Regiments ofBatteries ofCompanies ofBattalions ofCavalry.Artillery.Engineers.Infantry.India977350Gibraltar0744Malta0724Ireland617427
Index of Linked Battalions, to enable the reader to find out regiments that are struck off the Army List:—
Territorial. Regiments.1st —The Lothian Regiment.2nd —The Royal West Surrey Regiment.3rd —The East Kent Regiment.4th —The Royal Lancaster Regiment.5th —The Northumberland Fusiliers.6th —The Royal Warwickshire Regiment.7th —The Royal Fusiliers (City of London Regiment).8th —The Liverpool Regiment.9th —The Norfolk Regiment.10th —The Lincolnshire Regiment.11th —The Devonshire Regiment.12th —The Suffolk Regiment.13th —The Somersetshire Light Infantry.14th —The West Yorkshire Regiment.15th —The East Yorkshire Regiment.16th —The Bedfordshire Regiment.17th —The Leicestershire Regiment.18th —The Royal Irish Regiment.19th —The Yorkshire Regiment.20th —The Lancashire Fusiliers.21st —The Royal Scots Fusiliers.22nd —The Cheshire Regiment.23rd —The Royal Welsh Fusiliers.24th —The South Wales Borderers.25th —The King’s Own Borderers.1st Batt.2nd Batt.26th —The Cameronian Scottish Rifles26th90th27th —The Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers27th108th28th —The Gloucestershire Regiment28th61st29th —The Worcestershire Regiment29th36th30th —The East Lancashire Regiment30th59th31st —The East Surrey Regiment31st70th32nd —The Duke of Cornwall’s Light Infantry32nd46th33rd —The West Riding Regiment33rd76th34th —The Border Regiment34th55th35th —The Royal Sussex Regiment35th107th37th —The Hampshire Regiment37th67th38th —The South Staffordshire Regiment38th80th39th —The Dorsetshire Regiment39th54th40th —The South Lancashire Regiment40th82nd41st —The Welsh Regiment41st69th42nd —The Royal Highlanders42nd73rd43rd —The Oxfordshire Light Infantry43rd52nd44th —The Essex Regiment44th56th45th —The Derbyshire Regiment45th95th47th —The Loyal North Lancashire Regiment47th81st48th —The Northamptonshire Regiment48th58th49th —The Berkshire Regiment49th66th50th —The Royal West Kent Regiment50th97th51st —The South Yorkshire Regiment51st105th53rd —The Shropshire Regiment53rd85th57th —The Middlesex Regiment57th77th60th —The King’s Royal Rifle Corps, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th batts.62nd —The Wiltshire Regiment62nd99th63rd —The Manchester Regiment63rd96th64th —The North Staffordshire Regiment64th98th65th —The York and Lancaster Regiment65th84th68th —The Durham Regiment68th106th71st —The Highland Light Infantry71st74th72nd —The Ross-shire Buffs72nd78th75th —The Gordon Highlanders75th92nd79th —The Queen’s Own Cameron Highlanders1st batt.83rd —The Royal Irish Rifles83rd86th87th —The Royal Irish Fusiliers87th89th88th —The Connaught Rangers88th94th91st —The Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders91st93rd100th —The Royal Canadians100th109th101st —The Royal Munster Fusiliers101st104th102nd —The Royal Dublin Fusiliers102nd103rdThe Rifle Brigade, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th battalions.Household Cavalry, number of regiments3Heavy Dragoons, number of regiments10Lancers, Light number of regiments5Hussars, Light number of regiments13Royal Horse Artillery, number of batteries26Royal Artillery number of batteries80Garrison Artillery number of batteries96Royal Engineers, number of companies52Foot Guards, number of battalions7Regiments of the Line,number of battalions129Regiments of Rifles, number of battalions12Royal Marines, number of companies40Commissariat and Transport Corps, companies20Medical Staff Corps, divisions16Ordnance Department, companies4Yeomanry Cavalry in Great Britain, regiments39Militia Artillery, number of batteries196Militia Regiments, number of infantry143Militia Engineers, number of companies3Artillery Volunteers, number of battalions62Engineer Volunteers, number of companies22Light Horse Volunteers, number of regiments15Volunteer battalions of Infantry206Mounted Rifle Volunteer regiments16West India Regiments of Infantry2Royal Malta Fencibles, Artillery batteries6Channel Islands Militia, battalions of Infantry6Channel Islands Militia Artillery, number of batteries15
In Memoriam—Charles George Gordon.
(Jan. 26, 1885.)
C hrist’s noble Warrior thou! Single thine aimH appy thou wast when the last summons came.A re there no friends around thee? None to aid?R ound thee to rally? None! Thou art betrayed!L one dost thou stand amid the savage horde.E choes the faithful promise of the Lord:S aved shall he be who to the end endured.G entle thy presence; great thy power to lead.E ach nation sought thy help, thy word obeyed.O pen thy heart and hearth to all Christ’s poor,R oyal thy gifts, and boundless was thy store.G allant Commander thou, as Knight of old!E ver true-hearted, simple, fearless, bold.G reatness and goodness thine, Faith, Hope, and Love,O n sword thy hand, thy brave heart fixed above:R eady to dare and die at Duty’s call.D oubts hadst thou none, but trust invincible.O nce was a Noble Life for faithless friends laid down;N ow hast thou followed Him, and won thy crown.
C hrist’s noble Warrior thou! Single thine aimH appy thou wast when the last summons came.A re there no friends around thee? None to aid?R ound thee to rally? None! Thou art betrayed!L one dost thou stand amid the savage horde.E choes the faithful promise of the Lord:S aved shall he be who to the end endured.
G entle thy presence; great thy power to lead.E ach nation sought thy help, thy word obeyed.O pen thy heart and hearth to all Christ’s poor,R oyal thy gifts, and boundless was thy store.G allant Commander thou, as Knight of old!E ver true-hearted, simple, fearless, bold.
G reatness and goodness thine, Faith, Hope, and Love,O n sword thy hand, thy brave heart fixed above:R eady to dare and die at Duty’s call.D oubts hadst thou none, but trust invincible.O nce was a Noble Life for faithless friends laid down;N ow hast thou followed Him, and won thy crown.
TWO DAYS TOO LATE!
[After the battle near Metemneh, Sir Charles Wilson pushed on to Khartoum in one of the steamers which General Gordon had sent down the Nile to meet our troops. But two days before his arrival—so it is said—Khartoum had been betrayed into the hands of the rebels, and its heroic defender had been slain.]
Two days too late! Through trackless wastes of sandOur gallant sons in vain have fought their way!In vain has brain conceived, has genius planned:Hope has but smiled, the better to betray.With victory almost ours, the hero’s handOutstretched in welcome, every heart elate,Khartoum has fallen, and the traitors standWith mocking faces as we reach the gateTwo days too late!Two days too late! Two days too late to saveThe grand heroic soul who dared so long;Who for nine weary months withstood the waveOf countless thousands, chanting their deathsong!His foeswithout, the bravest of the brave—Famine and treacherywithinthe gate!And we but come to find a new-made grave:The help arrives—alas! two days too late!Two days too late!Too late! too late! England is dumb to-day—Too new her grief for words, too deep her love!The giant heart and soul have passed away,And we but strive in faith to look aboveAnd pray as he so often loved to pray:“Father, Thy will be done, Thy purpose great!”Till knowing of his peace, we’ve strength to say“In God’s good time, andnottwo days too late!”No,nottoo late!
Two days too late! Through trackless wastes of sandOur gallant sons in vain have fought their way!In vain has brain conceived, has genius planned:Hope has but smiled, the better to betray.With victory almost ours, the hero’s handOutstretched in welcome, every heart elate,Khartoum has fallen, and the traitors standWith mocking faces as we reach the gate
Two days too late!
Two days too late! Two days too late to saveThe grand heroic soul who dared so long;Who for nine weary months withstood the waveOf countless thousands, chanting their deathsong!His foeswithout, the bravest of the brave—Famine and treacherywithinthe gate!And we but come to find a new-made grave:The help arrives—alas! two days too late!
Two days too late!
Too late! too late! England is dumb to-day—Too new her grief for words, too deep her love!The giant heart and soul have passed away,And we but strive in faith to look aboveAnd pray as he so often loved to pray:“Father, Thy will be done, Thy purpose great!”Till knowing of his peace, we’ve strength to say“In God’s good time, andnottwo days too late!”
No,nottoo late!
MEDALS.
“Ambition sigh’d: she found it vain to trustThe faithless column and the crumbling bust;Huge moles, whose shadow stretch’d from shore to shore,Their ruins perish’d, and their place no more;Convinced, she now contracts the vast design,—And all her triumphs sink into a coin.A narrow orb each crowded conquest keeps;Beneath her palm here sad Judæa weeps;Now scantier limits the proud arch confine,And scarce are seen the prostrate Nile or Rhine;A small Euphrates through the piece is roll’d,And little eagles wave their wings in gold.”—Pope.
“Ambition sigh’d: she found it vain to trustThe faithless column and the crumbling bust;Huge moles, whose shadow stretch’d from shore to shore,Their ruins perish’d, and their place no more;Convinced, she now contracts the vast design,—And all her triumphs sink into a coin.A narrow orb each crowded conquest keeps;Beneath her palm here sad Judæa weeps;Now scantier limits the proud arch confine,And scarce are seen the prostrate Nile or Rhine;A small Euphrates through the piece is roll’d,And little eagles wave their wings in gold.”—Pope.
CONCLUDING CHAPTER.
THE COST OF WAR.
For the information of such of my readers as have neither the time nor the opportunity of diving into history, I will now give a historic outline of the enormous cost of war in blood and treasure, principally in the campaigns of 1812-13-14 and 1815. Europe, disunited, had been conquered by Napoleon; the only Power setting him at utter defiance being this glorious old isle. Our forefathers had repeatedly assisted the continental nations with enormous sums of money, and arms to combat this tyrant; but lacking unity, and having to confront a master-mind in generalship, at least fifty years before his time, this all-conquering General rolled them all up in detail. In fact the whole of continental Europe was fascinated with a craven-hearted dread of the conqueror’s supposed irresistible power. His very name was worse than a nightmare to thousands. His terrible legions, his invincible legions, the famed and dreaded legions, were the whole talk of Europe. And I am sorry to record it, that there werethen, asnow, thousands of foolish chicken-hearted men, calling themselves Britons, that predicted our entire destruction as a nation. The redoubted Massena boasted that he would drive all the English leopards into the sea, or cut them to pieces. He commandedan army of veterans, who had marched from victory to victory, from triumph to triumph. But this redoubtable Marshal of France, “the spoilt child of fortune,” received a very awkward lesson from the detested Albions and the boys of the Green Isle, for no regiment on grim Busaco’s iron ridge distinguished themselves so much as the 88th Connaught Rangers. They hurled the boasting legions of Napoleon over the rocks in grand style, well thrashed the invincibility out of the conquerors of Austerlitz, Jena, and Wagram, and largely helped to nail victory to that flag which was, and is now, second to none, and made some of the croaking know-all gents hide their heads. The spell of French invincibility was rudely dissipated, and the designs of the tyrant as regards Spain and Portugal were baffled. We say now, shame on all those that would try to traduce the reputation of those that struggle upon field after field for life or death, for national independence, national honour and happiness. Old England knows nothing of the horrors and miseries of war, the massacres and violations of mothers, wives, and daughters. No! her domestic happiness, human loves, and human friendships are never interrupted or broken; and on each revolving Sabbath, her church bells invite all, rich and poor, to the house of prayer and thanksgiving. Our victorious General, Wellington, repeatedly set the continental nations an example how to thrash Napoleon’s much puffed-up invincibles. “Stick to them, my men!” was often the cry. It was often death, but always victory for us. Austria and Russia were beaten on the one field of Austerlitz. Prussia threw down the gauntlet on the field of Jena, but was completely crushed, nearly all her fortresses being taken from her. She was humbled in the dust, and an indemnity of six hundred and forty million francs (a butcher’s bill of twenty-five million pounds sterling) demanded by the conqueror. This was enforced with merciless fury by the French, in additionto which an enormous host were quartered upon the conquered provinces, which shall be hereafter enumerated. Prussia was held by an iron grasp: close upon one hundred thousand of her noble sons having perished, and she lay prostrate at the conqueror’s feet. But still she fought out a death-struggle with the great conqueror, and on the bloody field of Eylan the conquering hero was brought to a stand. He could not advance, and would not retire; he was brought to the verge of destruction. This terrible battle, my young readers must know, was fought in the depth of winter, amidst ice and snow, and under unexampled horrors. The loss on both sides was immense. The Russians and Prussians lost twenty-five thousand, and the French thirty thousand; thus fifty-five thousand men, with thousands of horses, were weltering in blood in the midst of ice and snow, in a space of two leagues, both sides claiming the victory. Yet another terrible battle was fought at Friedland, in the depth of a Russian winter. The allies here were defeated. They lost seventeen thousand men and five thousand prisoners, with twenty guns. Napoleon was weakened by the loss of ten thousand. The two great Emperors met on a raft on the Niemen, and there made peace, dividing the known world between them. Almost the first words from the Emperor of Russia to the great conqueror were:[39]“I hate the English as much as you do, and am ready to second you in all your enterprises against them.” Napoleon’s answer was: “Peace is already made.” With Napoleon’s talents, he talked the Emperor into anything he liked. Now comes thegreat Northern Confederation. The whole of the North of Europe were compelled to declare war against Old England. All their ports were closed against us. Spain and Portugal threw in their lot against us. Thus we had the whole of Europe to combat. But our forefathers came out as true Britons. With our unconquerable fleet, and Nelson as our leader, we put the world in arms at defiance. The Confederation had a short life. We blockaded every port in Europe. The whole Danish fleet was taken or sunk at Copenhagen by that heroic Nelson. Proceeding at once to Cronstadt with his victorious fleet, he demanded a conference with the Russian Emperor. It was granted. The ever-victorious Admiral explained our demands. One of the Emperor’s advisers said at once to the Emperor; “Rather than submit to such humiliating terms, we had better have war to the knife.” The gauntlet was thrown down at the feet of him that shook the world with renown. Nelson’s reply was, “With all my heart. You shall have war to your heart’s content in less than one hour” (pointing to his victorious fleet). “Stay,” said the Emperor. They talked it over, and peace with us was signed, which meant war with France. Our victorious Nelson was one too many for the crafty Russians. In writing home, he said to our Minister at War: “I flatter myself that a British Admiral, with a good fleet at his back (he had nearly thirty sail) is the best man you could select to send to negotiate. Some of the Czar’s advisers did not like the terms. I at once gave the Emperor to understand that he could have peace on one hand, or war on the other (pointing to my fleet just outside the harbour). I found I had hit the nail fairly on the head, and at once made peace with the Emperor of all the Russias, and war with Napoleon. He has promised to declare, should that tyrant interfere with him.” Shortly after this, the terrible battle of Trafalgar was fought, which swept the French and Spanish flags from the sea. It was here that Nelsonmet a glorious death;[40]but this victory proclaimed the commercial death-blow of Napoleon. We say again, it was off the shoals of Trafalgar where the funeral pile of Napoleon’s greatness was witnessed. It frustrated all his deep laid schemes of subjugating us as a nation, and proclaimed that—
“Britain ruled the waves.”
Our forefathers could now laugh at Napoleon’s threats of invasion. The combined fleets of France and Spain were completely annihilated, and before he could attempt to reach our shores, a new fleet and a fresh set of seamen must be forthcoming. But our darling hero had purchased this last triumph with his blood. His name, however, still lives fresh in every true Briton’s heart, and his last signal will be handed down to our children’s children: “England expects that every man this day will do his duty.” Such language has frequently inspired our men amidst the storm of shot and shell, and England has often since had to acknowledge that her sonshavedone their duty. Europe struggled on under the iron grasp of Napoleon. Spain and Portugal declared war against the tyrant. Oceans of blood were spilt; millions of money that could have been put to good use were lavished upon war material. Russia, Austria, and Prussia again tried to stem the torrent of Napoleon’s conquest; but there was no unity in their camps, and the great conquerorbeat them all in detail, up to this. The only time his victorious legions were beaten in the open field was when opposed by our thin red line. Napoleon’s much puffed-up invincibles were beaten,and had to retire from every field on which our conquering general, Wellington, planted his standard. We never once met the enemy in a pitched battle, either by land or sea, but to beat them. The sons of Albion, side by side with the undaunted sons of the Emerald Isle, set an example to Europe. Before the Moscow campaign took place, the flower of the French army were opposed to us in the Peninsula, on the fields of Corunna, Albuera, Barrosa, Busaco, Douro, Fuentes de Oñoro, Roliça, Talavera, and Vimiera; and from 1812 to the end of the war, we met and rolled them up on all the following fields, or stormed their strongholds and took every one from them: Badajoz, Ciudad Rodrigo, Nive, Nivelle, Orthes, Pyrenees, San Sebastian, Salamanca, Toulouse, Vittoria, and Waterloo. Hundreds of thousands of men perished on the above fields. The poor inhabitants were butchered without mercy in cold blood, because they tried to do all they could to help their countrymen in arms. It was a war of extermination for freedom. This war cost us close upon two hundred millions sterling. The Spaniards and Portuguese were all in our pay. But we now approach Napoleon’s great campaign in Russia in 1812. He had, for a long time, been making preparations for it. Russia had set him at defiance, refusing to close her ports against our merchandise. Vast armies, with all kinds of warlike stores, were passing through Germany on to the Russian frontier during the early part of 1812. The great conqueror set out to join, as he thought, his invincible hosts. At Dresden, June 1812, he reached the climax of his earthly fame. He was the centre of attraction; four kings, innumerable princes and dukes, waited upon him: queens were maids of honour to Maria Louisa. But in a few shortmonths this much-exalted hero had to confess that “from the sublime to the ridiculous was but a step.”
The humiliation of Prussia, the conquest of Austria, the dreadful spectacles that thousands who now surrounded Napoleon’s standard had witnessed on the bloody fields of Jena, Austerlitz, Wagram, Eylan, Friedland, with pyramids of friends and foes, bodies all around; with weeping mothers and smiling infants at their breasts, searching amidst the piles of dead for their loved ones. All were for a time forgotten. The conquerors were now to be seen side by side with the vanquished in the above disastrous fields which had struck Germany down. This all-conquering hero was now the king of kings, elevated to the highest pinnacle of fame, surrounded by his Old Guards and the terrible cuirassiers with Prince Murat at their head, who had frequently ridden over Russians, Austrians, Prussians, Spaniards and Portuguese. No power on earth seemed capable of stopping them. As often as their beloved Emperor appeared, the shouts of enthusiasm, with the cry ofVive l’Empereur,[41]rent the air, as they struck their sabres, confident of victory. He was now exalted to the skies, but (so much for human mutability) he proved that, from the exalted pinnacle of fame to the ridiculous was but a step. He invaded Russia without any provocation but ambition, in all the majesty ofwar, with the strongest and best equipped army that the world had then seen. It consisted of—
Infantry491,953Horses187,111Cavalry96,579Artillery58,626Number of guns1,372————Total of invading army,647,158
They had some desperate combats on various fields. The Russian army retired, fighting with desperation, when pressed too closely by Napoleon’s host. But 30,000 of the enemy perished, for want of food, before a shot, so to speak, was fired. The only great battle fought on the advance to Moscow was at Borodino, 7th September, 1812: and out of all Napoleon’s vast host, all he could bring into action, after waiting for days to collect stragglers, was 103,000 infantry, 36,000 cavalry, and 593 guns. The terrible battle raged from morning until night; the Russians were not beaten, but almost annihilated. Both sides fought with desperation; the one to save their hearths and homes, the other well knowing they had nothing to fall back upon. This field presented a terrible spectacle: huge masses of men having fought hand-to-hand all day. “Here,” said Napoleon, “is the field where the brave shall find a glorious death: the coward will perish in the deserts of Siberia.” The Russians lost 38 generals and 45,000 officers and men; prisoners and guns taken were about equal: the Russians lost 10 and took 13 guns. The victors (for the French justly claimed the victory, as the Russians retired during the night) lost 32 generals and 52,000 officers and men. All that was left to the boasting enemy was the bloody field, for the dead and dying lay in ghastly piles, friend and foe mixed together. The victors were in a worse plight than the vanquished; they had to lie down supperless on the field of gore, and get up breakfastless. The Russians had plenty to eat, and retired next day to Moscow. The enemy followed them up, and entered Moscow intriumph, amidst martial music and ringing shouts ofVive l’Empereur. A strange scene presented itself; not a living soul to meet the great conqueror. He was entering into a deserted city. All the inhabitants had fled. Moscow, with all its palaces and stately mansions, was abandoned to the foe. But it was soon enveloped in flames. Napoleon had expected that, as their capital was in his hands, he would have been able to dictate to the Emperor Alexander his own terms of peace. But no! he had fought his way for a thousand miles from the Niemen: he had beaten the Russian army: he had taken their capital, which was all in flames around him. But he could not subdue a brave nation, who had sworn to die to a man or conquer the great tyrant. The Spaniards and Portuguese, backed up by old England, had set Europe an example how to combat for their liberty. The noble heroism displayed in the defence of Saragossa had set Europe in a blaze. The orders of Alexander to his generals were, not to attempt to negotiate, but to fight to the death. The great conqueror was compelled to eat a large slice of humble pie, “and order a retreat” from the midst of a people he could not subdue.
It is a point of the highest importance, involving, as it does, a decisive refutation of the assertion so often repeated and handed down to our children, “that it was thecoldin Russia which destroyed Napoleon’s grand army,” which crossed the Niemen, June, 1812. Out of this vast host under Napoleon’s immediate command, before a single flake of snow fell, 247,000 men and 92,000 horses had perished by the ravages of war and starvation. Other corps, under command of different marshals, suffered in proportion. As the army advanced, it got worse and worse. The great multitude of mouths destroyed Napoleon. Reinforcements kept joining the great conqueror at Moscow; and when the retreat commenced, he had more than replaced what he had lost at Borodino. They turned their facestowards the sunny south, laden with the spoil of Moscow. Napoleon thought of retiring by another road. But no, no. The Russians, now augmented to about 150,000 men, with nearly 50,000 cavalry, took up a strong position at Malo-Jaeoslowitz, and beat the conqueror. This field presented a horrible spectacle. The town was built of wood; and for hours desperate hand-to-hand fighting took place in its narrow streets, which, became completely choked with dead and dying, friend and foe. The houses on both sides the streets were enwrapt in flames. The guns (French) were ordered forward. They dashed on at a gallop, crushing over the heaps of both friend and foe, as they lay weltering in blood and flames. The Russians had not died for nothing. They, as brave men, died to save the honour of their homes, their wives, their mothers, and their daughters. They beat the tyrant, and compelled him to retire by a route that was already exhausted. The consequences of this bloody engagement were most disastrous to the French. There was no alternative for it now. It was most humiliating. He who had set Europe at defiance, must now retire by the wasted roadviaSmolensk. Guns and prisoners were captured every day. The Russian army hung upon their flanks and rear. To go into all the fights that took place during that terrible retreat would fill a large volume. The dreadful passage of the river Beresina, on the retreat, completed the ruin of the grand army. The Russian Commander-in-Chief, Kutusoff, shrank from the responsibility of facing the hero of so many fields. He had felt the weight of one hundred and fifty thousand men on the bloody field of Borodino. He did not know that it was but the wreck of the once grand army that was before him. Had he but posted his victorious army on the heights on the banks of that noble stream, Napoleon, with the remainder of his dejected, half-famished army, must have been all slain, drowned, or taken prisoners. Had Wellington been there, withsuch an army as the Russian chief commanded, the subsequent slaughter in the campaigns of 1813-14 and 1815 would have been avoided. Napoleon would most likely have met a soldier’s death. It was well ordained by an all-wise God. The nation that had defied the laws of God and man would not have been humbled, as they were subsequently, after the carnage of Leipsic and the rout at Waterloo. But the sight of his old Guards was enough; they had decided every field for the last twenty years where Napoleon commanded. The passage of the river was disputed by Kutusoff’s lieutenants (by his permission). The bloody struggle at the temporary bridges is almost beyond description. The Russian guns, planted on the heights, played with terrible effect upon the mass of the terror-stricken, confused multitude. In the midst of the confusion, one of the bridges broke, and all upon it miserably perished in the masses of floating ice. The frantic crowd (for discipline was all gone) at once rushed to the remaining bridge. The artillery and cavalry cut their way through their comrades, plunging, like the car of Juggernaut, through dead and dying. Thousands were mobbed into the river—now a raging torrent of floating ice. Heaven and earth seemed combined to destroy a nation of infidels; for the rain came down in torrents, converting a gentle stream into a raging torrent. In the midst of this dreadful scene, with the Russian guns firing as fast as possible upon the remaining bridge, it caught fire. Despair and misery now rendered the enemy desperate. Numbers rushed on to the burning bridge; it broke, and all were lost.
The scene now became awful. All retreat cut off, thousands must now die or surrender. The magnitude of the disaster to the French was manifest in the spring. Twelve thousand dead bodies were found washed up on the banks of the river, fourteen thousand more were killed, and sixteen thousand taken prisoners. Nearly all their artillery were lost. In the midst of this terriblescene, mothers were seen lifting their infants above their heads in the water, holding them up until they were exhausted, then sinking beneath the waves. An infant found near the gate of Smolensko, abandoned by its wretched mother, was adopted by the Old Guard. Carried between them, it was saved in the midst of the horrors of the Beresina. It was again seen on the bridge of Kowno, and finally escaped all the horrors of the retreat, and eventually met a soldier’s death, as colonel commanding the Zouaves, at the storming of the Malakoff. A number of men became mad from the frightful accumulation of disasters all around them; others were reduced to a state of idiocy. Their eyes were fixed; with a haggard look they marched on, not knowing what they were doing. Commands, outrageous blows—nothing could rouse them; and at night they would sink to the ground, and perish for want of food. Others would carelessly sit down upon the dead bodies of their comrades, and resign themselves to rest, to sleep, and death. Others marched on resolutely; but at length their limbs tottered, their steps became shorter, they fell behind their more robust comrades (tears often running down their cheeks); their knees smote each other, they staggered like drunken men, then fell to rise no more, completely exhausted for want of food. Others marched on, taking no notice. All at once symptoms of paralysis appeared, their knees shook, their arms fell from their hands, and they sank down by the wayside, with a fixed look, watching the crowd until they sank from exhaustion and died—cursing him who had been the cause of all their misery. When remonstrated with about his foolhardy march to Moscow to humble Alexander, by some of the heads of his army, and the head of the Roman Church, his answer was: “Do you think that the arms will drop from my soldiers’ hands?” They did, however, drop by thousands. One of his faithful Old Guard, looking death in the face, said to a comrade: “Your assistance is in vain,my friend;” then faintly murmured: “He has ruined us all. The only favour I ask is, to carry to my children these decorations (see that the enemies do not pollute them). I won them on the fields of Jena, Austerlitz, Eylan, Friedland, and Spain.” He then sank back and expired, for lack of the common necessaries of life. Others, their fingers and toes dropped off, from the extreme frost. Their arms fell to the ground, but they still staggered on until night. In every bivouac, hundreds of corpses were found sitting around what had been their watch-fires, stiff dead; to all appearance looking at each other—their eyes fixed. Others, that could not get near the fire, were found sitting back to back. They had devoured the last morsel of horse-flesh, their strength failed them, and they sank and died from starvation. Such a picture is only too true. These are what some madmen call the glories of war.
Shortly after the dreadful scene at the Beresina, Napoleon left his once grand army, now nothing but a confused rabble of all arms and followers mixed up. His superb cavalry were nearly all dismounted. Of guns they had but few. Murat, who now commanded, had nothing but horse-flesh to feed his starving followers with, and but little of that. The Cossacks of the Don were hovering all around them, hacking at all stragglers. No mercy was shown by these infuriated savages. Napoleon was now travelling through Poland, almost at lightning speed, on two rough sledges, accompanied with but three followers. He dashed through Germany, changing horses every twenty miles. The monster was not yet satisfied. He had not been the cause of enough misery. He carried the dreadful news to Paris of the destruction of his once Grand Army. He made (or tried to make) the Government believe that his army had conquered Russia, that it was still unconquerable, and that they were still superb. He acknowledged that nearly all his cavalry and artillery were destroyed by the extreme cold. He demanded500,000 more men. “I will then,” he said, “give Alexander a few battles on the plains of Germany, and all will be restored. I have to thank England for all the misery which has overtaken us; but I will lay London in ashes yet.” He had yet to learn that London was to him sacred ground; that its people openly acknowledged daily the saving power of the great Architect of the Universe. He permitted the tyrant to go thus far, and no further; to show us and our children’s children, in days to come, the finger of His love: “I will be your God, and ye shall be my people. Fear not.” To go into all the desperate fights which took place after Napoleon’s departure, I could not. Murat kept picking up strong detachments of all arms that had been left to keep the communication open.
The invincibility was all thrashed out of Murat’s dejected, half-frozen, half-starved, half-clad followers. The heroic Marshal Ney (an Irishman) still commanded the rear guard. Four times it melted away, and as often this exemplary soldier re-formed another. At the gate of Wilna this unconquerable soldier, a prince and a Marshal of France, fought as a grenadier (which he was) with a musket. When called upon to surrender he exclaimed, “A Marshal of France may die, but never surrender.”[42]Such was the heroic Ney. History has not preserved a nobler instance of humanity than that displayed by the Emperor Alexander and his brother Constantine, at Wilna. The condition of the wounded and prisoners, till the arrival of Alexander, was horrible beyond conception. Huddled together in hospitals without fire, water, medicine, beds, or even straw, there they lay in hundreds, with their limbs shattered, or in the last stage of disease. Hundreds died every day, their bodies thrown out of the windowsby those in attendance; but their places were immediately filled up by multitudes of others, who crawled or were carried into these abodes of wretchedness to draw their last breath, cursing him who had been the cause of all their misery. Hard biscuit, and but little of that, was all they had for food; their only drink was snow, carried to them by their comrades. The putrid smell of above six thousand bodies, which lay unburied, was unbearable. Into these hidden dens of living, tombs, the Emperor Alexander and his brother immediately on arrival entered. Steps were at once taken to stop these horrors; the dead putrefied bodies were at once collected, and burned or buried. They amounted to the astounding number of seventeen thousand, lying dead about the streets and hospitals. The total number that succumbed at Wilna was upwards of thirty thousand in a few weeks. This was the termination of a campaign of unexampled dangers and glory to the Russian arms, by deeds of unprecedented Christian mercy to a fallen foe. The wreck of the once grand army re-crossed the Niemen, and left the Russian territory, on the 13th December, 1812—about 20,000 of rag-tail, bob-tail, miserable wretches. It must have been humiliating to the remains of the Old Guard (about 800 strong) to be pursued by a detachment of Cossacks. But my readers must know that five-sixths of this motley army had never seen Moscow, or been within hundreds of miles of it. The last stand was made at the bridge of Kowno, by the rear-guard, under the intrepid Ney. He fired the last shot that drove his pursuers back; threw all spare arms into the Niemen, and retired with honour, covered with blood and mud, and black with powder; his clothing all in tatters, and his good sword still reeking with the blood of a Cossack. In that state, the hero presented himself to General Dumas, who was lying wounded a few miles from the frontier. “Who are you?” said the General, as he entered into the sick chamber. “I am the rear-guard of the grandarmy. I have fired the last musket shot on the bridge of Kowno, and have thrown into the river the last of our arms. I am Marshal Ney.”[43]When the truth came out, the grand army was accounted for as follows:—Killed in action, 130,000, including officers; taken prisoners, 48 generals, 5,000 officers, and 190,000 men. Nearly all the wounded were either taken or died; 132,000 officers and men died of fatigue and starvation; yet to add 110,000 Poles, killed or died of starvation and cold; 35,000 Austrians, and 18,000 Prussians—wings of the host—never were near Moscow, and not much engaged, retired to their own country. This nearly brings up the grand total, about 20,000 of the wreck being added. The Russian loss was as heavy, if not heavier, than that of the enemy. The noble lines of Johnson, on Charles XII., seem a poetic prophecy of the far greater catastrophe on Napoleon. By a few alterations they become descriptive of his fate:—
No joys to him pacific sceptres yield;War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field;Behold! surrounding kings their powers combine,And some capitulate, and some resign.Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain;“Think nothing gained,” he cries, “till nought remainOn Moscow’s walls till Gothic standards fly,And all be mine beneath the Polar sky.”The march begins in military state,And nations on his eye suspended wait;Stern famine guards the solitary coast,And winter barricades the realms of frost.He comes—not want and cold his course delay;Hide, blushing glory, hide the Moskwa’s day;The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands,And shows his miseries in distant lands;Condemned a needy suppliant to wait,While ladies interpose and slaves debate.His fall was destined to a barren strand,A petty fortress and a sea-girt land;He left a name, at which the world grew paleTo point a moral, and adorn a tale.
No joys to him pacific sceptres yield;War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field;Behold! surrounding kings their powers combine,And some capitulate, and some resign.Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain;“Think nothing gained,” he cries, “till nought remainOn Moscow’s walls till Gothic standards fly,And all be mine beneath the Polar sky.”The march begins in military state,And nations on his eye suspended wait;Stern famine guards the solitary coast,And winter barricades the realms of frost.He comes—not want and cold his course delay;Hide, blushing glory, hide the Moskwa’s day;The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands,And shows his miseries in distant lands;Condemned a needy suppliant to wait,While ladies interpose and slaves debate.His fall was destined to a barren strand,A petty fortress and a sea-girt land;He left a name, at which the world grew paleTo point a moral, and adorn a tale.
Madame de Staël has well said that Providencenever appeared so near human affairs as in this memorable year 1812. There was, as far as human eye could see, a special outpouring of Divine wrath. We see in Napoleon the greatness and weakness of puny man, his highest glory, and yet nothingness against the arm of the Great Geometrician of the universe.