnglishman Mr. Harris of Earnhill, whose great cross ox took the cup atthe Agricultural Hall seven or eight years ago; and the brothers Bruce--heof Newton Struthers, whose marvellous polled cow beat everything inBingley Hall at the '71 Christmas Show and but for "foot and mouth" wouldhave repeated the performance at the Smithfield Show; and he of Burnsidewho likewise has stamped his mark pretty deeply in the latter arena. AtForres we first hear Gaelic; for a train from Carr Bridge and Grantown inUpper Strathspey has come down the Highland Railway to join ours, and thered-haired Grants around the Rock of Craigellachie--where a man whose nameis not Grant is regarded as a _lusus naturae_--are Gaelic speakers to aman. No witches accost us, and speaking personally I feel no "pricking ofthe thumbs" as we skirt the blasted heath on which Macbeth met the witches;the most graphic modern description of which on record was given to HenryDixon in the following quaint form of Shakespearean annotation: "It's justa sort of eminence; all firs and ploughed land now; you paid a toll nearit. I'm thinking, it's just a mile wast from Brodie Station. "

Nairn is that town by the citation of a peculiarity of which King Jamieput to shame the boastings of the Southrons as to the superior magnitudeof English towns. "I have a town, " quoth the sapient James, "in my ancientkingdom of Scotland, whilk is sae lang that at ane end of it a differentlanguage is spoken from that whilk prevails at the other. " To this day themonarch's words are true; one end of Nairn is Gaelic, the other Sassenach. Here we obtain a considerable accession of strength. The attributes of onekilted chieftain are described to me in curious scraps of illustrativepatchwork. "A great litigant, an enthusiastic agriculturist, a dealer inHielan' nowt--something of a Hielan' nowt himself, a semi-auctioneer, agreat hand as chairman at an agricultural dinner, a visitor to the BakerStreet Bazaar when the Smithfield Shows were held there and where theCockneys mistook him for one of the exhibits and began pinching andpunching him. " Stewart of Duntalloch swings his stalwart form into ourcarriage--a noted breeder of Highland cattle and as fine a specimen of aHighlander as can be seen from Reay to Pitlochrie. "Culloden! Culloden!"chant the porters in that curious sing-song peculiar to the Scotchplatform porter. The whistle of the engine and the talk about turnips andcattle contrast harshly with that bleak, lonely, moorland swell yonder--the patches of green among the brown heather telling where moulders thedust of the chivalrous clansmen. It is but little longer than a centuryand a quarter ago since Charles Stuart and Cumberland confronted eachother over against us there; and here are the descendants of the men thatfought in their tartans for the "King over the Water, " who are discussingthe right proportion of phosphates in artificial manures and of whom oneasks me confidentially for my opinion on the Leger favourite. 

Here we are at Inverness at length; that city of the Clachnacudden stone. There is quite a crowd in the spacious station of business people who havebeen awaiting the arrival of the train from the east, and the buyers andsellers whom it has conveyed find themselves at once among eager friends. Hurried announcements are made as to the conditions and prospects of themarket. The card-players have plunged suddenly _in medias res_ ofbargaining. The man who had volunteered to stand me a seltzer and sherryhas forgotten all about his offer, and is talking energetically about cladscores and the price of lambs. I quit the station and walk up Union Streetthrough a gradually thickening throng, till I reach Church Street andshoulder my way to the front of the Caledonian Hotel. I am now in "theheart of the market, " standing as I am on the plain-stones in front of theCaledonian Hotel and looking up and down along the crowded street. Whatphysique, what broad shoulders, what stalwart limbs, what wiry red beardsand high cheek-bones there are everywhere! You have the kilt at everyturn, in every tartan, and often in no tartan at all. Other men wearwhole-coloured suits of inconceivably shaggy tweed, and the breadth of thebonnets is only equalled by that of the accents. Every second man has amighty plaid over his shoulder. It may serve as a sample of his wool, forinvariably it is home made. Some carry long twisted crooks such as we seein old pastoral prints; others have massive gnarled sticks grasped in vastsinewy hands on the back of which the wiry red hairs stand out likeprickles. There is falling what in the south we should reckon as a veryrespectable pelt of rain, but the Inverness Wool Fair heeds rain no morethan thistledown. Hardly a man has thought it worth his pains to envelophis shoulders in his plaid, but stands and lets the rain take its chance. There is a perfect babel of tongues; no bawling or shouting, however, buta perpetual gruff _susurrus_ of broad guttural conversation accentuatedevery now and then by a louder exclamation in Gaelic. Quite half of thethrong are discoursing in this language. It is possible to note thedifference in the character of the Celt and Teuton. The formergesticulates, splutters out a perfect torrent of alternately shrill, guttural, and intoned Gaelic; he shrugs his shoulders, he throws his armsabout, he thrills with vivacity. The Teuton expresses quiet, sententiouscanniness in every gesture and every utterance; he is a cold-blooded manand keeps his breath to cool his porridge. 

On the plain-stones there are a number of benches on which men sit down togossip and chaffer. Scraps of dialogue float about in the moist air. Ifyou care to be an eavesdropper you must have a knowledge of Gaelic to beone effectively. "It's to be a stout market, " remarks stalwart Macrae ofInvershiel, come of a fine old West Highland stock and himself a verylarge sheep-farmer. "Sixteen shillings is my price. I'll come down alittle if you like, " says the tenant of Belmaduthy to keen-faced Mr. Mackenzie of Liverpool, one of the largest wool-dealers and sheep-buyersvisiting the market. "You'll petter juist pe coming down to it at once. ""I could not meet you at all. " "I'm afraid I'll pe doing what they'll pelaughing at me for. " "We can't agree at all, " are the words as a coupleseparate, probably to come together again later in the day. "An do reicthu na 'h'uainn fhathast, Coignasgailean?" "Cha neil fios again'm lieilthusa air son tavigse thoirtorra, Cnocnangraisheag?" "Thig gus ain fluichsin ambarfan. " Perhaps I had better translate. Two sheep-farmers are incolloquy, and address each other by the names of their farms, as is allbut universal in the north. Cnocnangraisheag asks Coignasgailean, "Haveyou sold your lambs?" The cautious reply is, "I don't know; are youinclined to give me an offer?" and the proposal ensues, "Come and let ustake a drink on the transaction. " Let us follow the two worthies into theCaledonian. Jostling goes for nothing here and you may shove as much inreason as you choose, taking your chance of reprisals from the sons ofAnak. The lobbies of the Caledonian are full of men drinking andbargaining with books in hand. There is no sitting-room in all the houseand we follow the Cnocnangraisheag and his friend into the billiard-room, where we are promptly served standing. What keenness ofbusiness-discussion mingled with what galore of whisky there iseverywhere! The whisky seems to make no more impression than if it wereginger-beer; and yet it is over-proof Talisker, as my throat and eyes findto their cost when I recklessly attempt to imitate Coignasgailean and takea dram neat. As I pass the bar going out Willie Brown is bawling for sodawith something in it, and Donald Murray of Geanies, one of the ablest menin the north of Scotland, brushes by with quick decisive step. In thedoorway stands the sturdy square-built form of Macdonald of Balranald, thelargest breeder of Highland cattle in the country. Over the heatherypasture-land of North Uist 1500 head and more of horned newt of his rangein half-wild freedom. The Mundells and the Mitchells seem ubiquitous. Theancestors of both families came from England as shepherds when theSutherland clearances were made toward the end of last century, andbetween them they now hold probably the largest acreage--or rathermileage, of sheep-farming territory in all Scotland. 

It is a "very dour market, " that all admit. Everybody is holding back, forit is obvious prices are to be "desperate high" and everybody wants to getthe full benefit of the rise. The predetermination of the Southern dealersto "buy out" freely at big prices had been rashly revealed over-night byone of the fraternity at the after-dinner toddy-symposium in theCaledonian. He had been sedulously plied with drink by "Charlie Mitchell"and some others of the Ross and Sutherland sheep-farmers, till reticencehad departed from his tongue. Ultimately he had leaped on the table, breaking any quantity of glass-ware in the saltatory feat, and hadasserted with free swearing his readiness to give 50s. All round for everythree-year-old wedder in the north of Scotland. His horror-strickenpartners rushed upon him and bundled him downstairs in hot haste, but themurder was out and the "dour market" was accounted for. Fancy 50s. A headfor beasts that do not weigh 60 lb. Apiece as they come off the hill! Nowonder that we townsmen have to pay dear for our mutton. 

I push my way out of the heart of the market to find the outlyingneighbourhood studded all over with conversing groups. There is anall-pervading smell of whisky, and yet I see no man who has "turned ahair" by reason of the strength of the Talisker. A town-crier ringing abell passes me. He halts, and the burden of his cry is, "There is a largesupply of fresh haddies in the market!" The walls are placarded withadvertisements of sheep smearing and dipping substances; the leadingingredients of which appear to be tar and butter. A recruiting sergeant ofthe Scots Fusilier Guards is standing by the Clachnacudden Stone, apparently in some dejection owing to the little business doing in hisline. Men don't come to the "Character" Fair to 'list. It strikes me thatquite three-fourths of the shops of Inverness are devoted to the sale ofarticles of Highland costume. Their fronts are hidden by hangings oftartan cloth; the windows are decked with sporrans, dirks, cairngormplaid-brooches, ram's-head snuff-boxes, bullocks' horns and skean dhus. IfI chose I might enter the emporium of Messrs. Macdougall in my Sassenachgarb and re-emerge in ten minutes outwardly a full-blown Highland chief, from the eagle's feather in my bonnet to the buckles on my brogues. Turning down High Street I reach the quay on the Ness bank, where I findin full blast a horse fair of a very miscellaneous description, andtotally destitute of the features that have earned for the wool market thetitle of "Character" Fair. There are blood colts running chiefly tostomach, splints and bog spavins; ponies with shaggy manes, trim barrels, and clean legs; and slack-jointed cart-horses nearly asleep--for "ginger"is an institution which does not seem to have come so far north asInverness. Business is lively here, the chronic "dourness" of a marketbeing discounted by the scarcity of horseflesh. 

At four o'clock we sit down to the market ordinary in the great room ofthe Caledonian. A member of Parliament occupies the chair, one of thecroupiers is a baronet, the other the chief of the clan Mackintosh. Thereis a great collection of north-country notabilities, and tables upontables of sheep-farmers and sheep-dealers. We have a considerable_cacoethes_ of speech-making, among the orators being Professor Blackie ofEdinburgh, whose quaint comicalities convulse his audience. It is prettylate when the Professor rises to speak, and the whisky has been flowingfree. Some one interjects a whiskyfied interruption into the Professor'sspeech, who at once in stentorian tones orders that the disturber of theharmony of the evening shall be summarily consigned to the lunatic asylum. I see him ejected with something like the force of a stone from a catapultand have no reasonable doubt that he will spend the night an inmate of"Craig Duncan. " The speeches over bargaining recommences moistened bytoddy, which fluid appears to exercise an appreciable softening influenceon the "dourness" of the market. Till long after midnight seasoned vesselsare talking and dealing, booking sales while they sip their tenth tumbler. 

I have to leave on the Saturday morning, but I make no doubt that theskeleton programme given at the beginning of this paper will have itsbones duly clothed with flesh. 

THE WARFARE OF THE FUTURE

At first sight the proposition may appear startling and indeed absurd; yethard facts, I venture to believe, will enforce the conviction onunprejudiced minds that the warfare of the present when contrasted withthe warfare of the past is dilatory, ineffective, and inconclusive. 

Present, or contemporary warfare may be taken to date from the generaladoption of rifled firearms; the warfare of the past may fairly be limitedfor purposes of comparison or contrast, to the smooth-bore era; indeed, for those purposes there is no need to go outside the present century. Roughly speaking the first five and a half decades of the century weresmooth-bore decades; the three and a half later decades have been rifleddecades, of which about two and a half decades constitute thebreechloading period. Considering the extraordinary advances since the endof the smooth-bore era in everything tending to promote celerity anddecisiveness in the result of campaigns--the revolution in swiftness ofshooting and length of range of firearms, the development in the scienceof gunnery, the increased devotion to military study, the vast additionsto the military strength of the nations, looking to the facilities forrapid conveyance of troops and transportation of supplies afforded byrailways and steam water-carriage, to the intensified artillery fire thatcan now be brought to bear on fortresses, to the manifold advantagesafforded by the electric telegraph, and to the crushing cost of warfare, urging vigorous exertions toward the speedy decision of campaigns--reviewing, I say, the thousand and one circumstances encouraging to short, sharp, and decisive action in contemporary warfare, it is a strange andbewildering fact that the wars of the smooth-bore era were for the mostpart, shorter, sharper, and more decisive. Spite of inferiority of weaponsthe battles of that period were bloodier than those of the present, and itis a mathematically demonstrable proposition that the heavier theslaughter of combatants the nearer must be the end of a war. There is nopursuit now after victory won and the vanquished draws off shaken but notbroken; in the smooth-bore era a vigorous pursuit scattered him to thefour winds. When Wellington in the Peninsula wanted a fortress and beingin a hurry could not wait the result of a formal siege or a starvationblockade, he carried it by storm. No fortress is ever stormed now, nomatter how urgent the need for its reduction, no matter how obsolete itsdefences. The Germans in 1871 did attempt to carry by assault an outworkof Belfort, but failed utterly. It would almost seem that in the matter offorlorn hopes the Caucasian is played out. 

Assertions are easy, but they go for little unless they can be proved;some examples, therefore, may be cited in support of the contentionsadvanced above. The Prussians are proud and with justice, of what is knownas the "Seven Weeks' War of 1866" although as a matter of fact the contestwith Austria did not last so long, for Prince Frederick Charles crossedthe Bohemian frontier on the 23rd of June and the armistice which endedhostilities was signed at Nikolsburg on the 26th of July. The Prussianarmies were stronger than their opponents by more than one-fourth and theywere armed with the needle-gun against the Austrian muzzle-loading rifle. When the armistice was signed the Prussians lay on the Marchfeld withindim sight of the Stephanien-Thurm, it is true; but with the strong andstrongly armed and held lines of Florisdorf, the Danube, and the army ofthe Archduke Albrecht between them and the Austrian capital. On the 9th ofOctober 1806 Napoleon crossed the Saale. On the 14th at Jena he smashedHohenlohe's Prussian army, the contending hosts being about equal strength;on the same day Davoust at Auerstadt with 27, 000 men routed Brunswick'scommand over 50, 000 strong. On the 25th of October Napoleon enteredBerlin, the war virtually over and all Prussia at his feet with theexception of a few fortresses, the last of which fell on the 8th ofNovember. Which was the swifter, the more brilliant, and the moredecisive--the campaign of 1866, or the campaign of 1806?

The Franco-German war is generally regarded as an exceptionally effectiveperformance on the part of the Germans. The first German force enteredFrance on the 4th of August 1870. Paris was invested on the 21st ofSeptember, the German armies having fought four great battles and severalserious actions between the frontier and the French capital. An armistice, which was not conclusive since it allowed the siege of Belfort to proceedand Bourbaki's army to be free to attempt raising it, was signed atVersailles on the 28th of January 1871, but the actual conclusion ofhostilities dates from the 16th of February, the day on which Belfortsurrendered. The Franco-German war, therefore, lasted six and a halfmonths. The Germans were in full preparedness except that their rifle wasinferior to the French _chassepot_; they were in overwhelmingly superiornumerical strength in every encounter save two with French regular troops, and they had on their banners the prestige of Sadowa. Their adversarieswere utterly unready for a great struggle; the French army was in awretched state in every sense of the word; indeed, after Sedan thereremained hardly any regulars able to take the field. In August 1805Napoleon's Grande Armée was at Boulogne looking across to the Britishshores. Those inaccessible, he promptly altered his plans and went againstAustria. Mack with 84, 000 Austrian soldiers was at Ulm, waiting for theexpected Russian army of co-operation and meantime covering the valley ofthe Danube. Napoleon crossed the Rhine on the 26th of September. Just asin 1870 the Germans on the plain of Mars-la-Tour thrust themselves betweenBazaine and the rest of France, so Napoleon turned Mack and from Aalen tothe Tyrol stood between him and Austria. Mack capitulated Ulm and his armyon the 19th of October and Napoleon was in Vienna on the 13th of November. Although he possessed the Austrian capital, he was not, however, master ofthe Austrian empire. The latter result did not fall to him until the 2ndof December, when under "the sun of Austerlitz" he with 73, 000 mendefeated the Austro-Russian army 85, 000 strong, inflicting on it a loss of30, 000 men at the cost of 12, 000 of his own soldiers _hors de combat_. Ittook the Germans in 1870 a month and a half to get from the frontier to_outside_ Paris; just in the same time, although certainly not with sosevere fighting by the way but nearly twice as long a march, Napoleonmoved from the Rhine to _inside_ Vienna. From the active commencement tothe cessation of hostilities the Franco-German war lasted six and a halfmonths; reckoning from the crossing of the Rhine to the evening ofAusterlitz Napoleon subjugated Austria in two and a quarter months. Perhaps, however, his campaign of 1809 against Austria furnishes a moreexact parallel with the campaign of the Germans in 1870-71. He assumedcommand on the 17th of April, having hurried from Spain. He defeated theAustrians five times in as many days, at Thann, Abensberg, Landshut, Eckmuhl, and Ratisbon; and he was in Vienna on the 13th of May. Balked atAspern and Essling, he gained his point at Wagram on the 5th of July, andhostilities ceased with the armistice of Znaim on the 11th after havinglasted for a period short of three months by a week. 

The Russians have a reputation for good marching, and certainly Suvaroffmade good time in his long march from Russia to Northern Italy in 1799;almost as good, indeed, as Bagration, Barclay de Tolly, and Kutusoff madein falling back before Napoleon when he invaded Russia in 1812. But theyhave not improved either in marching or in fighting at all commensuratelywith the improved appliances. In 1877, after dawdling two months theycrossed the Danube on the 21st to the 27th of June. Osman Pasha at Plevnagave them pause until the 10th of December, at which date they were not sofar into Bulgaria as they had been five months previously. After the fallof Plevna the Russian armies would have gone into winter quarters but fora private quasi-ultimatum communicated to the Tzar from a high source inEngland, to the effect that unpleasant consequences could not beguaranteed against if the war was not finished in one campaign. Alexander, who was quite an astute man in his way, was temporarily enraged by thisrestriction, but recovering his calmness, realised that nowhere in warbooks is any particular time specified for the termination or duration ofa campaign. It appeared that so long as an army keeps the fielduninterruptedly a campaign may continue until the Greek kalends. In lesstime than that Gourko and Skobeleff undertook to finish the business; bythe vigour with which they forced their way across the Balkans in theheart of the bitter winter Sophia, Philippopolis, and Adrianople fell intoRussian hands; and the Russian troops had been halted some time almost inface of Constantinople when the treaty of San Stephano was signed on the3rd of March 1878. It had taken the Russians of 1877-78 eight weary monthsto cover the distance between the Danube and the Marmora. But fifty yearsearlier a Russian general had marched from the Danube to the Aegean inthree and a half months, nor was his journey by any means a smooth andbloodless one. Diebitch crossed the Danube in May 1828 and besiegedSilistria from the 17th of May until the 1st of July. Silistria hasundergone three resolute sieges during the century; it succumbed but once, and then to Diebitch. Pressing south immediately, he worsted the TurkishGrand Vizier in the fierce battle of Kuleutscha and then by diverse routeshurried down into the great Roumelian valley. Adrianople made noresistance and although his force was attenuated by hardship and disease, when the Turkish diplomatists procrastinated the audacious and gallantDiebitch marched his thin regiments forward toward Constantinople. Theyhad traversed on a wide front half the distance between Adrianople and thecapital when the dilatory Turkish negotiators saw fit to imitate the coonand come down. Whether they would have done so had they known the weaknessof Diebitch may be questioned; but again it may be questioned whether, that weakness unknown, he could not have occupied Constantinople on theswagger. His master was prepared promptly to reinforce him; Constantinoplewas perhaps nearer its fall in 1828 than in 1878, and certainly Diebitchwas much smarter than were the Grand Duke Nicholas, his fossilNepokoitschitsky, and his pure theorist Levitsky. 

The contrast between the character of our own contemporary militaryoperations and that of those of the smooth-bore era is very stronglymarked. In 1838-39 Keane marched an Anglo-Indian army from our frontier atFerozepore over Candahar to Cabul without experiencing any serious check, and with the single important incident of taking Ghuzni by storm on theway. Our positions at and about Cabul were not seriously molested untillate in 1841, when the paralysis of demoralisation struck our soldiersbecause of the crass follies of a wrong-headed civilian chief and thefeebleness of a decrepit general. Nott throughout held Candahar firmly;the Khyber Pass remained open until faith was broken with the hillmen;Jellalabad held out until the "Retribution Column" camped under its walls. But for the awful catastrophe which befell in the passes the haplessbrigade which under the influence of deplorable pusillanimity and grossmismanagement had evacuated Cabul, no serious military calamity marked ouroccupation of Afghanistan and certainly stubborn resistance had notconfronted our arms. From 1878 to 1880 we were in Afghanistan again, thistime with breech-loading far-ranging rifles, copious artillery of thenewest types, and commanders physically and mentally efficient. All thoseadvantages availed us not one whit. The Afghans took more liberties withus than they had done forty years previously. They stood up to us in fairfight over and over again: at Ali Musjid, at the Pewar Kotul, atCharasiab, on the Takt-i-Shah and the Asmai heights, at Candahar. Theytook the dashing offensive at Ahmed Kheyl and at the Shutur-gurdan; theydrove Dunham Massy's cavalry and took British guns; they reoccupied Cabulin the face of our arms, they besieged Candahar, they hemmed Robertswithin the Sherpoor cantonments and assailed him there. They destroyed aBritish brigade at Maiwand and blocked Gough in the Jugdulluck Pass. Finally our evacuating army had to macadamise its unmolested route downthe passes by bribes to the hillmen, and the result of the second Afghanwar was about as barren as that of the first. 

It was in the year 1886 that, the resolution having been taken to dethroneThebau and annex Upper Burmah, Prendergast began his all but bloodlessmovement on Mandalay. The Burmans of today have never adventured a battle, yet after years of desultory bushwhacking the pacification of Upper Burmahhas still to be fully accomplished. On the 10th of April 1852 anAnglo-Indian expedition commanded by General Godwin landed at Rangoon. During the next fifteen months it did a good deal of hard fighting, forthe Burmans of that period made a stout resistance. At midsummer of 1853Lord Dalhousie proclaimed the war finished, announced the annexation andpacification of Lower Burmah, and broke up the army. The cost of the warof which the result was this fine addition to our Indian Empire, was twomillions sterling; almost from the first the province was self-supportingand uninterrupted peace has reigned within its borders. We did not dallyin those primitive smooth-bore days. Sir Charles Napier took the fieldagainst the Scinde Ameers on the 16th of February 1843. Next day he foughtthe battle of Meanee, entered Hyderabad on the 2Oth, and on the 24th ofMarch won the decisive victory of Dubba which placed Scinde at his mercy, although not until June did the old "Lion of Meerpore" succumb to Jacob. But before then Napier was well forward with his admirable measures forthe peaceful administration of the great province he had added to BritishIndia. 

The expedition for the rescue of General Gordon was tediously boated upthe Nile, with the result that the "desert column" which Sir HerbertStewart led so valiantly across the Bayuda reached Gubat just in time tobe too late, and was itself extricated from imminent disaster by themasterful promptitude of Sir Redvers Buller. Notwithstanding a generalconsensus of professional and expert opinion in favour of the alternativeroute from Souakin to Berber, 240 miles long and far from waterless, theadoption of it was condemned as impossible. In June 1801, away back in theprimitive days, an Anglo-Indian brigade 5000 strong ordered from Bombay, reached Kosseir on the Red Sea bound for the Upper Nile at Kenéh thence tojoin Abercromby's force operating in Lower Egypt. The distance fromKosseir to Kenéh is 120 miles across a barren desert with scanty andunfrequent springs. The march was by regiments, of which the first quittedKosseir on the 1st of July. The record of the desert-march of the 10thFoot is now before me. It left Kosseir on the 20th of July and reachedKenéh on the 29th, marching at the rate of twelve miles per day. Its losson the march was one drummer. The whole brigade was at Kenéh in the earlydays of August, the period between its debarkation and its concentrationon the Nile being about five weeks. The march was effected at the veryworst season of the year. It was half the distance of a march from Souakinto Berber; the latter march by a force of the same strength could wellhave been accomplished in three months. The opposition on the march couldnot have been so severe as that which Stewart's desert column encountered. Nevertheless, as I have said, the Souakin-Berber route was pronouncedimpossible by the deciding authority. 

The comparative feebleness of contemporary warfare is perhapsexceptionally manifest in relation to the reduction of fortresses. Duringthe Franco-German War the frequency of announcements of the fall of Frenchfortresses used to be the subject of casual jeers. The jeers weremisplaced. The French fortresses, labouring under every conceivabledisadvantage, did not do themselves discredit. All of them were more orless obsolete. Excluding Metz and Paris, neither fortified to date, theiraverage age was about a century and a half and few had been amended sincetheir first construction. They were mostly garrisoned by inferior troops, often almost entirely by Mobiles. Only in one instance was there aneffective director of the defence. That they uniformly enclosed townswhose civilian population had to endure bombardment, was an obvioushindrance to desperate resistance. Yet, setting aside Bitsch which wasnever taken, the average duration of the defence of the seventeenfortresses which made other than nominal resistance was forty-one days. Excluding Paris and Metz which virtually were intrenched camps, theaverage period of resistance was thirty-three days. The Germans used siegeartillery in fourteen cases; although only on two instances, Belfort andStrasburg, were formal sieges undertaken. "It appears, " writes MajorSydenham Clarke in his recent remarkable work on Fortification [Footnote:_Fortification_. By Major G. Sydenham Clarke, C. M. G. (London: JohnMurray). ] which ought to revolutionise that art, "that the average periodof resistance of the (nominally obsolete) French fortresses was the sameas that of besieged fortresses of the Marlborough and Peninsular periods. Including Paris and Metz, the era of rifled weapons actually shows anincrease of 20 per cent in the time-endurance of permanent fortifications. Granted that a mere measurement in days affords no absolute standard ofcomparison, the striking fact remains that in spite of every sort ofdisability the French fortresses, pitted against guns that were notdreamed of when they were built, acquitted themselves quite as well as the_chefs-d'oeuvre_ of the Vauban school in the days of their glory. " Even inthe cases of fortresses whose reduction was urgently needed since theyinterfered with the German communications--such as Strasburg, Toul, andSoissons--the quick _ultima ratio_ of assault was not resorted to by theGermans. And yet the Germans could not have failed to recognise that butfor the fortresses they would have swept France clear of all organisedbodies of troops within two months of the frontier battles. During thePeninsular War Wellington made twelve assaults on breached fortresses ofwhich five were successful; of his twelve attempts to escalade sixsucceeded. The Germans in 1870-71 never attempted a breach and theirsolitary effort at escalade, on the Basse Perche of Belfort, utterlyfailed. 

The Russians in 1877 were even less enterprising than had been the Germansin 1870. They went against three permanently fortified places, theantediluvian little Matchin which if I remember right blew itself up; thecrumbling Nicopolis which surrendered after one day's fighting; andRustchuk which held out till the end of the war. They would not look atSilistria, ruined, but strong in heroic memories; they avoided Rasgrad, Schumla, and the Black Sea fortresses; Sophia, Philippopolis, andAdrianople made no resistance. The earthworks of Plevna, vicious as theywere in many characteristics, they found impregnable. I think Suvaroffwould have carried them; I am sure Skobeleff would if he had got his way. 

The vastly expensive armaments of the present--the rifled breech-loader, the magazine rifle, the machine guns, the long-range field-guns, and soforth, are all accepted and paid for by the respective nations in thefrank and naked expectation that these weapons will perform increasedexecution on the enemy in war time. This granted, nor can it be denied, itlogically follows that if this increased execution is not performednations are entitled to regard it as a grievance that they do not getblood for their money, and this they certainly do not have; so that evenin this sanguinary particular the warfare of to-day is a comparativefailure. The topic, however, is rather a ghastly one and I refrain fromciting evidence; which, however, is easily accessible to any one who caresto seek it. 

The anticipation is confidently adventured that a great revolution will bemade in warfare by the magazine rifle with its increased range, themachine gun, and the quick-firing field artillery which will speedily beintroduced into every service. It does not seem likely that smokelesspowder will create any very important change, except in siege operations. On the battlefield neither artillery nor infantry come into action out ofsight of the enemy. When either arm opens fire within sight of the enemyits position can be almost invariably detected by the field-glass, irrespective of the smokelessness or non-smokelessness of its ammunition. Indeed, the use of smokeless powder would seem inevitably to damage thefortunes of the attack. Under cover of a bank of smoke the soldiershurrying on to feed the fighting line are fairly hidden from aimed hostilefire. It may be argued that their aim is thus reciprocally hindered; butthe reply is that their anxiety is not so much to be shooting during theirreinforcing advance as to get forward into the fighting line, where theatmosphere is not so greatly obscured. Smokeless powder will no doubtadvantage the defence. 

It need not be remarked that a battle is a physical impossibility whileboth sides adhere to the passive defensive; and experience proves thatbattles are rare in which both sides are committed to the activeoffensive, whether by preference or necessity. Mars-la-Tour (16th August1870) was the only contest of this nature in the Franco-German War. Bazaine had to be on the offensive because he was ordered to get awaytowards Verdun; Alvensleben took it because it was the only means wherebyhe could hinder Bazaine from accomplishing his purpose. But for the mostpart one side in battle is on the offensive; the other on the defensive. The invader is habitually the offensive person, just for the reason thatthe native force commonly acts on the defensive; the latter is anxious tohinder further penetration into the bowels of its land; the former'sdesire is to effect that penetration. The defensive of the native armyneed not, however, be the passive defensive; indeed, unless the positionbe exceptionally strong that is according to present tenets to be avoided. When, always with an underlying purpose of defence, its chief resorts tothe offensive for reasons that he regards as good, his strategy or histactics as the case may be, are expressed by the term"defensive-offensive. "

It says a good deal for the peaceful predilections of the nations, thatthere has been no fairly balanced experience affording the material fordecision as to the relative advantage of the offensive and the defensiveunder modern conditions. In 1866 the Prussians, opposing the needle-gun tothe Austrian muzzle-loader, naturally utilised this pre-eminence byadopting uniformly the offensive and traditions of the Great Frederickdoubtless seconded the needle-gun. After Sadowa controversy ran high as tothe proper system of tactics when breech-loader should opposebreech-loader. A strong party maintained that "the defensive had nowbecome so strong that true science lay in forcing the adversary to attack. Let him come on, and then one might fairly rely on victory. " AsBoguslawski observes--"This conception of tactics would paralyse theoffensive, for how can an army advance if it has always to wait till anenemy attacks?" After much exercitation the Germans determined to adhereto the offensive. In the recent modest language of Baron von der Goltz:[Footnote: _The Nation in Arms_, by Lieutenant-Colonel Baron von derGoltz. (Allen. )] "Our modern German mode of battle aims at being entirelya final struggle, which we conceive of as being inseparable from anunsparing offensive. Temporising, waiting, and a calm defensive are veryunsympathetic to our nature. Everything with us is action. Our strengthlies in great decisions on the battlefield. " Perhaps also the guilelessGermans were quite alert to the fact that Marshal Niel had shattered theFrench army's tradition of the offensive, and gone counter to the Frenchsoldier's nature by enjoining the defensive in the latest officialinstructions. Had the Teutons suborned him the Marshal could not have donethem a better turn. 

Their offensive tactics against an enemy unnaturally lashed to the stakeof the defensive stood the Germans in excellent stead in 1870. On everyoccasion they resorted to the offensive against an enemy in the field;strictly refraining, however, from that expedient when it was a fortressand not soldiers _en vive force_ that stood in the way. At St. Privattheir offensive would probably have been worsted if Canrobert had beenreinforced or even if a supply of ammunition had reached him; and a lossthere of one-third of the combatants of the Guard Corps without resultcaused them to change for the better the method of their attack. But inevery battle from Weissenburg to Sedan with the exception of the confused_mêlée_ of Mars-la-Tour, the French, besides being bewildered anddiscouraged, were in inferior strength; after Sedan the French levies inthe field were scarcely soldiers. There was no fair testing of therelative advantages of defence and offence in the Russo-Turkish War of1877-78; and so it remains that in an actual and practical sense no firmdecision has yet been established. All civilised nations are, however, assiduously practising the methods of the offensive. 

It may nevertheless be anticipated that in future warfare between evenlymatched combatants the offensive will get the worst of it at the hands ofthe defensive. The word "anticipate" is used in preference to "apprehend, "because one's sympathy is naturally for the invaded state unless it hasbeen wantonly aggressive and insolent. The invaded army, if the term maybe used, having familiar knowledge of the terrain will take up a positionin the fair-way of the invader; affording strong flank _appui_ and afar-stretching clear range in front and on flanks. It will throw upseveral lines, or still better, tiers of shallow trenches along its frontand flanks, with emplacements for artillery and machine guns. The invadermust attack; he cannot turn the enemy's position and expose hiscommunications to that enemy. He takes the offensive, doing so, as is thereceived practice, in front and on a flank. From the outset he will findthe offensive a sterner ordeal than in the Franco-German War days. He willhave to break into loose order at a greater distance, because of thelonger range of small arms, and the further scope, the greater accuracy, and the quicker fire of the new artillery. He too possesses those weapons, but he cannot use them with so great effect. His field batteries sufferfrom the hostile cannon fire as they move forward to take up a position. His infantry cannot fire on the run; when they drop after a rush the aimof panting and breathless men cannot be of the best. And their target isfairly protected and at least partially hidden. The defenders behind theirlow épaulement do not pant; their marksmen only at first are allowed tofire; these make things unpleasant for the massed gunners out yonder, whoshare their attentions with the spraying-out infantry-men. Thequick-firing cannon of the defence are getting in their work methodically. Neither its gunners nor its infantry need be nervous as to expendingammunition freely since plenteous supplies are promptly available, aconvenience which does not infallibly come to either guns or rifles of theattack. The Germans report as their experience in the capacity ofassailants that the rapidity and excitement of the advance, the stir ofstrife, the turmoil, exhilarate the soldiers, and that patriotism andfire-discipline in combination enforce a cool steady maintenance of fire;that in view of the ominous spectacle of the swift and confident advance, under torture of the storm of shell-fire and the hail of bullets whichthey have to endure in immobility, the defenders, previously shaken by theassailants' artillery preparation, become nervous, waver, and finallybreak when the cheers of the final concentrated rush strike on their ears. That this was scarcely true as regarded French regulars the annals ofevery battle of the Franco-German War up to and including Sedanconclusively show. It is true, however, that the French nature isintolerant of inactivity and in 1870 suffered under the deprivation of its_métier;_ but how often the Germans recoiled from the shelter trenches ofthe Spicheren and gave ground all along the line from St. Privat to theBois de Vaux, men who witnessed those desperate struggles cannot forgetwhile they live. Warriors of greater equanimity than the French soldierpossesses might perhaps stand on the defensive in calm self-confidencewith simple breech-loaders as their weapons, if simple breech-loaders werealso weapons of the assailants. But in his magazine rifle the soldier ofthe future can keep the defensive not only with self-confidence, but withhigh elation, for in it he will possess a weapon against which it seemsimprobable that the attack (although armed too with a magazine orrepeating rifle) can prevail. 

The assailants fall fast as their advance pushes forward, thinned down bythe rifle fire, the mitraille, and the shrapnel of the defence. But theyare gallant men and while life lasts they will not be denied. The longbloody advance is all but over; the survivors of it who have attained thusfar are lying down getting their wind for the final concentration andrush. Meanwhile, since after they once again stand up they will use nomore rifle fire till they have conquered or are beaten, they are pouringforth against the defence their reserve of bullets in or attached to theirrifle-butts. The defenders take this punishment, like Colonel Quagg, lyingdown, courting the protection of their earth-bank. The hail of theassailants' bullets ceases; already the artillery of the attack hasdesisted lest it should injure friend as well as foe. The word runs alongthe line and the clumps of men lying prostrate there out in the open. Theofficers spring to their feet, wave their swords, and cheer loudly. Themen are up in an instant, and the swift rush focussing toward a pointbegins. The distance to be traversed before the attackers are _aux prises_with the defenders is about one hundred and fifty yards. 

It is no mere storm of missiles which meets fair in the face thosecharging heroes; no, it is a moving wall of metal against which they rushto their ruin. For the infantry of the defence are emptying theirmagazines now at point-blank range. Emptied magazine yields to full one;the Maxims are pumping, not bullets, but veritable streams of death, withcalm, devilish swiftness. The quick-firing guns are spouting radiatingtorrents of case. The attackers are mown down as corn falls, not beforethe sickle but the scythe. Not a man has reached, or can reach, the littleearth-bank behind which the defenders keep their ground. The attack hasfailed; and failed from no lack of valour, of methodised effort, ofpunctilious compliance with every instruction; but simply because thedefence--the defence of the future in warfare--has been too strong for theattack. One will not occupy space by recounting how in the very nick oftime the staunch defence flashes out into the counter-offensive; nor needone enlarge on the sure results to the invader as the unassailed flank ofthe defence throws forward the shoulder and takes in flank the dislocatedmasses of aggressors. 

One or two such experiences will definitively settle the point as to therelative advantage of the offensive and the defensive. Soldiers will notsubmit themselves to re-trial on re-trial of a _res judicata_. Grant, dogged though he was, had to accept that lesson in the shambles of ColdHarbour. For the bravest sane man will rather live than die. No man burnsto become cannon-fodder. The Turk, who is supposed to court death inbattle for religious reasons of a somewhat material kind, can run awayeven when the alternative is immediate removal to a Paradise of unlimitedhouris and copious sherbet. There are no braver men than Russian soldiers;but going into action against the Turks tried their nerves, not becausethey feared the Turks as antagonists, but because they knew too well thata petty wound disabling from retreat meant not alone death but unspeakablemutilation before that release. 

It is obvious that if, as is here anticipated, the offensive provesimpossible in the battle of the future, an exaggerated phase of thestalemate which Boguslawski so pathetically deprecates will occur. Theworld need not greatly concern itself regarding this issue; the situationwill almost invariably be in favour of the invaded and will probablypresent itself near his frontier line. He can afford to wait until theinvader tires of inaction and goes home. 

Magazine and machine guns would seem to sound the knell of possibleemployment of cavalry in battle. No matter how dislocated are the infantryridden at so long as they are not quite demoralised, however _rusé_ thecavalry leader--however favourable to sudden unexpected onslaught is theground, the quick-firing arms of the future must apparently stall off themost enterprising horsemen. Probably if the writer were arguing the pointwith a German, the famous experiences of von Bredow might be adduced inbar of this contention. In the combat of Tobitschau in 1866 Bredow led hiscuirassier regiment straight at three Austrian batteries in action, captured the eighteen guns and everybody and everything belonging to them, with the loss to himself of but ten men and eight horses. It is true, saysthe honest official account, that the ground favoured the charge and thatthe shells fired by the usually skilled Austrian gunners flew high. Butduring the last 100 yards grape was substituted for shell, and Bredowdeserved all the credit he got. Still stronger against my argument wasBredow's memorable work at Mars-la-Tour, when at the head of six squadronshe charged across 1000 yards of open plain, rode over and through twoseparate lines of French infantry, carried a line of cannon numbering ninebatteries, rode 1000 yards farther into the very heart of the French army, and came back with a loss of not quite one half of his strength. The_Todtenritt_, as the Germans call it, was a wonderful exploit, a secondBalaclava charge and a bloodier one; and there was this distinction thatit had a purpose and that that purpose was achieved. For Bredow's chargein effect wrecked France. It arrested the French advance which would elsehave swept Alvensleben aside; and to its timely effect is traceable thesequence of events that ended in the capitulation of Metz. The fact thatalthough from the beginning of his charge until he struck the front of thefirst French infantry line Bredow took the rifle-fire of a whole Frenchdivision yet did not lose above fifty men, has been a notable weapon inthe hands of those who argue that good cavalry can charge home on unshakeninfantry. But never more will French infantry shoot from the hip asLafont's conscripts at Mars-la-Tour shot in the vague direction ofBredow's squadrons. French cavalry never got within yards of Germaninfantry even in loose order; and the magazine or repeating rifle heldreasonably straight will stop the most thrusting cavalry that ever heardthe "charge" sound. 

Fortifications of the future will differ curiously from those of thepresent. The latter, with their towering scarps, their massive_enceintes_, their "portentous ditches, " will remain as monuments of avicious system, except where, as in the cases of Vienna, Cologne, Sedan, etc. , the dwellers in the cities they encircle shall procure theirdemolition for the sake of elbow-room, or until modern howitzer shells ormissiles charged with high explosives shall pulverise their naked expansesof masonry. In the fortification of the future the defender will no longerbe "enclosed in the toils imposed by the engineer" with the inevitabledisabilities they entail, while the besieger enjoys the advantage of freemobility. Plevna has killed the castellated fortress. With freecommunications the full results attainable by fortress artilleryintelligently used, will at length come to be realised. Unless in rarecases and for exceptional reasons towns will gradually cease to befortified even by an encirclement of detached forts. Where the latter areavailed of, practical experience will infallibly condemn the expensive andcomplex cupola-surmounted construction of which General Brialmont is thechampion. "A work, " trenchantly argues Major Sydenham Clarke, "designed onthe principles of the Roman catacombs is suited only for the dead, in aliteral or in a military sense. The vast system of subterranean chambersand passages is capable of entombing a brigade, but denies all necessarytactical freedom of action to a battalion. "

The fortress of the future will probably be in the nature of an intrenchedcamp. The interior of the position will provide casemate accommodation foran army of considerable strength. Its defences will consist of a circle atintervals of about 2500 yards, of permanent redoubts which shall beinvisible at moderate ranges for infantry and machine guns, the garrisonof each redoubt to consist of a half battalion. Such a work was in 1886constructed at Chatham in thirty-one working days, to hold a garrison of200 men housed in casemates built in concrete, for less than £3000, andexperiments proved that it would require a "prohibitory expenditure" ofammunition to cause it serious damage by artillery fire. The supportingdefensive armament will consist of a powerful artillery rendered mobile bymeans of tram-roads, this defence supplemented by a field force carryingon outpost duties and manning field works guarding the intervals betweenthe redoubts. Advanced defences and exterior obstacles of as formidable acharacter as possible will be the complement of what in effect will be animmensely elaborated Plevna, which, properly armed and fully organised, will "fulfil all the requirements of defence" while possessing importantpotentialities of offence. 

An illustration is pertinent of the pre-eminent utility of such fortifiedand strongly held positions, of whose characteristics the above is themerest outline. In the event of a future Franco-German War, the immenselyexpensive cordon of fortresses with which the French have lined theirfrontier, efficiently equipped, duly garrisoned and well commanded, willunquestionably present a serious obstacle to the invading armies. TheGermans talk of _vive force_--shell heavily and then storm; the latterresort one for which they have in the past displayed no predilection. Whether by storm or interpenetration, they will probably break the cordon, but they cannot advance without masking all the principal fortresses. Thiswill employ a considerable portion of their strength, and the invasionwill proceed in less force, which will be an advantage to the defenders. But if instead of those multitudinous fortresses the French hadconstructed, say, three such intrenched-camp fortresses as have beensketched, each quartering 50, 000 men, it would appear that they would havedone better for themselves at far less cost. Each intrenched positioncontaining a field army 50, 000 strong would engross a beleaguering host of100, 000 men. The positions of the type outlined are claimed to beimpregnable; they could contain supplies and munitions for at least ayear, detaining around them for that period 300, 000 of the enemy. NoEuropean power except Russia has soldiers enough to spare so long such amass of troops standing fast, and simultaneously to prosecute the invasionof a first-rate power with approximately equal numbers. France at the costof 150, 000 men would be holding supine on her frontier double the numberof Germans--surely no disadvantageous transaction. 

In conclusion, it may be worth while to point out that the currentimpression that the maintenance by states of "bloated armaments" is a keenincentive to war, is fallacious. How often do we hear, "There must be abig war soon; the powers cannot long stand the cost of standing looking ateach other, all armed to the teeth!" War is infinitely more costly thanthe costliest preparedness. But this is not all. The country gentleman foronce in a way brings his family to town for the season, pledging himselfprivily to strict economy when the term of dissipation ends, in order torestore the balance. But for a State, as the sequel to a season of warthere is no such potentiality of economy. Rather there is the grimcertainty of heavier and yet heavier expenditure after the war, in thestill obligatory character of the armed man keeping his house. Thereforeit is that potentates are reluctant to draw the sword, and rather bear theills they have than fly to other evils inevitably worse still. Whether thefinal outcome will be universal national bankruptcy or the millennium, isa problem as yet insoluble. 

GEORGE MARTELL'S BANDOBAST

[Footnote: _Bandobast_ is an Indian word, which, like many others, hasbeen all but formally incorporated into Anglo-Indian English. The meaningis, plan, scheme, organised arrangement. ]

George Martell was an indigo-planter in Western Tirhoot, a fine tract ofBengal stretching from the Ganges to the Nepaul Terai, and roughly boundedon the west by the Gunduck, on the east by the Kussi. Planter-life inTirhoot is very pleasant to a man in robust health, who possesses someresources within himself. In many respects it more resembles active rurallife at home than does any other life led by Anglo-Indians. The joys of aplanter's life have been enthusiastically sung by a planter-poet; and thefrank genial hospitality of the planter's bungalow stands out pre-eminent, even amidst the universal hospitality of India. The planter's bungalow isopen to all comers. The established formula for the arriving stranger isfirst to call for brandy-and-soda, then to order a bath, and finally toinquire the name of the occupant his host. The laws of hospitality are asthe laws of the Medes and Persians. Once in the famine time a stranger ina palki reached a planter's bungalow in an outlying district, and sent inhis card. The planter sent him out a drink but did not bid him enter. Thestranger remained in the veranda till sundown, had another drink, and thenwent on his way. This breach of statute law became known. There was muchexcuse for the planter, for the traveller was a missionary and in otherrespects was a _persona ingrata_. But the credit of planterhood was atstake; and so strong was the force of public opinion that the planter whohad been a defaulter in hospitality had to abandon the profession and quitthe district. It was on this occasion laid down as a guiding illustration, that if Judas Iscariot, when travelling around looking for an eligibletree on which to hang himself, had claimed the hospitality of a planter'sbungalow, the dweller therein would have been bound to accord him thathospitality. Not even newspaper correspondents were to be sent empty away. 

The indigo-planter is "up in the morning early" and away at a swingingcanter on his "waler" nag, out into the _dahaut_ to visit the _zillahs_ onwhich his crop is growing. He returns when the sun is getting high with afamous appetite for a breakfast which is more than half luncheon. Afterhis siesta he may look in upon a neighbour--all Tirhoot are neighbours andwithin a radius of thirty miles is considered next door. He would ridethat distance any day to spend an hour or two in a house brightened by thepresence of womanhood. His anxious period is _mahaye_ time, when theindigo is in the vats and the quantity and quality of the yield depend somuch on care and skill. But except at _mahaye_ time he is always ready forrelaxation, whether it takes the form of a polo match, a pig-stickingexpedition, or a race-meeting at Sonepoor, Muzzufferpore, or Chumparun. These race-meetings last for several days on end, there being racing andhunting on alternate days with a ball every second night. It used to beworth a journey to India to see Jimmy Macleod cram a cross-grained "waler"over an awkward fence, and squeeze the last ounce out of the brute in therun home on the flat. The Tirhoot ladies are in all respects charming; andit must remain a moot point with the discriminating observer whether theyare more delightful in the genial home-circles of which they are thecentres and ornaments, or in the more exciting stir and whirl of theballroom. After every gathering hecatombs of slain male victims mournfullycumber the ground; and one all-conquering fair one, now herself conqueredby matrimony and motherhood, wrung from those her charms had blighted thetitle of "the destroying angel. "

George Martell was an honest sort of a clod. He stood well with the ryots, and the mark of his factory always brought out keen bidding at Thomas'sauction-mart in Mission Row and was held in respect in the Commission SaleRooms in Mincing Lane. He was a good shikaree and could hold his owneither at polo or at billiards; but being somewhat shy and not a littleclumsy he did not frequent race-balls nor throw himself in the way of"destroying angels. " He had been over a dozen years in the district andhad not been known to propose once, so that he had come to be set down asa misogynist. Among his chief allies was a neighbouring planter calledMactavish. Mactavish in some incomprehensible way--he being a gaunt, uncouth, bristly Scot, whose Highland accent was as strong as the whiskywith which he had coloured his nose--had contrived to woo and win a bonny, baby-faced girl, the ripple of whose laughter and the dancing sheen ofwhose auburn curls filled the Mactavish bungalow with glad brightsunshine. When Mac first brought home this winsome fairy Martell hadsheepishly shunned the residence of his friend, till one fine morning whenhe came in from the _dahaut_ he found Minnie Mactavish quite at home amongthe pipes, empty soda-water bottles, and broken chairs that constitutedthe principal articles of furniture in his bachelor sitting-room. Minniehad come to fetch her husband's friend and in her dainty imperious waywould take no denial. So George had his bath, got a fresh horse saddled, nearly chucked Minnie over the other side as he clumsily helped her tomount her pony, and rode away with her a willing if somewhat clownishcaptive. Arriving at the bungalow Mactavish, honest George was bewilderedby the transformation it had undergone. Flowers were where the spirit-caseused to stand. There was a drawing-room with actually a piano in it; the_World_ lay on the table instead of the _Sporting Times_, and the servantswore a quiet, tasteful livery. Mac himself had been trimmed and titivatedalmost out of recognition. He who had been wont to lounge half the day inhis _pyjamas_ was now almost smartly dressed; his beard was cropped, andhis bristly poll brushed and oiled. If George had a weak spot in him itwas for a simple song well sung. Mrs. Mac, accompanying herself on thepiano, sang to him "The Land o' the Leal" and brewed him a mild peg withher own fair hands. George by bedtime did not know whether he was on hishead or his heels. 

He lay awake all night thinking over all he had seen. Mactavish now wasclearly a better man than ever he had been before. He had told George hewas living more cheaply as a married man than ever he had done as abachelor; and in the matter of happiness there was no comparison. Georgerose early to go home; but early as it was Mrs. Mac was up too, andarrayed in a killing morning _négligé_ that fairly made poor Georgestammer, gave him his _chota hazri_ and stroked his horse's head as hemounted. About half-way home George suddenly shouted, "D----d if I don'tdo it too!" and brought his hand down on his thigh with a smack that sethis horse buck-jumping. 

In effect, George Martell had determined to get married. But where to finda Mrs. Martell? Mrs. Mactavish had told him she had no sisters and thather only relative was a maiden grand-aunt, whom George thought must be alittle too old to marry unless in the last resort. If he took the field atthe next race-meeting the fellows would chaff the life out of him; andbesides, he scarcely felt himself man enough to face a "destroying angel. "As he pondered, riding slowly homeward, a thought occurred to him. When hehad been at home a dozen years ago his two girl-sisters had been atschool, and their great playmate had been a girl of eleven, by name LauraDavidson. Laura was a pretty child. He had taken occasional notice of her;had once kissed her after having been severely scratched in the struggle;and had taken her and his sisters to the local theatre. What if LauraDavidson--now some three-and-twenty--were still single? What if she werepretty and nice? He remembered that the colour of her hair was not unlikeMrs. Mac's, and was in ringlets too. And what if she were willing to comeout and make lonely George Martell as happy a man as was that lucky oldMac?

It was mail-day, and George, taking time by the forelock, sat down andwrote to his sister what had come into his head. By the return mail he hadher reply: Laura Davidson was single; she was nice; she was pretty; shehad fair ringlets; she had a hazy memory of George and the kissingepisode, and was willing to come out and marry him and try to make himhappy. But she could not well come alone; could George suggest any methodof _chaperonage_ on the voyage?

In the district of Champarun, which in essentials is part of Tirhoot, liesthe quaint little cavalry cantonment of Segowlie. It is the last relic ofthe old Nepaul war, which caused the erection of a chain of cantonmentsalong the frontier all of which save Segowlie, are now abandoned. There isjust room for one native cavalry regiment at Segowlie, and the soldierslike the station because of excellent sport and the good comradeship ofthe planters. At Segowlie at the time I am writing of there happened to bequartered a certain Major Freeze, whose wife, after a couple of years athome, was about returning to India. George had some acquaintance with theMajor and a far-off profound respect for his wife, who was an admirableand stately lady. It occurred to him to try whether it could not bemanaged that she should bring out the future Mrs. Martell. He saw theMajor, who was only too delighted at the prospect of a new lady in thedistrict, and the affair was soon arranged. Mrs. Freeze wrote that she andMiss Davidson were leaving by such-and-such a mail; and knowing thatMartell was rather lumpy when a lady was in the case, she thoughtfullysuggested that he should go down to Bombay and meet them so as to get overthe initial awkwardness by making himself useful and gain his intended'srespect by swearing at the niggers. 

All went well. But George Martell was not quite his own master, he wasonly part of a "concern" and was bound to do his best for his partners. Ithappened, just about the time the P. And O. Steamer was due at Bombay, that the most ticklish period of the indigo-planters' year was uponMartell. The juice had begun to flow from the vats. He had no assistantand he did not dare to leave the work, so he telegraphed to Bombay toexplain this to Mrs. Freeze, and added that he would meet her and hercompanion at Bankipore where their long railway journey would end. MissDavidson did not understand much about the absorbing crisis of indigoproduction, and she had a spice of romance in her composition; so thatpoor Martell did not rise in her estimation by his default at Bombay. Whenthe ladies reached Bankipore there was still no Martell, but only a_chuprassee_ with a note to say that the juice was still running, and thatMartell sahib could not leave the factory but would be waiting for them atSegowlie. At this even Mrs. Freeze almost lost her temper. 

They have a "State Railway" now in Tirhoot, but at the time I am writingof there was only one _pukha_ road in all the district. The ladiestravelled in palanquins, or palkis, as they are more familiarly called. Itis a long journey from Bankipore to Segowlie, and three nights were spentin travelling. Bluff old Minden Wilson stood on the bank above the ghât towelcome Mrs. Freeze across the Ganges. One day was spent at young Spudd'sfactory, the second at the residence of a genial planter rejoicing in thequaint name of Hong Kong Scribbens; on the third morning they reachedSegowlie. But still no Martell; only a _chit_ to say that that plaguyjuice was still running but that he hoped to be able to drive over todinner. Miss Davidson went to bed in a huff; and Major Freeze wastemporarily inclined to think that her home-trip had impaired his goodlady's amiability of character. 

Martell did turn up at dinner-time. But he was hardly a man at any time tocreate much of an impression, and on this occasion he appeared toexceptional disadvantage. He was stutteringly nervous; and there were someevidences that he had been ineffectually striving to mitigate hisnervousness by the consumption of his namesake. He wore a new dress-coatwhich had not the remotest pretensions to fit him, and the bear's-greasewhich he had freely used gave unpleasant token of rancidity. The dinnerwas an unsatisfactory performance. Miss Davidson was extremely_distraite_, while Martell became more and more nervous as the mealprogressed and was manifestly relieved when the ladies retired. Soon afterthey had done so the Major was sent for from the drawing-room. He foundMiss Davidson sobbing on his wife's bosom. He asked what was the matter. The girl, with many sobbing interruptions, gasped out--

"He's the wrong man! O Heavens, I never saw _him_ before! The man Iremember who gave me sweets when I was a child had black hair; _he_ hasred! Oh, what shall I do? Oh, please send that man away and let me gohome!"

And then Miss Davidson went off into hysterics. 

Here was a pretty state of matters! The Major and his wife could not seetheir way clear at all. Consultation followed consultation, with visits onthe Major's part to poor Martell in the dining-room irregularlyinterspersed. It was almost morning before affairs arranged themselvesafter a fashion. The new basis agreed upon was that the previouslyexisting arrangement should be regarded as dead, and that a courtshipbetween Martell and Miss Davidson should be commenced _de novo_--he to dohis best to recommend himself to the lady's affections, she to learn tolove him if she could, red hair and all. And so George went home, and theSegowlie household went to bed. 

Poor George at the best had a very poor idea of courting acceptably; andsurely no man was more heavily handicapped in the enterprise prescribedhim. He had to court to order, and to combat, besides, both the badimpression made at starting and the misfortune of his red hair. The poorfellow did his best. He used to come and sit in Mrs. Freeze's drawing-roomhours on end, glowering at Miss Davidson in a silence broken by spasmodicefforts at forced talk. He brought the girl presents, gave her a horse, and begged of her to ride with him. But the great stupid fellow had notthought of a habit and the girl felt a delicacy in telling him that shehad not one. So the horse ate his head off in idleness, and George's heartwent farther and farther down in the direction of his boots. He had sobothered Mrs. Freeze that she had washed her hands of him, and had biddenhim worry it out on his own line. 

In less than a month the crisis came. Miss Davidson could not bringherself to think of poor George as affording the makings of a husband. Shetold Mrs. Freeze so, and begged, for kindness sake, that the Major wouldbreak this her determination to Mr. Martell and desire him to give thething up as hopeless. The Major thought the best course to pursue was towrite to George to this effect. Next morning in the small hours the poorfellow turned up in the Segowlie veranda in a terribly bad way. He wouldnot accept his fate at second-hand in this fashion; he must see MissDavidson and try to move her to be kind to him. In the end there was aninterview between them, from which George emerged quiet but very pale. Hisnotable matrimonial bandobast had proved the deadest of failures; and thepoor fellow's lip trembled as he thought of Mactavish's happy home and hisown forlorn bungalow. 

But although he had red hair and did not know in the least what to do withhis feet, George Martell was a gentleman. The lady continuing anxious togo home, he insisted on his right to pay her return passage as he had doneher passage outward, urging rather ruefully that, having taken a shot athappiness and having missed fire, he must be the sole sufferer. It is alittle surprising that this uncouth chivalry did not melt the lady, butshe was obdurate, although she let him have his way about the passagemoney. So in the company of an officer's wife going home Miss Davidsonquitted Segowlie and journeyed to Bombay. Poor old George, with a verysore heart, was bent on seeing the last of her before settling down againto the old dull bachelor life. He dodged down to Bombay in the same train, travelling second class that he might not annoy the girl by a chancemeeting; and stood with a sad face leaning on the rail of the ApolloBunder, as he watched the ship containing his miscarried venture steam outof Bombay harbour on its voyage to England. 

The same night he set out on his return to his plantation. At nearmidnight the mail-train from Bombay reaches Eginpoora, at the head of thefamous Bhore ghât. Some refreshment is ordinarily procurable there, but itis not much of a place. George Martell had had a drink, and was saunteringmoodily up and down the platform waiting for the whistle to sound. As hepassed the second class compartment reserved for ladies he heard a low, tremulous voice exclaim, "Oh, if I could only make them understand thatI'd give the world for a cup of tea!" George, if uncouth, was a practicalman. His prompt voice rang out, "_Qui hye, ek pyala chah lao!_" Promptlycame the refreshment-room _khitmutghar_, hurrying with the tea; andGeorge, taking off his hat, begged to know whether he could be of anyfurther service. 

It was a very pleasant face that looked out on him in the moonlight, andthere was more than mere conventionality in the accents in which thepleasant voice acknowledged his opportune courtesy. Insensibly George andthe lady drifted into conversation. She was very lonely, poor thing; afriendless girl coming out to be governess in the family of a _burrasahib_ at Chupra. Now Chupra is only across the Gunduck from Tirhoot, soGeorge told his new acquaintance they were both going to nearly the sameplace, and professed his cordial willingness to assist her on the journey. He did so, escorting her right into Chupra before he set his face homeward;and he thenceforth got into a habit of visiting Chupra very frequently. Need I prolong the story? I happened to be in Bankipore when the Prince ofWales visited that centre of famine-wallahs. It fell to my pleasant lot totake Mrs. Martell in to dinner at the Commissioner's hospitable table. Mrs. Mactavish was sitting opposite; and I went back to my bedroom-tent inthe compound without having made up my mind whether she or Mrs. Martellwas the prettier and the nicer. So you see George Martell did not makequite so bad a _bandobast_ after all. 

THE LUCKNOW OF TO-DAY--1879

It was in Cawnpore on my way up country, during the Prince of Wales's tourthrough India, that there were shown to me some curious and interestingmementoes of the siege of Lucknow. The friend in whose possession theywere was near Havelock as he sat before his tent in the short Indiantwilight, a short time before the advance on Lucknow made by him andOutram in September 1857. Through the gloom of the falling twilight therecame marching towards the General a file of Highlanders escorting a tall, gaunt Oude man, on whose swarthy face the lamplight struck as he salaamedbefore the General Lord Sahib. Then he extracted from his ear a minutesection of quill sealed at both ends. The General's son opened the strangeenvelope forwarded by a postal service so hazardous, and unrolled a morselof paper which seemed to be covered with cabalistic signs. The missive hadbeen sent out from Lucknow by Brigadier Inglis, the commander of thebeleaguered garrison of the Lucknow Residency, and its bearer was thestanch and daring scout, Ungud. As I write the originals of thiscommunication and of others which came in the same way lie before me; andtwo of those missives in their curious mixture of characters may be foundof interest to readers of to-day. 

LUKHNOW, _Septr. 16th. _ (Recd. 19th. )

MY DEAR GENERAL--The last letter I recd. From you was dated 24th ult'o, since when I have rec'd [Greek: no neus] whatever from y'r [Greek: kamp]or of y'r [Greek: movements] but am now [Greek: dailae expekting] toreceive [Greek: inteligense] of y'r [Greek: advanse] in this [Greek:direktion]. Since the date of my last letter the enemy have continued topersevere unceasingly in their efforts against this position & the firinghas never ceased day or night; they have about [Greek: sixten] guns inposition round us--many of them 18 p'rs. On 5th inst. They made a verydetermined attack after exploding 2 mines and [Greek: suksaeded] for a[Greek: moment] in [Greek: almost geting] into one of our [Greek:bateries], but were eventually repulsed on all sides with heavy loss. Since the above date they have kept up a cannonade & musketry fire, occasionally throwing in a shell or two. My [Greek: waeklae loses]continue very [Greek: hevae] both in [Greek: ophisers] & [Greek: men]. Ishall be quite out of [Greek: rum] for the [Greek: men] in [Greek: eitdais], but we have been [Greek: living] on [Greek: redused rations] & Ihope to be [Greek: able] to [Greek: get] on [Greek: til] about [Greek:phirst prox]. If you have not [Greek: relieved] us by [Greek: then] weshall have [Greek: no meat lepht], as I must [Greek: kaep] some few [Greek:buloks] to [Greek: move] my [Greek: guns] about the [Greek: positions]. As it is I have had to [Greek: kil] almost all the [Greek: gun buloks], for my men c'd not [Greek: perphorm] the [Greek: ard work without animalphood]. There is a report, tho' from a source on which I cannot implicitlyrely, that [Greek: mansing] has just [Greek: arived] in [Greek: luknow]havg. [Greek: lepht part] of his [Greek: phors outside] the [Greek:sitae]. It is said that [Greek: he] is in [Greek: our interest] and that[Greek: he] has [Greek: taken] the [Greek: above step] at the [Greek:instigation] of B[Greek: riti]sh [Greek: athoritae]. But I cannot saywhether [Greek: su]ch [Greek: be the kase], as all I have to go upon is[Greek: bazar rumors]. I am [Greek: most anxious] to [Greek: hear] of yr. [Greek: advanse] to [Greek: enable mae] to [Greek: rae-asure our nativesoldiers]. [Footnote: The reader will observe that the words are English, though the characters are Greek. ]--Yours truly, J. INGLIS, _Brigadier_, H. M. 32'd Reg't. 

To Brig'r Havelock, Commg. Relieving Force. 

The other missive is of an earlier date, and was brought out in the samemanner as the first. 

_August 16_. (Recd. 23rd August. )

MY DEAR GENERAL--A note from Colonel Tytler to Mr. Gubbins reached lastnight, dated "Mungalwar, 4th instant, " the latter part of which is asfollows:--"You must [Greek: aid] us in [Greek: everae] way even to cuttingy'r way out if we [Greek: kant phorse our] way in. We have [Greek: onlae asmall phorse]. " This has [Greek: kaused mae] much [Greek: uneasiness], asit is quite [Greek: imposible] with my [Greek: weak] & [Greek: shateredphorse] that I can [Greek: leave] my [Greek: dephenses]. You must bear inmind how I am [Greek: hampered], that I have upwards of [Greek: one undred& twentae-sik wounded], and at the least [Greek: two undred & twenaewomen], & about [Greek: two undred] & [Greek: thirtae children], & no[Greek: kariage] of any [Greek: deskription], besides [Greek: sakriphisingtwentae-thrae laks] of [Greek: treasure] & about [Greek: thirtae guns] of[Greek: sorts]. In consequence of the news rec'd I shall soon put the[Greek: phorse] on [Greek: alph rations], unless I [Greek: hear phrom]you. [Greek: Our provisions] will [Greek: last] us [Greek: then] till[Greek: about] the [Greek: tenth] [Greek: september]. If you [Greek: hope]to [Greek: save this no time must] be [Greek: lost] in pushing forward. Weare [Greek: dailae] being [Greek: ataked] by the [Greek: enemae], who arewithin a few yards of our [Greek: dephenses]. Their [Greek: mines] have[Greek: alreadae weakened our post], & I have [Greek: everae] [Greek:reason] to [Greek: believe] that are carrying on [Greek: others]. Their[Greek: aeteen] [Greeks: pounders] are within 150 yards of [Greek: someoph our bateries], & [Greek: phrom] their [Greek: positions & [Greek: ourinabilitae] to [Greek: phorm working] [Greek: parties], we [Greek: kanotrepli] to [Greek: them. Thae damage done ourlae] is very [Greek: great]. My [Greek: strength] now in [Greek: europeans] is [Greek: thrae undred] &[Greek: phiphtae], & about [Greek: thrae hundred natives], & the men[Greek: dreadphulae] [Greek: harassed], & owing to [Greek: part] of the[Greek: residensae] having been [Greek: brought down] by [Greek: roundshot] are without [Greek: shelter]. Our [Greek: native] [Greek: phorse]hav'g been [Greek: asured] on Col. Tytler's authority of y'r [Greek: near][Greek: aproach some twentae phive dais ago are naturallae losingkonphidense], [Greek: and iph thae leave] us I do not [Greek: sae how thedephenses] are to be [Greek: manned]. Did you [Greek: reseive a letter &plan phrom] the [Greek: man] [Greek: Ungud]?--Kindly answer thisquestion. --Yours truly, J. INGLIS, _Brigadier_. 

Cawnpore is an engrossing theme, and Bithoor alone would furnish materialfor an article; but my present subject is Lucknow, and I must get to it. There is a railway now to Lucknow from Cawnpore, but the railway bridgeacross the Ganges is not yet finished and passengers must cross by thebridge of boats to the Oude side. Behind me, as the gharry jingles overthe wooden platform, is the fort which Havelock began, which Neillcompleted, and in which Windham found the shelter which alone saved himfrom utter defeat. Before me is the low Gangetic shore, with the dumpysand-hills gradually rising from the water's edge. A few years ago thereused to ride at the head of that noble regiment the 78th Highlanders, asmooth-faced, gaunt, long-legged, stooping officer on an old white horse. The Colonel had a voice like a girl and his men irreverently called himthe "old squeaker"; but although you never heard him talk of his deeds hehad a habit of going quietly and steadily to the front, taking fightingand hardship philosophically as part of the day's work. Those sand-bankswere once the scene of some quiet, unsensational heroism of his. Hecommanded the two companies of Highlanders whom Havelock threw on theunknown shore as the vanguard of his advance into Oude. No priorreconnaissance was possible. Oude swarmed with an armed and hostilepopulation. The chances were that an army was hovering but a little wayinland, waiting to attack the head of the column on landing. But it wasnecessary to risk all contingencies, and Mackenzie accepted the service ashe might have done an invitation to a glass of grog. In the dead of thenight the boats stood across with the little forlorn hope with whichHavelock essayed to grapple on to Oude. Landing in the rain and darkness, it was Mackenzie's task to grope for an enemy if there should be one inhis vicinity. There was not; but for four-and-twenty hours his little bandhung on to the Oude bank as it were by their eyelids, detached, unsupported, and wholly charged with the taking care of themselves untilit was possible to send a reinforcement. The charge of this vague, uncertain, tentative enterprise, fraught with risks so imminent and sovast, required a cool, steady-balanced courage of no common order. 

"Onao!" shouts the conductor of the train at the first station fromCawnpore, and we look out on a few railway bungalows and a large nativevillage apparently in a ruinous state. All this journey is studded withbattlefields, and this is one of them. If I had time I should like to makea pilgrimage to the street mouth into which dashed frantically PrivatePatrick Cavanagh of the 64th, who, stung to madness by the hesitation ofhis fellows, was cut to pieces by the tulwars of the mutineers. We jog onvery slowly; the Oude and Rohilcund Railway is to India in point ofslowness what the Great Eastern used to be to us at home; but every yardof the ground is interesting. Along that high road passed in long, strangely diversified procession the people whom Clyde brought away fromLucknow--the civilians, the women, the children, and the wounded of theimmortal garrison. That swell beyond the mango trees under which the _nhilgau_ are feeding, is Mungalwar, Havelock's menacing position. No wonderthough the outskirts of this town on the high road present a ruinedappearance. It is Busseerutgunge, the scene of three of Havelock's battlesand victories, fought and won in a single fortnight. We pass Bunnee, whereHavelock and Outram tramping on to the relief, fired a royal salute in thehope that the sound of it might reach to the Residency and cheer thehearts of its garrison. And now we are on the platform of the Lucknowstation which has more of an English look about it than have most Indianstations. There is a bookstall, although it is not one of Smith's; andthere are lots of English faces in the crowd waiting the arrival of thetrain. The natives, one sees at a glance, are of very different physiquefrom the people of Bengal. The Oude man is tall, square-shouldered, andupright; he has more hair on his face than has the Bengali, and hiscarriage is that of a free man. The railway station of Lucknow is flankedby two earthwork fortifications of considerable pretensions. 

Lucknow is so full of interest and the objects of interest are so widelyspread that one is in doubt where to begin the pilgrimage. But theAlumbagh is on the railway side of the canal and therefore nearest; and Idrive directly to it before going into the town. From the station the roadto the Alumbagh turns sharp to the left and the two miles' drive isthrough beautiful groves and gardens. Then the plain opens up and there isthe detached temple which so long was one of Outram's outlying pickets;and to the left of it the square-walled enclosure of the Alumbagh itselfwith the four corners flanked by earthen bastions. The top of the wall iseverywhere roughly crenelated for musketry fire, and on two of its facesthere are countless tokens that it has been the target for round shot andbullets. The Alumbagh in the pre-Mutiny period was a pleasure-garden ofone of the princes of Oude. The enclosed park contained a summer palaceand all the surroundings were pretty and tasteful. It was for thepossession of the Alumbagh that Havelock fought his last battle before therelief; here it was where he left his baggage and went in; here it wasthat Clyde halted to organise the turning movement which achieved thesecond relief. Hither were brought from the Dilkoosha the women andchildren of the garrison prior to starting on the march for Cawnpore; hereOutram lay threatening Lucknow from Clyde's relief until the latter'sultimate capture of the city. But these occurrences contribute buttrivially to the interest of the Alumbagh in comparison with thecircumstance that within its enclosure is the grave of Havelock. We enterthe great enclosure under the lofty arch of the castellated gateway. Fromthis a straight avenue bordered by arbor vitae trees, conducts to a squareplot of ground enclosed by low posts and chains. Inside this there is alittle garden the plants of which a native gardener is watering as we openthe wicket. From the centre of the little garden there rises a shapelyobelisk on a square pedestal and on one side of the pedestal is a longinscription. "Here lie, " it begins, "the mortal remains of HenryHavelock;" and so, methinks, it might have ended. There is needed noprolix biographical inscription to tell the reverent pilgrim of the deedsof the dead man by whose grave he stands--so long as history lives, solong does it suffice to know that "here lie the mortal remains of HenryHavelock"--and the text and verse of poetry grate on one as redundancies. He sickened two days before the evacuation of the Residency and died onthe morning of the 24th of November in his dooly in a tent of the camp atthe Dilkoosha. The life went out of him just as the march began, and hissoldiers conveyed with them, on the litter on which he had expired, themortal remains of the chief who had so often led them on to victory. 

On the following morning they buried him here in the Alumbagh, under thetree which still spreads its branches over the little garden in which helies. There stood around the grave-mouth Colin Campbell and the chivalrousOutram, and stanch old Walter Hamilton, and the ever-ready Fraser Tytler;and the "boy Harry" to whom the campaign had brought the gain of fame andthe loss of a father; and the devoted Harwood with "his heart in thecoffin there with Caesar;" and the heroic William Peel; and that "colossalred Celt, " the noble, ill-fated Adrian Hope, sacrificed afterwards toincompetent obstinacy. Behind stood in a wide circle the soldiers of theRoss-shire Buffs and the "Blue Caps" who had served the dead chief sostanchly, and had gathered here now, with many a memory of his readypraise of valour and his indefatigable regard for the comfort of his men, stirring in their war-worn hearts--

 Guarded to a soldier's grave By the bravest of the brave, He hath gained a nobler tomb Than in old cathedral gloom. Nobler mourners paid the rite, Than the crowd that craves a sight; England's banners o'er him waved, Dead he keeps the name he saved. 

The burial-place was being temporarily abandoned, and as the rebelsdesecrated all the graves they could discover it was necessary toobliterate as much as possible the tokens of the interment. A big "H" wascarved into the bark of the tree and a small tin plate fastened to itstrunk, to guide to the subsequent investigation of the spot. Dr. Russelltells us that when he visited the Alumbagh before his return home afterthe mutiny in Oude was stamped out, he found the hero's grave a muddytrench near the foot of a tree which bore the mark of a round shot and hadcarved into its bark the letter "H. " The tree is here still and the dentof the round shot, and faintly too is to be discerned the carved letterbut the bark around it seems to have been whittled away, perhaps by thesacrilegious knives of relic-seeking visitors. There is the grave of ayoung lieutenant in a corner of the little garden and a few privatesoldiers lie hard by. 

I turn my face now toward the Charbagh bridge, following the route takenby Havelock's force on the 25th of September--the memorable day of therelief. There is the field where, as at a table in the open air Havelockand Outram were studying a map, a round shot from the Sepoy battery by theYellow House ricochetted between them. There is the spot where stood theYellow House itself, whence after a desperate struggle Maude'sartillerymen drove the Sepoy garrison and its guns. Presently with a sweepthe road comes into a direct line with the Charbagh bridge over the canal. Now there is not a house in the vicinity; the Charbagh garden has beenthrown into the plain and the steep banks of the canal are perfectlynaked. But then the scene was very different. On the Lucknow side thenative city came close up to the bridge and lined the canal. The tallhouses to right and left of the bridge on the Lucknow side were full ofmen with firearms. At that end of the bridge there was a regularoverlapping breastwork, and behind it rose an earthwork battery solidlyconstructed and armed with five guns, one a 42-pounder, all crammed to themuzzle with grape. Let us sit down on the parapet and try to realise thescene. Outram with the 78th has made a detour to the right through theCharbagh garden to clear it of the enemy, and, gaining the canal bank, tobring a flanking fire to bear on its defenders. There is only room for twoof Maude's guns; and there they stand out in the open on the road tryingto answer the fire of the rebel battery. Thrown forward along the bank tothe left of the bridge is a company of the Madras Fusiliers under Arnold, lying down and returning the musketry fire from the houses on the otherside. Maude's guns are forward in the straight throat of the road where itleads on to the bridge close by, but round the bend under cover of thewall the Madras Fusiliers are lying down. In a bay of the wall of theCharbagh enclosure General Neill is standing waiting for the effect ofOutram's flank movement to develop, and young Havelock, mounted, is on theother side of the road somewhat forward. Matters are at a deadlock. Itseems as if Outram had lost his way. Maude's gunners are all down; he hasrepeatedly called for volunteers from the infantry behind, and now hisgallant subaltern, Maitland, is doing bombardier's work. Maude calls toyoung Havelock that he shall be forced to retire his guns if something isnot done at once; and Havelock rides across through the fire and in hiscapacity as assistant adjutant-general urges on Neill the need for animmediate assault. Neill "is not in command; he cannot take theresponsibility; and General Outram must turn up soon. " Havelock turns andrides away down the road towards the rear. As he passes he speaksencouragingly to the recumbent Fusiliers, who are getting fidgety at thelong detention under fire. "Come out of that, sir, " cried one soldier, "achap's just had his head taken off there!" It is a grim joke that replywhich tickles the Fusiliers into laughter: "And what the devil are we herefor but to get our heads taken off?" Young Havelock is bent on theperpetration of what, under the circumstances, may be called a piousfraud. His father, who commands the operations, is behind with theReserve, and he disappears round the bend on the make-belief of gettinginstructions from the chief. The General is far in the rear but his soncomes back at the gallop, rides up to Neill, and saluting with his sword, says, "You are to carry the bridge at once, sir. " Neill, acquiescing inthe superior order, replies, "Get the regiment together then, and see itformed up. " At the word and without waiting for the regiment to rise andform the gallant and eager Arnold springs up from his advanced positionand dashes on to the bridge, followed by about a dozen of his nearestskirmishers. Tytler and Havelock, as eager as Arnold, set spurs to theirhorses and are by his side in a moment. The brave and ardent 84th, commanded by Willis, dashes to the front. Then the hurricane opens. Thebig gun crammed to the muzzle with grape, sweeps its iron sleet across thebridge in the face of the gallant band, and the Sepoy sharpshootersconverge their fire on it. Arnold drops shot through both thighs, Tytler'shorse goes down with a crash, the bridge is swept clear save for youngHavelock erect and unwounded, waving his sword and shouting for theFusiliers to come on, and a Fusilier corporal, Jakes by name, who, as herams a bullet home into his Enfield, says cheerily to Havelock, "We'llsoon have the ---- out of that, sir!" And corporal Jakes is a trueprophet. Before the big gun can be loaded again the stormers are on thebridge in a rushing mass. They are across it, they clear the barricade, they storm the battery, they are bayoneting the Sepoy gunners as theystand. The Charbagh bridge is won, but with severe loss which continuesmore or less all the way to the Residency; and when one comes to know theground it becomes more and more obvious that the strategy of Havelock, overruled by Outram, was wise and prescient, when he counselled a wideturning movement by the Dilkoosha, over the Goomtee near the Martinière, and so along its northern bank to the Badshah-bagh, almost opposite to theResidency and commanding the iron bridge. 

I recross the Charbagh bridge and bend away to the left by the byroadalong the canal side by which the 78th Highlanders penetrated to the frontof the Kaiser-bagh. Most of the native houses are now destroyed, whencewas poured so deadly a fire on the advancing Ross-shire men that threecolour-bearers fell in succession, and the colour fell to the grasp of thegallant Valentine McMaster, the assistant-surgeon of the regiment. And nowI stand in front of the main entrance to the Kaiser-bagh, hard by the spotwhere stood the Sepoy battery which the Highlanders so opportunely took inreverse. Before me on the _maidan_ is the plain monument to SirMountstuart Jackson, Captain Orr, and a sergeant, who were murdered in theKaiser-bagh when the success of Campbell's final operations becamecertain. I enter the great square enclosure of the Kaiser-bagh and standin the desolation of what was once a gay garden where the King of Oude andhis women were wont to disport themselves. The place stands much asCampbell's men left it after looting its multifarious rich treasures. Thedainty little pavilions are empty and dilapidated, the statues are brokenand tottering. Quitting the Kaiser-bagh, I try to realise the scene ofthat informal council of war in one of the outlying courtyards of thenumerous palaces. I want to fix the spot where on his big waler satOutram, a splash of blood across his face, and his arm in a sling; whereHavelock, dismounted, walked up and down by Outram's side with short, nervous strides, halting now and then to give emphasis to the argument, while all around them were officers, soldiers, guns, natives, wounded men, bullocks, and a surging tide of disorganisation momentarily pouring intothe square. But the attempt is fruitless. The whole area has been clearedof buildings right up to the gate of the Residency, only that hard by theGoomtee there still stands the river wing of the Chutter Munzil Palacewith its fantastic architecture, and that the palace of the King of Oudeis now the station library and assembly rooms. The Hureen Khana, theLalbagh, the courts of the Furrut Bux Palace, the Khas Bazaar, and theClock Tower have alike been swept away, and in their place there opens upbefore the eye trim ornamental grounds with neat plantations which extendup to the Baileyguard itself. One archway alone stands--a gauntcommemorative skeleton--a pedestal for the statue of a noble soldier. Itwas from a chamber above the crown of this arch that the sepoy shot Neillas he sat on his horse urging the confused press of guns and men throughthe archway. The spot is memorable for other causes. This archway led intothat court which is world-famous under the name of Dhooly Square. Here itwas that the native bearers abandoned the wounded in the doolies whichpoor Bensley Thornhill was trying to guide into the Residency; here it waswhere they were butchered and burned as they lay, and here it was whereDr. Home and a handful of men of the escort did what in them lay to coverthe wounded and defended themselves for a day and a night againstcontinuous attacks of countless enemies. 

The _via dolorosa_, the road of death up which Outram and Havelock foughttheir way with Brazier's Sikhs and the Ross-shire Buffs, is now a pleasantopen drive amid clumps of trees, leading on to the Residency. A strangethrill runs through one's frame as there opens up before one thatreddish-gray crumbling archway spanning the roadway into the Residencygrounds. Its face is dented and splintered with cannon-shot and pitted allover by musket-bullets. This is none other than that historic Baileyguardgate which burly Jock Aitken and his faithful Sepoys kept so stanchly. Youmay see the marks still of the earth banked up against it on the interiorduring the siege. To the right and left runs the low wall which was thecurtain of the defence, now crumbled so as to be almost indistinguishable. But there still stands, retired somewhat from the right of the archway, Aitken's post--the guard-house and treasury, its pillars and façade cutand dented all over with the marks of bullets fired by "Bob the Nailer"and his comrades from the Clock Tower which stood over against it. And inthe curtain wall between the archway and the building is still to betraced the faint outline of the embrasure through which Outram andHavelock entered on the memorable evening. The turmoil and din andconflicting emotions of that terrible, glorious day have merged into astrange serenity of quietude. The scene is solitary, save for a nativewoman who is playing with her baby on a spot where once dead bodies lay inheaps. But the other older scene rises up vividly before the mind's eyeout of the present calm. Havelock and Outram and the staff have passedthrough the embrasure here, and now there are rushing in the men of theranks, powder-grimed, dusty, bloody; but a minute before raging with thestern passion of the battle, now full of a woman-like tenderness. And allaround them as they swarm in there crowd a mass of folk eager to givewelcome. There are officers and men of the garrison, civilians whom thesiege has made into soldiers; women, too, weeping tears of joy down on thefaces of the children for whom they had not dared to hope for aught butdeath. There are gaunt men, pallid with loss of blood, whose great eyesshine weirdly amid the torchlight and whose thin hands tremble withweakness as they grip the sinewy, grimy hands of the Highlanders. Theseare the wounded of the long siege who have crawled out from the hospitalup yonder, as many of them as could compass the exertion, with a welcometo their deliverers. The hearts of the impulsive Highlanders wax verywarm. As they grasp the hands held out to them they exclaim, "God blessyou!" "Why, we expected to have found only your bones!" "And the childrenare living too!" and many other fervid and incoherent ejaculations. Theladies of the garrison come among the Highlanders, shaking thementhusiastically by the hand; and the children clasp the shaggy men roundthe neck, and to say truth, so do some of the mothers. But Jessie Dunbarand her "Dinna ye hear it?" in reference to the bagpipe music, are in thecategory of melodramatic fictions. 

The position which bears and will bear to all time the title of theResidency of Lucknow, is an elevated plateau of land, irregular insurface, of which the highest point is occupied by the Residency building, while the area around was studded irregularly with buildings, chiefly thehouses of the principal civilian officials of the station. When Campbellbrought away the garrison in November 1857 it lapsed into the hands of themutineers, who held it till his final occupation of the city and itssurroundings in March of the following year. They pulled down not a few ofthe already shattered buildings, and left their fell imprint on the spotin an atrociously ghastly way by desecrating the graves in which bravehands had laid our dead country-people and flinging the exhumed corpsesinto the Goomtee. When India once more became settled the Residency, itscommemorative features uninterfered with, was laid out as a garden andflowers and shrubs now grow on soil once wet with the blood of heroes. The_débris_ has been removed or dispersed; the shattered buildings areprevented from crumbling farther; tablets bearing the names of thedifferent positions and places of interest are let into the walls; and itis possible, by exploring the place map in hand, to identify all thefeatures of the defence. The avenue from the Baileyguard gate rises with asteep slope to the Residency building. On either side of the approach andhard by the gate, are the blistered and shattered remnants of two largehouses; that on the right is the banqueting house which was used as thehospital during the siege; that on the left was Dr. Fayrer's house. Thebanqueting house is a mere shell, riven everywhere with shot and pittedover by musket-bullets as if it had suffered from smallpox. Theground-floor has escaped with less damage but the banqueting hall itselfhas been wholly wrecked by the persistent fire which the rebels showeredupon it, and to which, notwithstanding the mattresses and sandbags withwhich the windows were blocked, several poor fellows fell victims as theylay wounded on their cots. Dr. Fayrer's house is equally a battered ruin. In its first floor, roofless and forlorn, its front torn open by shot andthe pillars of its windows jagged into fantastic fragments, is the verandain which Sir Henry Lawrence, 4th July 1857, died, exposed to fire to thevery last. At the top of the slope of the avenue and on the left front ofthe Residency building as we approach it--on what, indeed, was once thelawn--has been raised an artificial mound, its slopes covered withflowering shrubs, its summit bearing the monumental obelisk on thepedestal of which is the terse, appropriate inscription: "In memory ofMajor-General Sir Henry Lawrence and the brave men who fell in defence ofthe Residency. _Si monumentum quaeris Circumspice!_" Beyond this lies thescathed and blighted ruin of the Residency House, once a large andimposing structure, now so utterly wrecked and shivered that one wondershow the crumbling reddish-gray walls are kept erect. The veranda wasbattered down and much of the front of the building lies bodily open, thestructure being supported on the battered and distorted pillars assistedby great balks of wood. Entering by the left wing I pass down a windingstair into the bowels of the earth till I reach the spacious and loftyvaults or _tykhana_ under the building. Here, the place affordingcomparative safety, lived immured the women of the garrison, the soldiers'wives, half-caste females, the wives of the meaner civilians and theirchildren. The poor creatures were seldom allowed to come up to thesurface, lest they should come in the way of the shot which constantlylacerated the whole area, and few visitors were allowed access to them. Veritably they were in a dungeon. Provisions were lowered down to themfrom the window orifices near the roof of the vaulting, and there weredays when the firing was so heavy that orders were given to them not evento rise from their beds on the floor. For shot occasionally found a wayeven into the _tykhana_; you may see the holes it made in penetrating. Themiserables were billeted off ten in a room, and there they lived, withoutsweepers, baths, dhobies, or any of the comforts which the climate makesnecessities. Here in these dungeons children were born, only for the mostpart to die. Ascending another staircase I pass through some rooms inwhich lived (and died) some of the ladies of the garrison, and passingfrom the left wing by a shattered corridor am able to look up into theroom in which Sir Henry Lawrence received his death-wound. Access to it isimpossible by reason of the tottering condition of the structure; andturning away I clamber up the worn staircase in the shot-riven tower onthe summit of which still stands the flagstaff on which were hoisted thesignals with which the garrison were wont to communicate with theAlumbagh. The walls of the staircase and the flat roof of the tower arescratched and written all over with the names of visitors; many of thenames are those of natives, but more are those of British soldiers, whohave occasionally added a piece of their mind in characteristically stronglanguage. 

I set out on a pilgrimage under the still easily traceable contour of theintrenchment. Passing "Sam Lawrence's Battery" above what was thewater-gate, I traverse the projecting tongue at the end of which stood the"Redan Battery" whose fire swept the river face up to the iron bridge. Returning, and passing the spot where "Evans's Battery" stood, I findmyself in the churchyard in a slight depression of the ground. Of thechurch, which was itself a defensive post, not one stone remains onanother and the mutineers hacked to pieces the ground of the churchyard. The ground is now neatly enclosed and ornamentally planted and is studdedwith many monuments, few of which speak the truth when they profess tocover the dust of those whom they commemorate. There are the regimentalmonuments of the 5th Madras Fusiliers, the 84th (360 men besidesofficers), the Royal Artillery, the 90th (a long list of officers and 271men). The monument of the 1st Madras Fusiliers bears the names of Neill, Stephenson, Renaud, and Arnold, and commemorates a loss of 352 men. Thereis a monument to Mr. Polehampton the exemplary chaplain, and hard by aplain slab bears the inscription, "Here lies Henry Lawrence, who tried todo his duty; may the Lord have mercy on his soul!" words dictated byhimself on his deathbed. Other monuments commemorate Captain Graham of theBengal Cavalry and two children; Mr. Fairhurst the Roman Catholic chaplain;Major Banks; Captain Fulton of the 32nd who earned the title of "Defenderof Lucknow;" Lucas, the travelling Irish gentleman who served as avolunteer and fell in the last sortie; Captain Becher; Captain Moorsom;poor Bensley Thornhill and his young daughter; "Mrs. Elizabeth Arne, burntwith a shell-ball during the siege;" Lieutenant Cunliffe; Mr. Ommaney theJudicial Commissioner; and others. The nameless hillocks of poor JackPrivate are plentiful, for here were buried many of those who fell in thefinal capture; and there are children's graves. Interments take placestill. I saw a freshly-made grave; but only those are entitled to a lastresting-place here who were among the beleaguered during the long defence. I have seen the medal for the defence of Lucknow on the breast of a manwho was a child in arms at the time of the siege, and such an one wouldhave the right to claim interment in this doubly hallowed ground. From thechurchyard I pass out along the narrow neck to that forlorn-hope post, "Innes's Garrison, " and along the western face of the intrenchment by thesides of the sheep-house and the slaughter-house, to Gubbins's post. Themere foundations of the house are visible which the stout civilian sogallantly defended, and the famous tree, gradually pruned to a mere stumpby the enemy's fire, is no longer extant. Along the southern face of theposition there are no buildings which are not ruined. Sikh Square, theBrigade Mess House, and the Martinière boys' post, are alike representedby fragmentary gray walls shivered with shot and shored up here and thereby beams. The rooms of the Begum Kothi near the centre of the position, are still laterally entire but roofless. The walls of this structure areexceptionally thick and here many of the ladies of the garrison werequartered. All around the Residency position the native houses which atthe time of the siege crowded close up on the intrenchment, are nowdestroyed; and indeed the native town has been curtailed intocomparatively small dimensions and is entirely separated from the area inwhich the houses of the station are built. 

Quitting the Residency I drive westward by the river side, over the siteof the Captan Bazaar, past also that huge fortified heap the Muchee Bawn, till I reach the beautiful enclosure in which the great Imambara stands. This majestic structure--part temple, part convent, part palace, and nowpart fortress--dominates the whole _terrain_, and from its lofty flat roofone looks down on the plain where the weekly _hât_ or market is beingheld, on the gardens and mansions across the river, and southward upon thedense mass of houses which constitute the native city. Sentries promenadethe battlements of the Muchee Bawn, and the Imambara--an apartment towhich for space and height I know none in Europe comparable--is now usedas an arsenal, where are stored the great siege guns which William Peelplied with so great skill and gallantry. Just outside the Imambara, on theedge of the _maidan_ between it and the Moosabagh, I come on a littlerailed churchyard where rest a few British soldiers who fell during LordClyde's final operations in this direction. Then, with a sweep across theplain to the south and by a slight ascent, I reach the gate of the citywhich opens into the Chowk or principal street--the street traversed indisguise by the dauntless Kavanagh when he went out from the garrison toconvey information and afford guidance to Sir Colin Campbell on his firstadvance. The gatehouse is held by a strong force of native policemen, armed as if they were soldiers; and as I pass the guard I stand in theChowk itself, in the midst of a throng of gaily clad male pedestrians, women in chintz trousers, laden donkeys, multitudinous children, and stillmore multitudinous stinks. All down both sides the fronts of the lowerstories are open, and in the recesses sit merchants displaying paltryjewelry, slippers, pipes, turban cloths, and Manchester stuffs of thegaudiest patterns. The main street of Lucknow has been called "The Streetof Silver, " but I could find little among its jewelry either of silver orof gold. The first floors all have balconies, and on these sit draped, barefooted women of Rahab's profession. The women of Lucknow are fairerand handsomer, and the men bolder and more stalwart, than those in Bengal, and it takes no great penetration to discern that Lucknow is still ruledby fear and not by love. 

It remained for me still to investigate the scenes of the route by whichLord Clyde came in on both his advances; but to do justice to these woulddemand separate articles. Let me begin the hasty sketch at the DilkooshaPalace, two miles and more away to the east of the Residency; for on bothoccasions the Dilkoosha was Clyde's base. Wajid Ali's twenty-foot wall hasnow given place to an earthen embankment surrounding a beautiful pleasurepark, and there are now smooth green slopes instead of the dense forestthrough which Clyde's soldiers marched on their turning movement. On aswell in the midst of the park, commanding a view of the fantasticarchitecture of the Martinière down by the tank, stands the gaunt ruin ofthe once trim and dainty Dilkoosha Palace or rather garden-house. From oneof the pepper-box turrets up there Lord Clyde directed the attack on theMartinière on his ultimate operation; and here it was that, as Dr. Russelltells us, a round shot dispersed his staff on the adjacent leads. Afterquietude was restored the Dilkoosha was the headquarters for a time of SirHope Grant, but now it has been allowed to fall into decay although thegarden in the rear of it is prettily kept up. On the reverse slope behindthe Dilkoosha was the camp in one of the tents of which Havelock died. Wedrive down the gentle slope once traversed at a rushing double by theBlack Watch on their way to carry the Martinière, past the great tank outof the centre of which rises the tall column to the memory of ClaudeMartine, and reach the entrance of the fantastic building which he built, in which he was buried, and which bears his name. We see at the angle ofthe northern wing the slope up which the gun was run which played soheavily on the Dilkoosha up on the wooded knoll there. The Martinière isnow, as it was before the Mutiny, a college for European boys, and theyoung fellows are playing on the terraces. Grotesque stone statues are inniches and along the tops of the balconies; you may see on them the marksof the bullets which the honest fellows of the Black Watch fired at them, taking them for Pandies. I go down into a vault and see the tomb of ClaudeMartine; but it is empty, for the mutineers desecrated his grave andscattered his bones to the winds of heaven. Then I make for the roof, through the dormitories of the boys and past fantastic stone griffins andlions and Gorgons, till I reach the top of the tower and touch theflagstaff from which, during the relief time, was given the answeringsignal to that hoisted on the tower of the Residency. I stand in theniches where the mutineer marksmen used to sit with their hookahs and takepot shots at the Dilkoosha. I look down to the eastward on the Goomtee, and note the spot where Outram crossed on that flank movement which wouldhave been very much more successful than it was had he been permitted todrive it home. To the north-east beyond the topes is the battle-ground ofChinhut, where Lawrence received so terrible a reverse at the beginning ofthe siege. Due north is the Kookrail viaduct which Outram cleared with theRifles and the 79th, and in whose vicinity Jung Bahadour, the crafty andbloodthirsty generalissimo of Nepaul, "co-operated" by a demonstrationwhich never became anything more. And to the west there lie stretched outbefore me the domes, minarets, and spires of Lucknow, rising above thefoliage in which their bases are hidden, and the routes of Clyde in therelief and capture. The rays of the afternoon sun are stirring into colourthe dusky gray of the Secunderbagh and of the Nuddun Rusool, or "Grave ofthe Prophet, " used as a powder magazine by the rebels. Below me, on thelawn of the Martinière, is the big gun--one of Claude Martine's casting--which did the rebels so much service at the other angle of the Martinièreand which was spiked at last by two men of Peel's naval brigade, who swamthe Goomtee for the purpose. That little enclosure slightly to the leftsurrounds "all that can die" of that strange mixture of high spirit, cooldaring, and weak principle, the famous chief of Hodson's Horse. ByHodson's side lies Captain da Costa of the 56th N. I. , attached toBrazier's Sikhs. Of this officer is told that, having lost many relativesin the butchery of Cawnpore, he joined the regiment likeliest to be in thefront of the Lucknow fighting, and fell by one of the first shots fired inthe assault on the Kaiser-bagh. 

Descending from the Martinière tower I traverse the park to the westwardpassing the grave of Captain Otway Mayne, cross the dry canal along whichare still visible the heaps of earth which mark the stupendous first lineof the rebels' defences, and bending to the left reach the Secunderbagh. This famous place was a pleasure garden surrounded with a lofty wall withturrets at the angles and a castellated gateway. The interior garden isnow waste and forlorn, the rank grass growing breast-high in the cornerswhere the slaughter was heaviest. Here in this little enclosure, not halfthe size of the garden of Bedford Square, 2000 Sepoys died the death atthe hands of the 93rd, the 53rd, and the 4th Punjaubees. Their commongrave is under the low mound on the other side of the road. The loopholesstand as they were left by the mutineers when our fellows came bursting inthrough the ragged breach made in the reverse side from the main entranceby Peel's guns. Farther on--that is, nearer to the Residency--I come tothe Shah Nujeef, with its strong exterior wall enclosing the domed templein its centre. It is still easy to trace the marks of the breach made inthe angle in the wall by Peel's battering guns, and the tree is stillstanding up which Salmon, Southwell, and Harrison climbed in response tohis proffer of the Victoria Cross. Opposite the Shah Nujeef white girlsare playing on the lawn of that castellated building, for the KoorsheydMunzil, on the top of which there was hoisted the British flag in the faceof a _feu d'enfer_, is now a seminary for the daughters of Europeans. Alittle beyond, on the plain in front of the Motee Mahal, is the spot whereCampbell met Outram and Havelock--a spot which, methinks, might well bemarked by a monument; and after this I lose my reckoning by reason of theextent of the demolition, and am forced to resort to guesswork as to theprecise localities. 

THE MILITARY COURAGE OF ROYALTY

Writing of the late Alexander III. Of Russia, a foreign author hasrecently permitted himself to observe: "Marvellous personal courage is nota striking characteristic of the dynasty of the Romanoffs as it was of theEnglish Tudors. " It will be conceded that periods materially govern theconditions under which sovereigns and their royal relatives have foundopportunities for proving their personal courage. The Tudor dynasty hadended before the Romanoff dynasty began. It is true, indeed, that theending of the former with the death of Elizabeth in 1603 occurred only afew years before the foundation of the latter by the election to theTzarship of Michael Feodorovitz Romanoff in 1612. But of the fivesovereigns of the Tudor dynasty it happened that only one, Henry VII. , thefirst monarch of that dynasty, found or made an opportunity for thedisplay of marked--scarcely perhaps of "marvellous"--personal courage; andthus the selection of the Tudor dynasty by the writer referred to asfurnishing a contrasting illustration in the matter of personal courage tothat of the Romanoffs was not particularly fortunate. Henry VIII. Was onlyonce in action; he shared in the skirmish known as the "Battle of theSpurs, " because of the precipitate flight of the French horse. Edward VI. Died at the age of sixteen, and the two remaining sovereigns of thedynasty were women, of whom it is true that Elizabeth was a strong andvigorous ruler, but in the nature of things had no opportunity for showing"marvellous personal courage. " Henry VII. Literally found his crown in theheart of the _mêlée_ on Bosworth field, it matters not which of thealternative stories is correct, that he himself killed Richard, or thatRichard was killed in the act of striking him a desperate blow. But Henryat Bosworth in 1485 still belonged to the days of chivalry--to an era inwhich monarchs were also armour-clad knights, who headed charges in personand gave and took with spear, sword, and battle-axe. Long before Peter theGreat, more than two centuries after Bosworth, foamed at the mouth withrage and hacked with his sword at his panicstricken troops fleeing fromthe field of Narva on that winter day of 1700, the face of warfare hadaltered and the _métier_ of the commander, were he sovereign or were hesubject, had undergone a radical change. 

Of a family of the human race it is not rationally possible to predicate atypical generic characteristic of mind. A physical trait will endure downthe generations, as witness the Hapsburg lip and the swarthy complexion ofthe Finch-Hattons, in the face of alliances from outside the races; but, save as regards one exception, there is no assurance of a continuousinheritance of mental attributes. What a contrast is there betweenFrederick the Great and his father; between George III. And his successor;between the present Emperor of Austria and his hapless son; between thegenial, wistful, and well-intentioned Alexander II. Of Russia and the notless well-intentioned but narrow-minded and despotic sovereign whosucceeded him! But there may be reserved one exception to the absence ofassurance of inherited mental attributes--one mental feature in whichidentity takes the place of dissimilarity, and even of actual contrast. And that feature--that inherited characteristic of a race whoseprogenitors happily possessed it--is personal courage. 

Take, for example, the Hohenzollerns. One need not hark back to Carlyle'soriginal Conrad, the seeker of his fortune who tramped down from theancestral cliff-castle on his way to take service under Barbarossa. Beforeand since the "Grosse Kurfurst" there has been no Hohenzollern who has notbeen a brave man. He himself was the hero of Fehrbellin. His son, thefirst king of the line, Carlyle's "Expensive Herr, " was "valiant inaction" during the third war of Louis XIV. The rugged Frederick William, father of Frederick the Great, had his own tough piece of war against thevolcanic Charles XII. Of Sweden and did a stout stroke of hard fighting atMalplaquet. Of Fritz himself the world has full note. Bad, sensual, debauched Hohenzollern as was his successor, Frederick the Fat, he hadfought stoutly in his youth-time under his illustrious uncle. His son, Frederick William III. , overthrown by Napoleon who called him a"corporal, " did good soldierly work in the "War of Liberation" and foughthis way to Paris in 1814. His eldest son, Frederick William IV. , thevague, benevolent dreamer whom _Punch_ used to call "King Clicquot" andwho died of softening of the brain, even he, too, as a lad haddistinguished himself in the "War of Liberation" and in the fightingduring the subsequent advance on Paris. As for grand old William I. , thereal maker of the German Empire on the _quid facit per alium facit per se_axiom, he died a veteran of many wars. He was not seventeen when he wonthe Iron Cross by a service of conspicuous gallantry under heavy fire. Hetook his chances in the bullet and shell fire at Königgrätz, and again onthe afternoon of Gravelotte. Not a Hohenzollern of them all but shared asbecame their race in the dangers of the great war of 1870-71; even PrinceGeorge, the music composer, the only non-soldier of the family, took thefield. William's noble son, whose premature death neither Germany norEngland has yet ceased to deplore, took the lead of one army; his nephewPrince Frederick Charles, a great commander and a brilliant soldier, wasthe leader of another. One of his brothers, Prince Albert the elder, madethe campaign as cavalry chief; whose son, Prince Albert junior, now aveteran Field-Marshal, commanded a brigade of guard-cavalry with a skilland daring not wholly devoid of recklessness. Another brother, PrinceCharles, the father of the "Red Prince, " made the campaign with the royalheadquarters; Prince Adalbert, a cousin of the sovereign and head of thePrussian Navy, had his horse shot under him on the battlefield ofGravelotte. 

The trait of personal courage has markedly characterised the House ofHanover. As King of England George I. Did no fighting, but before hereached that position he had distinguished himself in war not a little;against the Danes and Swedes in 1700 and in high command in the war of theSpanish succession from 1701 to 1709. His successor, while yet young, haddisplayed conspicuous valour in the battle of Oudenarde, and later in lifeat Dettingen; and he was the last British monarch who took part in actualwarfare. Cumberland had no meritorious attribute save that of personalcourage, but that virtue in him was undeniable. At Dettingen he waswounded in the forefront of the battle; at Fontenoy the "martial boy" wasever in the heart of the fiercest fire, fighting at "a spiritual whiteheat. " His grand-nephew the Duke of York was an unfortunate soldier, buthis personal courage was unquestioned. In the present reign a cousin and ason of the sovereign have done good service in the field; and thatvenerable lady herself in situations of personal danger has consistentlymaintained the calm courage of her race. 

The foreign author has written that "marvellous personal courage is notthe striking characteristic of the dynasty of the Romanoffs. " He makes anexception to this quasi-indictment in favour of the Emperor Nicholas, who, he admits, "was absolutely ignorant of fear, and could face a band ofinsurgents with the calm self-possession of a shepherd surveying hisbleating sheep. " The monarch who at the moment of his accessionillustrated the dominant force of his character by confronting amid thebullet fire the ferocious mutiny of half an army corps, and who crushedthe bloodthirsty _émeute_ with dauntless resolution and iron hand; the manwho, facing the populace of St. Petersburg crazed with terror of thecholera and red with the blood of slaughtered physicians, quelled itspanic-fury by commanding the people in the sternest tones of his sonorousvoice to kneel in the dust and propitiate by prayers the wrath of theAlmighty--such a man is scarcely, perhaps, adequately characterised by theexpressions which have been quoted. But setting aside this instance of thefearlessness of Nicholas, facts appear to refute pretty conclusivelyreflections on the personal courage of the Romanoffs. No purpose can beserved by cumbering the record by going back into the period of Russia'ssemi-civilisation; illustrations from three generations may reasonablysuffice. At Austerlitz Alexander I. Was close up to the fighting line inthe Pratzen section of that great battle, and so recklessly did he exposehimself that the report spread rearward that he had fallen. He was ridingwith Moreau in the heart of the bloody turmoil before Dresden when aFrench cannon-ball mortally wounded the renegade French general, and hewas splashed by the latter's blood. Moreau had insisted on riding on theoutside, else the ball which caused his death would certainly have struckAlexander. That monarch participated actively and forwardly in most of thebattles of the campaign of 1814 which culminated in the allied occupationof Paris. Marmont's bullets were still flying when he rode on to the hillof Belleville and looked down through the smoke of battle on the Frenchcapital. The captious foreign writer has admitted that Nicholas, thesuccessor of Alexander, was "absolutely ignorant of fear, " and I havecited a convincing instance of his "marvellous personal courage. " Two ofhis sons--the Grand Dukes Nicholas and Michael--were under fire in thebattle of Inkerman and shared for some time the perils of the siege ofSevastopol. Alexander II. Was certainly a man of real, although quiet andundemonstrative, personal courage. But for his disregard of theprecautions by which the police sought to surround him he probably wouldhave been alive to-day. The Third Section was wholly unrepresented inBulgaria and His Majesty's protection on campaign consisted merely of ahandful of Cossacks. No cordon of sentries surrounded his simple camp; histent at Pavlo and the dilapidated Turkish house which for weeks was hisresidence at Gorni Studen were alike destitute of any guards. The imperialCourt of Russia is said to be the most punctiliously ceremonious of allcourts; in the field the Tzar absolutely dispensed with any sort ofceremony. He dined with his suite and staff at a frugal table in a sparehospital marquee; his guests, the foreign attachés and any passingofficers or strangers who happened to be in camp. When he drove out hisescort consisted of a couple of Cossacks. In the woods about Biela at thebeginning of the war there still remained some forlorn bivouacs of Turkishfamilies; he would alight and visit those, his sole companion theaide-de-camp on duty; and would fearlessly venture among the sullen Turksall of whom were armed with deadly weapons, try to persuade them to returnto their homes, and, unmoved by their refusal, promise to send them foodand medicine. Dispensing with all etiquette he would see without delay anyone coming in with tidings from fighting points, were he officer, civilian, or war correspondent. During the September attack on Plevna hewas continually in the field while daylight lasted, looking out on theslaughter from an eminence within range of the Turkish cannon-fire, andmanifestly enduring keen anguish at the spectacle of the losses sustainedby his brave, patient troops. Later, during the investment of Plevna, hispoint of observation was a redoubt on the Radischevo ridge still closer tothe Turkish front of fire, and it was thence he witnessed the surrender ofOsman's army on the memorable 10th December 1877. If Alexander wasfearless alike in camp and in the field on campaign, he was certainly notless so in St. Petersburg, when he returned thither after the fall ofPlevna. 

Alexander II. Literally sacrificed his life to his self-regardless concernfor the suffering. After the first bomb had burst on the Alexandra CanalRoad, striking down civilians and Cossacks of the following escort butleaving the Emperor unhurt, his coachman begged to be allowed to dashforward and get clear of danger. But Alexander forbade him with the words, "No, no! I must alight and see to the wounded;" and as he was carrying outhis heroic and benign intention, the second bomb exploded and wrought hisdeath. 

As did the men of the Hohenzollern house in 1870, so in 1877 the adultmale Romanoffs went to the war with scarce an exception. The Grand DukeNicholas, brother of the Emperor and Commander-in-Chief of the Russianarmies in Europe, was neither a great general nor an honest man; but therecould be no question as to his personal courage. That attribute he evincedwith utter recklessness when arriving, as was his wont, too late for adeliberate and careful survey, he galloped round the Turkish positions onthe morning on which began the September bombardment of Plevna, inproximity to Turkish cannon-fire so dangerous that his staff remonstrated, and that even the sedate American historian of the war speaks of him ashaving "exposed himself imprudently to the Turkish pickets. " His son, theGrand Duke Nicholas, jun. , in 1877 scarcely of age, was nevertheless akeen practical soldier, imbued with the wisdom of getting to closequarters and staying there. He was among the first to cross the Danube atSistova under the Turkish fire, and he fought with great gallantry underMirsky in the Schipka Pass. The brothers, Prince Nicholas and PrinceEugene of Leuchtenberg, members of the imperial house, commanded each acavalry brigade in Gourko's dashing raid across the Balkans at thebeginning of the campaign, and both were conspicuous for soldierly skilland personal gallantry in the desperate fighting in the Tundja Valley. TheGrand Duke Vladimir, the second brother of Alexander III. , headed theinfantry advance in the direction of Rustchuk, and served with markeddistinction in command of one of the corps in the army of the Lom. Ayounger brother, the Grand Duke Alexis, the nautical member of theimperial family, had charge of the torpedo and subaqueous miningoperations on the Danube, and was held to have shown practical skill, assiduity, and vigour. Prince Serge of Leuchtenberg, younger brother ofthe Leuchtenbergs previously mentioned, was shot dead by a bullet throughthe head in the course of his duty as a staff officer at the front of areconnaissance in force made against the Turkish force in Jovan-Tchiflikin October of the war. He was a soldier of great promise and hadfrequently distinguished himself. No unworthy record, it is submitted, earned in war by the members of a family of which, according to theforeign author, "personal courage is not the striking characteristic. "

That writer may be warranted in stating that the late Tzar had beenfrequently accused of cowardice--an indictment to which, it must beadmitted, many undeniable facts lent a strong colouring of probability;and he further tells of "the Emperor's aversion to ride on horseback, andof his dread of a horse even when the animal was harnessed to a vehicle. "There is something, however, of inconsistency in his observation thatAlexander III. Might well have been a contrast to his grandfather withoutdeserving the epithet craven-hearted. The melancholy explanation of thestrange apparent change between the Tzarewitch of 1877 and the Tzar of1894 may lie in the statement that "Alexander's nerves had beenundoubtedly shaken by the terrible events in which he had been a spectatoror actor. " In 1877, when in campaign in Bulgaria, Alexander did not knowwhat "nerves" meant. He was then a man of strong, if slow, mental force, stolid, peremptory, reactionary; the possessor of dull but firmresolution. He had a strong though clumsy seat on horseback and was noinfrequent rider. He had two ruling dislikes: one was war, the other wasofficers of German extraction. The latter he got rid of; the former heregarded as a necessary evil of the hour; he longed for its ending, butwhile it lasted he did his sturdy and loyal best to wage it to theadvantage of the Russian arms. And in this he succeeded, stanchlyfulfilling the particular duty which was laid upon him, that of protectingthe Russian left flank from the Danube to the foothills of the Balkans. Hehad good troops, the subordinate commands were fairly well filled, and hisheadquarter staff was efficient--General Dochtouroff, its _sous-chef_, wascertainly the ablest staff-officer in the Russian army. But Alexander wasno puppet of his staff; he understood his business as the commander of thearmy of the Lom, performed his functions in a firm, quiet fashion, andwithal was the trusty and successful warden of the eastern marches. Hisforce never amounted to 50, 000 men, and his enemy was in considerablygreater strength. He had successes and he sustained reverses, but he wasequal to either fortune; always resolute in his steadfast, dogged manner, and never whining for reinforcements when things went against him, butdoing his best with the means to his hand. They used to speak of him inthe principal headquarter as the only commander who never gave them anybother. So highly was he thought of there that when, after theunsuccessful attempt on Plevna in the September of the war, the GuardCorps was arriving from Russia and there was the temporary intention touse it with other troops in an immediate offensive movement across theBalkans, he was named to take the command of the enterprise. But thisintention having been presently departed from, and the reinforcementsbeing ordered instead to the Plevna section of the theatre of war, theTzarewitch retained his command on the left flank, and thus inmid-December had the opportunity of inflicting a severe defeat on SuleimanPasha, just as in September he had worsted Mehemet Ali in the battle ofCarkova. It is sad to be told that a man once so resolute and masterfulshould later have been the victim of shattered nerves; it is sadder stillto learn that he was a mark for accusations of cowardice. He never was agracious, far less a lovable man; but, as I can testify from personalknowledge, he was a cool and brave soldier in the Russo-Turkish War of1877. 

PARADE OF THE COMMISSIONAIRES

1875

On a Sunday morning in early June, just before the church bells begin toring, there is wont to be held the annual general parade and inspection ofthe Corps of Commissionaires, on the enclosed grass plot by the margin ofthe ornamental water in St. James's Park. On the ground, and accompanyingthe inspecting officer on his tour through the opened ranks, there arealways not a few veteran officers, glad by their presence on such anoccasion to countenance and recognise their humbler comrades in arms inbygone war-dramas enacted elsewhere than within hearing of London Sundaybells. No scene could be imagined presenting a more practical confutationof the ignorant calumny that the British army is composed of the froth andthe dregs of the British nation, and that there exists no cordial feelingbetween British soldiers and British officers. It is good to see how theface kindles of the veteran guardsman at the sight and the kindly greetingof Sir Charles Russell. Doubtless the honest private's thoughts go back tothat misty morning on the slopes of Inkerman, when officer and privatestood shoulder to shoulder in the fierce press, and there rang again inhis ears the cheer with which the Guards greeted the act of valour by theperformance of which the baronet won the Victoria Cross. There is afeeling deeper than a mere formality in the half-dozen words that passbetween Sir William Codrington and the old soldier of the 7th RoyalFusiliers, to whom the gallant general showed the way up to the Russianfront, through the shot-torn vineyards on the slopes of the Alma. When onefeeble old ex-warrior is smitten suddenly on parade with a palsiedfaintness, it is on the yet stalwart arm of his old chief that he tottersout of the ranks, and the twain do not part till the superior has exacteda pledge that his humble ex-subordinate shall call upon him on the morrow, with a view to medical advice and strengthening comforts. 

Notwithstanding that in the true old martial spirit it shows what in theService is known as a good front, it is not a very athletic or puissantcohort this, that stands on parade here on the grass within hearing of thechurch bells. The grizzled old soldiers, sooth to say, look rather theworse for wear. There is a decided shortcoming among them of the propercomplement of limbs, and one at least, in speaking of the battlefields hehad seen, might with truth echo the old soldier in Burns's _JollyBeggars_--

 And there I left for witness a leg and an arm. 

They carry no weapons; to some may belong the knowledge only of theobsolete "Brown Bess" manual exercise; and not many have been so recentlyon active service as to have learnt the handling of the modernbreech-loader. On the whole, a battered, fossil, maimed army ofsuperannuated fighting men, scarcely fitted to shine in the new tactics ofthe "swarm-attack" by which the battles of the future are to be won orlost. But you cannot jibe at the worn old soldiers as "lean and slipperedpantaloons. " Look how truly, with what instinctive intuition, the dressingis taken up at the word of command; note how the old martial carriagecomes back to the most dilapidated when the adjutant calls his command to"attention. " Age and wounds have not quenched the fighting spirit of theold soldiers; there is not a man of them but would, did the need arise, "clatter on his stumps to the sound of the drum. " There are few breasts inthose ranks that are not decorated with medals. In very truth the paradeis a record of British campaigns for the last thirty years. Among thethicket of medals on the bosom of this broken old light dragoon note theone bearing the legend, "Cabul 1842" within the laurel wreath. Its wearerwas a trooper in the famous "rescue" column. The skeletons ofElphinstone's hapless force littered the slopes of the Tezeen Valley, upwhich the squadron in which he rode charged straight for the tent of thesplendid demon Akbar Khan. He rode behind Campbell at the battle ofPunniar, and won there that star of silver and bronze which hangs from thefamous "rainbow" ribbon. "Sutlej" is the legend on another of his medals, and he could recount to you the memorable story of Thackwell's cavalryoperations against the Sikh field works, and how that division of seasonedhorsemen reduced outpost duty to a methodical science. "Punjab" medals forGough's campaign of 1848-49 are scattered up and down in the ranks. Thesword-cut athwart this wiry old trooper's cheek he got in the hot _mêlée_of Ramhuggur, where a certain Brigadier Colin Campbell whom men knewafterwards as Lord Clyde, found it hard work to hold his own, and wheregallant Cureton and the veteran William Havelock fell at the head of theirlight horsemen as they crashed into the heart of 4000 Sikhs. His neighbourtook part in the storm of Mooltan, and saw stout, calm-pulsed SergeantJohn Bennet of the 1st Bombay Fusiliers plant the British ensign on thecrest of the breach and quietly stand by it there, supporting it in thetempest of shot and shell till the storming party had made the breachtheir own. This old soldier of the 24th can tell you of the butchery ofhis regiment at Chillianwallah; how Brooks went down between the Sikhguns, how Brigadier Pennycuick was killed out to the front, and how hisson, a beardless ensign, maddened at the sight of the mangling of hisfather's body, rushed out and fought against all comers over the corpsetill the lad fell dead on his dead father; how on that terrible day theloss of the 24th was 13 officers killed, 10 wounded, and 497 men killedand wounded; and how the issue of the bloody combat might have been verydifferent but for the display, on the part of Colin Campbell, of "thatsteady coolness and military decision for which he was so remarkable. "Scarcely a great show on a troop-horse would this bent and gnarled old12th Lancer make to-day, but he and his fellows rode right well on the dayfor which he wears this "Cape" medal, with the blue and orange ribbon andthe lion and mimosa bush on the reverse. Because of its prickles the Boerscall the mimosa the "wait-a-bit" thorn, but there was no thought ofwaiting a bit among the 12th Lancers at the Berea, when they charged thesavage Basutos and captured their chief Moshesh. This one-armed veteran ofthe Royal Fusiliers was left lying wounded in the Great Redoubt on theRussian slope of the Alma, when the terrible fire of grape and musketryforced Codrington's brigade of the Light Division temporarily to giveground after it had struggled so valiantly up the rugged broken banks, andthrough the hailstorm of fire that swept through the vineyards. This stillstalwart man was one of the nineteen sergeants of the 33rd--the Duke ofWellington's Own--who were either killed or wounded in defence of thecolours on the same bloody but glorious day. A few files farther down theline stands an old 93rd man. The veteran Sutherland Highlander was one ofthat "thin red line" which disdained to form square when the Russiansquadrons rode with seeming heart at the kilted men on Balaclava day. Heheard Colin Campbell's stern repressive rebuke--"Ninety-third, ninety-third, damn all that eagerness!" when the hotter spirits of theregiment would fain have broken ranks and met the Russians half-way withthe cold steel; he saw the Scotch wife chastise the fugitive Turks withher tongue and her frying-pan. Speak to his tall, shaggy neighbour of the"bonny Jocks, " and you will call up a flush of pleasure on theharsh-featured Scottish face; for he was a trooper in the Greys on thatself-same Balaclava day when the avalanche of Russian horsemen thundereddown upon the heavy brigade. He was among those who heard, and withsternly rapturous anticipation obeyed Scarlet's calm-pitched, far-soundingorder, "Left wheel into line!" He was among those who, when the trumpetshad sounded the charge, strove in vain by dint of spur to overtake thegallant old chief with the long white moustache, as he rode foremost onthe foe with the dashing Elliot and the burly Shegog on either flank ofhim; he was among those who, as they hewed and hacked their way throughthe press, heard already from the far side of the _mêlée_ the stentorianadjuration of big Adjutant Miller, as standing up in his stirrups theburly Scot shouted, "Rally, rally on me, ye muckle ----!" Mightily knockedabout has been this man with the empty sleeve, but he does not belie thefamiliar sobriquet of his old regiment; he was one of the "Diehards, " atitle well earned by the 57th on the bloody height of Albuera, and it wasunder their colours that he lost his arm on Inkerman morning. There isquite a little regiment of men who were wounded in the "trenches" or aboutthe Redan. There is no "19" now on the buttons of this scarred veteran, but the number was there when he followed Massy and Molesworth over theparapet of the Redan on the day when so much good English blood waswasted. Shoulder to shoulder now, as oft of yore, stand two old soldiersof the Buffs both of whom went down in the same assault; and an umwhilebugler of the Perthshire Grey-breeks "minds the day" well also by reasonof the wound that has crippled him for life. As he stands on parade thiscalm Sabbath morning, that maimed man of the 60th Rifles can rememberanother and a very different Sabbath--the 10th of May 1857 in Meerut--dayand place of the first outburst of the Mutiny; a fell Sabbath of burning, slaughter, and dismay, of disregard of sex, age, and rank, of fiercebrutality and of nameless agony. He was one of the rifles whose fire inthe assault of Delhi covered the desperate duty of blowing open theCashmere Gate, performed with so methodical calmness by Home, Salkeld, andBurgess; and his comrade hero with the maimed limb, when the hour had comefor a rush to close quarters, followed Reid and Muter over the breastworkat the end of the serai of Kissengunge. Proud, yet their pride dashed bysadness, must be the soldiering memories of this stout northman, erstwhilea front rank man in the old Ross-shire Buffs, a regiment ever true to itsnoble Celtic motto of _Cuidichn Rhi_. At Kooshab, in the short, butbrilliant Persian War, he fought in the same field where Malcolmson earnedthe Victoria Cross by one of the most gallant acts for which that guerdonof valour ever has been accorded. He was in Mackenzie's company atCawnpore when the Highlanders, stirred by the wild strains of thewar-pibroch, rushed upon the Nana's battery at the angle of the mango topewith the irresistible fury of one of their own mountain torrents in spate. And next day he was among those who, with drawn ghastly faces and scaredeyes, looked into that fearful well, filled to the lip with the mangledcorpses of British women and children. He was one of those who, standingby that well, pledged the oath administered by the bareheaded Ross-shiresergeant over the long, heavy tress of auburn hair which a demon's tulwarhad severed from the head of an Englishwoman, that while strong arm andtrusty steel lasted to no living thing of the accursed race should quarterbe accorded. And he was one of those who, having battled their way overthe Charbagh Bridge, having threaded the bullet-torn path to theKaiser-bagh, and having forced for themselves a passage up to theembrasures by the Baileyguard Gate, melted from the stern fierceness ofthe fray when the siege-worn women and children in the residency ofLucknow sobbed out upon their necks blessings for the deliverance. Hisrear-rank man is an ex-Bengal Fusilier, wounded once at Sabraon, again atPegu, and a third time at Delhi. He will not be offended if you hail himas one of the "old Dirty-shirts;" for it was in honourable disregard ofappearances as they toiled night and day in the trenches of Delhi that theregiment, which now in the Queen's service is numbered 101, gained thenickname. Time and space fail one to tell a tithe of the stories of valourand hardship linked in the medals and wounds borne by men on thisunostentatious parade--a parade the members of which have shed their bloodon the soil of every quarter of the globe. The minutest military annalsscarcely name some of the obscure combats in which men here to-day havefought and bled. This man desperately wounded at Najou, near Shanghai;that one wounded in two places at Owna, in Persia; this one with a sleeveemptied at Aroga, in Abyssinia--who among us remember aught, if, indeed, we have ever heard, of Najou, Owna, or Aroga? On the breast of this bent, hoary old man, note these strange emblems, the Cross of San Fernando andthe Order of the Tower and Sword. Their wearer is a relic of the BritishLegion in the Carlist War of 1837, and they were won under brave old DeLacy Evans at the siege of Bilbao. 

Over the modest portals of the Commissionaire Barracks in the Strand mightwell be inscribed the legend, "To all the military glories of Britain. "But just as we have not long ago seen the pride of a palace in anotherland on whose façade is a kindred inscription, abased by the occupation ofa foreign conqueror, so there was a time when the living emblems ofBritain's military glory were wont to undergo much humiliation andadversity when their career of soldiering had come to an end. Germanyrecompenses her veterans by according them, as a right, reputable civilemploy when they have served their time as soldiers; the custom ofBritain, on the contrary, has been too commonly to leave her scarred andwar-worn soldiers to their own resources, or to a pension on which to liveis impossible. We were always ready enough to feel a glow at theachievements of our arms; but till lately we were prone to reckon theindividual soldier as a social pariah, and to regard the fact of a man'shaving served in the ranks as a brand of discredit. To this estimate, itmust be allowed, the ex-soldier himself very often contributed not alittle. Destitute of a future, and often debarred by wounds or by brokenhealth from any laborious industrial employment, he made the most of thepresent; and his idea of making the most of the future not unfrequentlytook the form of beer and shiftlessness. Recognising the disadvantagesthat bore so hard on the deserving old soldier, recognising too, in thewords of the late Sir John Burgoyne, that "there are many qualitiespeculiar to the soldier and sailor, and imbibed by him in the ordinarycourse of his service, which, added to good character and conduct, mayrender such men more eligible than others for various services in civillife, " Captain Edward Walter founded the Corps of Commissionaires. Thatorganisation, beginning with seven men, has now a strength of severalhundreds, and its ranks are still open to all the eligible recruits whochoose to come forward. The Commissionaire is no recipient of charity;what Captain Walter has done is simply to show him how he may earn anhonest and comfortable livelihood, and to provide him, if he desires it, with a home of a kind which the ex-militaire naturally most appreciates. The advantages are open to him of a savings-bank and of a sick and burialfund, and when the evil days come when he can no longer earn his ownbread, the "Retiring Fund" guarantees the thrifty and steadyCommissionaire against the prospect of ending his days in the workhouse. Among the fruits of Captain Walter's devoted and gratuitous services inthis cause has been a wholesome change in the bias of popular opinion asto the worth of old soldiers. No longer are they regarded as the merechaff and _débris_ of the cannon fodder--"no account men, " as Bret Hartehas it; he has furnished them with opportunity to prove, and they haveproved, that they can so live and so work as to win the respect and trustof their brethren of the civilian world. The man who has done this thingdeserves well, not alone of the British army, but of the British nation. He has brought it about that the time has come when most men think withSir Roger de Coverley. "You must know, " says Sir Roger, "I never make useof anybody to row me that has not lost either a leg or an arm. I wouldrather bate him a few strokes of his oar than not employ an honest manthat has been wounded in the Queen's service. If I was a lord or a bishop. . . I would not put a fellow in my livery that had not a wooden leg. "

THE INNER HISTORY OF THE WATERLOO CAMPAIGN

The actual fighting phase of this memorable campaign was confined to thefour days from the 15th to the 18th of June, both days inclusive. Theliterature concerning itself with that period would make a library ofitself. Scarcely a military writer of any European nation but hasdelivered himself on the subject, from Clausewitz to General Maurice, fromBerton to Brialmont. Thiers, Alison, and Hooper may be cited of the hostof civilian writers whom the theme has enticed to description andcriticism. There is scarcely a point in the brief vivid drama that has notfurnished a topic for warm and sustained controversy; and the cult of theWaterloo campaign is more assiduous to-day than when the participators inthe great strife were testifying to their own experiences. 

Quite recently an important work dealing chiefly with the inner history ofthe campaign has come to us from the other side of the Atlantic. [Footnote:_The Campaign of Waterloo: a Military History_. By John Codman Ropes. NewYork: Charles Scribner's Sons. February 1893. ] Its author, Mr. John Ropes, is a civilian gentleman of Boston, who has devoted his life to militarystudy. He has given years to the elucidation of the problems of theWaterloo campaign, has trodden every foot of its ground, and has burrowedfor recondite matter in the military archives of divers nations. A citizenof the American Republic, he is free alike from national prejudices andnational prepossessions; if he is perhaps not uniformly correct in hisinferences, his rigorous impartiality is always conspicuous. By hisresearch and acute perception he has let light in upon not a fewobscurities; and it may be pertinent briefly to summarise the innerhistory of the campaign, giving what may seem their due weight to thearguments and representations of the American writer. 

The following were the respective positions on the 14th of June:--Wellington's heterogeneous army, about 94, 000 strong with 196 guns, laywidely dispersed in cantonments from the Scheldt to the Charleroi-Brusselschaussée, its front extending from Tournay through Mons and Binche toNivelles and Quatre Bras. Of the Prussian army under Blücher, about121, 000 strong with 312 guns, one corps was at Liège, another near theMeuse above Namur, a third at Namur, and Ziethen's in advance holding theline of the Sambre. The mass of Blücher's command had already seen serviceand, with the exception of the Saxons, was full of zeal; the corps werewell commanded, and their chief, although he had his limits, was athorough soldier. The French army, consisting of five corps d'armée, theGuard, four cavalry corps and 344 guns--total fighting strength 124, 500--Napoleon had succeeded in assembling with wonderful celerity and secrecysouth of the Sambre within an easy march of Charleroi. Its officers andsoldiers were alike veterans but its organisation was somewhat defective. Napoleon scarcely preserved the phenomenal force of earlier years; but, inMr. Ropes's words, he disclosed "no conspicuous lack of energy andactivity. " Soult was far from being an ideal chief of staff. Ney, to whomwas assigned the command of the left wing, only reached the army on the15th, and without a staff; Grouchy, to whom on the 16th was suddenly giventhe command of the right wing, was not a man of high military capacity. 

Napoleon's plan of campaign was founded on the circumstance that the basesof the allied armies lay in opposite directions--the English base on theGerman Ocean, the Prussian through Liège and Maestricht to the Rhine. Themilitary probability was that if either army was forced to retreat, itwould retreat towards its base; and to do this would be to march away fromits ally. Napoleon was in no situation to manoeuvre leisurely, with allEurope on the march against him. His engrossing aim was to gain immediatevictory over his adversaries in Belgium before the Russians and Austriansshould close in around him. His expectation was that Blücher would offerbattle about Fleurus and be overwhelmed before the Anglo-Dutch army couldcome to the support of its Prussian ally. To make sure of preventing thatjunction the Emperor's intention was to detail Ney with the left wing toreach and hold Quatre Bras. The Prussians thoroughly beaten, driftingrearward toward their base, and reduced to a condition of comparativeinoffensiveness, he would then turn on Wellington and force him to givebattle. 

Mr. Ropes refutes the contention maintained by a great array ofauthorities, that Napoleon's design was to "wedge himself into theinterval between the allied armies" by seizing simultaneously Sombreffeand Quatre Bras, in order to cut the communication between the two armiesand then defeat them in succession. Against this view he successfullymarshals Napoleon himself, Wellington by the mouth of Lord Ellesmere, andthe great German strategist Clausewitz. It will suffice to quoteNapoleon:--

 The Emperor's intention was that his advance should occupy Fleurus, the mass concealed behind this town; he took good care . . . Above all things not to occupy Sombreffe. To have done so would have caused the failure of all his dispositions, for then the battle of Ligny would not have been fought, and Blücher would have had to make Wavre the concentration-point for his army. 

Wellington alludes pointedly to the obvious danger to the French army ofthe suggested wedge position in what the Germans call _die taktischeMitte_, where, instead of being able to defeat the allies in succession, it would itself be liable to be crushed between the upper and the nethermillstone. 

At daybreak of the 15th Napoleon took the offensive, driving in Ziethen onand through Charleroi although not without sharp fighting. On that eveningthree French corps, the Guard, and most of the cavalry, were concentratedabout Charleroi and forward toward Fleurus, ready to attack Blücher nextday. Controversy has been very keen on the question whether or not on theafternoon of the 15th Napoleon gave Ney verbal orders to occupy QuatreBras the same evening. Mr. Ropes holds it "almost certain" that the orderwas given. From Napoleon's bulletin despatched on the evening of the 15th, which is the only piece of strictly contemporary evidence, he quotes: "LePrince de la Moskowa (Ney) a eu le soir son quartier général auxQuatres-Chemins;" and he remarks that this must have been the belief inthe headquarter "unless we gratuitously invent an intention to deceive thepublic. " There is no need for Mr. Ropes to put that strain on himself, since the main purport of Napoleon's bulletins notoriously was to deceivethe public. But if Napoleon had not intended that Ney should occupy QuatreBras on the night of the 15th, the statement that this had been done wouldhave been a purposeless futility; and if he had intended that Ney shoulddo so it is unlikely that he should have omitted to give him instructionsto that effect. Grouchy claims to have heard Napoleon censure Ney for hisomission to occupy Quatre Bras; an omission which had its importance, forthe reason, among others, that it was ominous of the Marshal's infinitelymore harmful disobedience of orders next day. 

All writers agree that Blücher ordered the concentration of his army inthe fighting position previously chosen in the event of the Frenchadvancing by Charleroi, "without, " in Mr. Ropes's words, "any definiteagreement or undertaking with Wellington that he was to have English aidin the impending battle. " He was content to take his risk of the Englishgeneral's possible inability for sundry obvious reasons, to come to hissupport. And while the Prussian army with the unfortunate exception ofBülow's corps, was on the 15th moving toward the chosen position of Ligny, where its right was to be on St. Amand, its centre on and behind Ligny, and its left about Balâtre, what was happening in the Anglo-Dutch armylying spread out westward of the Charleroi--Brussels chaussée?

Wellington was at Brussels expecting the French invasion by or west of theMons-Brussels road, to meet which he considered his army very well placed, but could expect no Prussian cooperation. His courier service, with hisforces so dispersed, should have been well organised and alert, but it wasneither; and Napoleon's secrecy and suddenness in taking the offensivewere worthy of his best days. It has been freely imputed to Wellingtonthat he was thereby in a measure surprised. There is the strange andprobably mythical story in the work professing to be Fouché's _Memoirs_ tothe effect that Wellington was relying on him for information ofNapoleon's plans, and that he--Fouché--played the English commander false. "On the very day of Napoleon's departure from Paris, " say the _Memoirs_, "I despatched Madame D----, furnished with notes in cipher, narrating thewhole plan of the campaign. But at the same time I privately sent ordersfor such obstacles at the frontier, where she was to pass, that she couldnot reach Wellington's headquarters till after the event. This was thereal explanation of the inactivity of the British generalissimo whichexcited such universal astonishment. " Readers of the _Letters of the FirstEarl of Malmesbury_ will remember the apparently authentic statement ofCaptain Bowles, that Wellington, rising from the supper-table at thefamous ball, whispered to ask the Duke of Richmond if he had a good map. The Duke of Richmond said he had, and took Wellington into his dressing-room. Wellington shut the door and said, "Napoleon has humbugged me, by God; he has gained twenty-four hours' march on me. . . . I have ordered the army to concentrate at Quatre Bras; but we shall not stop him there, and if so I must fight him _there_" (passing his thumb-nail over the position of Waterloo). The conversation was repeated to me by the Duke of Richmond two minutes after it occurred. 

Facts, however, are stronger evidence than words; and this confession onWellington's part is inconsistent with the circumstance that he had nothurried to retrieve the time he is represented as having owned thatNapoleon had gained on him--that he had, on the contrary, allowed hisadversary to gain several hours more. Wellington's combination of cautionand decision throughout this momentous period is a very interesting study. It was not until 3 P. M. (of the 15th) that there reached him tidingsalmost simultaneously of firing between the outposts about Thuin and thatZiethen had been attacked before Charleroi, the two places ten miles apartand both occurrences in the early morning. Those affairs might have beencasual outpost skirmishes; and the Duke, in anticipation of furtherinformation, took no measures for some hours. At length, in default oflater tidings he determined on the precautionary step of assembling hisdivisions at their respective rendezvous points in readiness to march;further specifically directing a concentration of 25, 000 men at Nivelleson his then left flank, when it should have been ascertained for certainthat the enemy's line of attack was by Charleroi. These orders were sentout early in the evening--"between 5 and 7. " Later in the evening came aletter from Blücher announcing the concentration of the Prussian army tooccupy the Ligny fighting position, in which disposition Wellingtonacquiesced; but, still uncertain of Napoleon's true line of attack--hisconviction being, as is well known, that Napoleon should have moved on theBritish right--he would not definitely fix the point of ultimateconcentration of his army until he should receive intelligence from Mons. But Blücher's tidings caused him to issue about 10 P. M. A second set oforders, commanding a general movement of the army, not as yet to anyspecific point of concentration but in prescribed directions towards itsleft (eastward). At length, when the news came from Mons that he need haveno further serious solicitude about his right since the whole French armywas advancing by Charleroi, he saw his way clear. Towards midnight, writesMüffling the Prussian Commissioner at his headquarters, Wellingtoninformed him of the tidings from Mons, and added: "The orders for theconcentration of my army at Nivelles and Quatre Bras are alreadydespatched. Let us, therefore, go to the ball. "

There are three definite evidences that before midnight of the 15thWellington had resolved to concentrate about Quatre Bras, and had issuedfinal orders accordingly--his statement to the Duke of Richmond, hisstatement to Müffling, and his statement in his official report to LordBathurst. Yet Mr. Ropes believes that his decision to that effect "couldnot have been arrived at very long before he left Brussels" on the morningof the 16th, which he did "probably about half-past seven. " He founds thisbelief on two orders dated "16th June" sent to Lord Hill in the earlymorning of that day, in which there is no allusion to a concentration atQuatre Bras. But those were merely supplementary instructions as to pointsof detail; for example, one of them enjoined that a division orderedearlier to Enghien should move instead by way of Braine le Comte, thatbeing a nearer route toward the final general destination of Quatre Brasspecified in the earlier (the "towards midnight") orders. The latterorders are not extant, having been lost according to Gurwood, with DeLancey's papers when he fell at Waterloo; but that they must have beenissued is proved by the fact that they were acted upon by the troops; andthat they were issued before midnight of the 15th is made clear byWellington's three specific statements to that effect. 

When the Duke left Brussels for the front on the morning of the 16th hetook with him a singularly optimistic paper styled "Disposition of theBritish Army at 7 A. M. , 16th June, " which was "written out for theinformation of the Commander of the Forces by Colonel Sir W. De Lancey, "his Quartermaster-General. In the nature of things for the most partguess-work, the wish as regarded almost every particular set out in thisdocument was father to the thought. Wellington was no doubt reasonablyjustified in accepting and relying on this flattering "Disposition;" butits terms, as Mr. Ropes conclusively shows, simply misled him and causedhim also unconsciously to mislead Blücher, both by the expressions of theletter written by him to that chief on his arrival at Quatre Bras andlater when he met the Prussian commander at the mill of Brye. Wellingtonwas indeed trebly fortunate in finding the Quatre Bras position stillavailable to him--fortunate that Ney on the previous evening had defaultedfrom his orders in refraining from occupying it; fortunate that Ney stillon this morning was remaining passive; and more fortunate still that ithad been occupied, defended, and reinforced by Dutch-Belgian troops notonly without orders from him but in bold and happy violation of hisorders. Perponcher's division was scarcely a potent representative of theAnglo-Dutch army, but there was nothing more at hand; and pending thecoming up of reinforcements Wellington, with rather a sanguine reliance onNey's maintenance of inactivity, rode over to Brye and had a conversationwith Blücher. There are contradictory accounts of its tenor, and Gneisenaucertainly seems to have formed the impression that the Duke gave apositive pledge of support. Mr. Ropes considers that, misled by theerroneous "Disposition, " Wellington honestly believed he would be able toco-operate with Blücher, and that he "certainly did give that commandersome assurance of support by the Anglo-Dutch army in the impendingbattle. " Müffling, who was present, states that the Duke's last words were:"Well, I will come, provided I am not attacked myself;" and this probablywas the final undertaking. Wellington's words were in accordance with thecaution of his character; and it is certain that Blücher had decided tofight at Ligny whether assured or not of his brother-commander's support. That Wellington regarded Blücher's dispositions for battle asobjectionable is proved by his blunt comment to Hardinge--"If they fighthere they will be damnably licked!"

It would have been possible for Napoleon to have crushed the Prussian armyin the early hours of the 16th when it was in the throes of formation forbattle; and this he would probably have done if Ney had occupied QuatreBras on the previous evening. But in Ney's default of accomplishing thisNapoleon, in his solicitude that Wellington should be hindered fromsupporting Blücher, determined to delay his own stroke against the latteruntil Ney should be in possession of Quatre Bras with the left wing, where, in Soult's words, "he ought to be able to destroy any force of theenemy that might present itself, " and then come to the support of theEmperor by getting on the Prussian rear behind St. Amand. Napoleon'sinstructions were explicit that Ney was to march on Quatre Bras, takeposition there, and then send an infantry division and Kellerman's cavalryto points eastward, whence the Emperor might summon them to participate inhis own operations. If Ney had fulfilled his orders by utilising the wholeforce at his disposal, in all human probability he would have defeatedWellington at Quatre Bras, whose troops, arriving in detail, would havebeen crushed by greatly superior numbers as they came up. As it was, although at the beginning of the battle he was in superior strength, Neynever utilised more than 22, 000 men; whereas by its close Wellington had31, 000, and, thanks to the stanchness of the British infantry, was thevictor in a very hard-fought contest. But Mr. Ropes has reason in holdingit humanly certain that he would have been beaten--in which case thebattle of Waterloo would never have been fought--had not D'Erlon's corpsof Ney's command while marching towards Quatre Bras, been turned aside inthe direction of the Prussian right. 

In the justifiable belief that Ney was duly carrying out his ordersNapoleon at half-past one opened the battle of Ligny. He had expected tohave to deal with but a single Prussian corps, but the actual fact wasthat, while he had 74, 000 men on the field, Blücher had 87, 000 with asuperior strength of artillery. The fighting was long and severe. From thefirst, recognising the defects of his adversary's position, Napoleon wassatisfied that he could defeat the Prussian army. But he needed to domore--to crush, to rout it, so that he need give himself no furtherconcern regarding it. This he saw his way to accomplish if Ney were tostrike in presently on the Prussian right; and so, with intent to stirthat chief to vigorous enterprise, the message was sent him that "the fateof France was in his hands. " The battle proceeded, Blücher throwing in hisreserves freely, Napoleon chary of his and playing the waiting gamepending Ney's expected co-operation. About half-past five he was preparingto put in the Guard and strike the decisive blow, when information reachedhim from his right that a column, presumably hostile, was visible some twomiles distant marching toward Fleurus. Napoleon sent an aide to ascertainthe facts and until his return postponed the decisive moment. Two hourslater the information was brought back that the approaching column wasD'Erlon's from Ney's wing. This intelligence dispelled all anxiety. Strangely enough, no instructions were sent to the approachingreinforcement, and the suspended stroke was promptly dealt. The Prussians, after desperate fighting, were everywhere driven back. Napoleon with partof the Imperial Guard broke Blücher's centre, and the French army deployedon the heights beyond the stream. In a word, Napoleon had defeated thePrussians, but had neither crushed nor routed them. There was no pursuit. 

D'Erlon's corps on this afternoon had achieved the doubly sinisterdistinction of having prevented Ney from gaining a probable victory atQuatre Bras, and of detracting from the thoroughness of Napoleon's actualvictory at Ligny. While it was leisurely marching towards Frasnes insupport of Ney, it was diverted eastward towards the Prussian right flankin consequence of an order given (whether authorised or not is uncertain)by an aide-de-camp of the Emperor. It was about to deploy for action, when, on receiving from Ney a peremptory order to rejoin his command; andin absence of a command from Napoleon to strike the Prussian flank, itwent about and tramped back towards Frasnes. D'Erlon's promenade was asfutile as the famous march of the King of France up the hill and then downagain. 

Mr. Ropes considers that on the morning of the 17th Napoleon had thus farin the main fulfilled his programme. This view may be questioned. He hadmerely defeated two of the four Prussian corps; he had not wreckedBlücher. He had failed to occupy Quatre Bras; the Anglo-Dutch army hadsucceeded in effecting a partial concentration and in repulsing his leftwing there. Still it must be admitted that with two corps absolutelyintact and with no serious losses in the Guard and cavalry, Napoleon wasin good shape for carrying out his plan. If Ney had sent him wordovernight that Wellington's army was bivouacking about Quatre Bras inignorance, as it turned out, of the result of Ligny, he might haveattacked it to good purpose in conjunction with Ney in the early morningof the 17th. But Ney was silent and sulky; Napoleon himself was greatlyfatigued, and Soult was of no service to him. 

During the night the Prussians "had folded their tents like the Arabs, andas silently stolen away. " They had neither been watched nor followed up, all touch of them had been lost, and there was nothing to indicate theirline of retreat. This slovenliness on the part of the French would nothave occurred in Napoleon's earlier days; nor in those days of greatervigour would he have delayed until after midday of the 17th to follow upan army which he had defeated on the previous evening, and which haddisappeared from before him in the course of the night. The reports whichhad been sent in from a cavalry reconnaissance despatched in the morningindicated that the Prussians were retiring on Namur. No reconnaissance hadbeen made in the direction of Tilly and Wavre. This was a strange error, since Blücher had two corps still untouched, and as above everything afighting man, was not likely to throw up his hands and forsake his allyafter one partial discomfiture. Napoleon tardily determined to despatchGrouchy on the errand of following up the Prussians with a forceconsisting of about 33, 000 men with ninety-six guns. Thus far allauthorities are agreed; but as regards the character of the orders givento Grouchy for his guidance in an obviously somewhat complicatedenterprise, there is an extraordinary contrariety of evidence. It isstated in the _St. Helena Memoirs_ that Grouchy received positive ordersto keep himself always between the main French army and Blücher; tomaintain constant communication with the former and in a position easilyto rejoin it; that since it was possible that Blücher might retreat onWavre, he (Grouchy) was to be there simultaneously; if the Prussiansshould continue their march on Brussels and should pass the night in theforest of Soignies, he was to follow to the edge of the forest; shouldthey retire on the Meuse, he was to watch them with part of his cavalryand himself occupy Wavre with the mass of his force, where he should be inposition for easy communication with Napoleon's headquarters. Those ordersare certainly specific enough, but there is no record of them; and theymay be assumed to represent rather what Napoleon at St. Helena consideredGrouchy should have done, than what he was actually ordered to do. 

Grouchy's version, again--and it is adequately corroborated--is to theeffect that about midday of the 17th on the field of Ligny, the Emperorgave him the verbal order to take the 3rd and 4th Corps and certaincavalry and "go in pursuit of the Prussians. " Grouchy raised sundryobjections which the Emperor overruled and repeated his commands, addingthat "it was for me (Grouchy) to discover the route taken by Blücher; thathe himself was going to fight the English, and that it was for me tocomplete the defeat of the Prussians by attacking them as soon as I shouldhave caught up with them. " So much for Grouchy for the moment. 

Soon after the Emperor had given Grouchy this verbal order, tidings camein from a scouting party that a body of Prussian troops had been seenabout 9 A. M. At Gembloux, considerably northward of the Namur road. Theabstract probability no doubt was that the Prussians would retire towardstheir base. But that Napoleon kept an open mind on the subject isevidenced by his instruction to Grouchy to "go and discover the routetaken by Blücher, " and this later intelligence, it may be assumed, openedhis mind yet further. He thought it well, then, to send to Grouchy asupplementary written order which in the temporary absence of MarshalSoult he dictated to General Bertrand. This order enjoined on Grouchy toproceed with his force to Gembloux; to explore in the directions of Namurand Maestricht; to pursue the enemy; explore his march; and report uponhis manoeuvres, so that "I (Napoleon) may be able to penetrate what theenemy is intending to do; whether he is separating himself from theEnglish, or whether they are intending still to unite in trying the fateof another battle to cover Brussels or Liège. " To me I confess--and theview is also that of Chesney and Maurice--this written order is simply anamplification in detail of the previous verbal order, which by instructingGrouchy "to discover the route taken by Blücher" clearly evinced doubt inNapoleon's mind as to the Prussian line of retreat. Mr. Ropes, on theother hand, bases an indictment on Grouchy's conduct on the argument thatnot only was the tone of the written order altogether different from thatof the verbal order, but that the duty assigned to Grouchy by the formerwas wholly different from that specified in the latter. 

He adds that Grouchy constantly and persistently denied having receivedany other than the verbal order, that in this denial Grouchy lied, andthat "the mischievous influence of this deliberate concealment of hisorders by Grouchy caused for nearly thirty years after the battle ofWaterloo to be prevalent a wholly false notion as to the task assigned byNapoleon to the Marshal. " Certainly Grouchy's conduct is inexplicable toany one holding the belief, as I do, that there is nothing in the writtenorder to account for Grouchy's denial of having received it. It is moreinexplicable than Mr. Ropes appears to be aware of. It is true, as Mr. Ropes proves, that Grouchy vehemently denied receiving the written orderin all his works printed from 1818 to 1829. But he had actuallyacknowledged its receipt almost immediately after Waterloo. In his son'slittle book, _Le Maréchal de Grouchy du 16me au 19me Juin, 1815, _ isprinted among the _Documents Historiques Inédits_ a paper styled"Allocution du Maréchal Grouchy à quelques-uns des officiers généraux sousles ordres, lorsqu'il eût appris les désastres de Waterloo. " From thisdocument I make the following extract: "A few hours later the Emperormodified his first order, and caused to be written to me by the GrandMarshal Bertrand the order to betake myself to Gembloux, and to sendreconnaissances towards Namur. 'It is important, ' continued the order, 'todiscover the intentions of the Prussians--whether they are separating fromthe English, or have the design to take the chance of a new battle. '" Itis strange that this acknowledgment should never have been cited againstGrouchy; stranger still that in the face of it he should have maintainedhis denials; yet more strange that those denials were never exposed; andmost strange of all, that finally the "written order" should have appearedfor the first time in a casual article published in 1842, without evokingany explanation from Grouchy, or any strictures on his persistentmendacity. 

It may be questioned whether the force of 33, 000 men entrusted to Grouchywas not either too large or too small. The main French army, in thepossible contingencies before it, could not safely spare so large adetachment, as events showed. Grouchy's command was not sufficientlystrong to oppose the whole Prussian army; two corps of which couldcertainly have "held" it, while the other two were free to supportWellington. Mr. Ropes thinks it might have been diminished by one-half, but then a single Prussian corps could have dealt with it. It is difficultto discern in what respect the 6000 cavalry assigned to Grouchy shouldhave been inadequate to such service as could reasonably have beenexpected of his whole command. 

The British force about Quatre Bras on the morning of the 17th amounted toabout 45, 000 men. Early on that morning Wellington was in conversationwith the Captain Bowles previously mentioned, when an officer galloped upand, to quote Captain Bowles, whispered to the Duke, who then turned to me and said, "Old Blücher has had a d----d good licking and has gone back to Wavre. As he has gone back, we must go too. I suppose in England they will say we have been licked--I can't help that. "

He quietly withdrew his troops from their positions, an operation whichNey, with 40, 000 men at his disposal, did not attempt to molest, notwithstanding repeated orders from Napoleon to move on Quatre Bras. Early in the afternoon Napoleon reached that vicinity with the Guard, 6thCorps, and Milhaud's Cuirassiers, picked up Ney's command, and mountinghis horse led the French army, following up Wellington's retreat. Hisenergy and activity throughout the march is described as intense. Thosecharacteristics he continued to evince during the following night and inthe morning of the eventful 18th. In the dead of night he spent two hourson the picquet line, and about seven he was out again on the foreposts inthe mud and rain. His anxiety was not as to the issue of a battle withWellington, but lest Wellington should not stand and fight. Thatapprehension was dispelled when, as he rode along his front about 8 A. M. , he saw the Anglo-Dutch army taking up its ground. He was aware that atleast one "pretty strong Prussian column"--which actually consisted of thetwo corps beaten at Ligny--had retired on Wavre. But notwithstanding thedisquieting vagueness and ineptitude of Grouchy's letter of 10 P. M. Of the17th from Gembloux, and that up to the morning of the battle he had sentno suggestions or instructions to that officer, he yet trusted implicitlyto him to fend off the Prussians; and it did not seem to occur to him thatWellington's calm expectant attitude indicated his assurance of Blücher'scooperation. 

In one of the cavalry charges toward the close of the battle of Ligny, Blücher had been overthrown, ridden over, almost taken prisoner, andseverely bruised; but the gallant old hussar was almost himself again nextmorning, thanks to copious doses of gin and rhubarb, for the effluvium ofwhich restorative he apologised to Hardinge as he embraced that woundedofficer, in the extremely plain expression, "_Ich stinke etwas_. "Gneisenau, his Chief of Staff, rather distrusted Wellington's good faith, and doubted whether it was not the safer policy for the Prussian army tofall back toward Liège. But Blücher prevailed over his lieutenants; and onthe evening of the 17th all four Prussian corps in a strength of about90, 000 men, were concentrated about Wavre, some nine miles east of theWaterloo position, full of ardour and confident of success. That samenight Müffling informed Blücher by letter that the Anglo-Dutch army hadoccupied the position named, wherein to fight next day; and Blücher'sloyal answer was that Bülow's corps at daybreak should march by way of St. Lambert to strike the French right; that Pirch's would follow in support;and that the other two would stand in readiness. This communication, whichreached Wellington at headquarters at 2 A. M. Of the 18th, has been held tohave been the first actually definite assurance of Prussian support. Thestory to the effect that on the evening of the 17th the Duke rode over toWavre to make sure from Blücher's own mouth that he could rely on Prussiansupport next day, to the truth of which not a little of vague testimonyhas been adduced, may be now definitely disregarded. The evidence againstthe legend is conclusive. An authoritative contradiction was given to itin an article in the _Quarterly Review_ of 1842, from the pen of LordFrancis Egerton, afterwards Lord Ellesmere, who confessedly wrote underthe inspiration of the Duke, and in this instance directly from amemorandum drawn up by his Grace. Quite recently there have been found andare now in the possession of the Rev. Frederick Gurney, the grandson ofthe late Sir John Gurney, the notes of a "conversation with the Duke ofWellington and Baron Gurney and Mr. Justice Williams, Judges on Circuit, at Strath-fieldsaye House, on 24th February 1837. " The annotator was BaronGurney, to the following effect:--"The conversation had been commenced bymy inquiring of him (the Duke) whether a story which I had heard was trueof his having ridden over to Blücher on the night before the battle ofWaterloo, and returned on the same horse. He said--'No, that was not so. Idid not see Blücher on the day before Waterloo. I saw him the day before, on the day of Quatre Bras. I saw him after Waterloo, and he kissed me. Heembraced me on horseback. I had communicated with him the day beforeWaterloo. '" The rest of the conversation made no further reference to thetopic of the ride to Wavre. 

It is not proposed to give here any account of the memorable battle, themain incidents of which are familiar to all. It was of course Wellington'spolicy to take up a defensive attitude; both because of the incapacity ofhis raw soldiers for manoeuvring, and since every minute before Napoleonshould begin the offensive was of value to the English commander, as itdiminished the length of punishment he would have to endure single-handed. Further, he was numerically weaker than his adversary, while his troopswere at once of divers nationalities and divers character; his mainreliance was on his British troops and those of the King's German Legion. Napoleon for his part deliberately delayed to attack when celerity ofaction was all-important to him, disregarding the obvious probability ofPrussian assistance to Wellington, and sanguinely expecting that Grouchywould either avert that support or reach him in time to neutralise it. Mr. Ropes has written an admirable criticism of the errors of the French intheir contest with the Anglo-Dutch army, for which Ney was for the mostpart responsible, since from before 3 P. M. Napoleon was engrossed inpreparing his right flank for defence against the Prussians. The issue ofthe great battle all men know. The badness of the roads retarded thePrussians greatly, and, save in Bülow's corps, there was no doubtconsiderable delay in starting; but the proverb that "All's well that endswell" might have been coined with special application to the battle ofWaterloo. 

It only remains briefly to refer to Mr. Ropes's elaborate _résumé_ of themelancholy adventures of Grouchy, on whom he may be regarded as toosevere. Sent out too late on a species of roving commission, more wasexpected from him by Napoleon than could have been accomplished by any buta leader of the highest order, whereas Grouchy had never given evidence ofbeing more than respectable. He received from his master neitherinstructions nor information from the time he left the field of Lignyuntil 4 P. M. Of the 18th, nor until at Walhain he heard the cannonade ofWaterloo had he any knowledge of the whereabouts of the French main army. On the morning of the 18th he was late in leaving Gembloux, on not themost direct route towards Wavre; instead of moving on which, when he heardthe noise of the battle, he should no doubt have marched straight for theDyle bridges at Ottignies and Moustier. Had he done so, spite of alldelays he could have been across the Dyle by 4 P. M. But when Mr. Ropesclaims that thus Grouchy would have been able to arrest the march towardthe battlefield of the two leading Prussian corps, one of which was fourmiles distant from him and the other still farther away, he is tooexacting. Had Grouchy made the vain attempt, the two nearer Prussian corpswould have taken him in flank and headed him off, while Bülow and Ziethenpressed on to the battlefield. If he had marched straight and swiftly onthe cannon-thunder of Waterloo, he might perhaps have been in time toeffect something in the nature of a diversion, although it is extremelyimprobable that he could have materially changed the fortune of the day;but instead, acting on the letter of Napoleon's instructions despatched tohim on the morning of the battle, he moved on Wavre and engaged in afutile action with the Prussian 3rd Corps there. A shrewd and enterprisingman would have at least seen into the spirit of his orders; Grouchy couldnot do this, and he is to be pitied rather than blamed. 

THE END