ry
danger, where manners disappear, and great passions come upon the stage,
strange it is that poor men, labouring men, men without education, always
judge more truly of the crisis than men of high refinement. But this was
seen by Wordsworth--thus spoke he, thirty-six years ago, of Germany,
contrasted with the Tyrol:--

"Her haughty schools
Shall blush; and may not we with sorrow say--
A few strong instincts, and a few plain rules,
Among the herdsmen of the Alps, have wrought
More for mankind at this unhappy day
Than all the pride of intellect and thought."

The regiment chiefly concerned was the 19th, (for which regiment the word
_Wattepolowa_, the scene of their martyrdom, became afterwards a memorial
war-cry.) Still, to this hour, it forces tears of wrath into our eyes when
we read the recital of the case. A dozen years ago we first read it in a
very interesting book, published by the late Mr Blackwood--the Life of
Alexander. This Alexander was not personally present at the
bloody catastrophe; but he was in Ceylon at the time, and knew the one
sole fugitive[18] from that fatal day. The soldiers of the 19th, not even
in that hour of horror, forgot their discipline, or their duty, or their
respectful attachment to their officers. When they were ordered to ground
their arms, (oh, base idiot that could issue such an order!) they
remonstrated most earnestly, but most respectfully. Major Davie, agitated
and distracted by the scene, himself recalled the order. The men resumed
their arms. Alas! again the fatal order was issued; again it was recalled;
but finally, it was issued peremptorily. The men sorrowfully obeyed. We
hurry to the odious conclusion. In parties of twos and of threes, our
brave countrymen were called out by the horrid Kandyan tiger cats.
Disarmed by the frenzy of their moonstruck commander, what resistance
could they make? One after one the parties, called out to suffer, were
decapitated by the executioner. The officers, who had refused to give up
their pistols, finding what was going on, blew out their brains with their
own hands, now too bitterly feeling how much wiser had been the poor
privates than themselves. At length there was stillness on the field.
Night had come on. All were gone--

"And darkness was the buryer of the dead."

[18] _Fugitive_, observe. There were some others, and amongst them
Major Davie, who, for private reasons, were suffered to survive as
prisoner