CHAPTER II.

Disembarkation in the Crimea--First night in the Enemy's

Country, a night long to be remembered, no shelter--March to

the Alma--The Battle--The Fusiliers leading the Van--Letter

from the Heights to my Parents--A fair description of that

Terrible Fight--March from the Alma--Balaclava easily

taken--We take up our position in front of Sebastopol--First

Bombardment--The Battle of Balaclava--Charge of the Light

and Heavy Brigades--Poem by Tennyson--Little

Inkermann--Letter home, 27th October, 1854--Trench Work--The

Battle of Inkermann, the soldiers' fight--Am

Wounded--Description of that Fight--Aspect of the Field

after the Fight--My Letter Home--Sent on to Malta--Letter

from Her Majesty--Notes on a Norfolk Hero at Inkermann, Sir

T. Troubridge--Who first landed in the Crimea?

On the 14th September, 1854, we landed at Old Fort. At a signal from the

Admiral-in-chief we all got ready, and the first consignment of the

Light Division were soon off at rapid pace. It was a toss-up between us

and a boat-load of the 2nd Batt. Rifle Brigade, as to who should have

the honour of landing first on the enemy's shore; but with all due

respect I say the Fusiliers had it, though there was not much to boast

of, as it was afterwards said the Rifles were a very good second (_see

note at the end of chapter_). We were not opposed in landing; a few

Cossacks were looking on at a respectful distance, but made no attempt

to molest us. It would have been madness on their part to have done so,

considering the enormous force we could have brought to bear upon them.

A company of ours, and one or two of the Rifles, were at once sent

forward to be on the look-out; Sir G. Brown went with them and nearly

got "nabbed;" they could have shot him, but wanted to take him alive,

believing that he was "a big bug;" some of our people, however, noticed

their little game, crept close up to the General, and when the Cossacks

thought of making a dash, set to work and emptied some of their saddles,

while the remainder scampered off as fast as their horses' legs could

carry them. Sir G. Brown had thus a narrow escape--as narrow as any he

had previously experienced in the Peninsula and elsewhere. The greater

portion of our army quietly landed--the French disembarking some little

distance from us. These had their little tents with them, and so had the

small detachment of Turks who were with us, but there was not a single

tent for the English Army--so much for management. Thousands of

Britain's sons, who had come to fight for Queen and Country, were thrown

ashore, as it were, without shelter of any kind.

A portion of the infantry with a few guns were first landed; but I must

say that our condition as an army in an enemy's country was pitiable in

the extreme. We had no tents, our officers had no horses, except a few

ponies; Sir George Brown's sleeping compartment and dining-room were

under a gun-carriage: even as bad off as we were our position was to be

envied, for, although we were drenched to the skin, we were on _terra

firma_. The poor marines and sailors in the men-of-war boats, were

towing large rafts, with horses, guns, and detachments of artillerymen,

amid a heavy swell from the sea, that was now running high--it was as

dark as pitch, the horses almost mad with excitement, kicking and

plunging. A number of poor fellows found a watery grave, rafts being

upset in the heavy surf whilst attempting to land--the sea dashing with

all its majestic force upon the sandy beach, although we could not see

it. We made fires the best way we could, with broken boats and rafts; It

was a fearful night! When morning broke, we presented a woeful

appearance; but we soon collected ourselves and assembled on the common.

Next day we managed to get hold of a few country carts, or waggons, full

of forage, that were being drawn by oxen and camels. We were all anxious

to get at the enemy, and longed to try our strength against any number

of boasting Russians. Our united army stood as follows:--English, or

rather Britons, four divisions of infantry, each division then

consisting of two brigades, each brigade of three regiments; to each

division of infantry was attached a division of artillery, consisting of

two field-batteries, four nine-pounder guns and two twenty-four pounder

howitzers; we had a small brigade of light cavalry with us, attached to

which was a six-pounder troop of horse-artillery; in all we mustered

26,000 men and 54 field guns. Our gallant allies, the French, had about

24,000 men and 70 field guns. The Turks had about 4,500 men, no guns or

cavalry, but they managed to bring tents with them. Thus the grand total

now landed, and ready for an advance to meet the foe at all hazards, was

54,000 men, with 124 field guns. And the subsequent pages will tell how

that force often met and conquered, amidst the storms of autumn, the

snows of winter, and the heats of summer; nothing but death could thwart

that dauntless host, whose leaders knew no excuses for weakness in the

day of trial. We were all ready to cry shame on the man who would desert

his country in the hour of need--

Hail to thee, Albion, that meet'st the commotion

Of Europe as calm as thy cliffs meet the foam;

With no bond but the law, and no bound but the ocean;

Hail, Temple of Liberty, thou art my home.

Home, home, sweet home.

_Moore._

The first night in the Crimea was a night long to be remembered by those

who were there. It came on to rain in torrents, while the wind blew a

perfect hurricane; and all, from the Commanders down to the Drummer

Boys, had to stand and take it as it came. And the rain did fall, only

as it does in the tropics. We looked next morning like a lot of drowned

rats. What our people were thinking about I do not know. Had the enemy

come on in strength nothing could have saved us. We were now in an

enemy's country--that enemy most powerful and subtle; it was known that

they were in force not far from us, though their strength was

unknown--yet we were absolutely unprovided with camp equipment or

stores.

They say fortune favours the brave, and, happily, the Russians let the

opportunity slip. Next day we were as busy as bees landing all sorts of

warlike implements--artillery, horses, shot, shell, and all that goes to

equip an army, except shelter. The "unseen enemy" was still with us,

daily finding its victims. Our men worked like bricks, were determined

to make the best of a bad job. We dried our clothing on the beach, and

the next night strong lines of picquets were thrown out to prevent

surprise, while we lay down, wrapped in our cloaks. On the 16th, we

still kept getting all sorts of things on shore in readiness to meet the

enemy; but our people seemed to forget that we were made of flesh and

blood. The French were well provided with tents and other comforts; we

still had none. On the 17th there was the same work getting ready for a

start; but the morning of the 18th saw us on our legs advancing up the

country. We then suffered from the want of water; what we did get was

quite brackish. On the morning of the 19th we marched fairly off with

the French on our right. We continued to suffer very heavily; a number

of men fell out for the want of a few drops of water, but it could not

be got, and we continued to march all day without sighting the enemy,

except only a few Cossacks, who kept a respectful distance from us. The

Light Division was in front, and we found out afterwards that was to be

our place whenever there were any hard knocks to be served out.

It began to get a little exciting in the afternoon. In front of us was a

handful of cavalry--a part of the 11th Hussars; and presently a battery

of Horse Artillery dashed off at a break-neck pace and began pounding

away at something we could not see. We saw that day the first wounded

man on our side--a corporal of the 11th Hussars; his leg was nearly off.

We soon got accustomed to such sights, passed on, and took no notice. As

we topped the rising ground we could see the enemy retiring; our Cavalry

were still in front, feeling the way--as they advanced the Cossacks kept

slowly retiring. We still advanced until it began to get dark, when

strong picquets were thrown out--we collected what we could to make our

bivouac fires, for we still had no tents. Some of our poor fellows died

that night sitting round the scanty fires, or wrapped in their cloaks. I

shall ever remember that night as long as I live. We sat talking for

some little time of our homes and friends far away. My comrade had just

had about an hour's sleep; when on waking he told me he had a

presentiment that he should fall in the first action. I tried to cheer

him up and drive such nonsense out of his head. I thought he was not

well, and he replied that he was very ill, but should be out of all pain

before to-morrow's sun set; however, he was determined to do his duty,

let the consequence be what it might, adding, "May the dear Lord give me

strength to do my duty for my Queen and Country, for I could not, my

boy," grasping my hand, "bear the thought of being branded as a coward."

Still retaining a firm manly grip he continued, "for God has washed all

my sins away in Jesus' blood. Come," he continued, "let's walk about a

little; I am getting cold." Afterwards, getting hold of my arm, he

stopped, looked me full in the face, and twice repeated the solemn

words, "Eternity, Eternity, know and seek the Lord while he may be

found, call upon Him while He is near, for you cannot tell what

to-morrow will bring forth, and it may be too late then." Then he

repeated parts of hymns, which I had often heard sung when a boy. I can

safely say he was one who was ready for anything--life or death. As he

had said, "his life was hid with Christ in God." We pledged that we

would do all that we could for each other in life or in death; I little

thought that his end was so near.

Such were some of the men who carried the standard that has braved the

battle and the breeze for a thousand years up the heights of Alma, and I

can say truly, that it is not the drunkard or the blackguard who makes a

thorough soldier, either in the field or out of it. As I proceed with my

narrative, I will give other examples--for instance, Sir H. Havelock,

Colonel Blackader, Major Malan, Lord Raglan, and also poor Captain

Hedley Vicars, of the 97th, one of the bravest of men, who loved the

Lord with all his heart and soul, and was not at all backward in telling

poor sinners what that Lord had done for him. As he would often say,

"Religion is a personal matter; have mercy upon me, oh God, for I am

vile."

[Illustration: VIEW OF THE HEIGHTS OF ALMA.]

THE BATTLE OF THE ALMA.

Well, to my story; the morning of the 20th found us once more on our

legs. Marshal St. Arnaud rode along our line; we cheered him most

heartily, and he seemed to appreciate it; in passing the 88th, the

Marshal of France called out in English, "I hope you will fight well

to-day;" the fire-eating old Connaught Rangers at once took up the

challenge, and a voice loudly exclaimed "Shure, your honour, we will,

don't we always fight well?" Away we then went at a steady pace,

until about mid-day--the Light and Second Divisions leading, in columns

of brigades. As we approached the village of Burlark, which was on our

side of the river, or what was called the right bank, the blackguards

set fire to it, but still we pressed on; we by the right, the Second

division by the left. We now advanced into the valley beneath, in line,

sometimes taking ground to the right, then to the left, and presently we

were ordered to lie down to avoid the hurricane of shot and shell that

the enemy was pouring into us. A number of our poor fellows lay down to

rise no more; the enemy had the range to a nicety. Our men's feelings

were now wrought up to such a state that it was not an easy matter to

stop them. Up to the river we rushed, and some,--in fact all I could

see,--got ready for a swim, pulling off their knapsacks and camp

kettles. Our men were falling now very fast; into the river we dashed,

nearly up to our arm pits, with our ammunition and rifles on the top of

our heads to keep them dry, scrambled out the best way we could, and

commenced to ascend the hill. From east to west the enemy's batteries

were served with rapidity, hence we were enveloped in smoke on what may

be called the glacis. We were only about 600 yards from the mouths of

the guns, the thunderbolts of war were, therefore, not far apart, and

death loves a crowd. The havoc among the Fusiliers, both 7th and 23rd,

was awful, still nothing but death could stop that renowned Infantry.

There were 14 guns of heavy calibre just in front of us, and others on

our flanks, in all some 42 guns were raining death and destruction upon

us. A number of our poor fellows on reaching the top of the slippery

bank were shot down and fell back dead, or were drowned in the Alma. The

two Fusilier Regiments seemed to vie with each other in performing deeds

of valor. General Codrington waved his hat, then rode straight at one of

the embrasures, and leaped his grey Arab into the breastwork; others,

breathless, were soon beside him. Up we went, step by step, but with a

horrid carnage. When one gets into such a "hot corner" as this was, one

has not much time to mind his neighbours. I could see that we were

leading; the French were on our right, and the 23rd Fusiliers on our

left. This was Albuera repeated--the two Fusilier regiments shoulder to

shoulder--only the French were on our right as Allies, whereas in the

former battle they were in front as bitter foes.

The fighting was now of a desperate kind. My comrade said to me "We

shall have to shift those fellows with the bayonet, old boy," pointing

to the Russians. We still kept moving on, and at last General Sir G.

Brown, Brigadier Codrington, and our noble old Colonel, called upon us

for one more grand push, and a cheer and a charge brought us to the top

of the hill. Into the battery we jumped, spiked the guns, and bayoneted

or shot down the gunners; but, alas, we were not strong enough, and we

were in our turn hurled, by an overwhelming force, out of the battery,

and down the hill again. The old 7th halted, fronted, and lay down, and

kept up a withering fire upon the enemy at point-blank range, which must

have told heavily upon their crowded ranks. Help was now close at hand.

Up came the Guards and Highlanders. His Royal Highness the Duke of

Cambridge was with them, and he nobly faced the foe. He had a good tutor

in that hero of a hundred fights, Sir Colin Campbell. They got a warm

reception, but still pressed on up that fatal hill. Some will tell you

that the Guards retired, or wanted to retire; but no, up they went

manfully, step by step, both Guards and Highlanders, and a number of

other regiments of the 2nd Division, and with deafening shouts the

heights of Alma were ours. The enemy were sent reeling from them in hot

haste, with Artillery and a few Cavalry in pursuit. If we had only had

three or four thousand Cavalry with us, they would not have got off

quite so cheaply; as it was, they got a nasty mauling, such an one as

they did not seem to appreciate.

After gaining the heights--a victory that set the church bells of Old

England ringing and gave schoolboys a holiday, we had time to count our

loss. Alas, we had paid the penalty for leading the way. We had left

more than half our number upon the field, dead or wounded, and one of

our colours was gone, but, thank God, the enemy had not got it; it was

found upon the field, cut into pieces, and with a heap of dead and

wounded all around it. Kinglake, the author of "The Crimean Campaign,"

says in the boldest language that "Yea and his Fusiliers won the Alma."

As one of them, I can confirm that statement--we had to fight against

tremendous odds. The brunt of the fighting fell upon the first Brigade

of the Light Division, as their loss will testify. At one time the 7th

Fusiliers confronted a whole Russian Brigade and kept them at bay until

assistance came up. Our poor old Colonel exclaimed, at the top of the

hill, when he sounded the assembly, "A colour gone, and where's my poor

old Fusiliers, my God, my God!" and he cried like a child, wringing his

hands. After the enemy had been fairly routed, I obtained leave to go

down the hill. I had lost my comrade and I was determined to find him if

possible. I had no difficulty in tracing the way we had advanced, for

the ground was covered with our poor fellows--in some places sixes and

sevens, at others tens and twelves, and at other places whole ranks were

lying. "For these are deeds which shall not pass away, and names that

must not, shall not wither."

The Russian wounded behaved in a most barbarous manner; they made signs

for a drink, and then shot the man who gave it them. My attention was

drawn to one nasty case. A young officer of the 95th gave a wounded

Russian a little brandy out of his flask, and was turning to walk away,

when the fellow shot him mortally; I would have settled with him for

his brutish conduct, but one of our men, who happened to be close to

him, at once gave him his bayonet, and despatched him. I went up to the

young officer, and finding he was still alive, placed him in as

comfortable a position as I could, and then left him, to look for my

comrade. I found him close to the river, dead; he had been shot in the

mouth and left breast, and death must have been instantaneous. He was

now in the presence of his glorified Captain. He was as brave as a lion,

but a faithful disciple. He could not have gone 100 yards from the spot

where he told me we should "have to shift those fellows with the

bayonet." I sat down beside him, and thought my heart would break as I

recalled some of his sayings, particularly his talk to me at midnight of

the 19th; this was about six p.m., on the 20th. I have every reason to

believe that he was prepared for the change. I buried him, with the

assistance of two or three of our men. We laid him in his grave, with

nothing but an overcoat wrapped around him, and then left him with a

heavy heart.

In passing up the hill I had provided myself with all the water bottles

I could, from the dead, in order to help to revive the wounded as much

as possible. I visited the young officer whom I saw shot by the wounded

Russian, and found he was out of all pain: he had passed into the

presence of a just and holy God. The sights all the way were sickening.

The sailors were taking off the wounded as fast as possible, but many

lay there all night, just as they had fallen. Dear reader, such is war.

I rejoined my regiment on the top of the hill, and was made Sergeant

that night. We remained on the hill until the 23rd, and lost a number of

men from cholera.

The 21st and 22nd were spent in collecting the wounded--both friend and

foe. Ours were at once put on board ship and sent to Scutari; some

hundreds of the enemy were collected in a vineyard on the slopes, the

dead were buried in large pits--and a very mournful and ghastly sight it

was, for many had been literally cut to pieces. It was a difficult

matter really to find out what had killed some of them. Here men were

found in positions as if in the act of firing; there, as if they had

fallen asleep; and all over the field the dead were lying in every

position it was possible for men to assume. Some of those who had met

death at the point of the bayonet, presented a picture painful to look

upon; others were actually smiling. Such was the field of the Alma.

The first battle was now over, and as I wrote to my parents from the

heights, I thanked God I was still in the land of the living, and what's

more with a whole skin (except an abrasion on the head caused by a

stone), which a few hours before had appeared impossible. The three

regiments that led the way suffered fearfully, the 7th Royal Fusiliers

on the right, the 23rd Royal Welsh Fusiliers in the centre, and the 33rd

on the left. Any one of these three Regiments suffered more than the

whole brigade of Guards or Highlanders combined; not that I wish to

speak disparagingly of the gallant Guards or the noble Highlanders, I

only wish to show on whom the brunt of the fighting fell.

I saw the Heights of Alma on the 20th September,

Then the maiden British army first faced the foe,

Then the Russian bear, with all his ugly cubs,

Was taught to use his heels, as fast as he could go.

Volumes could be written upon the Alma--the battle that opened the guns

of France and England in unison, but I must confine my narrative to what

actually passed under my own eyes, or in my own regiment. Canrobert, a

French Marshal, might well in the excitement exclaim, "I should like to

command an English Division for a campaign, and it would be the

d----take the hindmost; I feel that I could then attain my highest

ambition!" A Russian wounded General, in giving up his sword, as

prisoner of war, stated that they were confident of holding their

position for some days no matter what force the Allies could bring

against them, adding that they came to fight men and not devils. Prince

Menschikoff quitted the field in a hurry, for he left his carriage

behind and all his state papers. He, poor man, had to eat a lot of

humble pie, and we are told that he was furiously mad. He had been over

confident that he could hold us in check for three weeks, and then put

us all into the sea; he just held the heights for three hours after the

attack commenced. Ladies even came out of Sebastopol to witness the

destruction of the Allies; but I fancy their flight must have been most

distressing, while their feelings were not to be envied.

The Russian officers were gentlemen, but their men were perfect fiends.

The night after the battle and the following morning, this was proved in

a number of cases, by their shooting down our men just after they had

done all they could for them. Our comrades at once paid them for it

either by shooting or bayoneting them on the spot; this was rough

justice, but it was justice, nevertheless; none of them lived to boast

of what they had done.

Poor Captain Monk of ours was the talk of the whole regiment that

evening. It appears that a Russian presented his rifle at him, close to

his head. The Captain at once parried it and cut the man down. A Russian

officer then tackled him in single combat, and he quietly knocked him

down with his _fist_, with others right and left of him, until he had a

heap all round him, and at last fell dead in the midst of them. Sir G.

Brown's horse was shot from under him just in front of us, but that

fire-eating old warrior soon collected himself, jumped up waving his

sword and shouting, "Fusiliers, I am all right, follow me, and I'll

remember you for it!" and then, as Marshal Ney did at Waterloo, led the

way up that fatal hill on foot, animating the men to the performance of

deeds of valour. Britons, where is the man who would not respond to

such a call? The eyes of the civilized world were upon us. Up the hill

we went, for our blood was up, and the strength of all the Russians

could not stop us; they might call us red devils if they liked, we were

determined to do our duty for Queen and country. We remained on the

heights until the 23rd. The 57th joined us there, just too late for the

battle; but the old "die-hards" left their marks upon the enemy at

Inkermann and throughout the siege of Sebastopol.

The following letter, written immediately after the battle, will,

perhaps, prove interesting here:--

Heights of Alma,

September 20-21, 1854.

My Dear Parents,

I wrote you from Turkey that I would most likely tell you a

little about the enemy before long. Well, we have met them

and given them a good sound drubbing at the above-named

place; and thank God, I am still in the land of the living,

and, what's more, with a whole skin, which a few hours ago

appeared impossible. To describe my feelings in going into

action, I could not; and I hope you will excuse my feeble

attempt at describing the terrible fight we have just passed

through. As soon as the enemy's round shot came hopping

along, we simply did the polite--opened out and allowed them

to pass on--there is nothing lost by politeness, even on a

battle field. As we kept advancing, we had to move our pins

to get out of their way; and presently they began to pitch

their shot and shell right amongst us, and our men began to

fall. I know that I felt horribly sick--a cold shivering

running through my veins--and I must acknowledge that I felt

very uncomfortable; but I am happy to say that feeling

passed off as soon as I began to get warm to it. It was very

exciting work, and the sights were sickening; I hope I shall

never witness such another scene. We were now fairly under

the enemy's fire--our poor fellows began to fall fast all

around me. We had deployed into line, and lay down, in order

to avoid the hurricane of shot and shell that was being

poured into us. We still kept advancing and then lying down

again; then we made a rush up to the river, and in we went.

I was nearly up to my arm-pits; a number of our poor fellows

were drowned, or shot down with grape and canister (that

came amongst us like hail) while attempting to cross. How I

got out I cannot say, as the banks were very steep and

slippery. We were now enveloped in smoke, and could not see

much. Up the hill we went, step by step, but with a fearful

carnage. The fighting now became very exciting, our

Artillery playing over our heads, and we firing and

advancing all the time. The smoke was now so great that we

could hardly see what we were doing, and our poor fellows

were falling all around. It was a dirty, rugged hill. We got

mixed up with the 95th. Some one called out, "Come on young

95th, the old 7th are in front." The fighting was now

desperate.[1] General Sir George Brown, Brigadier

Codrington, our noble Colonel Yea, and, in fact, all our

mounted officers, were encouraging us to move on; and, at

last, with a ringing cheer we topped the heights, and into

the enemy's battery we jumped. Here we lost a great number

of our men; and, by overwhelming numbers, we, the 23rd,

33rd, 95th, and Rifles, were mobbed out of the battery, and

a part of the way down the hill again; and then we had some

more desperate fighting. We lay down and blazed into their

huge columns as hard as we could load and fire; and in about

twenty minutes, up came the Guards and Highlanders and a

number of other regiments; and, with another ringing cheer

for Old England, at them we went again and re-topped the

heights, routing them from their batteries. Here I got a

crack on the head with a piece of stone, which unmanned me

for a time. When I came round I found the enemy had all

bolted.

Do not let anyone see this, as they would only laugh at my

poor description of our first battle. The poor old Fusiliers

have suffered very heavily. My poor comrade was killed just

after getting out of the river. He is the one whom I have

often spoken about. I am confident that he is gone to a far

better home than this. Dear parents, what a sight the whole

field presents! I would again thank God with a sincere heart

for protecting me, I hope, for some good purpose. I hope

that you will be able to make out this scrawl, as the only

table I have is a dead Russian. I went down the hill

yesterday evening and found my poor comrade dead. The

wounded Russians behaved worse than the brute beasts of the

field; they shot some of our officers and men just after

they had done all they could for them, but they did not live

long to talk of what they had done, for they were at once

shot or bayoneted. On some parts of the field the killed of

the poor old 7th, 23rd, 33rd, and 95th, lay thick. You will

notice that I could not finish this letter yesterday. I hope

you will excuse the paper (it's the best I have) and

likewise my poor description of our maiden fight. You may

tell them in Norwich, or anywhere else, that your poor boy

led the way up this fatal hill--for it was the 7th

Fusiliers, 23rd Fusiliers, and 33rd Duke of Wellington's,

95th, and Rifles, that led the van. The Guards and

Highlanders, and the entire 2nd Division, backed us up well.

We have still that horrible disease--Cholera--amongst us.

One of my company died with it last night, after storming

the heights. Please send a paper. Direct, Sergeant T.

Gowing, Royal Fusiliers.

Good bye, dear parents, and God bless you all.

From your rough, but affectionate son,

T. GOWING, Royal Fusiliers.

ON THE WAY TO SEBASTOPOL.

The morning of the 23rd saw us early on our feet, and _en route_ for the

fortress known by the worldwide name of Sebastopol. We marched all day,

our men fast dropping out from sickness. Our first halting place was at

Katcha, where we had a splendid view. Our friends the Cossacks kept a

little in front of us. On the 24th away we went again; nothing

particular occurring, except that our Unseen Enemy--cholera--was still

in the midst of us, picking off his victims. The Commander-in-Chief of

the French, the gallant and gay Marshal St. Arnaud, succumbed to it. But

we pressed on; the honour of three nations being at stake.

Nothing worthy of notice transpired until the 28th, when we thought we

were going to have another Alma job. We began to get ready; Artillery

and Cavalry were ordered to the front. The enemy got a slight taste of

the Scots Greys; a few prisoners being captured. The Rifles got a few

pop-shots at them; but it turned out afterwards that it was the

rear-guard of the enemy. A number of things were picked up by our

people, but the affair ended in smoke; they evidently did not mean to

try to oppose our advance--they had once attempted it, and wanted no

more of it; so the following day we marched on without interruption to

the nice little village of Balaclava. We had little or no trouble in

taking it; the Russians, however, made a slight show of resistance, for

the sake of honour. The Rifles advanced, we supporting them. A few shots

were fired; but as soon as one or two of our ships entered the harbour,

and gave the old castle a few shots, they gave in, and our people at

once took possession. The harbour was speedily filled with our shipping.

Our men managed to pick up a few old hens and a pig or two, which came

in very handy for a stew; and we got some splendid grapes and apples.

Next day we moved up to the front of Sebastopol, whither other divisions

had gone on before us. The siege guns were soon brought up, manned by

Marines and Jack Tars, and we quickly found out that we had a nice

little job cut out for us.

THE SIEGE OF SEBASTOPOL AND BATTLE

OF BALACLAVA.

We must acknowledge that the enemy proved themselves worthy defenders of

a fortress; they worked night and day to strengthen the lines of forts,

huge batteries springing into existence like mushrooms, and stung us

more than mosquitoes. It was evident to all that if the Allies wanted

Sebastopol they would find it a hard nut to crack; that it would be a

rough pic-nic for us. Sir George Brown might well say, that the longer

we looked at it the uglier it got. The white tower was knocked all to

pieces very quickly, but huge works were erected all around it, and

called the Malakoff. We found it no child's play dragging heavy siege

guns up from Balaclava, but it was a long pull and a strong pull, up to

our ankles in mud which stuck like glue. Often on arrival in camp we

found but little to eat, hardly sufficient to keep body and soul

together; then off again to help to get the guns and mortars into their

respective batteries, exposed all the time to the enemy's fire, and they

were noways sparing with shot and shell. We would have strong bodies in

front of us, as covering parties and working parties; often the pick and

shovel would have to be thrown down, and the rifle brought to the front.

Sometimes we would dig and guard in turn; we could keep ourselves warm,

digging and making the trenches and batteries, although often up to our

ankles in muddy water. All our approaches had to be done at night, and

the darker the better for us. As for the covering party, it was killing

work laying down for hours in the cold mud, returning to camp at

daylight, wearied completely out with cold--sleepy and hungry; many a

poor fellow suffering with ague or fever, to find nothing but a cold

bleak mud tent, without fire, to rest their weary bones in; and often

not even a piece of mouldy biscuit to eat, nothing served out yet. But

often, as soon as we reached camp, the orderly would call out, "Is

Sergeant G in?" "Yes; what's up?" "You are for fatigue at once." Off to

Balaclava, perhaps to bring up supplies, in the shape of salt beef, salt

pork, biscuits, blankets, shot or shell. Return at night completely done

up; down you go in the mud for a few hours' rest--that is, if there was

not an alarm. And thus it continued, week in and week out, month in and

month out. So much for honour and glory! The enemy were not idle; they

were continually constructing new works, and peppering us from morning

until night. Sometimes they would treat us to a few long-rangers,

sending their shot right through our camp. And we found often that the

besiegers were the attacked party, and not the attacking. Our numbers

began to get very scanty--cholera was daily finding its victims. It

never left us from the time we were in Turkey. It was piteous to see

poor fellows struck down in two or three hours, and carried off to

their last abode. Nearly all of us were suffering more or less from

ague, fever, or colds, but it was no use complaining. The doctors had

little or no medicine to give. Our poor fellows were dropping off fast

with dysentery and diarrhoea; but all that could stand stuck to it

manfully. We had several brushes with the foe, who always came off

second best. The Poles deserted by wholesale from the enemy, some of

them would turn round at once and let drive at the Russians, then give

up their arms to us, shouting "Pole, Pole!" We knew well that the enemy

were almost daily receiving reinforcements, we had, as yet, received

none. We were almost longing to go at the town, take it or die in the

attempt to hoist our glorious old flag on its walls. Then the nights

began to get very cold, and we found the endless trench work very

trying, often having to stand up to our ankles and sometimes knees in

muddy water, with the enemy pounding at us all the time with heavy

ordnance, both direct and vertical, guns often dismounted and platforms

sent flying in all directions. Our sailors generally paid the enemy out

for it. The Russians often fought with desperation but moral strength in

war is to physical as three to one. Our men had handled the enemy very

roughly more than once since the Alma, and they were shy at coming to

close quarters, unless they could take us by surprise. Thus things went

on day after day, until the morning of the 25th October, 1854, when we

awoke to find that the enemy were trying to cut off our communications

at Balaclava, which brought on the battle. I was not engaged, but had

started from camp in charge of twenty-five men on fatigue to Balaclava,

to bring up blankets for the sick and wounded. It was a cold bleak

morning as we left our tents. Our clothing was getting very thin, with

as many patches as Joseph's coat. More than one smart Fusilier's back or

shoulder was indebted to a piece of black blanket, with hay bound round

his legs to cover his rags and keep the biting wind out a little; and

boots were nearly worn out, with none to replace them. There was nothing

about our outward appearance lady-killing; we were looking stern duty in

the face. There was no murmuring, however; all went jogging along,

cracking all kinds of jokes. We could hear the firing at Balaclava, but

thought it was the Turks and Russians playing at long bowls, which

generally ended in smoke. We noticed, too, mounted orderlies and staff

officers riding as if they were going in for the Derby. As we reached

the hills overlooking the plains of Balaclava, we could see our cavalry

formed up, but none of us thought what a sight we were about to witness.

The enemy's cavalry in massive columns were moving up the valley; the

firing was at times heavy. Several volleys of musketry were heard.

[Illustration: CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT BALACLAVA]

"The redoubts with shell they are plying; by heaven the Turks are

flying!

Under Cossack lance and sabre, in scores like cowards dying;

Curse the slaves and never mind them, there are English hearts

behind them,

With British bayonets sharp and sure, and so the foe shall find

them.

Two deep, the gallant 93rd are formed to bear the brunt,

And the Russian horse came thundering on their unshaken front:

They're at six hundred paces; wait till you see their faces:

Down go the rifles with a fire that empties scores of places!

But on their line still dashes, when a second volley flashes,

And as lightning clears a cloud, through the Russian squadrons

crashes.

Down, rear and van, go horse and man, the wounded with the slain!

That mounted host shall count the cost ere it charge our Scots

again."

My party was an unarmed party, hence my keeping them out of harm's way.

One column of the enemy's cavalry advanced as far as we could see to

within half-a-mile of our people, who were a handful compared with the

host in front of them. It was soon evident our generals were not going

to stop to count them, but go at them at once. It was a most thrilling

and exciting moment. As our trumpets sounded the advance, the Greys and

Inniskillings moved forward at a sharp pace, and as they began to ascend

the hill they broke into a charge. The pace was terrific, and with a

ringing cheer and continued shouts they dashed right into the centre of

the enemy's column. It was an awful crash as the glittering helmets of

the boys of the Green Isle and the bearskins of the Greys dashed into

the midst of levelled lances with sabres raised. The earth seemed to

shake with a sound like thunder; hundreds of the enemy went down in that

terrible rush. It was heavy men mounted on heavy horses, and it told a

fearful tale. A number of the spectators, as our men dashed into that

column, exclaimed, "They are lost! They are lost!" It was lance against

sword, and at times our men became entirely lost in the midst of a

forest of lances. But they cut their way right through, as if they had

been riding over a lot of donkeys. A shout of joy burst from us and the

French, who were spectators, as our men came out of the column. It was

an uphill fight of three hundred Britons against five thousand

Muscovites. Fresh columns of squadrons closed around this noble band,

with a view of crushing them; but help was now close at hand. With

another terrible crash, and with a shout truly English, in went the

Royal Dragoons on one flank of the column; and with thrilling shouts of

"Faugh-a-Ballagh," the Royal Irish buried themselves in a forest of

lances on the other. Then came thundering on the Green Horse (5th

Dragoon Guards), and rode straight at the centre of the enemy's column.

The Russians must have had a bad time of it. At a distance, it was

impossible to see the many hand-to-hand encounters; the thick overcoats

of the enemy, we knew well, would ward off many a blow. Our men, we

found afterwards, went in with point or with the fifth, sixth, or

seventh cuts about the head; the consequence was, the field was covered

pretty thickly with the enemy, but hundreds of their wounded were

carried away. We found that they were all strongly buckled to their

horses, so that it was only when the horse fell that the rider was

likely to fall. But if ever a body of cavalry were handled roughly,

that column of Muscovites were. They bolted--that is, all that

could--like a flock of sheep with a dog at their tails. Their officers

tried to bring them up, but it was no go; they had had enough, and left

the field to Gen. Scarlett's band of heroes. How ever that gallant

officer escaped was a miracle, for he led some thirty yards right into

the jaws of death, and came off without a scratch. The victorious

brigade triumphantly rejoined their comrades, and were received with a

wild burst of enthusiasm. It would be well if we could now draw the

curtain and claim a glorious victory. The French officers were loud in

their admiration of the daring feat of arms they had just witnessed.

Many of them said it was most glorious. Sir Colin Campbell might well

get a little excited, and express his admiration of the Scots Greys.

This old hero rode up to the front of the Greys with hat in hand, and

exclaimed with pride: "Greys, gallant Greys! I am past sixty-one years;

if I were young again, I should be proud to be in your ranks; you are

worthy of your forefathers." But, reader, they were not alone. It was

the Union Brigade, as at Waterloo, that had just rode through and

through the enemy, and drew the words from Lord Raglan, who had

witnessed both charges: "Well done, Scarlett!" The loss of this noble

brigade was comparatively trifling taking into consideration the heavy

loss they inflicted upon the foe. My readers must know that the Union

Brigade was composed of one English, one Irish, and one Scotch regiment;

so that it was old England, ould Ireland, and Scotland for ever!

THE GALLANT UNION BRIGADE.

"In spurs and out sabres, now bend to your labours, Inniskilling and

gallant Scots Greys,

Full oft, too, in the light you aforetime stood neighbours, but

ne'er in more desperate fray;

The Fourth Royal Irish are hard on your track, with the Fifth

Dragoon Guards by their side,

And the gallant First Royals that never showed back, nor found foe

that their onset defied.

On they dash, boot to boot, bend to bend, and blade to blade;

What care they for the numbers against them arrayed.

In pell-mell on the foe, like a bolt from a bow,

With a cheer loud and clear as a trumpet they go;

Through a line twice their length, and ten deep for their one,

They have passed like a blast; but their work is not done:

Fresh squadrons close round them--'tis one man to three,

Out-flanked and out-numbered, what rescue may be?

Hurrah! the Dragoons and the Royals so true,

They'll finish what work you have left them to do:

Soon they clear all the rear with the swathes of their blades,

And that shout tells the rout of the Russian Brigade!"

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.

But we now come to where someone had blundered. The light cavalry had

stood and witnessed the heroic deeds of their comrades, the heavies. Had

we had an Uxbridge, a Cotton, or a Le Marchant at the head of our

cavalry, not many of the enemy's heavy column, which had just received

such a mauling from the heavy brigade, would have rejoined their

comrades. The light cavalry would have been let go at the right time and

place, and the enemy would have paid a much heavier price for a peep at

Balaclava. The noble Six Hundred had not to wait much longer. They were

all on the look-out for something. It comes at last. A most dashing

soldier, the late Captain Nolan, rode at full speed from Lord Raglan

with a written order to the commander of our cavalry, the late Lord

Lucan. The order ran thus:--

"Lord Raglan wishes the cavalry to advance to the front, and

try to prevent the enemy carrying away the guns. Troop of

horse artillery may accompany. French cavalry is on your

left. Immediate.

(Signed) "R. AIREY."

Anyone without a military eye will be able to see at a glance that it

was _our guns_ (from which the Turks had run away), our commander wished

the cavalry to re-take from the enemy. It could have been done without

much loss, as Gen. Sir G. Cathcart was close at hand with his division.

The honest facts are these: The intrepid Nolan delivered the order to

Lord Lucan for the cavalry to attack "immediately." Mind this was not

the first order our commander had sent to the commander of our cavalry.

The former order ran thus:

"Cavalry to advance and take advantage of any opportunity to recover the

heights; they will be supported by the infantry, which have been ordered

to advance on two fronts."

What heights? Why, the heights on which our spiked guns are, that the

Turks had bolted from. It must have been very amazing to our commander

that his orders had not been obeyed, although some thirty-five precious

minutes had elapsed. From the high ground he could see that the enemy

were about to take our seven guns away in triumph, hence the order

"immediately." The commander of our cavalry evidently lost his balance

with the gallant Nolan, as we find from authentic works upon the war.

Lord Lucan, who was irritable, to say the least of it, said to Nolan,

"Attack, sir, attack what? What guns, sir?" "Lord Raglan's orders," he

replied, "are that the cavalry should attack immediately." Nolan, a

hot-blooded son of the Green Isle, could not stand to be snapped at any

longer, and he added, "There, my Lord, is your enemy and there are your

guns." The order was misconstrued, and the noble Six Hundred were

launched into the valley of death. Poor Captain Nolan was the first that

fell. But they and he shall live renowned in story.

Thus far I had been an eye-witness of one of the noblest feats of arms

that ever was seen upon a battle-field. It spoke volumes to the rising

generation. Go and do likewise. Never say die. A brave man can die but

once, but a cowardly sneak all his life long. It told the enemy plainly

the metal our cavalry were made of. They said that we were red devils at

the Alma; it must be acknowledged that they got well lathered then, and

now the Union Brigade of heavy horse had shaved them very roughly. As

for the Light Brigade, with sickness, disease, a strong escort for our

commander-in-chief, and mounted orderlies for the different generals, it

hardly mustered the strength of one regiment on an Indian footing. There

was a lot of excitement on the hill-side when we found the Light Brigade

was advancing, first at a steady trot, then they broke into a gallop.

Their noble leader, the Earl of Cardigan, might well say, "Here goes the

last of the Cardigans!" Some one (an officer) said, "What on earth are

they going to do? Surely they are not going to charge the whole Russian

army? It's madness." But, madness or not, they were simply obeying an

order. And this noble band pressed on towards the enemy, sweeping down

the valley at a terrific pace in all the pride of manhood. Every man's

heart on that hill-side beat high. "They are lost! they are lost!" burst

from more than one spectator. The enemy's guns, right, left, and front,

opened upon this devoted band. A heavy musketry fire was likewise

opened; but still they pressed on. The field was soon strewn with the

dead and wounded. It was a terrible sight to have to stand and witness,

without the power of helping them. The excitement was beyond my pen to

express. Big briny tears gushed down more than one man's face that had

resolutely stormed the Alma. To stand and see their countrymen rushing

at a fearful pace right into the jaws of death was a most exciting scene

to stand and witness. The field was now covered with the wreck of men

and horses. They at last reached the smoke. Now and then we could hear

the distant cheer and see their swords gleaming above the smoke, as they

plunged into one of the terrible batteries that had swept their comrades

down. An officer very kindly lent me his field glass for a short time.

The field presented a ghastly sight, with the unnatural enemy hacking at

the wounded; some trying to drag their mangled bodies from the awful

cross-fires, but a few escaped the bloodthirsty Cossack's lance. We

could see the enemy formed up to cut off all retreat; but it was now do

or die. In our fellows went, with a ringing cheer, and cut a road

through them; and now to our horror, the brutish enemy opened their guns

with grape upon friend and foe, thus involving all in one common ruin,

and the guns again opened on their flanks. It was almost miraculous how

any of that noble band escaped. Our gallant allies, the French, had

witnessed the heroic deeds of the Light Brigade, and now the Chasseurs

went at the enemy in a most dashing manner to help to rescue the remains

of such a noble band. The chivalrous conduct of our allies, the French,

on this field will always be remembered with gratitude; they had ten

killed and twenty-eight wounded. The loss sustained by the Light Brigade

will be found in the table of losses. This was the only field on which

our cavalry were engaged during the campaign. At the Alma, a few

squadrons were on the field, but not engaged. At Inkermann a portion of

the cavalry were formed up; they then would have had a chance if the

enemy had broken through the infantry. As far as the siege was

concerned, they only did the looking-on part. Our gallant allies, the

French, admired much the conduct of our cavalry, both heavy and light.

General Bosquet said that the charge of the heavies was sublime; that of

the Light Brigade was splendid; "but it was not war." We have not the

slightest hesitation in asserting that the Light Brigade was sacrificed

by a blunder. It is but little use trying to lay the blame on the

shoulders of poor Captain Nolan; had he lived the cavalry would have

gone at our guns and re-captured them, or had a good try for it. It was

Lord Lucan, and no one else, that ordered the charge. To say the least

of it, it was a misconception of an order. But I am confident that Old

England will long honour the memory of the noble Six Hundred.

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.

Half a league, half a league,

Half a league, onward,

All in the Valley of Death,

Rode the six hundred.

"Forward the Light Brigade!

Charge for the guns!" he said:

Into the Valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

"Forward the Light Brigade!"

Was there a man dismay'd?

Not though the soldiers knew

Some one had blunder'd:

Their's not to make reply;

Their's not to reason why;

Their's but to do and die:

Into the Valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Stormed at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode, and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell,

Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,

Flash'd as they turn'd in air,

Sabring the gunners there,

Charging an army, while

All the world wonder'd;

Plung'd in the battery-smoke,

Right through the line they broke,

Cossack and Russian

Reel'd from the sabre stroke,

Shatter'd and sunder'd.

Then they rode back, but not--

Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell,

They that had fought so well,

Came thro' the jaws of Death,

Back from the mouth of Hell,

All that was left of them--

Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?

Oh, the wild charge they made!

All the world wonder'd.

Honour the charge they made,

Honour the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred!

_Alfred, Lord Tennyson._

My readers will please remember that my party was unarmed, hence my

keeping out of harm's way. Had we been armed, I should most likely have

gone down the hill at the double, and formed up on the left of the thin

red line--the 93rd Highlanders. Shortly after the sanguinary charge of

the Light Brigade I moved forward as fast as I could. On arriving at

Balaclava I found the stores closed up, and the Assistant

Quartermaster-General ordered me to take my party on to the field, to

assist in removing the wounded, as far as it lay in my power. Off I went

at once. I found the cavalry still formed up. The Light Brigade were but

a clump of men! Noble fellows, they were few, but fearless still. I was

not allowed to proceed further for some time, and I had the unspeakable

pleasure of grasping more than one hand of that noble brigade. There was

no mistaking their proud look as they gave me the right hand of

fellowship. A sergeant of the old Cherry Pickers, who knew me well, gave

me a warm shake of the hand, remarking, "Ah! my old Fusilier, I told you

a week ago we would have something to talk about before long." "But," I

replied, "has there not been some mistake?" He said, "It cannot be

helped now; we have tried to do our part. It will all cone out some

day." My men carried a number of the Heavies from the field to the

hospitals; then I got my store of priceless blankets, and off we plodded

through the mud back to camp. We had something to talk about on our way

home. Our gallant allies, the French, were in high glee, they could

hardly control themselves. As soon as they caught sight of us, they

commenced to shout "_Bon Anglais, Bon Anglais!_" and so it continued

until I reached our camp. But exciting and startling events now rapidly

succeeded each other: the victorious cavalry had hardly sheathed their

swords, after their conflict with the enemy, when about ten thousand,

almost maddened with drink and religious enthusiasm, took another peep

at our camp next day, supported by some thirty guns. They were driven

back into the town quicker than they came out. This was afterwards

called Little Inkermann, and was a stiff fight while it lasted.

But it was such desperate deeds as we are recounting that brought out

the material that has built up this vast and glorious old Empire, the

home of the undefeated race of happy men; this "beautiful isle of the

sea," which is, so to speak, the citadel of an empire such as the world

has never before seen. It is five times as large as that under Darius,

four times the size of that which owned the sway of ancient Rome,

sixteen times greater than France, forty times greater than united

Germany, three times larger than the United States. Australia alone is

nearly as large as the States. India has 1,250,000 square miles, Canada

600,000 square miles. Our empire has nearly 9,500,000 sq. miles, with a

population of 310,000,000. And this has been built up by such

indomitable pluck as that displayed at Albuera, Assaye, Balaclava,

Delhi, Ferozeshah, Inkermann, Plassey, Pyrenees, Salamanca, Trafalgar,

Vittoria, Waterloo, and scores of other fields, by the sons of Albion,

side by side the undaunted sons of the Green Isle. I have not the

slightest hesitation in asserting that the English-speaking nation will

be the universal nation. We have for many years past been compelled to

send our children away to make room in this tight little isle. The vast

continent of North America is peopled from the stout old loins of this

God-defended isle. Our language is already spoken in more than half the

civilised world. All we want is unity with the English-speaking race,

and we have nothing to fear.

THE NOBLE SIX HUNDRED.

The wind of dawn is breathing, the mists of night are wreathing

Up from the valley in white swathes, the mountain range is sheathing;

Watch-fires are burning dimly, hill batteries frowning grimly.

Troop horses in the plain below at their pickets tethered trimly.

When in with hot haste riding, our out-pickets bring tidings

That the Russians within the eastern gorge were hiding:

"Boot and saddle" and _reveillé_ in the cool clear air, ring gaily,

And horse and foot are forming, all eager for the melée.

Would to God that gallant charge had closed the bloody day,

Then clear of blame had shown the fame of Balaclava's fray;

But who is there with patient tongue the sorry tale to tell?

How our Light Brigade, true martyrs, to the point of honour fell.

'Twas "sublime," but 'twas not warfare, that charge of woe and wrack,

That led six hundred to the guns and brought two hundred back.

Enough, the order came to charge, and charge they did like men,

Whilst shot and shell and rifle-ball played on them down the glen.

Though thirty guns were ranged in front, not one e'en bated breath,

Unfaltering, unflinching, they rode upon their death;

Nor by five times their numbers of all arms could they be stayed,

And with two lines for one of ours, e'en then the Russians paid.

Till torn with shot and rent with shell, a spent and bleeding few,

Life worn against those fearful odds from the grapple they withdrew;

But still like wounded lions their faces to the foe,

More conquerors than conquered, they fall back stern and slow.

With dinted arms and wearied steeds, all bruised and soiled and torn,

Is this the wreck of all that rode so bravely out that morn?

Where thirty answered muster at dawn now answered ten,

Ah! woe's me for such officers, woe's me for such men.

Whose was the blame? name not his name, but rather seek to hide.

If he live leave him to conscience, to God if he have died.

But for you, brave band of heroes, your country knows you well;

It asks not to what purpose, it knows but how you fell.

MILITARY HEROISM.

To overcome in battle, and subdue

Nations, and bring home spoils with infinite

Manslaughter, shall be held the highest pitch

Of human glory, and for glory done

Of triumph, to be styled great conquerors,

Patrons of mankind, gods, and sons of gods!

Destroyers rightlier call'd, and plagues of men!

_Milton._

Well, reader, the charge of our Light Brigade at Balaclava, backed up by

that of the Heavies, will not die; it will be remembered when the bones

of those who there sustained the honour of our Island lie rotting in the

tomb!

LITTLE INKERMANN.

But I have something else in store. Our turn came next day, 26th

October--Little Inkermann, as our men named it. About mid-day the enemy

came out of the town in very strong columns, and attacked us just to the

right of the Victoria Redoubt; the fighting was of a very severe nature.

The 2nd Division, under Sir De Lacy Evans, received them first; and a

part of the Light Division had a hand in it. The enemy made cock-sure of

beating us and brought trenching tools with them, but were again doomed

to be disappointed. We were hardly prepared for them; but soon collected

ourselves, and closed upon them with the bayonet, when, after some hard

fighting, they were hurled from the field. They paid dearly for a peep

at our camp, leaving close upon 1000 dead and wounded. They retired much

quicker than they came, with our heavy guns sweeping them down by

scores, and cutting lanes through their columns. Our Artillery on this

occasion did great execution, whilst a continuous rain of Minie rifle

balls mowed their ranks like grass, and for the finishing stroke they

got that nasty "piece of cold steel;" our huge Lancaster guns simply

killed the enemy by wholesale. General Bosquet kindly offered

assistance, but the reply of our commander was, "Thank you, General, the

enemy are already defeated, and too happy to leave the field to me."

The attack of the 26th was nothing more nor less than a reconnaissance

in force, preparatory to the memorable battle of Inkermann; but it cost

them heavily, while we also lost a large number of men. On this field

the brutal enemy distinguished themselves by bayoneting all our wounded

that the picquets were compelled to leave behind in falling back for a

short distance. The stand made by the picquets of the 30th, 55th, and

95th on our right was grand, for they retired disputing every stone and

bush that lay in their way. The following morning our commander, under a

flag of truce, reminded the Russian chief that he was at war with

Christian nations, and requested him to take steps to respect the

wounded, in accordance with humanity and the laws of civilized nations.

Nevertheless, the remonstrance did not stop their brutality. A few days

later, on the memorable field of Inkermann, the Russians murdered almost

every wounded man who had the misfortune to fall into their hands.

Whilst the picquets were holding on with desperation, the Royal

Fusiliers and portions of the Royal Welsh, 33rd Duke's Own, and 2nd

battalion Rifle Brigade, went with all speed to the five-gun battery, to

reinforce our picquets there, and a portion of us were directed to the

slopes of the White-house ravine. We had just got into position when we

observed one of the enemy retiring towards Sebastopol with a tunic on

the muzzle of his rifle belonging to one of the Fusiliers, who was on

fatigue in the ravine cutting wood when the attack commenced. Having

nothing to defend himself with, he had to show his heels. One of the

Rifle Brigade at once dashed off shouting that the tunic should not go

into the town. As the Rifleman neared the Russian he turned and brought

his rifle to the present. John Bull immediately did the same. As luck

would have it, neither of them were capped. They closed to box, the

Briton proving the Russian's superior at this game, and knocked him

down, jumping on the top of his antagonist: but the Russian proved the

strongest in this position, and soon had the Rifleman under. We watched

them, but dared not fire. A corporal of the Rifles ran as fast as he

could to assist his comrade, but the Russian drew a short sword and

plunged at our man, and had his hand raised for a second. The corporal

at once dropped on his knee and shot the Russian dead. Our men cheered

them heartily from the heights. They were both made prisoners of by an

officer, and in due course brought before the commander of our forces,

who made all enquiries into the case, and marked his displeasure with

the young officer by presenting £5 to the gallant Rifleman for his

courage in not allowing the red coat to be carried into Sebastopol as a

trophy, and promoted the corporal to sergeant for his presence of mind

in saving the life of his comrade. No end of dare-devil acts like the

above could be quoted, for the enemy always got good interest for

anything which they attempted.

Our numbers were now fast diminishing from sickness and hardship; our

clothing began to get very thin; we had none too much to eat, and plenty

of work, both by night and by day, but there was no murmuring. We had as

yet received no reinforcements; though the enemy had evidently been

strongly reinforced. Day after day passed without anything particular

being done except trench work. Our men went at it with a will--without a

whimper--wet through from morn till night; then lay down in mud with an

empty belly--to get up next morning, perhaps, to go into the trenches

and be peppered at all day; to return to camp like drowned rats, and to

stand to arms half the night.

ACROSTIC ON NAPOLEON.

The following acrostic on Napoleon, told in "Literary

Eccentricities and Curiosities," was composed by a professor

at Dijon, as soon as the entrance of the Allies into that

town had enabled its loyal population to declare in favour

of its legitimate sovereign:--

N ihil fuit;

A ugustus evenit;

P opulos reduxit;

O rbem disturbavit;

L ibertatem oppressit;

E cclesiam distraxit;

O mnia esse voluit;

N ihil erit.

It would be difficult to give a more concise and more

faithful history of Napoleon's whole career. The following

is a translation of the lines--a rough one, it is true; but

it still retains the acrostic characteristic of the

original:--

N aught he was;

A monarch he became;

P eoples he reduced;

O verturned the world;

L iberty he cursed;

E cclesiastics he worried;

O mnipotent he wished to be;

N aught he shall be.

The following letter was written from the

Camp before Sebastopol,

October 27th, 1854.

My Dear Parents,

Long before this reaches you, you will have heard that our

bombardment has proved a total failure; if anything, we got

the worst of it. The French guns were nearly all silenced,

but our Allies stuck to us well. But you will have heard

that we have thrashed the enemy again, on two different

fields. On the 25th inst., they attacked our position at

Balaclava, and the people that we are fighting for (the

Turks,) bolted, and let them take our guns. Our cavalry got

at them--it was a grand sight, in particular the charge of

the Heavy Brigade, for they went at them more like madmen

than anything that I can explain; the Greys and Enniskillens

(one a Scotch and the other an Irish regiment) went at them

first, and they did it manfully. They rode right through

them, as if they'd been a lot of old women, it was a most

exciting scene. I hear that the Light cavalry have been cut

to pieces, particularly the 11th Hussars and the 17th

Lancers. The rumour in camp is that someone has been

blundering, and that the Light Cavalry charge was all a

mistake; the truth will come out some day. The mauling that

our Heavy Cavalry gave the enemy they will not forget for a

day or two. I was not engaged in fighting, but simply going

down to Balaclava on fatigue. You will most likely see a

full account of the fight in the papers, and I feel that you

will be more interested in our fight, which we had yesterday

(the 26th.) What name they are going to give it, I do not

know. It lasted about an hour-and-a-half, but it was very

sharp. The 2nd and Light Divisions had the honour of giving

them a good thrashing, and I do not think they will try

their hands at it again for a little while. We had not much

to do with it; it was the 30th, 41st, 49th, and 95th that

were particularly engaged, and they gave it them properly.

We supported them; the field was covered with their dead and

wounded--our Artillery simply mowed them down by wholesale.

The Guards came up to our assistance, but they were not

engaged more than they were at Balaclava. We charged them

right to the town. I heard some of our officers say they

believed we could have gone into the town with them; but our

noble old commander knew well what he was about. I mean Sir

De Lacy Evans, for he commanded the field. You must excuse

this scrawl, as I must be off; I am for the trenches to

night. It is raining in torrents, so we are not likely to be

short of water; but I am as hungry as a hunter. Don't be

uneasy; thank God I am quite well, and we must make the best

of a bad job. As long as we manage to thrash them every time

we meet them, the people at home must not grumble--while

they can sit by their firesides and smoke their pipes, and

say we've beat them again. We begin to get old hands at this

work now. It is getting very cold, and the sooner we get at

the town and take it, the better. It is immensely strong,

and looks an ugly place to take, but we will manage it some

day. The enemy fight well behind stone walls, but let us get

at them, and I will be bound to say, that we will do the

fighting as well as our forefathers did under Nelson and

Wellington. Bye-the-bye, our sailors who man our heavy guns,

are a tough and jolly set of fellows. I shall not finish

this letter until I come off duty.

October 29th.

Well, I've got back to camp again. We have had a rough

twenty-four hours of it; it rained nearly the whole time.

The enemy kept pitching shell into us nearly all night, and

it took us all our time to dodge their Whistling Dicks

(huge shell), as our men have named them. We were standing

nearly up to our knees in mud and water, like a lot of

drowned rats, nearly all night; the cold bleak wind cutting

through our thin clothing (that is now getting very thin and

full of holes, and nothing to mend it with.) This is ten

times worse than all the fighting. We have not one ounce too

much to eat, and, altogether, there is a dull prospect

before us. But our men keep their spirits up well, although

we are nearly worked to death night and day. We cannot move

without sinking nearly to our ankles in mud. The tents we

have to sleep in are full of holes; and there is nothing but

mud to lie down in, or scrape it away with our hands the

best we can--and soaked to the skin from morning to night

(so much for honour and glory). I suppose we shall have

leather medals for this one day--I mean those who have the

good fortune to escape the shot and shell of the enemy, and

the pestilence that surrounds us. I will write as often as I

can; and if I do not meet you any more in this world, I hope

to meet you in a far brighter one. Dear mother, now that I

am face to face with death, almost every day, I think of

some of my wild boyish tricks, and hope you will forgive me;

and if the Lord protects me through this, I will try and be

a comfort to you in your declining days. Good bye, kind and

best of mothers. I must conclude now. Try and keep up your

spirits--

And believe me ever

Your affectionate son,

T. GOWING,

Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.

A MOTHER'S LOVE.

A mother's love--how sweet the name,

What is a mother's love?

A noble, pure, and tender flame

Enkindled from above,

To bless a heart of earthly mould;

The warmest love that can grow cold,--

This is a mother's love.

_James Montgomery._

* * * * *

"The gates of mercy shall be all shut up:

And the fleshed soldier,--rough and hard of heart,--

In liberty of bloody hand, shall range

With conscience wide as hell: mowing like grass

Your fresh fair virgins and your flowering infants."

_Shakespeare._

THE BATTLE OF INKERMANN.

On the morning of the 5th November the enemy attacked us in our trenches

in broad daylight. Our heavy guns gave it them prettily, and mowed down

their dense columns by wholesale; but still they came on, until they

felt the bayonet. Then, after some stiff fighting, which lasted more

than an hour, they were compelled to beat a hasty retreat, our heavy

guns sweeping lanes through them, and we plying them with musketry both

in front and flank. We found they could run well, only too glad to get

under cover. A sortie has no chance of success unless the besieging army

can be taken by surprise; but no doubt this attack was made in order to

distract our commander's attention from the vital point.

The ever-memorable battle was then raging on our right rear, and by the

shouts of the combatants and the tremendous firing, we knew that

something very serious was going on, so as many of us as the General

could spare were ordered to march as fast as our legs could carry us to

the assistance of our comrades, then at the dreadful fight raging at

Inkermann. As we had just drubbed the enemy terribly, our blood was up,

but we were hungry: many of us had had nothing to eat for twenty-four

hours, and were wet through to the skin. They say an Englishman will not

fight unless his belly is full; that's all bosh: let him once be roused,

and you will soon see whether he will or not. Well, to the field we

went, and the sights were something horrible, but there was not a

desponding voice; the fog was so dense that at times we could not see

twenty yards. Our men were falling very fast, for the enemy were in

overwhelming strength, particularly in guns. But it is impossible to

disguise the fact that the crafty Muscovites in the darkness and fog had

stolen a march upon our commanders; that the Allies were taken

completely by surprise; and that only the intrepidity of the picquets

of the Light and Second Divisions saved the entire Allied Armies from an

overwhelming disaster. We can now say without boasting that the heroic

conduct of a mere handful of Britons were, and are to this day, the

admiration of all. The determined rushes of the Muscovites were hurled

back time after time. Their princes boasted that they would drive us all

into the sea. So they would, perhaps, if weight of numbers could have

done it; but that nasty piece of cold steel stood in the way. At this

critical moment the startling intrepidity of the sons of Albion, side by

side with the heroic boys of the green isle, came out in all its native

splendour, to shine by the side with that displayed at Trafalgar,

Albuera, and Waterloo. Their deeds are to-day stimulating their

descendants on the banks of the Nile, and will do till the end of time,

or as long as we have an enemy to face, whether they are to be found on

the burning plains of Egypt or the frontiers of Afghanistan. The queen

of weapons was used with deadly effect, the drunken massive columns of

the enemy were pitched over the rocks by men who might die but never

surrender, and who had a strong objection to a watery grave. Our highest

martial interest, honour, was at stake; but, reader, it was safe withal,

from our much-respected Commander-in-Chief to the drummer-boy. They had

all made up their minds to conquer or to die. Children yet unborn will

exclaim "all honour to that band of heroes." The odds were heavy, but

from the brutes we had to face we had no mercy to expect. Our Fourth

Division--composed of the following regiments, the 20th, 21st, 57th,

63rd, 68th, and 1st Batt. Rifle Brigade, under Cathcart--fought at a

disadvantage, having been armed with the old Brown Bess musket, against

the Needle-Rifle which the enemy were armed with. Our weapons were

almost as much use as a broomstick. Yet with all these disadvantages we

smote the enemy with a terrible slaughter, and there was seen again with

what majesty the British soldier fights. Our loss was heavy: three

generals fell and every mounted officer, but our men fought to the

bitter end, and stood triumphant on the rocky ridge, cheering for

victory--the unconquerable heroism of the handful of men we knew would

set the church-bells of old England ringing and clashing for victory,

and give schoolboys a holiday. All regiments vied with each other, as

the following will prove:--At the Alma and Balaclava we had fought for

victory; but at the fight that was now raging, a mere handful of Britons

were contending for very existence, for to be beaten here meant an

ignominious death at the hands of a lot of fierce brutes, mad with

drink--Dutch courage had to be poured into them to make them face our

ranks. The drunken yells of their massive columns were answered by

volley after volley at point-blank range, and then, with a clear and

distinct cheer for old England, we closed upon them with the bayonet,

and stuck to them like wax until they were hurled from the field. We had

no supports or reserves, but every man, as fast as he could reach the

field, went straight at them, with a shout that seemed to strike terror

into them; and so the fight went on, hour after hour. In many parts of

the field it was a horde of half-drunken madmen attacking cool and

collected Britons, determined to conquer or die. Our Guards were the

admiration of the whole army; their deeds at Inkermann will never fade.

Led by His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge, they repeatedly buried

themselves in the Russian columns, as cheer after cheer went up in

defiance to the enemy's unnatural yell. The Guards, all must admit, set

a glorious example, for if they had to die, they acted upon the old 57th

motto, "Let us die hard." The daring, courage, and obstinacy of our

Guards was grand; the terrible odds that they faced on this field puts

Hougoumont in the shade, and ranks beside the unconquerable heroes of

Albuera, fully justifying their high prestige in the army.

[Illustration: THE BATTLE OF INKERMANN.

_The memorable foggy morning, 5th November, 1854._]

Some who read this may think that I am an old Guardsman--so I am; I had

the pleasure of guarding the honour of our beloved Isle, in the 7th

Royal Fusiliers. But, I wish to give honour where honour is due. The

7th, however, were not behind when hard fighting had to be done. One of

our Majors--a Norfolk hero--Sir Thomas Troubridge, although he had both

his feet shot away, would not give in, neither would he allow himself to

be carried off the field, but continued fighting to the end. When he was

lying apparently bleeding to death, with both his stumps resting upon a

gun-carriage, he called upon us to "shift those fellows with the

bayonet," animating us by voice and gesture. Although the poor man could

not lead us, he could cheer us on. And on we went with an irresistible

rush, and routed them then and there. On one occasion after he was

wounded, he called upon us not to forget our bayonets, adding, "They

don't like cold steel, men." Neither did I. It was here that I received

two bayonet wounds, one in each thigh, and would most likely have been

despatched, but that help was close at hand, and the fellows who wounded

me fell at once by the same description of weapon, but not to rise again

and write or talk about it. Revolvers and bayonets told heavily that

foggy morn, and when our men were short of ammunition, they pitched

stones at the enemy. My legs were quickly bandaged, and after giving the

enemy a few parting shots at close quarters, which must have told upon

their crowded ranks, I managed to hobble off the field, using my rifle

and another I picked up as crutches. We could spare none to look after

the wounded; it was every man for himself. After hobbling some distance

out of the range of fire, I lay down, for I could get no further without

a little rest. Our allies, the French, were then coming up to our

assistance in a right mood for fighting. The Zouaves passed me with a

ringing cheer of "Bon Anglais" and "Vive l'Empereur," repeated over and

over again. A mounted officer of rank, who was with them, stopped and

asked me a number of questions in good English. He turned and spoke to

his men, and they cheered me in a most lusty manner. The officer kindly

gave me a drink out of his flask, which revived me considerably, and

then, with a hearty shake of the hand, bade me good-bye, and passed on

into action, shouting out something about the enemy walking over his

body before he would surrender. Thus was Waterloo and Trafalgar avenged,

by the descendants of the vanquished advancing with rapid strides and a

light heart, but with a strong arm, to assist the sons of Albion in one

of the most unequal and bloody contests ever waged. Let us hope that the

blood then spilt may have cemented for ever the friendship between the

two nations who are so near neighbours. The French fought in a most

dashing manner, side by side with us, till the enemy were driven from

the field. The Russian officers fought with desperation, though their

men hung back unless almost driven to it. But the reader must remember

our men and the Zouaves plied the queen of weapons with terrible effect,

and all met the enemy with an unconquerable energy, while we often

stimulated each other by asking--what would they say of us in England?

But I could do no more; I had done all I could, and now had to remain

and take my chance of being killed by a stray shot. It was hard work to

lie there for upwards of an hour-and-a-half in suspense. I felt as if I

should like to be at them, for a little satisfaction; but I had to lie

passive.

I am proud to record that no regiment on that memorable field could take

the shine out of the gallant old 7th Fusiliers. I lay on the field

bleeding, when I heard the welcome shout of victory; I was shortly

afterwards attended to, and carried to hospital, there remained for a

day or two, and was then sent on to Malta, to be patched up ready for

another go in at them.

I saw Inkermann's Heights on that memorable foggy morn,

A name now respected by Britons not then born;

The odds were seven to one, there was no desponding cry,

But, remember the Heights of Alma, we conquer or we die.

The enemy's loss was exceedingly heavy; twenty thousand men is the

estimated loss of the Russians, in their endeavours to take the Heights

of Inkermann on that memorable Sunday, 5th November, 1854. The carnage

was something frightful, as our close point-blank fire had told heavily

upon the enemy's columns. Our total strength on the field was about nine

thousand, upwards of one third of whom fell killed or wounded; while of

the six thousand French who came to help us, they lost seventeen

hundred. But the enemy were completely routed, and England confessed

that every man that foggy morn had done his duty. We had been fighting

against heavy odds, and men armed with as good weapons as ourselves,

while they were wrought up to a state of madness or desperation with

drink.

Inkermann will not admit of much description, particularly from one who

was in the thick of it. The fighting all day on that awful Sabbath was

of a furious character. The bayonet was the chief weapon, and the Minie

rifle balls told heavily upon the crowded ranks. To sum it up in a few

words, every man had to, and did fight, as Britons ought to do when the

honour of the nation is at stake. The best of Generals might have lost

such a fight as Inkermann,--none could direct, for the fog was so dense

that one could not see, at times, twenty yards. On came the Russian

columns, but they had to go back time after time much quicker than they

came.

The bayonet was used with terrible effect by all regiments. The enemy,

driven on by their brave officers, had to and did literally climb over

the heaps of their slain countrymen and ours, to renew this

bloodthirsty contest, but they were met by British cold steel, and were

hurled or pitchforked from the field. We might appropriately say of a

number of the brave men who fell on that field in the hour of victory--

That nothing in their life

Became them like the leaving it.

We had proved, in a hundred fights, that no enemy could resist our men.

But at Inkermann, victory hung in the balance, and our weak Battalions

had to resist the enemy's heavy columns bayonet to bayonet. It was Greek

meeting Greek, for a number of most determined encounters were

maintained against very heavy odds; and as often as the Russian Infantry

charged us, our people met them with that never-failing weapon. The 41st

and 49th regiments held the Sandbag Battery, and were fairly mobbed out

of it by the overwhelming numbers of the enemy, who were exulting in

their victory with yells of triumph, when up came the Guards, and in

they went with a cheer and a rush that told heavily upon the foe. The

Russians, except the dead and dying, were literally lifted out of the

battery and its vicinity, by these gallant regiments. Our army may well

be proud of its present Commander-in-Chief, for it was His Royal

Highness himself who led these unconquerable men. Fresh draughts of

"Rackie" had to be issued to the legions of Russia, in order to make

them face us again. All was done that could be devised by the enemy, in

order to fasten victory to their standards. Holy Russia was represented

on the field by the two Imperial Grand Dukes, sons of their sacred

chief, and the soldiers were taught that they must, as true Russians,

die for their holy Czar; the glory of conquering in the presence of his

children, even at the expense of life, would open the gates of heaven to

them. (?) They were repeatedly urged on to the attack, and as often

driven back. The 41st fought like tigers, to gain time for their

comrades to come up. The grey-coated battalions of the enemy were now on

the right, on the left, and in front of us, but there was not a

desponding voice in our ranks. The Duke of Cambridge was requested to

retire a little out of the immediate reach of the murderous musketry

fire. But--"No; I will, when these follows are shifted," was the reply.

It was well that the French came up when they did. Our men were

gradually being crushed in some parts of the field, but showing the

enemy a most determined front. It was at this juncture that His Royal

Highness set so animating an example; and the French coming up to our

assistance, again the hosts of Russia had to retire. About this time a

cry was raised that the ammunition was running short. Sir G. Brown,

exclaimed--"Then there is nothing for it but the bayonet: _at them, my

lads_." And at them we went; and they had to go back, although their

Princes boasted that they would put us all into the sea. It was a great

pity we had not the 42nd, 79th, and 93rd Highlanders with us, for we

knew well they would have left their marks upon the enemy, under the

guidance of their old Commander, Sir Colin Campbell, but they had to

watch Balaclava. We lost a great number of officers, and at the close of

the day the 4th division was commanded by a captain. But on that

memorable field if there was one corner hotter than another, the Guards

had it. At one time they were completely surrounded by the assailing

multitudes, and the dense fog prevented them from seeing anything but

the foes all round. Shoulder to shoulder, with a ringing cheer, they cut

their way out; shouting, "Keep to the colours." It was a bloody contest;

but this little band--now reduced to about 700 unwounded men, showed the

enemy an undaunted front. The 20th was sent to help them. They staggered

under the murderous fire that met them. This battery had now become more

like a slaughter-house than anything else. The Guards went at them

again, and routed the Russians out of it. At the 5-gun battery the

fighting was desperate, but the enemy never got into it to live.

Inkermann may well be called the soldiers' fight, for at times the fog

was so thick that we could not see friend from foe. Our men, however,

managed to find the Russians, and then "shift" them.

Except Trafalgar and Waterloo, no battle fought by the British since the

invention of powder has called forth such exultation. And still the word

"Inkermann" stimulates the warlike enthusiasm of every Briton, and the

rising generations will recall with rapture the name of some distant

relative and exclaim, "He fought and fell at Inkermann," while with

manly pride they feel that they have sprung from fathers whom the nation

at large delights to honour. The Alma and Balaclava awakened the

war-spirit--that indomitable spirit that lies latent in the breast of

every Briton. The news of victory at these places set the church bells

ringing; but the victory by a mere handful of men on the heights of

Inkermann, went through every Briton like an electric shock; and

thousands at once volunteered to defend the flag, side by side with the

heroic sons of France. In our most remote colonies, the people of

British extraction exulted at the tidings of Inkermann. In all our large

cities--London, Manchester, Leeds, Sheffield, Birmingham, Norwich,

Nottingham, &c., in the workshops, in the furnace-rooms, at the forges,

in the meanest tap-rooms, in the most remote village taverns, in the

hills of Scotland, and the bogs of Ireland--all were proud they were

united Britons, and of the same stock that had just hurled the armies of

Russia, although in overwhelming numbers, from the heights of Inkermann.

My young readers must bear in mind that this battle was not fought by

men who were well fed, well clothed, or well housed, nor by an army that

was well prepared; but, on the contrary, by men who were, so to speak,

half starved, clothed in rags, and exposed to all the inclemencies of a

rigorous climate, whilst they were attacked by hordes of men confident

of victory, whose feelings had been wrought to madness by stimulants and

priestcraft. At one time victory trembled in the balance; some of our

guns were in the hands of the enemy, and the gunners had been all shot

or cut down. But the boys of the Emerald Isle were close by. The 88th

Connaught Rangers and the 49th went at them; and re-captured the guns.

The advance of our Guards at the Sandbag, or 2-gun battery, was grand,

and surely it could be said of them, "Nothing could stop that

astonishing Infantry." No sudden burst of undisciplined valour, no

nervous enthusiasm weakened their order; their flashing eyes were bent

upon the dark masses in their front; their measured tread shook the

ground; their ringing cheer startled the infuriated columns of the

enemy, as their bayonets were brought down to the charge; and, led by a

grandson of a king--H.R.H. the Duke of Cambridge--in they went, shoulder

to shoulder, and the enemy with all their boasted strength, were driven

down the hill.

The stubborn infantry still made good

Their dark, impenetrable hill;

Each stepping where his comrade stood,

The instant that he fell.

At the Alma and Balaclava, when the enemy had gained a temporary

success, they behaved in a most barbarous manner to our wounded;

sometimes their officers set them the example by plunging their swords

into the helpless. At Inkermann, they outstripped all their former deeds

of assassination. Mercy they did not seem to understand when once our

poor fellows were in their clutches. But yet our men, I am happy to

record, would not retaliate, except in so far as that, after the battle

was over, their wounded were left to lie, while ours were removed from

the field; but those who were alive next morning were then attended to,

and taken to our hospital tents. Such are the horrors of war. Our loss

had been heavy: there were killed 4 Generals, 50 Officers, 42 Sergeants;

total killed, wounded, and missing, 2700, exclusive of the French loss,

and that was heavy for the numbers engaged. The whole French army were

loud in their expressions of admiration of the British, their exultation

seemed to be beyond all bounds, for our deeds had put Alma and Balaclava

in the shade, and cast a fresh lustre upon our glorious old Standard.

They looked at us in wonderment, for they knew well the odds we had

fought against, hour after hour. And, I have not the slightest doubt,

some of their old officers thought of our forefathers who had so often

fought them, and never once met them but to give them a good sound

thrashing. As Napoleon said, we had often been beaten, but would not

give in; we would stick to them like a good bull-dog, and worry them

out. Reader, such was Inkermann.

Night closed around that conquering band,

The lightning showed the distant field,

Where they who won that bloody day,

Though few and faint, were fearless still.

The aspect of the field was awful--dead and dying mutilated bodies in

all directions. Many of our men had been wounded frequently with shot

and bayonet; others were cut limb from limb, and yet a spark of life

remained. Many had perished by the bayonet and it was noticed that but

few had fallen with one thrust. In and around the 2-gun battery the

sights were sickening. Our Guardsmen, and 41st, 47th, and 49th, lay

locked in the arms of the foe with their bayonets through each

other--dead. Some of our officers and men were found dead, with no fewer

than twelve or fifteen bayonet wounds; the appearance of the poor

fellows who had been thus tortured was painful. To describe the scene

would be impossible--the result of eight hours' hand-to-hand

conflict--it was horrible to look upon. Scarcely did any field in the

whole Peninsula war present, as the result of conflict, such a murderous

spectacle as the terrible sights that now lay before us. There were

literally piles of dead, lying in every posture that one could imagine;

I may say that there were acres of defaced humanity--ghastly wounds from

sword, bayonet, grape, and round shot; poor fellows literally

shattered--and yet with life still in them. Others lay as if they had

been asleep--friend and foe mixed together. In some parts of the field

our men lay in ranks as they had stood; and the enemy in columns, one on

the top of the other. The Russian Guardsmen lay thick all over the

field. Upwards of 2000 dead were found belonging to the enemy. Just

outside the 2-gun Battery the wounded were numerous, and their groans

were pitiful; while cries of despair burst from the lips of some as they

lay, thinking perhaps of wives and helpless little ones far away. The

Russian dead were buried in large pits by themselves; and our people and

our gallant allies, the French, were laid side by side. For hours during

that dreadful night of woe and victory, the wailing of a poor dog--which

had followed his master--could be distinctly heard. The faithful

creature had found his master's body, and he pierced the night air with

his lamentations. Such was the field of Inkermann. That was keeping up

Gunpowder Plot with a vengeance.

* * * * *

The letter I sent to my parents on this occasion was as follows:--

Camp before Sebastopol,

November 6th, 1854.

My dear Parents,

Long before this reaches you, you will have seen the account

of our glorious battle of the 5th (yesterday). It was a

terrible fight. I was in the trenches when it commenced. We

had a shy at them there, and sent them back much quicker

than they came out. A number of us then marched on to the

field of Inkermann. The fight was raging when we got there;

and the fog was so dense that we could not see what we were

doing, or where to go. Our poor fellows soon began to drop.

We were wet through to the skin, and as hungry as hunters.

We were ordered to the Five-Gun Battery, to support our

comrades. Sir Thomas Troubridge was in command, and it took

all our time to hold our own. What a gunpowder plot! but,

above all, what a Sunday! I thought, dear father--I thought

of you, and what you were most likely doing. It's no use my

trying to hide or cloak matters up--you will see this is not

my handwriting--they have managed to hit me at last; but you

must not be alarmed; I am not half so badly hit as some of

my poor comrades are, so keep up your spirits. I am in good

hopes of getting over this; and, if it should please the

Lord to spare me, to be a comfort to you in your declining

days. Do not answer this, as a number of us are to be sent

down to Scutari. Will write as soon as I can. Do, dear

parents, try and keep your spirits up; and I know you will

not forget me at the Throne of Grace. I will try and give

you, at some future day, a full account, as far as I could

see, and from what I can find out from my comrades. Will

write as soon as I can. Cheer up! I'll warm them up for

this, if ever I get a chance. My kind love to poor mother,

brothers, and sisters.

Believe me, dear Father,

Your affectionate son,

T. GOWING,

Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.

The following is a copy of a letter addressed to Field-Marshal Lord

Raglan, by command of Her Most Gracious Majesty, on receipt of the news

of the victory at Inkermann:--

Her Majesty is desirous of expressing her gratitude for the

noble exertions of the troops in a conflict which is

unsurpassed in the annals of war for persevering valour and

chivalrous devotion. The strength and fury of the attacks,

repeatedly renewed by fresh columns with a desperation which

appeared to be irresistible, were spent in vain against the

unbroken lines, and the matchless intrepidity of the men

they had to encounter. Such attacks could only be repulsed

by that cool courage, under circumstances the most adverse,

and that confidence of victory, which have ever animated

the British Army. The banks of the Alma proved that no

advantages of position can withstand the impetuous assault

of the Army under your command. The heights of Inkermann

have now shown that the dense columns of an entire army are

unable to force the ranks of less than one-fourth their

numbers in the hand-to-hand encounters with the bayonet

which characterized this bloody day.

Her Majesty has observed with the liveliest feeling of

gratification the manner in which the troops of her ally,

the Emperor of the French, came to the aid of the divisions

of the British Army engaged in this numerically unequal

contest. The Queen is deeply sensible of the cordial

co-operation of the French Commander-in-Chief, General

Canrobert, and the gallant conduct of that distinguished

officer, General Bosquet; and Her Majesty recognizes in the

cheers with which the men of both nations encouraged each

other in their united charge, proofs of the esteem and

admiration mutually engendered by the campaign and the deeds

of heroism it has produced.

The Queen desires that your lordship will receive her thanks

for your conduct throughout this noble and successful

struggle, and that you will take measures for making known

her no less warm approval of the services of all the

officers, non-commissioned officers, and men, who have so

gloriously won, by their blood freely shed, fresh honours

for the Army of a country which sympathises as deeply with

their privations and exertions as it glories in their

victories and exults in their fame. _Let not any private

soldier in those ranks believe that his conduct is unheeded.

The Queen thanks him. His country honours him._

Her Majesty will anxiously expect the further despatch in

which your lordship proposes to name those officers whose

services have been especially worthy of notice. In the

meantime I am commanded by Her Majesty to signify her

approbation of the admirable behaviour of Lieut.-General Sir

George Brown, and her regret that he has been wounded in the

action. Her Majesty has received with feelings of no

ordinary pleasure your lordship's report of the manner in

which Lieut.-General His Royal Highness the Duke of

Cambridge distinguished himself. That one of the illustrious

members of her royal house should be associated with the

toils and glories of such an Army is to the Queen a source

of great pride and congratulation.

To Major-General Bentinck, Major-General Codrington,

Brigadier-Generals Adams, Terrens, and Buller, your lordship

will be pleased to convey the Queen's sympathy in their

wounds, and thanks for their services. To the other

officers named by your lordship I am directed to express Her

Majesty's approbation. The gallant conduct of Lieut.-General

Sir de Lacy Evans has attracted the Queen's especial thanks.

Weak from a bed of sickness he rose at the sound of the

battle, not to claim his share in prominent command, but to

aid with his veteran counsel and assistance the junior

officer upon whom, in his absence, had devolved the duty of

leading his division.

Proud of the victory won by her brave army--grateful to

those who wear the laurels of this great conflict--the Queen

is painfully affected by the heavy loss which has been

incurred, and deeply sensible to what is owing to the dead.

Those illustrious men cannot indeed receive the thanks of

their sovereign, which have so often cheered the soldier in

his severest trials; but their blood has not been shed in

vain. Laid low in their grave of victory, their names will

be cherished for ever by a grateful country, and posterity

will look upon the list of officers who have fallen as a

proof of the ardent courage and zeal with which they pointed

out the path of honour to their no less willing followers.

The loss of Lieut.-General the Honourable Sir George

Cathcart is to the Queen and to her people a cause of sorrow

which even dims the triumph of this great occasion. His

loyalty, his patriotism, and self-devotion, were not less

conspicuous than his high military reputation. One of a

family of warriors, he was an honour to them and an ornament

to his profession. Arrived in his native land from a colony

to which he had succeeded in restoring peace and

contentment, he obeyed at a moment's notice the call of

duty, and he hastened to join that army in which the Queen

and his country fondly hoped he would have lived to win

increased renown.

The death of Brigadier-Generals Strangways and Goldie has

added to the sorrow which mingles in the rejoicing of this

memorable battle. The Queen sympathises in the loss

sustained by the families of her officers and soldiers, but

Her Majesty bids them reflect with her, and derive

consolation from the thought, that they fell in the sacred

cause of justice, and in the ranks of a noble army.

I have the honour to be, my lord,

Your lordship's obedient, humble servant,

NEWCASTLE.

To Field-Marshal Lord Raglan, K.C.B., and C.

As a further mark of Her Most Gracious Majesty's approbation of the

heroic, matchless gallantry displayed on that memorable field, the

following Royal Warrant was issued:--

The Queen has been pleased to command that, as a mark of Her

Majesty's recognition of the meritorious services of the

non-commissioned officers of the Army, under the command of

Field-Marshal Lord Raglan, in the recent brilliant

operations in the Crimea, the Field-Marshal shall submit,

through the General Commander-in-Chief, the name of one

Sergeant of each Regiment of Cavalry, of the three

Battalions of Foot Guards, and of every Regiment of Infantry

of the line, to be promoted to a cornetcy or ensigncy for

Her Majesty's approval; and, with the view to render

immediately available the services of these meritorious men,

Her Majesty has directed that the Field-Marshal do appoint

provisionally, and pending Her Majesty's pleasure, the

Sergeants so recommended to Regiments in the Army under his

command; and Her Majesty has further been graciously pleased

to signify her intention that, on the several

recommendations receiving Her Majesty's approval, the

commissions shall in each case bear date the 5th of

November, 1854.

* * * * *

For these are deeds which must not pass away,

Names that must not, cannot wither;

For through tracks of death they led the way

On the blood-stained heights of Inkermann.

A FEW WORDS ABOUT A NORFOLK HERO AT INKERMANN.

Of all the brave men who fought at Inkermann, none could surpass Sir

Thomas Troubridge. It is but little use trying to pick out this or that

regiment, for on that memorable field there were no supports or

reserves; every man was in the fighting line, and it was "conquer or

die." One in the thick of the fight could not see much, but I simply

know that none could take the shine out of the old Fusiliers. And with

such men as Colonel Lacy Yea, Sir Thomas Troubridge, Captain Shipley,

Lord R. Brown, Mr. Jones, and a few others, our men would have gone

through fire and water. Sir Thomas Troubridge was the admiration of all,

for, though terribly wounded, he would not allow himself to be removed

from the ground until victory had declared itself for the sons of

Albion, but remained, with the bravest fortitude, encouraging his men to

"fight it out." He would now and then call out, "Fire away, my lads;

give them the steel if you get a chance; stick to them my men." It was a

sergeant named Laws, (a Norwich man), who ran for a doctor to attend

upon him; but his resolute spirit did not forsake him. No, he would

rather die on the field, at his post with his Fusiliers, than be carried

to a place of safety. And his noble conduct had a wonderful effect upon

the men, for everyone would have died rather than forsake him--such a

gallant soldier. At the Alma his conduct was the admiration of all who

could see him, for he was often in front of us, encouraging us; but he

escaped that fiery ordeal without a scratch, to fall, with both feet

gone, on a more glorious field. Like a number of the bravest of the

brave, he was a good living man, and was prepared for anything. He was

as true as steel; an honest, upright, truthful, fearless, good man,

gifted with a clear, comprehensive mind, and every inch a Fusilier.

_Note referred to at Page 41._

THE FIRST TO LAND IN THE CRIMEA.

I do not wish to be partial, but to give honour where honour is due.

There have been doubts expressed as to which regiment landed first on

the enemy's shore in the Crimea, on the 14th September, 1854. I will

claim that honour for the 7th Royal Fusiliers; and, further, for that

noble hero the late General (then Major) Sir Thomas St. Vincent Cochrane

Troubridge, Bart. Sir Thomas sprang from a family of tried warriors, his

father being right hand man to the immortal Nelson, at St. Vincent, the

Nile, and Trafalgar. The following letter will, I hope, clear up all

doubts as to who first landed.

Viceregal Lodge, Dublin,

April 17th, 1856.

My Dear Sir,

As doubts have been expressed as to which regiment landed

first in the Crimea, I therefore think it only an act of

justice to inform you that a company of the 7th Fusiliers,

under Major Sir T. Troubridge, was in my boat; and that the

only boat near us was one belonging to, I think, the

Sanspareil, and having Rifles on board. Sir G. Brown had

previously landed with Captain Dacres, R.N. I may say that

mine were the first troops landed in the Crimea. I write

this that you may do justice to a regiment that I have long

known, and that is second to none in the British Army.

I remain, my dear Sir,

Truly yours,

C. VESEY,

Com. R.N., and A.D.C.