Voyage to Malta--Scenes between Decks--An insufficiency of
Doctors--Landing at Malta--Kind Treatment in Hospital--The
Nurses--Fast Recovery--Letter Home--Longing to be at it
again--Purchase of Blankets and other Comforts--Another
Letter Home--To the Front again--Reception by old
Mess-Mates--Sufferings of the Army--Break-down of the
Commissariat--Plenty of Stores Rotting in Harbour, but none
to be got by the Troops--Make-shifts--Appearance of the Men.
As soon as it came to my turn I was attended to, and my wounds dressed
and bandaged. I remained for two days, and then a number of us were sent
to Scutari. We were taken down to Balaclava on mules, some of them lent
by our chivalrous allies the French. We got a good shaking, but
eventually found ourselves on board an old steamer. It was a horrible
scene--poor fellows having every description of wound; and many died
before we left the harbour. We were packed on board anyhow,--to live or
die; and away we went. The sea was rather boisterous, and, I can assure
the reader, I was not very comfortable, with poor fellows dying fast all
around me. There were not sufficient medical officers to look after
fifty men, much less three or four hundred.
I would here ask the reader to try and picture to himself a ship rolling
and tossing about at sea with such a freight. The sight was
heart-rending. Many of our poor fellows had had not the slightest thing
done for them since they were wounded on that bloody field. They had
fought and helped to uphold the honour of their country, and were now
left to die in agony, and--oh! horror of horrors!--their poor mangled
bodies were infested with vermin. I could give particulars that would
cause the blood of the reader to curdle in his veins and shock his
credulity, but I forbear. Enough has been said, surely, to afford a
sufficient condemnation of British management! Yet in spite of these
facts, which were too patent to be kept from them, thousands upon
thousands of the youth of the three kingdoms were burning to join their
countrymen at the seat of war. On behalf of the British army I demand
fair treatment for the men who are willing to risk their lives in the
service of their country. Horses and even dogs received far more
attention and better treatment during that trying campaign than the poor
sick and wounded men. I say that what is needed is some system of
organization that shall render impossible the repetition of such
inhumanities as disgraced the Crimean campaign. Let men of brains, and
with human hearts in their bosoms, be appointed to devise such a system,
and I am certain my fellow-countrymen will grudge no expense in making
it effective. Our doctors worked like horses, but they could not do
impossibilities; six times the number could not have done the work--but
the fault did not rest with them.
After being tossed about for some four or five days, we reached Scutari,
to find it so full of sick and wounded that we were not allowed to land,
and on we had to go to Malta. Describe the scene between decks I could
not. Men were on all sides shrieking with pain, some were lying in a
state of putrefaction, others in a morbid state, and some were being
carried up on deck, to be consigned, wrapped in a blanket, to a watery
grave.
At last we reached our desired haven, Malta, and were taken ashore as
quickly as possible. Many an eye was wet with tears; the good people did
all that lay in their power for us, and we could see pity beaming upon
every countenance. We found the Maltese a kind-hearted people. On to the
hospital we went, were at once put to bed, and attended to by kind
motherly hands, that did all that was possible to soothe us. Nothing
could exceed the kindness of all those who had anything to do with us.
In one month I was on my feet again, convalescent, and with plenty of
good nourishment I soon began to gather strength; and in the early part
of January, 1855, wanted to be off again, to have a little satisfaction,
but I had to remain another month. * * * * *
I wrote to my parents from Malta, under date as follows:--
December 21st, 1854.
Once more a line from your rough but affectionate son. Your
letters have all duly reached me. I am happy to inform you
that I am getting on capitally. I have the best of
attention; and, what's more, a pretty young lady for my
nurse. You know, father, that soldiers have an eye to pretty
girls; but woe be to the man who would attempt to molest one
of these dear creatures, for they are worth their weight in
gold. I am able to stand up, I am happy to inform you; but I
must not let my nurse see me, or the doctor would eat me.
We found that the nation's heart was bleeding for her soldiers and
sailors--a grateful country was roused by the before unheard-of
privations and sufferings and the heroic stand that her sons were
making. All, even our enemies, were compelled to admire the daring
devotion and courage displayed by a mere handful of men, at the heights
of Alma; all were compelled to applaud the conduct of our soldiers on
the plains of Balaclava; and the stand made at Inkermann will be the
theme of admiration for ages to come. England and the world admitted
that every man had nobly done his duty, and that the conquerors on
Inkermann's heights had every whit the courage and daring of their
forefathers.
I was now well able to take my walks abroad and have a good look at all
the sights and scenes of Malta, and there are some grand sights to be
seen--the Church of St. John, I suppose, is one of the grandest in the
world. Then I used to wander around the vast fortifications day after
day. Accounts kept coming in from the seat of war. We heard that our
poor fellows were dying fast of starvation and cold; death was, in fact,
raging through the camp at a fearful pace, and yet our men stuck to it.
From letters I received from the front, it appeared the storm that had
struck the Crimea had swept away nearly all our poor fellows' tents, and
they had to get into caves in the rocks, and do the best they could on
that terrible 14th November, 1854. The ship "Prince," with winter
clothing for the whole army, had gone down just outside the harbour of
Balaclava--all hands perished; and a number of other ships shared the
same fate. The cold was something terrible, men were frost-bitten, daily
losing fingers and toes, and undergoing such sufferings as no tongue or
pen can describe. In December, 1854, and January and February, 1855, our
poor fellows were dying like rotten sheep for want of the common
necessaries of life--they had little or no food, hardly sufficient
clothing to cover their nakedness, the tents were full of holes, and
they had nothing but mud to lay their weary bones in, with the
thermometer far below freezing point. Then, too, they often had to fight
with desperation to hold their own. So, upon the whole, there was not a
very bright prospect before me.
Regiments and drafts kept passing on for the front, and I was longing to
have a slap at them once more, just by way of getting out of debt; so,
towards the end of February, 1855, after I had made some splendid
purchases in the way of good blankets, 2 dozen good flannel shirts, 2
dozen ditto drawers, 2 dozen warm gloves for my comrades, a good supply
of flannels for myself, and a brace of revolvers, off I went once more
to fight for Old England, home, and glory. These facts were communicated
to my parents, in the following letter:-
Malta, Feb, 11th, 1855.
My Dear Parents,
I do not think I shall be here much longer. A number of us
are ready for them again, and I have a debt to pay off, but
at your request will not run my head into danger more than I
can avoid; but I hope the Lord will give me strength of mind
and of body to do my duty; for, father, I do believe I am a
true-born Suffolk man, for I could not bear the thought of
skulking. If ever I fall, I hope it will be with my face to
the foe, and that after I have got out of debt--for I should
not like to owe them anything. I never yet told you that two
of them came at me at Inkermann, and that was not fair,
taking into consideration they could see that I was engaged
at the time with a huge monster. Never mind; thank God I
have got over that, and am ready for them again. I hope my
next letter will be from the interior of Sebastopol. The
French appear to mean business; hardly a day passes but
ships laden with them put in here for coal. A number of
their Imperial Guards landed here a few days ago. There were
four or five of us out for a walk; and when it was explained
to them that we had all been at the Alma, and were wounded
at Inkermann, you would have thought they had gone mad; they
embraced and kissed us over and over again, and shouted
'_Bon Anglais, Bon Anglais!_' and '_Vive l'Empereur!_' until
further orders. I thought it was a great pity we did not
understand each other--we had two interpreters--and I can
tell you that they had quite enough of it; but as far as I
could see, the very name of Inkermann was enough for three
or four cuddles; and although I did not like to be kissed by
a man, I had to put up with it. They are fine looking men; a
great many of them are much taller than I am (six feet),
and, if they get a chance, will most likely leave their mark
upon the Russians. At all events, they will soon have a peep
at them, and will find them ugly customers to deal with.
Well, we parted with our friends on the best of terms, but
we had to put up with another good squeeze. I must tell you
I have been marketing. I have bought all sorts of warm
clothing for my comrades, for I find it is needed: they
found the cash. I have got a good revolver for myself, and
am off to-morrow. I do not wish to boast; but, come what
will, I will never bring disgrace upon our old county--dear
old Suffolk, that gave me birth--or upon Norfolk, that
brought me up. Remember, dear father, Norfolk can boast of
Nelson.[2] Keep up your spirits, dear parents; all's well
that ends well. Will write as soon as I can. Good bye, and
God bless you.
Believe me, as ever,
Your affectionate son,
T. GOWING, Sergeant,
Royal Fusiliers.
We had a jolly time of it all the way up, plenty of the good things of
this life on board. What a difference! what a contrast to the voyage
down! We had forgotten all our pains and sorrows, and were once more on
the way to assist our comrades in subduing the haughty Muscovites. We
knew well that in all probability few of us would ever see our dear old
home again, or those who were near and dear to us. But we had to look
stern necessity in the face. It was a call to duty that we were obeying,
and for "England's home and beauty" we would go forward, let the
consequences be what they might. Many an aching mother's heart was
following our every movement. The scenes that we had already passed
through were enough to melt more than one Absolom's heart, and set him
thinking, first, of an endless eternity, and then of a fond and almost
broken-hearted mother at home. But duty, stern duty, must be done, and
done well, "for England expects that every man will in the hour of need
do his duty." It was still very cold, but we had plenty of clothing and
wanted for nothing. We had some splendid sights going through the
Dardanelles. Constantinople looked grand; but we were not allowed to
disembark, though we stayed there for a time to take in coal; then away
we went. We met some of our poor fellows coming from the front. We found
the Black Sea very rough, in fact, rolling mountains high, but our
gallant old ship dashed on; we had another in tow, but lost her--the
cable broke in the night, and she had to look out for herself. We
reached the snug little harbour of Balaclava on the morning of the 8th
March, 1855, and, as usual, found it crammed with shipping. We had to
remain outside, until our Captain obtained permission to enter, then in
we went and landed; at once marching to the front to the old Light
Division, and I again found myself in the midst of old chums--but what
an alteration! Poor half-starved miserable-looking creatures, mere
wrecks of humanity, but still with that unconquerable look about them,
so that it was a pleasure to do anything for them. I had a treat in
store for my company. I asked and obtained leave to go to Balaclava the
following day, telling the Captain what I had brought for the men. I
took six men with me and loaded them with some of the good things I had
purchased, and away we went back again. We had to plough through mud
nearly all the way up to our ankles; and when I came to open the
packages and distribute the goods, I got many a "God bless you,
Sergeant." A flannel shirt and drawers were worth their weight in gold.
I did not lose a man out of my tent after I rejoined, except from the
enemy's fire; the flannel kept the cold out; the men were always
cheerful and I could do anything I liked with them--they were a brave
set of fellows. Let our men have but fair treatment, and I have not the
slightest hesitation in saying, that they would, if well officered,
shake the biggest bullies on the Continent out of their boots, and chase
them off any field.
* * * * *
The loss of the Prince, on the evening of the 14th November, 1854, just
outside the harbour of Balaclava, was the cause of thousands of poor
fellows coming to an untimely end; for, in addition to an enormous
supply of everything that could be thought of to combat the foe with,
such as small-arm ammunition, shot and shell of all sizes, &c., she had
on board for the army the following:--
Woollen coats or frocks 53,000
Pairs of worsted socks or stockings 33,000
〃 lamb's wool socks or stockings 2,700
〃 drawers--lamb's wool 17,000
Good blankets (single) 16,000
〃 palliasses (single, for hospitals) 10,000
〃 rugs (single) 3,750
〃 cloaks, well lined with flannel 2,500
Pairs of boots (ankles) 12,880
〃 shoes, for hospitals 1,000
Eight other ships were also lost, with nearly all hands on board, that
night. The value of their freights has been estimated at £1,500,000. But
the value of the stores and outfits for the army was incalculable. From
that date the deplorable condition of the army commences. Yet there were
thousands of tons of stores lying at Balaclava, rotting. The
Commissariat had completely broken down. All that was wanting, was
someone with a head on to put things straight--all was higgledy-piggledy
and confusion. The cavalry horses, that had cost an enormous amount,
sank up to their knees in mud at every step, until they dropped
exhausted; and all the way from the camp to Balaclava were to be seen
dead horses, mules, and bullocks in every stage of decomposition. And
our poor fellows, who had fought so well at the Alma, Balaclava, and the
two Inkermanns, were now dying by hundreds daily. The army was put upon
half rations, viz:--half-a-pound of mouldy biscuit, and half-a-pound of
of salt junk (beef or pork); coffee was served out, but in its raw green
state, with no means of roasting it. No wood or firing was to be had,
except a few roots that were dug up. Men would come staggering into the
camp from the trenches soaked to the skin and ravenously hungry, when a
half-pound of mouldy biscuit would be issued, with the same quantity of
salt junk, so hard that one almost wanted a good hatchet to break it.
The scenes were heart-rending. The whole camp was one vast sheet of mud,
the trenches in many places knee deep; men died at their posts from
sheer exhaustion or starvation, rather than complain, for if they
reported themselves sick the medical chests were empty. And amidst all
these privations the enemy kept peppering away at them. A bright but
melancholy proof was then given of what Britons will endure before they
give up. But, perhaps, one of the most mortifying pills that our poor
fellows had to swallow was the knowledge that, although they were dying
by wholesale for the want of shelter, clothing, and food, the huts had
arrived in safety at Balaclava, or were floating about the harbour and
being stolen by those handy little fellows, the Zouaves, to make
fire-wood of; the overcoats lay in lighters; while food and nourishment,
and every comfort that could be thought of by a kind-hearted
people--such as potted meats of all descriptions, ground coffee,
preserved soups, good thick warm flannel shirts, comforters knitted by
ladies at home, flannel drawers, and good fustian jackets, waterproof
coats and leggings, and tobacco in tons--were rotting in the harbour or
stacked up upon the shore. A few men who were stationed at or near
Balaclava got the lion's share. The Guards had not much to complain of
after they were sent down to Balaclava, for they were in clover--little
or nothing to do--and if they did not exactly live upon the fat of the
land, they ought to have done so. As for the unfortunate divisions that
had, day after day and night after night, to face the foe in the
trenches, hardly an officer, or man but was suffering from diarrhoea
or dysentery. And, to make things worse, medicine could not be had. Some
of our regimental doctors actually begged the chief medical authorities,
for humanity's sake, to let them have some medicine for diarrhoea or
fever; but, no! the answer was "We have none." "Have you any medicine
for rheumatism?" "No! we have none." Thus, our fellow-countrymen were
left to die, whilst tons of medicines of all descriptions were close
at hand, floating in the harbour of Balaclava! But I must be honest,
and say plainly that a vast deal of the sickness was brought on by
the men themselves by excessive drinking. We were allowed three (and
sometimes four) drams of the best rum daily; but from the manner in
which it was issued it would not intoxicate the men, for it was divided
into three or four parts, and in camp it was mixed with lime juice.
But there were hundreds not satisfied with that, who would go anywhere
and do anything to get more; and then in all probability fall down,
and, if not noticed by some one, the extreme cold soon settled up
their account--_frost-bitten or frozen to death_. Thus, it was not all
the fault of the authorities. The whole army was in rags and filth,
and half frozen in the trenches in front of the enemy. Not one, but
hundreds, were stricken down by starvation. They were only about eight
miles from plenty, and yet were dying of hunger; there were clothing
and medical stores in ship-loads, but no organization. And yet, with
all this wretchedness, our men fought with undaunted bravery whenever
the enemy attempted to trespass upon the ground they were told to hold.
In January, 1855, after thousands had died, the warm clothing was served
out, but blankets were still short. And--would you believe it,
reader?--when men who had died in hospital were taken to their last
abode rolled up in a blanket, on arrival at the grave or pit, the
unfortunate dead, perhaps a loving son of some poor heart-broken mother,
was rolled out of the blanket into his grave in a state of nudity, and
at once covered up with a few shovels-full of earth, _the blanket being
brought back and washed, and becoming the property of one who had helped
at the interment_. I knew of a very painful case. One of our sergeants
named G----s, had buried two poor fellows on a cold bleak morning in
the month of January, 1855, but through some mistake had left them in
their blankets. On returning to camp he met our Colonel, who inquired
what he had been doing; and when the poor fellow said that he was
returning from the cemetery, and that he had just interred two men, the
Colonel roared out--"Then where are the blankets, Sir; go back and get
them, and parade them before me when washed." A kinder-hearted man, or a
braver soldier than our Commander never faced the foe; but orders must
be obeyed. Some regiments were reduced to a single company, and had to
be sent out of the field, yet had not suffered much from the enemy. The
Guards left home 2,500 strong, and reinforcements amounting to 1500 had
joined them; but by the end of 1854 they could only muster about 900 fit
for duty. Lads were sent out and died almost as soon as they landed; one
night in the trenches was quite enough for them--they either crawled
back to camp and died, or were sent home again, or to Scutari or Malta.
A number of poor fellows were almost daily sent down to Balaclava on
litters--one on either side of a mule--they formed a ghastly procession;
many died before they reached the port. Death was stalking all over our
camp, on every side was cholera in its worst form, dysentery,
diarrhoea, rheumatism, catarrh, and scurvy. Men were positively
forbidden to take off their boots, as it was found impossible to get
them on again; while some might be seen limping about the camp in the
snow (two or three feet deep) with no boots of any sort; others with
boots up to their knees, which they had borrowed from some dead Russian.
Some of our critics (newspaper correspondents) were at a loss to find
out to what regiment a man really belonged, or even what nation, as
during the worst part of the winter no two men were dressed alike. Some
had hay bands bound round their legs, others had long stockings outside
their rags or trousers, some had garters made from old knapsacks,
others had leggings made from sheep skins, bullocks' hides, buffalo
hides, horse hides--anything to keep the extreme cold out. Some had got
hold of a Russian officer's overcoat, which was almost a load to carry.
As for Joseph's coat of many colours, I do not think it would have taken
a prize for patchwork by the side of some of our men's clothing. They
say patch beside patch looks neighbourly, but our men's coats were
nothing but rags tacked together. As for head dress, some had mess-tin
covers that could be pulled down well over the ears; others had
coverings for the head made out of old blankets four or five times
doubled. Yet there was but little murmuring so long as the men could get
sufficient to eat, and in the midst of all their troubles they were
loyal to the backbone, and would sing aloud "God save the Queen." Some
of their beards and moustaches were almost two feet long, and sometimes
these were so frozen that they could not open their mouths until they
could get to a fire and thaw them. As the reader may imagine, they were
a queer-looking lot; but nothing but death could subdue them. They were
not very "_illigant_" in their appearance, but one could read in their
countenances that they meant death or victory. During January, 1855, the
men were informed that Her Most Gracious Majesty had been pleased to
grant a medal with three clasps for the Crimean campaign, thus--one for
Alma, one for Balaclava, and one for Inkermann. Little Inkermann was not
named; and some of the officers, non-commissioned officers, and men, who
had fought there, were not at all satisfied. Some of our men inquired
what we were to get for the town. Why, a star, of course! _A crack of
the head more likely._ This was in January, 1855; we little dreamt then
that we should have nine months' more continuous fighting before
Sebastopol fell, and that much more of the best blood of Britain was to
be spilt long before then. I have often thought since that my getting
those two nasty pokes at Inkermann was the means, in the hands of God,
of saving my life; for I thus escaped the hardships of the months of
November and December, 1854, and January and February, 1855. During my
absence from the camp there was not much fighting going on, except at
the "ovens," as our men called them; for the enemy could not stand the
intense cold any more than our men; though they had the best of us, as
they had good shelter huts until our guns knocked them about their ears.
THE SOLDIER'S DEATH.
Nobly he led them to the strong redoubt,
And gallantly they put the foe to rout;
He coveted the thickest of the fight,
Where bullets whistled, and where blades gleamed bright.
Where foes were fiercest he was sure to be,
His strong arm dealing death, for naught cared he;
And while around he heard his comrades' cheer,
Bravely and well he fought, unknown to fear;
But just as o'er the hill-tops sank the sun,
And shouts of vict'ry told the day was won,
Watching with triumph the retreating foe,
A random shot was fired which laid him low.
And there upon the battle plain he lies,
The light of vict'ry beaming in his eyes;
And at his side his gallant fellows stand,
Anxious once more to clasp their leader's hand.
But see! a smile lights up the pallid face;
And hark! he speaks with military grace:
"I'm done for, lads; 'tis hard to leave you all,
And just as we have won the day to fall.
Ill-luck was ever mine; I'm forced to go
The moment we have driven back the foe.
Perhaps 'tis best; there's One above who knows,
For in His hand He holds both friends and foes;
But, lads, when safe you reach old England's shore,
Home, sweet, sweet home, which I shall see no more.
Just seek out father, mother, sis, and tell
Them all that I have done my duty well;
Good-bye, brave lads; my freed and happy soul
Now answers to the heavenly muster roll.
You'll think of me, when far across the wave,
As sweetly slumbering in the soldier's grave."