Thus was Waterloo fought, and lost, and won. “All might have failed, but for the astonishing staunchness of the English and German infantry in Wellington’s army. Nothing, in war or in peace, is so trying to the nerves as passively to await deadly peril, making no effort to avert it. And never probably in war was greater strain of this nature put upon troops, than fell on Alten’s and Picton’s divisions at Waterloo. The Guards and Hanoverians who held Hougomont had more prolonged and exciting conflict, the heavy cavalry did magnificent service: to Maitland’s Brigade, and still more to the 52nd, belongs the conspicuous glory of having given the last crushing blow. But, after all, the chief honour belongs to the English brigades of Halkett, Kempt, and Pack, and to the Germans who stood by their side.”47

The conclusion of the campaign offers but few points of interest. The Prussians mainly carried on the pursuit, and it must have been embittered by all the dreadful history of the past. One can understand the troopers sabreing till arms were weary, with “that for Jena, and that for Austerlitz.” There were skirmishes at Namur, Laon, and Cambrai; Peronne “la Pucelle,” was stormed; and within eighteen days since the French crossed the frontier, the Allied armies were before Paris, which soon capitulated, and the great war was over. The last shot was fired on the 3rd July 1815, when the advanced guard of the 16th Light Dragoons were entering Paris. Then Ney, “le brave des braves,” was shot, and Napoleon, surrendering himself to his ancient enemy, the English, finished his days at St. Helena.

During the prolonged war, which was almost continuous from 1793 to 1815, the actual and permanent increase to the army list had been considerable, though there had been many fluctuations. Second battalions to many regiments had been formed, disbanded, restored, and in some cases given a separate existence. Up to 1805, moreover, the period of service had been usually for life, but in that year it was fixed at seventeen years, with the power of re-engagement for twelve years more.

In 1793, the twelve regiments of infantry, numbering from the 78th to the 89th inclusive, had been formed. The 90th in Perthshire, and the 91st in Argyllshire, had been raised by private enthusiasm, the former by “Sir Thomas Graham,” and hence called his “Perthshire Greybreeks,” from the colour of their breeches; and the latter by the Duke of Argyll, though it then was numbered the 98th. But the 5th Royal Irish Dragoons was disbanded for disloyalty during the Irish Rebellion, though there is but little evidence that the disaffection was general. It is curious to notice how the frequent and serious cases of mutiny in the navy found no parallel in the army. Even the above was undoubtedly much exaggerated, and so strong was the loyal feeling in the army that, in 1798, the 2nd Queen’s subscribed £100 for the discovery of the author of sundry seditious pamphlets that were being circulated.

Dress had often changed, though merely in minor details, The three-cornered hat was replaced, about 1796, by a cylindrical hat, somewhat like the modern “stovepipe” headdress, but with the side turned up with a cockade and feather. Black cloth leggings replaced the white spatterdashes. Powder disappeared in 1796, but pigtails, though shortened to 7 inches in 1804, were not abolished altogether until 1808. How so ridiculous a fashion had been retained so long it is hard to imagine. Men were helpless to finish off their headdress for parade by themselves. “Tie for tie,” and “plait for plait,” was the general cry in every barrack-room, and woe to the man who had no friend to help him! The only trace of the absurd custom is the black silk “flash” worn on the collars of the officers of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers.

The old Hussar dress, with its swinging pelisse, was introduced from Hungary, where it was the national attire, about 1806, when the 7th, 10th, and 15th Light Dragoons adopted the new name of “Hussars,” and wore a scarlet shako, instead of the former headdress, the busby; while by 1820, the 9th, 12th, 16th, and 17th Light Dragoons were armed with the lance, and appeared in the Army List as Lancers. For their services at Ciudad, Badajoz, and San Sebastian, the Engineers became the “Corps of Sappers and Miners.”

One noticeable thing relating to the Highland forces had occurred in the early part of the period under consideration. Between 1793 and 1809, Scotland had willingly furnished some 70,000 men to fill the ranks of her national section of the army. But North Britain was not populous, and the supply of men, more than such a country could afford, began to fail. There were then one cavalry and nineteen infantry regiments serving with the colours and wearing the tartan; but already, as too often occurs at the present time, there were many regiments which perforce were recruited in England, and were only Scottish by name and dress. Hence it was that six of these regiments, the 90th, 91st, 72nd, 74th, 75th, and 94th, were ordered to abandon the kilt, and adopt the ordinary line uniform.

There had been many changes in the form of the sword. At first a broad two-edged blade, a heavy, hacking weapon with a cross hilt, it was designed to wound men in armour. Not that, apparently, they ran much danger, for in many a battle few were killed. The wounds received in action appear to have been chiefly contusions.48 The mace or axe was in armoured days probably more effective than the sword. As armour was abandoned, and the mail gauntlet discarded, so the hilt became more complex (as in the so-called modern “claymore” hilt), to guard the naked, or merely gloved hand. The weapon itself was now made to thrust as well as cut, and the lighter and thinner blade was stiffened and strengthened (as in bayonets) with grooves. Finally, about the end of the last century, and for long after, the merely thrusting rapier was almost universal, save the hanger or cutlass used by bluejackets. But fashions change, and the rapier blade widened out into the modern cut-and-thrust sword, and the simple shell-like rapier guard again spread out to cover hand and wrist. Swords were worn by the rank and file of the British infantry battalions up to 1745, the grenadiers carrying them seventeen years longer.

No infantry weapon has exercised so powerful an influence on the destinies of mankind as the sword. The gladius conquered the world not merely because it was a true steel weapon and an excellent fighting tool, as compared with those of the nations the Romans had to meet, but because it was carried by men who knew its value. Morale—moral courage—is induced by a knowledge that one’s weapons are superior to those of the antagonist. The good sword implies a personal courage, the intention of closing with the adversary, and an individuality that no other weapon possesses. At times it had its special religious aspect. The cross of the Crusader’s sword was the emblem to him of his faith and of his cause. His prayers said before it, a consecrated weapon, had all the reverence that would have been attached to prayers before the Crucifix; his oath upon it was as an oath on the Cross of Christ. At all periods a ceremonial weapon, now it is mainly so. The two-handed Sword of State has been carried before kings and princes and potentates from early days even until now. The dress sword of the Lord Mayor means but guardian power. The State sword worn by a court official but implies the defence of the sovereign’s person, and the right of those surrounding the throne to carry arms. At all times it has been the emblem of personal authority and governance.

Highly prized as heirlooms in those days when swords were rare, they often appear in the chronicles of ancient wills. Æthelstan mentions in his will “the sword of King Offa, the sword which Ulfeytel owned, and that with the silver hilt which Wulfric made.” Similarly, in old Japan the father’s sword was a precious heirloom, a sacred charge, and this feeling has been common among all nations where the profession of arms was held to be noble, and the arms themselves consequently revered. Mrs. Norton has touched this chord very tenderly in one of her poems—

This very feeling caused a certain amount of personality to be attached to the sword itself. Thus, swords have had fanciful names, as Cæsar’s “Crocea Mors” (yellow death), Charlemagne’s “Joyeuse,” Mahomet’s “Al Battar” (the beater), Ali’s “Zulfagar,” and King Arthur’s “Excalibur.” In other cases they bore mottoes, such as on the Scotch sword which has—

and an Italian blade has on it—

In other cases the mottoes are of a religious cast as “In te Domine,” “There is no conqueror but God,” “Do not abandon me, O faithful God,” and so on. Lastly, some swords bear the names or monograms of the places where they were made, or persons who forged them. Thus Solingen in Germany and Sahagun in Spain were noted for sword blades, and the former is so still. Many of the early makers take their names from the town in which they worked or were born, as Alonzo de Sahagun and Andrea di Ferrara did.

After the close of the Peninsular War, the usual rapid reduction of the national armed strength followed. Hardly had Wellington returned to England than the Volunteer and Yeomanry Corps, as well as the militia, were disembodied; but, for the first time, there was a delay in the reduction of the regular forces. The prolonged war had still further, for a time at least, caused the nation to forget its former prejudice against a standing army. It had got accustomed, at least, to its existence, and on the civil life of the country was reflected the military glory won by its sons in foreign war. There had been much almost personal antagonism to the pretensions and aggressions of France, and this had led, more than anything else perhaps, to the feeling that the army was after all but an integral portion of the Commonwealth, and need not be, and had no intention of being, hostile to the national peace at home. To this gradual increase in political freedom was added less fear of the sovereign. The time had passed since any King of England either could, or would, use the army (in the way the Stuarts wanted to do) as a means of repressing the people or their freedom. Englishmen had got over this childish dread lest the soldiery should be used actively against them. The national police that had protected abroad the commerce of the land and kept its shores practically inviolate was no longer feared. It was expensive now. That was all.

The reductions in the time to come, therefore, were but economic questions, and when the national pocket was pinched, the army was reduced as the readiest and easiest means of meeting the deficit. It was no longer feared, had even become respected and respectable; but its keeping up was a matter of taxation. All reformers seek to reduce this burden, and what so easy as to lessen the cost of a machine, the value of which in the past may have been great, and only possibly might be of equal value in the future? But in the immediate present (at any period in this century) the reformer merely looked at things as they then were, and carefully put off till the to-morrow what it would have been less costly to do quietly to-day. Such politicians do not see that the ominous war-cloud means war risks, greater haste, higher prices, and more expenditure. But it matters little to them so long as retrenchment, whether wise or not is immaterial, comes to them. “What has posterity done for them,” that they should trouble about a future that only concerns their children? And yet, if these same economists were to put off life insurance until age and waning health came, they would consider such a course more than unbusiness-like. The nation had by sheer force of circumstances been led to see the value of the national insurance—the army; but it was reluctant to effect as sound an insurance in this respect as the case needed. The story of all voluntary armies has practically been the same.

With the cessation of hostilities came the shower of rewards, but with a considerable reservation. Ensigns of the Guards were to rank as lieutenants, and the 1st Foot Guards were made “Grenadiers.” Generals were made peers, and the knighthood of the Bath expanded to decorate others. But Tommy Atkins, who did the fighting? He got nothing, save discharge on a full or a limited pension, ranging between sixpence and a shilling a day, or Chelsea Hospital! His sole reward was the increase of pay of his sergeant-major, the addition of a colour-sergeant at two-and-fourpence a day to each company, and, some thirty years later, for those who survived—a medal! Never were the rank and file of an army that had done so much rewarded at so exceedingly cheap a rate.

The necessity for keeping the regular army on a war footing after 1815, still remained so long as there was an army of occupation, 25,000 strong, to be kept in France. In 1816, therefore, the numerical strength of the army was 175,615 men, exclusive of those employed in India. But when that occupation ceased, a reduction of 26,000 men followed as a matter of course, and most of the cadres of regiments were reduced to a very low peace strength.