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The Highlanders possessed naturally a great aptitude for war. It has been said that hunting is the nearest approach to war in times of peace; and the Highlander, when not engaged in war, devoted himself to hunting, fishing, and the practice of athletic sports and manly exercises. He was a deer-stalker before deer-parks were invented, when deer-stalking was something different from the easy slaughter now known by that name; he was accustomed to bear hunger, thirst, and fatigue without complaint; to sleep in the snow with no other covering than his plaid; to encounter the members of a hostile clan with no other weapon than his broadsword. He possessed the virtues and physical qualities that fit men for war. He was impetuous in attack and cool under fire. In the hour of danger he exhibited such courage and presence of mind as nothing could daunt. At Fontenoy and elsewhere he has thrown himself on the ground as the enemy began their fire; when their bullets had whistled harmlessly over his head, he would rush forward till his musket almost touched their breasts, and pour in the deadly discharge; he would then retreat, receive their fire as before, and advance in the same manner. If he had not been possessed of the greatest coolness and self-possession, such a mode of fighting could only have led to inextricable confusion.

From an old pamphlet, published in 1745, we learn that a Highlander of the 42nd Regiment killed nine Frenchmen with his broadsword at Fontenoy, and would probably have added to the number of the slain if he had not lost his arm. In a skirmish with the Americans in 1776, Major Murray, of the same regiment, being separated from his men, was attacked by three of the enemy. His dirk had slipped behind his back, and, being very corpulent, he could not reach it: he defended himself as well as he could with his fusil, and, watching his opportunity, seized the sword of one of his assailants, and put the three to flight. It was natural that he should ever retain that sword as a trophy of victory. In another skirmish during the same war, a young recruit belonging to Fraser’s Highlanders slew seven of the enemy with his own hand. At the close of the engagement his bayonet, once perfectly straight, was twisted like a corkscrew. At the affair of Castlebar, in Ireland, when men of other regiments retreated, a Highland sentinel refused to leave his post without orders. It was in vain that they tried to persuade him to retire—he stood there alone against a host. Five times he loaded and fired; a Frenchman fell at every shot. Before he could put his musket to his shoulder a sixth time the enemy were upon him, and many a bayonet passed through his body. The power of discipline could scarcely carry a man farther than this. The soldier who could meet a host without flinching must have had the soul of a hero. Highlanders have been equally patient and enduring in meeting the onsets of hunger and famine. The 1st Battalion of the 78th Regiment was wrecked during the passage from Java to Calcutta in 1816. The days and nights from the 9th of November to the 6th of December were spent on the rocky isle of Preparis, without shelter and almost without food. One ounce of bread and half a glassful of rice was the daily allowance of each person for nearly a month. At length even this miserable supply failed, and the shell-fish picked up at low water became their only means of support. At such a juncture the most generous of men might have become selfish; but such was the effect of discipline among these half-famished Highlanders, that with death staring them in the face they could resist the cravings of hunger, and bring all their gatherings to one common stock, which was equally divided among them all. Their fortitude was rewarded by the arrival of a ship which carried them in safely to Calcutta.

Numerous proofs of their cunning and address in war might be cited. On the day before the battle of Fontenoy the Earl of Craufurd advanced with the Highlanders to examine the enemy’s outposts. A Highland soldier, stationed in dangerous proximity to the enemy, was annoyed by one of their sharpshooters firing at his post, and had recourse to an ingenious expedient to rid himself of this annoyance. He crept stealthily forward and placed his bonnet on the top of a stick near the verge of a hollow road. While the Frenchman’s attention was fixed on his supposed antagonist, Donald advanced unperceived to a spot where he could take sure aim, and brought down the unfortunate marksman. In a skirmish with the American rebels in 1777, Sergeant Macgregor, of the 42nd, was severely wounded, and remained insensible on the ground. Unlike Captain Crawley, who put on his old uniform before Waterloo, the sergeant, who seems to have been something of a dandy, had attired himself in his best, as if he had been going to a ball, and not to a battle. He wore a new jacket with silver lace, large silver buckles in his shoes, and a watch of some value. This display of wealth attracted the notice of an American soldier, who, actuated by no feeling of humanity, but by the sordid desire of stripping the sergeant at leisure, took him on his back and began to carry him off the field. It is probable that the American did not handle him very tenderly, and the motion soon restored him to consciousness. He saw at once the state of matters, and proved himself master of the occasion. With one hand he drew his dirk, and, grasping the American’s throat with the other, he swore that he would stab him to the heart if he did not retrace his steps, and bear him back in safety to the British camp. The argumentum ad hominem in the shape of a glittering dagger before his eyes was too much for the American. On the way to the camp he met Lord Cornwallis, who thanked him for his humanity, but he had the candour to admit the truth. His lordship, who was much amused at the incident, gave the American his liberty, and, on Macgregor retiring from the service, procured for him a situation in the Customs at Leith. He probably thought that the man who could entrap a Yankee would be more than a match for any smuggler. In a war with the Cherokees in 1760, Allen Macpherson, a private in Montgomery’s Highlanders, fell into the hands of the enemy. Anxious to escape from the cruel torture that awaited him, he signified that he had something of importance to communicate. An interpreter was introduced, and the Indians stood by in solemn silence. He informed them that he was a medicine-man, and knew of certain herbs, which, if applied to the skin, would enable it to resist the sword or the tomahawk, though wielded by the strongest arm; if they would conduct him to the woods, and allow him to collect these herbs, he would use them so as that their bravest warrior might strike at his neck without injuring him. Such an assertion found ready credence with superstitious Indians, and they complied with his request. Macpherson was as cool and confident in his bearing as if he had nothing to dread: he rubbed his neck with the juice of the first herbs he had picked up, laid his head calmly on a block of wood, and invited the ordeal. An Indian raised his tomahawk and struck at his neck with such force that his head flew several yards from his body. The Cherokees, far from resenting the trick which had been played upon their credulity, expressed their admiration of his address and courage by refraining from torturing the other captives. We could give many proofs of the Highlander’s ingenuity in attacking others or defending himself, but we confine ourselves to a single incident which tends to prove his dexterity in imposing on the enemy. During the siege of Quebec, the French had planted sentries along the river to challenge all who approached. During the night attack which ended in the capture of the town, the first boat with English troops was observed and challenged. “Qui vive?” A moment’s hesitation, and all would have been lost. An officer of Fraser’s Highlanders who had served in Holland, and knew the watchword, at once replied, “La France.” The second part of the challenge was given and satisfactorily answered. The sentinel became troublesomely inquisitive. “A quel régiment appartenez-vous?” “Au régiment de la Reine.” It was fortunate that the captain knew that a regiment of that name was serving in Quebec. The soldier, satisfied with these replies, allowed all the boats to pass without further challenge: he thought it was an expected convoy with provisions, and no time was lost when the magic word “passe” was heard. The other sentries took it for granted that all was right; there was only one who had some suspicion. Struck with the silence on board the boats, he rushed down to the water’s edge, and called, “Pourquoi est-ce que vous ne parlez pas haut?” The suspicion implied in this question was at once disarmed by the officer replying in a subdued tone, “Tais-tois, ou nous serons entendus.” That cunning Highlander had not studied French for nothing—it gained for the British: Quebec.

A striking trait in the character of the Highlanders was their devoted attachment to their own regiments and officers. When clanship had all but died out in the North, it was found lingering among the Highland soldiers. The Highlander’s regiment was his clan, and his colonel his chief; and to his corps and commander he did the same fealty as in the days of yore to clansmen and their head. This feeling was peculiarly prominent in those regiments which were under the command of cadets of ancient Northern families, who felt in themselves and tried to revive in their men the old ties of clanship. Cameron, of the 92nd, who fought and fell at Quatre Bras, was less the colonel than the chief of that gallant regiment, which was raised partly in Lochaber, his native district. He knew every man in his regiment, and watched over their interests as if they had been his brothers or his sons. An angry look or a stern word from him was dreaded more than the lash. He was their father, and when he fell there rose from his mountain children that wild wail of sorrow which once heard can never be forgotten. Brave, impetuous, and headstrong, jealous of his own honour and that of his regiment, Cameron has always struck us as the beau idéal of a Highland officer of the better class; while Captain MacTurk, that admirable creation of Scott, may be safely accepted as the faithful representative of a once numerous class, the all but countless subalterns who had risen from the ranks, and who puzzled the post-office and confused the directory by the similarity of their names. The old clannish feeling is perceptible in the language used by Highland veterans in alluding to their past services. They do not say that they served in the 42nd, the 78th, the 79th, the 92nd, or the 93rd regiment; but, when inspired by usquebaugh or ancient reminiscences, they begin to fight their battles o’er, they preface their narrative with, “When I was in the Black Watch, the Ross, the Cameron, the Gordon, or the Sutherland regiment.” The name to them is everything: the number by which the regiment is known at the Horse Guards is a number, and nothing more. This attachment of the Highlanders to their own regiments was so well-known during the last century that it was sometimes taken advantage of by the recruiting sergeants, who assumed the Highland dress, and persuaded the recruits they were about to join a Highland regiment. When such was not the case, the rage of the Highlanders on discovering the imposture was unbounded; they appealed to the military authorities, and on their obtaining their discharge re-enlisted at once in one of their own regiments. These regiments, when first raised, could always command a larger number of men than they actually required. When the Fraser Highlanders embarked for foreign service in 1776, it was found that more men had joined than the strength of the different companies admitted, and several were dismissed. Such, however, was their anxiety to serve, that they concealed themselves in the ship, and were not discovered till the fleet was at sea. An incident occurred on this occasion which proves that the esprit de clan, if we may so speak, was even stronger than the esprit de corps. A hundred and twenty men had been raised on the forfeited estate of Cameron of Lochiel, so as to entitle him to a company: detained by sickness in London, he was unable to join his regiment in Glasgow. The Camerons, unwilling to serve any one but their chief, hesitated to embark, till young Fassiefern, one of their clansmen, and a near relative of Lochiel, was appointed to the command of the company, when all their scruples were removed. Lochiel, on hearing of the conduct of his men, hurried down from London; but the fatigue of the journey brought on a fresh attack of disease, to which he fell a victim in a few weeks. The regiment was under the command of General Fraser, a son of Lord Lovat. He addressed the Camerons in Gaelic, and his eloquence had much effect in winning them back to obedience. While he was speaking, a venerable Highlander was seen leaning on his staff and listening with rapt attention. When he had finished, the old man stepped up to him, and seizing his hand with an easy familiarity which marked the intercourse of all classes in the North, said, “Simon, you are a good soldier, and speak like a man; as long as you live, Simon of Lovat will never die.” The general, doubtless, appreciated this double compliment; his father was a favourite among the Highlanders, and it was implied that the son was worthy of the sire. The young recruits always wished to serve under officers of their own clan, and felt it a hardship to be separated from them. It was not enough that they served in the same regiment; they wished to belong to the same company. Young Fassiefern brought a hundred Lochaber men to join the 92nd at Aberdeen. When it was proposed to draft them into different companies, they refused to be separated, or to serve under any officer save their young chief. It was only by pledging his honour that he would watch equally over the interests of all that he could persuade them to submit; his letters to his father prove that he never forgot his promise. They were true to one another to the end; when a Lochaber man died, Cameron followed him to the grave, reminded his sorrowing comrades of his soldierly virtues, and told them to “give him the smoothest bed, and to cover him with the greenest sod.” To understand the delicacy of this order, one must have witnessed a Highland funeral, or seen the smooth, level, turf-covered graves in a Highland churchyard. There was no sacrifice which they were not prepared to make for officers who thus studied their interests and feelings. They were as jealous of their honour as of their own; cowardice in the chief brought disgrace on his clan. There was a singular display of this feeling in one of the Crimean battles: a young Highland officer left his place in front of his company and began to retreat, when a sergeant seized him by the throat, and swore he would run him through the body if he did not turn. He chose rather to meet the fire of the Russians than the glare of the sergeant’s angry eye. This jealousy of their officers’ honour gave rise to an amusing incident during the attack on Fort Washington in 1777. The hill on which the fort stood was almost perpendicular, but the Highlanders rushed up the steep ascent like mountain cats. When half-way up the heights they heard a melancholy voice exclaim, “Oh, soldiers, will you leave me?” On looking down, they saw Major Murray, their commanding officer, at the foot of the precipice; his extreme obesity prevented him from following them. They were not deaf to this appeal: it would never do to leave their corpulent commander behind. A party leaped down at once, seized him in their arms, and bore him from ledge to ledge of the rock till they reached the summit, where they drove the enemy before them and made two hundred prisoners. Major Murray was not the only corpulent warrior among those Highland soldiers. Sir Robert Munroe of Fowlis, who commanded them at Fontenoy, was so fat that his own men had to haul him from the trenches by the legs and arms; he advised them to fall flat on the ground when the enemy fired, but remained erect himself, remarking that it was easy for a man of his weight to lie down, but not so easy to rise. Some of the men seem to have been as remarkable for height as their officers were for breadth. Thus we read of Samuel Macdonald, or “Big Sam,” of the Sutherland Fencibles, who was seven feet four inches in height, and stout in proportion. As the other men would have looked like pigmies beside such a giant, he stood on the right of the regiment when in line, and marched at its head when in column, followed by an immense mountain deer, between which and him there were certain physical, if not spiritual, affinities. He was an excellent drill, and, like most giants, extremely good-natured. Ordinary rations would not have sufficed to sustain such a corpus; he was therefore allowed half-a-crown a day of extra pay. Attracting the attention of the Prince of Wales, he made him one of the porters at Carlton House. But Macdonald soon tired of this inactive life, and longed to be with his old comrades of the 93rd. He rejoined the regiment, and died at Guernsey in 1802. Sam’s regiment seems to have been remarkable for the size and muscular strength of the men. It had no light company, and as more than 200 men were upwards of five feet eleven inches in height, they were formed into two grenadier companies, one on each flank of the battalion.

The retirement or the removal of one of their favourite officers to another regiment called forth the strongest feelings of sorrow, and sometimes almost led to open resistance. It occasionally happened that these officers were Englishmen, who with the garb of the mountains had adopted all the feelings of the mountaineers. Cadogan, who commanded the 71st in the Peninsula, was a Saxon, and yet no Celt was ever dearer to his men. The Pretender would never have been so popular in the North if he had not worn the tartan; the same may be said of Montrose and Dundee, neither of whom was a Highlander by birth. If English officers failed to gain the affections and respect of their men, it was because they failed to make themselves acquainted with their character, and inadvertently wounded their feelings. Such cases, however, were rare. English officers serving in Highland regiments possessed the esprit de corps as much as the Highlanders themselves. At first, as we have shown, all the officers belonged to the North, and it was a point of honour with the men either to protect them in battle or to avenge them if slain. We might cite many cases where Highland soldiers sacrificed their own lives to save those of their officers, stepping before them and receiving in their own bodies the bullet or the bayonet-thrust aimed at their officers’ breasts. When a favourite fell, woe betide the enemy at the next charge: every Highlander fought as if his arm alone were the instrument of vengeance. When Cameron fell at Quatre Bras, by a shot fired from the upper storey of the farm-house, his men rushed with a wild shout on the building, burst their way in, and avenged by the slaughter of all its occupants, the death of their leader.

Major Murray and the Highlanders at Fort Washington.

While the duty of avenging the death of a beloved officer was incumbent upon all, it devolved with peculiar stringency on his foster-brother, who always kept near his person in battle. This duty is frequently alluded to in the proverbial expressions of the North. “Kindred to twenty (degrees), fosterage to a hundred,” was a received maxim in the code of Celtic ethics. “Woe to the father of the foster-son who is unfaithful to his trust,” is another old saying which proves that this tie was regarded as sacred. Scott has described this singular relationship among the Highlanders in “Waverley,” and many illustrations might be given of the deeds of unselfish devotion to which it gave rise. Often the foster-brother thrust himself before his officer, and shielded him from danger by the sacrifice of his own life. If he had failed to do so, his own mother would have been the first to reproach him for his cowardice—ay, and to disown him as her son. There was much of the old Spartan feeling among these Celtic mothers. The wives of those Northern chiefs seem to have had no great liking for the primary duties of domestic life; instead of rearing their own children, they distributed them among their tenantry, who considered themselves honoured by the confidence thus reposed in them. This singular custom tended to render the tie between the chief and his clan closely intimate: they felt themselves to be members of one great family. Cameron of Fassiefern, with whose portrait our readers are familiar, was followed wherever he went by his faithful henchman and foster-brother, Ewen M’Millan. His devotion to his chief was unbounded; it absorbed every other feeling, and became the master-passion of his life. At the battle of St. Pierre, Ewen gave an amusing proof of his regard, not only for his master, but also for his master’s property. Cameron’s horse, being wounded, fell, and nearly crushed him. A Frenchman rushed forward to bayonet him while thus disabled; but, before the blow had reached, Ewen came up and pierced the Frenchman to the heart. Ewen then raised his master from his dangerous position and conducted him to a place of safety, after which he returned and carried off the saddle on which Cameron had sat. All this was done with the greatest coolness, though the battle was at its height, and the bullets of the enemy were flying on every side. When Ewen rejoined his company, he displayed his trophy to his comrades, and exultingly exclaimed, “We must leave them the carcass, but they sha’n’t get the saddle where Fassiefern sat.” It was evidently a seat of honour, and too sacred an object in Ewen’s eyes to be left in possession of the French; and to save the saddle the disgrace of receiving part of another’s person, he was ready to risk his life. When Cameron fell at Quatre Bras, his devoted foster-brother was in a moment at his side, and, raising him in his arms, he bore him from the field of battle till he found a cart, on which he laid him. Seating himself by his side, he propped the head of his dying chief on his own faithful breast, and tried in vain to stanch the life-blood fast ebbing away. It was all in vain: the bullet had done its deadly work, and Ewen could only weep over the grave of one for whom he would have gladly died. Such faithful attachment deserved to be rewarded, and Cameron’s father provided Ewen with a farm on his own estate when he obtained his discharge after the battle of Waterloo.

It may amuse our readers to learn the opinion of the Highlanders formed by those who have encountered them in the field of battle. Their strange dress, their lofty stature, their unknown tongue, and their singular mode of fighting, all naturally produced a deep impression on the minds of their enemies, who regarded them almost with a feeling of superstition. A French writer, alluding to the battle of Fontenoy, says, “The British behaved well, and could be exceeded in ardour by none but our officers, who animated the troops by their example, when the Highland furies rushed in upon us with more violence than ever did a sea driven by a tempest.” The Highlanders took part in the capture of Guadaloupe; and it appears from letters written from that island that the French had formed the wildest notions regarding the sauvages d’Ecosse (Scotch savages), as they were pleased to term them. They believed that they would neither take nor give quarter, and that they were so nimble that, as no one could catch them, nobody could escape them; that no man had a chance against their broadswords; and that, with a ferocity natural to savages, they made no prisoners, and spared neither man, woman, nor child. As the Highlanders were always in the front during the attack on the island, we need not be surprised that the good people of Guadaloupe quailed at the sight of such a redoubtable foe, and offered but little resistance. Such was the activity of the Highlanders in attacking them at different points, that they believed that they amounted to several thousands, whereas their real strength was only 800. A French general, in reference to the gallantry of the Highlanders at Toulouse, said, “Ah, these are brave soldiers. If they had good officers, I should not like to meet them unless I were well supported.” As their officers had never received much training for war, their bravery was often more conspicuous than their knowledge of the military art.

Keith’s Highlanders particularly distinguished themselves in the German wars which were carried on about the middle of the eighteenth century. Macaulay has shown that the English at one time did not hold their Northern neighbours in high estimation; but it appears that the Germans entertained still more erroneous ideas regarding them. “The Scotch Highlanders,” says a writer in the Vienna Gazette of 1762, “are a people totally different in their dress, manners, and temper from the other inhabitants of Britain. They are caught in the mountains when young, and still run with a surprising degree of swiftness. As they are strangers to fear, they make very good soldiers when disciplined.” The writer proceeds to admit that they are not without some amiable qualities, and charitably concludes his article by expressing a hope “that their king’s laudable, though late, endeavours to civilize and instruct them in the principles of Christianity will meet with success.” The French and Germans, along with Englishmen, have during the last hundred years learned to know the Highlanders better.

We happened the other day to find ourselves in the society of a number of officers, some of whom had seen service in every quarter of the globe. Allusion was made to Highland soldiers, when an English colonel exclaimed, “They are the most troublesome fellows in the service. I have seven of them in my regiment, and they have given me more annoyance about their rights and grievances than all my other men.”

“The reason is very simple,” rejoined an officer, who hailed from the land of the Gael; “you don’t know how to manage them.”

In these simple words may be found the secret cause of the mutinies which so frequently broke out among the Highland regiments when first organized. The government of the day did not know how to manage them: hence insubordination, discontent, and frequent mutiny. The 42nd, or Old Black Watch, was, as we have shown, the first body of Highlanders formed into a regular regiment. Many of the privates were men of good family and liberal education, who were drawn into the service by their natural love of arms. It was distinctly understood that the sphere of their services was not to extend beyond their native country, to which they were warmly attached; and when in March, 1743, they were ordered to proceed to England, many of the leading men of the North, including Lord President Forbes, ventured to remonstrate. Their remonstrances were vain; the government persisted in their resolution, but the suspicions of the Highlanders were disarmed by appealing to their vanity. They were assured that the king was anxious to see so gallant a regiment, and that after being reviewed by royalty they would be allowed to return to their native land. The men were treated with the greatest kindness in the different English towns through which they passed; their warlike bearing and correctness of conduct secured for them the admiration and esteem of all with whom they were brought into contact. On the 14th of May they were reviewed on Finchley Common by Marshal Wade, in the presence of vast crowds who had hurried from London to see les sauvages Ecossais. It was unfortunate the king was not present at this review; his absence induced the Highlanders to lend a ready ear to the insidious report circulated among them by the adherents of the Stuarts that they were about to be transported to the American plantations. The Highlanders were stung to madness by the supposed treachery; but, with characteristic caution, they concealed their intentions till their plans were matured. They whispered to one another that, “after being used as rods to scourge their own countrymen, they were now to be thrown into the fire.” They resolved to die rather than submit to such a fate.

On the night between Tuesday and Wednesday after the review they assembled on a common near Highgate, and commenced their march to the land of their birth. They had friends and sympathisers in the city who supplied them with provisions. Their march was conducted with such secrecy that for a week nothing was known of their route. They had reached Lady Wood, between Brigstock and Deanthorp, about four miles from Oundle, when Captain Ball, an officer of Wade’s regiment of horse, was sent to treat with them. He requested them to lay down their arms and surrender at discretion, but they declared with one voice that they would be cut to pieces rather than submit, unless they were allowed to retain their arms and received a free pardon. All that Captain Ball could promise was to recommend them to mercy; but the pride of the Highlanders revolted at such a proposal.

“Hitherto,” then exclaimed the captain, “I have been your friend; but if you continue obstinate an hour longer not a man of you shall be left alive; and for my part, I assure you, I shall give quarter to none.”

The Highlanders, who had too much generosity to resent this bold language, sent two of their number to escort him out of the wood. The guides were won over by his eloquence: one of them remained with him, while the other returned and tried to persuade his comrades to submit. Surrounded as they were by superior numbers, they were, after some negotiation, induced to surrender. They received a free pardon, and soon after embarked for Flanders, where their deeds of bravery atoned for their temporary disaffection.

A similar incident occurred in the case of a Highland regiment in the service of William III. It was the ardent love of country that led them to refuse to embark for Holland, and their devotion to King James that led them to drink his health while there in preference to that of their own prince. Some one reported this to William.

“Do they fight well, these Highlanders?” asked the king.

“None better,” was the reply.

“Then,” said the king, “if they fight so well for me, let them drink my father’s health as often as they choose.”

There was much magnanimity in these words. The Highlanders soon learned to drink William’s health as heartily as they had done his father-in-law’s.

In the year 1779 a circumstance occurred which proves in the most striking manner the attachment which the Highlanders have ever cherished for their own regiments. In the month of April two strong detachments belonging to the 42nd and 71st regiments arrived at Leith from Stirling Castle, en route to North America to join their respective regiments. On learning that they were about to be drafted into the 80th and 82nd, both Lowland regiments, the men firmly refused to obey this order, or to serve in any regiments save those for which they had been enlisted. A little friendly remonstrance might have won them over, but the authorities unfortunately adopted the idea of reducing them by force, and troops were sent to Leith for the purpose of subduing the mutineers and conveying them to Edinburgh Castle. This was no easy task, as the event proved. The Highlanders offered an obstinate resistance, and in the conflict which ensued, Captain Mansfield, of the South Fencible regiment, and nine men were killed, and thirty-one soldiers wounded. At length, overpowered by numbers, the Highlanders were compelled to surrender, and were shut up in Edinburgh Castle. In the month of May three of the prisoners, Charles Williamson and Archibald Mac Ivor, of the 42nd, and Robert Budge, of the 71st, were tried by court-martial for having been guilty of mutiny and inciting others to the same crime. The line of defence they adopted gives us considerable insight into the state of the Highlanders at this period. Mac Ivor and Williamson stated that they enlisted in the 42nd, a regiment composed exclusively of Highlanders, and wearing the Highland dress. Their native tongue was Gaelic, and they knew no other, having been born in counties where English was almost unknown. They had never worn breeches in their lives, and the only garb they could wear with comfort was the garb of old Gael. This dress had indeed been prohibited by Act of Parliament; but the government had connived at the use of it, provided that it was made of plain cloth and not of tartan. For these reasons they could neither understand the language nor use the arms, or march in the dress of any other than a Highland regiment. Budge’s defence was substantially the same. They submitted to the court that, on reaching Leith, the officer who had conducted them there informed them that they were now to consider themselves soldiers of the 82nd, a regiment wearing the Lowland dress and speaking the English tongue. No order from the commander-in-chief was shown to them, nor had they any opportunity of submitting their grievances to him. They had no intention to resist lawful authority; they only wished to remonstrate against an act of flagrant injustice. They would have gone willingly to the castle if the order had been explained to them; but the officer sent for that purpose told them that they were to join the Hamilton regiment immediately, and they considered themselves justified in repelling force by force. Every reader will feel his blood boil with indignation on learning that these three poor Highlanders were all found guilty and sentenced to be shot. The spirit of clanship, however, was too strong in the Highland regiments to admit of this sentence being carried into effect, and the king was pleased to grant them a free pardon, “in full confidence that they would endeavour, by a prompt obedience and orderly behaviour, to atone for their atrocious offence.” Without passing an opinion on the atrocity of the offence, we have much pleasure in adding that all the prisoners proved themselves worthy of the royal clemency. They were drafted into the second battalion of the 42nd, and were uniformly distinguished for their steadiness and good conduct.

The Mutiny of the Black Watch.

It may be safely affirmed that the Highland regiments never displayed a spirit of insubordination, except on those occasions when the government of the day attempted to treat them with injustice by transferring them to Lowland regiments, or ordering them to embark for foreign service when they had enlisted to serve for a limited period at home. The 77th regiment, or Athole Highlanders, was raised in 1778 by the young Duke of Athole. The Murrays have always been a warlike race, and their young chief, the present Duke of Athole, the possessor of princely estates, is serving in Canada with the 2nd battalion of the Scots Fusilier Guards. The Athole Highlanders embarked for Ireland in June, 1778, and did garrison duty there till the war was over. The part they had to play was somewhat difficult; the Irish were disaffected, and hated the troops sent to control them; but the conduct of the Highlanders was so exemplary as to secure for them the respect of their enemies. Mr. Eden, afterwards Lord Auckland, Secretary for Ireland, bears honourable testimony to this fact. After alluding to the gentlemanly bearing of the officers, and the excellent conduct of the men, he says—“Once, upon the sudden alarm of invasion, I sent an order for the immediate march of this regiment to Cork, when they showed their alacrity by marching at an hour’s notice, and completed their march with a despatch beyond any instance in modern times, and this, too, without leaving a single soldier behind.”

There are few regiments at the present day that could undertake the same march at an hour’s notice, and complete it without leaving a single man behind; such a fact says much for the discipline, strength, and pluck of the Athole Highlanders. The government showed their appreciation of these services by attempting to break faith with them. The Highlanders had enlisted for three years. Their period of service had now expired, and they naturally expected to be disbanded. Instead of this, they were sent to Portsmouth to embark for foreign service. At first they offered no resistance; when they caught the first view of the fleet at Spithead as they crossed Portsdown Hill, they pulled off their bonnets and gave three cheers at the prospect of a brush with Hyder Ali. If the government had been wise enough to tempt them to re-enlist by the offer of a fresh bounty, a gallant regiment might have been preserved to the British army; but, unfortunately, they had no sooner reached Portsmouth than emissaries from London began to poison their minds by pointing out to them the injustice of the authorities in sending them abroad when they ought to have been disbanded. It was even insinuated that they had been sold to the East India Company at so much a head, and that their officers had shared in the purchase-money. These representations had the desired effect. The Highlanders, suspicious of their officers, and brooding over their wrongs, refused to embark. For several days they remained in a state of mutiny, during which they attempted to gain possession of the main guard and garrison parade, when one of the invalids who opposed them was accidentally killed. No sooner was it known that the poor man had left a widow than the Highlanders expressed the deepest regret, and raised a considerable sum for her relief.

The greatest anxiety was caused at Portsmouth by the presence of a thousand men free from all restraint; but the lives and property of the citizens were respected, and no complaints were ever made against the Highlanders. Though they had reason to suspect their officers of treachery, they almost invariably continued to treat them with deference and respect. On hearing, however, that two or three regiments were approaching to force them on board, they flew to arms and marched out to offer them battle. On finding that it was a false report, they quietly returned to their quarters. The Duke of Athole, his uncle, Major-General Murray, and Lord George Lennox, hurried down to Portsmouth in the hope that their presence and influence would induce the men to embark; but the minds of the latter were too much embittered by a sense of injustice to be swayed by the counsels of their hereditary chiefs. The discipline of the regiment was as strict as if they had been still under the command of their officers. Their arms and ammunition were placed in one of the magazines, and a strong guard placed over them while the rest of the regiment slept or partook of their meals. Twice a day they appeared at the grand parade, along with the adjutant and other officers. They were as careful of their dress and personal appearance as before. The government were at a loss what to do with the dreaded Highlanders. One day it was proposed to turn the great guns on the ramparts against them; but, fortunately, this proposal was overruled; the bloodshed would have been great, the result doubtful. At other times it was suggested to send some regiments stationed in the neighbourhood against them. On hearing this the Highlanders flew to arms, drew up the drawbridges, placed sentinels on them, and prepared to offer an obstinate resistance.

At length the question of the mutiny was brought under the consideration of Parliament, and the just claims of the Highlanders were admitted. The regiment was disbanded, and the men spread through the Highlands the report of the injustice with which they had been treated, and thus prevented many of their countrymen from entering the army. When treating of this affair, General Stewart observed that “If government had offered a small bounty when the Athole Highlanders were required to embark, there can be little doubt they would have obeyed their orders, and embarked as cheerfully as they marched into Portsmouth.” This untoward event will remind our readers of what occurred in India when the attempt was recently made to transfer the European troops from the service of the East India Company to that of the imperial government. Through the niggardly policy then adopted, thousands of men inured to service in that trying climate were roused into a state of mutiny, and compelled the authorities to grant them their discharge. In this case, as in that of the Athole Highlanders, a small bounty would have settled the difficulty and satisfied every claim.

There are old people still alive in Scotland who remember the sensation created in the days of their boyhood among all classes by “the affair of the wild Macraes.” The Macraes never rose to the dignity of a clan; they were a small sept that lived under the protection of the Mackenzies of Seaforth. The Earl of Seaforth had forfeited his title and estates in consequence of the part he took in the rebellion of 1715, when many of the Northern gentry rose in favour of the Pretender. Kenneth Mackenzie, the grandson of this earl, bought the family property from the crown, and was created Viscount Portrose in the Irish peerage. In 1771 the family title was restored to him, and the Earl of Seaforth, anxious to prove his gratitude to the government of the day for the favours he had received, offered in 1778 to raise a regiment among his own clan for general service. The Highlanders had already acquired a distinguished name on many a battle-field, and his offer was at once accepted. All the gentlemen of the clan Mackenzie came to the aid of their chief, and a corps of 1130 men was soon raised: 500 Highlanders belonged to Seaforth’s estates; 400 to the Mackenzies of Scatwell, Kilcoy, Applecross, and Redcastle; about 200 were Lowland Scotch; 43 were English and Irish. It is interesting to mark the constitutional elements of this and other Highland regiments. The fact is undeniable that the Highlands of Scotland were far more populous a century ago than they are now. The poorer inhabitants have been driven to Canada and other colonies; their small farms have been changed into deer-parks or sheep-walks; the landlords have increased their rentals, but the country has lost an important class and reaped no adequate advantage in return. The regiment thus embodied was known as the 78th, or Seaforth Highlanders. It is not to be confounded, however, with the present 78th, or Ross-shire Buffs; it is now represented by the 72nd, or Duke of Albany’s Own Highlanders. Almost all the officers were Mackenzies, and the sons and brothers of the different lairds vied with one another in selecting the best men that could be found on their estates. The results of this care on their part were apparent when the regiment was inspected at Elgin in May, 1778: of those 1130 men not one was rejected—an astounding fact when we consider that nearly one-fourth of our recruits are now pronounced unfit for service in consequence of some physical defect. In the month of August they embarked for Leith, where “the affair of the wild Macraes” occurred.