More Trench Work--Meeting with Capt. Vicars--My Letter of
the 15th March, 1855--Night Attack in the Trenches--Capt.
Vicars' Death--A few Remarks showing his Noble Character--My
Letter Descriptive of the Fight--Storming Rifle Pits--More
Trench Duty--Supplementary Letter--The Taking of the
Quarries and Circular Trench--Desperate Fighting before
Sebastopol, the 7th and 88th Leading--My Letter Home, 8th
June--Continued Fighting--First Assault on the Town--Its
Bloody Repulse--The Poor Old Light Division Cut to
Pieces--The Fusiliers again Led the Way--My Letter of the
18th--Waiting to be Revenged--A Terrible Night--Attack by
the Enemy and its Bloody Repulse--My Letter of the 28th June
describing the Fight--Death of Lord Raglan, much felt
through the Allied Army--The Battle of Tchernaya, 16th
August--The Enemy's Last Throw for Victory Defeated--My
Letter Home of the 18th Aug.--Creeping Closer and Closer to
the Doomed City--The Last or Terrible Bombardment--A Nasty
Blunder, our own people pitching into us--My Letter Home, 2
a.m., 8th Sept.--P.S. to it announcing my Death--My P.P.S.
after I had recovered.
Our heavy guns still kept at it. I soon found my way into the trenches
again, and had a very narrow escape, not of being wounded, but of being
"taken in and done for," or killed on the spot. In the dark, after
posting some sentries, I took a wrong turn and went almost into the
midst of the enemy. They could have shot me; but just then, I am sorry
to say, we had a number of men deserting to the enemy, and I believe
they thought I was one of that class, but they soon found out their
mistake, for I was off as fast as my legs could carry me in the opposite
direction. As need scarcely be remarked, I did not wait to look behind
me until I got close up to our own people, then I turned about and faced
them.
* * * * *
That night I met for the first time that noble-minded man, Capt. Hedley
Vicars. He and I had a long chat in the trench. Although I had heard of
him, I had not until then known him personally. He was under the
impression this was my first time in front of the enemy, as I told him I
was nearly taken prisoner; but when I informed him I had been present at
the Alma, Balaclava, and Inkermann, and was wounded at the latter
battle, he was quite astonished. He was very affable and kind, and his
men seemed to be very fond of him. He appeared to be one of those cool
determined men that are sure to win the respect of all classes, and will
lead men at anything. As far as I could see, he had not a bit of pride
about him. I soon found that he was a Christian, and was not ashamed of
his Master. The light that had been planted in him he could not hide
under a bushel, for his whole conversation was of redeeming love, and
how he had been plucked "as a brand from the fire," when afar off from
God by wicked works. What a soldier! I told him about my comrade at the
Alma. "Well, Sergeant," he said, "the Lord's time is the right time; who
is the best off now, you or he?" He then asked me a number of questions
about better things; I do not think I ever met such a man. His men
seemed to be devotedly fond of him. I spent some time with him next day,
as the 97th touched our right, the left of their detachment meeting the
right of ours. He invited me to his tent for that night for prayer, as
he told me a few who loved the Lord met there as often as they could. I
did not profess anything at the time, but was going against light and
knowledge. I went once and only once, before he was killed.
This subject is referred to at greater length in my next letter home,
which was as follows:--
Camp before Sebastopol,
March 15th, 1855.
My Dear Parents,
Once more a few lines from this miserable camp--mud! mud!!
mud!!! We arrived here on the 8th, and at once marched up to
the front; a number of my poor comrades I hardly knew--what
a change! The old Fusiliers, once one of the finest corps in
our service, now poor half-starved, miserable-looking wrecks
of humanity. The older hands had still that unconquerable
look about them, that it would be far cheaper for the enemy
to build a bridge of gold for them to pass over, than to try
and take them prisoners. We have plenty of work in the camp;
and 'tis bleak, cold work in the trenches, standing up to
our ankles in mud and water, with hardly sufficient food to
keep body and soul together; as for the fighting, we never
hear one word of murmuring about that. I came off the
trenches last night; we had a brush at the enemy, but it was
soon all over: our people were ready for them, and gave them
a warm reception. I met with a Captain of the 97th (Vicars).
He is, I do believe, a thorough Christian man. We had a long
chat together. He appears to be a general favourite with his
men. He held a prayer-meeting in the trench yesterday
morning, and got as many men around him as he could. I like
him very much. I do wish he belonged to us (the Fusiliers, I
mean); he appears a good, earnest man, and not at all
backward in standing up in his Master's name, trying to
Extol the stem of Jesse's rod,
And crown Him Lord of all,
in this cold, bleak corner of the earth; but yet a most
determined soldier for his country. Some of his sergeants
told me yesterday morning that he had used his good sword
the night previous about some of the enemy, and they did not
think the doctors would be of much use after he had done
with them. The noble Captain invited me to his tent, and I
spent, I am happy to say, a comfortable hour with him. I do
not know when this town will be taken, there is a lot of
rough fighting to be done yet. I must conclude, with love to
all; it is very cold to handle the pen. Pray for me, and God
bless you all.
Believe me, ever
Your affectionate son,
T. GOWING,
Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.
I was with Capt. Vicars once more in the trenches before that miserable
night, the 22nd March. We had a lot of sickness in the camp, and duty
was very heavy for those who could do it. The Old Light Division had
been strengthened by the 34th to the 1st Brigade, and the 90th and 97th
to the 2nd Brigade; but, with sickness and hardships, they, like
ourselves, were not very strong--except in the head.
A NIGHT ATTACK IN THE TRENCHES.
DEATH OF CAPTAIN VICARS.
That 22nd March was a terrible night to be out in. We were nearly up to
our knees in mud and water. It came on to blow and rain as hard as it
fairly could. It was as dark as pitch, and in the midst of all--our
plight was, I suppose, not bad enough--the enemy came out and attacked
us, in both flanks and front. They came on pretending that they were
French, and in the dark we could not see them; so that they were right
in the midst of us before we could fire a shot. Talk about hard
knocks,--they were served out that night as freely as ever they were. It
was foot and fist, butt and bayonet, as hard as we could go at it; in
fact, they could have it any way they liked: the fighting was desperate.
The enemy came on in overwhelming numbers,--there were enough to eat
us,--but we stuck to them with a deathlike grip, until they were driven
back. We lost both our Officers that night--Capt. the Hon. C. Brown, and
a Mr. Henry, who was a fine specimen of a British soldier. The former
was killed, and the latter dangerously wounded. The news flew that
Captain Vicars had fallen, and the men rushed in the direction in which
it was said he was, and literally lifted the enemy from the field with
the bayonet. Some of our men's bayonets were bent like reaping-hooks
next morning, which was a clear proof of the vehemence with which we
had been at it. My letter will more fully describe that attack. The 97th
were wrought up to a state of madness, to think that so kind and good an
officer should fall by the hands of such fiends. The enemy were at last
sent reeling from the field with our bayonets uncomfortably close to
them. It was one of the most desperate attacks the Russians had made
since the commencement of the siege, and the slaughter was in
proportion; the bayonet was the chief weapon used, and, after poor Capt.
Vicars fell, it was used with a will and with a vengeance.
[Illustration: THE NIGHT ATTACK IN THE TRENCHES, WHEN HEDLEY VICARS
FELL,
_22nd March, 1855._]
One Russian was caught trying to walk off with one of our small mortars;
he was a huge monster, but some ten inches of cold steel, from a man
named Pat Martin, stopped his career. Another, a Greek Priest, fired his
revolver into our small-arm magazine, but luckily no harm was done. He
was at once bayoneted; next morning he was seen to be a powerful fellow.
Poor Capt. Vicars was brought into the trench and placed upon a
stretcher. He seemed quite cheerful, said he did not think it was much,
and hoped soon to be able to go at them again. These were not, perhaps,
his exact words, but the substance of them as nearly as I can remember.
He was then sent home to camp, but before he had reached it his spirit
had fled to him who gave it. He was ready. A faithful soldier of the
Cross, he had, from the day it had pleased the Lord to speak peace to
him, been always ready to depart to be with Jesus. A noble and brave
man, he did not know what fear was as far as the enemy was concerned,
but he loved the Lord with all his heart and soul; and, like one of old,
was not at all ashamed to stand forth and tell poor sinners what the
Lord had done for him. But he is gone to be with Him whom he loved to
speak of when on earth.
Her Most Gracious Majesty had lost by that fatal bullet one of Britain's
bravest sons; and all around the spot where poor Vicars had fallen it
was evident the bayonet had done some terrible work.[3] The enemy let us
alone for the remainder of the night, and next morning there was a flag
of truce out. They had paid heavily for their intrusion, for in places
they lay in heaps one on the top of the other. We were relieved next
morning; and in the evening poor Capt. Vicars was laid in his cold
grave, together with other officers. We committed his body to the earth,
And his pure soul unto his Captain, Christ,
Under whose colours he had fought so long.
The 97th seemed to feel his loss keenly, and over his grave strong men
wept like a lot of children who had lost a fond father, and then vowed
they would revenge him the first opportunity.[4] The Captain was a
general favourite throughout the Light Division, for he used to go, when
off duty, from regiment to regiment doing all he could to point poor
thoughtless sinners to the Lamb of God.
Such were some of the men who helped to unfurl the Standard of old
England on the blood-stained walls of Sebastopol; and, while some were
struck down to rise no more, in the first action; others were permitted,
apparently with a charmed life, to go from field to field. I am not one
of those who believe that all is left to chance, on the contrary, I am
convinced that all our lives are in God's keeping. I know that I have
been mercifully watched over through seen and unseen dangers of no mean
sort. Besides those events that I have here narrated, I have yet to tell
of nineteen years' life in India with sword and pestilence scattering
death all around me.
The following is my letter describing the fighting of the 22nd:--
Camp before Sebastopol,
March 24th, 1855.
My Dear Parents,
I hardly know how to commence this letter. Since mine of the
15th, we have had a terrible fight. Thank God, I have been
spared once more. I do think that I am out of their debt. To
describe the fight adequately, would be impossible. I will
try and do a little to it. A good strong party of us, under
command of Captain the Hon. C. Brown, went into the trenches
on the 22nd. It blew a perfect hurricane, with rain and
sleet; it came down just anyhow. We were standing up to our
ankles in mud and water, like a lot of half-frozen,
half-drowned rats, when, about 10.30 p.m., the enemy
attacked our Allies. It was as dark as the grave, and in
fact, we could not see one yard in front of us. We had
strong parties of the Light Division in our advanced works.
The enemy got right in the midst of us before we knew
anything of their whereabouts, and then we set to work with
the bayonet. It was charge and re-charge, officers shouting
to their men "This way, this way, Fusiliers!" "Come on,
90th!" "Now, at them, 97th!" We had to grope for them the
best way we could, stumbling over friend and foe. Up and at
them again. Officers fighting with desperation, shouting all
the time, "Come on my lads, stick to them." Our Captain was
killed, and one of our Lieutenants (a Mr. Henry) wounded. He
was a man of about six feet two-and-a-half inches, and
before he fell he let the enemy know what metal he was made
of. You remember a Captain of the 97th, that I have spoken
about (Captain H. Vicars, I mean): I am sorry to have to
inform you that he received his death wound while nobly
leading the 97th and us, shouting with all his might, "This
way, 97th; come on, Fusiliers." Our men took a terrible
revenge for his death. A number of our bayonets were bent
like reaping-hooks next morning; and all around where that
noble Christian fell, the enemy lay thick, one on the top of
the other. They fought with desperation; but that
never-failing weapon, the bayonet, was too much for them.
They tried to blow up our small-arm magazine, but the fellow
who made the attempt was at once despatched. The sights next
morning (the 23rd,) were awful. I do believe, for the time
it lasted, it was worse than Inkermann: it was nothing but
butt and bayonet, and some of our Lancashire boys did not
forget to use their feet. Thank God, I got out of it without
a scratch worth mentioning. I managed to lose my cap, a shot
went through the collar of my coat, and one through my
trousers. We buried our officers last night, and there was
hardly a dry eye when poor Captain Vicars was lowered into
his grave. I feel confident that he has gone to that Home
that is prepared for all those who are faithful to the end.
This army has lost a cool, determined officer, and there is
one Christian less in this sin-blighted world. He had won
the affections of the whole Light Division. The 97th might
well be proud of him. It is only a few days since I was with
him at one of his meetings; but, dear father, he is not
lost, but gone before. He can now sing, with all his manly
heart, while he views his glorious Master without a veil
between.
It is bitterly cold here at present, and I for one do wish
they would let us go at the town. We know well that it will
be a hard nut to crack, but it must be done, the honour of
Old England and France is at stake, and take it we will some
day. I do not wish you to publish my letters, for the simple
reason that sometimes I speak a little too plainly, and it
might hurt me; if anything should happen to me here, you can
then please yourself. Take care of them all, as they may
come in handy some day, if only to read to friends near and
dear to us. I must conclude. Thanks for the papers.
Believe me ever, dear Parents,
Your most affectionate son,
T. GOWING,
Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.
SUDDEN DEATH.
"Servant of God, well done;
Rest from thy loved employ;
The battle fought, the victory won,
Enter thy Master's joy."
The voice at midnight came;
He started up to hear,
A mortal arrow pierced his frame;
He fell, but felt no fear.
Tranquil amidst alarms,
It found him in the field,
A veteran slumbering on his arms,
Beneath his red-cross shield:
His sword was in his hand,
Still warm with recent fight;
Ready that moment, at command,
Through rock and steel to smite.
At midnight came the cry;
"To meet thy God prepare!"
He woke, and caught his Captain's eye;
Then, strong in faith and prayer,
His spirit with a bound,
Burst its encumbering clay;
His tent, at sunrise, on the ground,
A darken'd ruin lay.
The pains of death are past,
Labour and sorrow cease;
And life's long warfare closed at last,
His soul is found in peace.
Soldier of Christ! well done;
Praise be thy new employ;
And while eternal ages run,
Rest in thy Saviour's joy.
_Montgomery._
We had now some hard hitting almost every day or night. We commenced
gradually to creep up to the doomed city--here a bit and there a bit,
shots being continually exchanged. All the enemy's outworks had to be
seized, and that was no child's play. The taking of their rifle pits was
fearful work. It was all done with the bayonet, in the darkness of
night. For the information of my non-military readers, I will just
explain what rifle pits are. They are holes, large or small, constructed
in various ways, and manned by crack shots, who tormented us
considerably by picking off our artillerymen and the sailors manning our
heavy guns; for if anyone showed his head above the parapets of the
trenches he was almost certain to have a hole made in it. The taking of
these pits was, as I have said, fearful work, and was all done with the
bayonet, no quarter being given or taken. This work is generally
undertaken by volunteers from the various regiments that happen to be in
the trenches at the time. I volunteered to form one of these "nice
little evening parties,"--but I wished to go no more; yet, had I been
ordered, I would have gone, for I had rather die a thousand deaths than
be dishonoured. In a few words I will try and describe the method of
capturing rifle pits. About 100 or 150, sometimes 300 or 400, men would
be formed up at the point nearest to the pits to be assailed, all hands
sometimes taking off their accoutrements; at a sign from the officers
who are going to lead, the men would creep over the top of the trench
and steal up to the enemy on "all four's;" not a word is spoken, but, at
a given signal, in they all go, and, in less time than it takes me to
write this, it is all over--the bayonet has done it's work; the
defenders are all utterly destroyed or taken prisoners, while the pits
are at once turned and made to face the enemy, or are converted into a
trench. Therefore, with this sort of work going on, I think I am
justified in saying that hard knocks were given and taken almost every
night.
As far as the camp was concerned, things began to look much brighter.
Thanks to the kind-hearted friends at home, we now had plenty of good
food, and sickness was on the decrease. We had a few petty annoyances,
such as being compelled to wear socks, and to pipe-clay our belts so as
to make us conspicuous targets for the enemy. As for the fighting, we
had plenty of that, but we managed to get over it, I think, as well as
our forefathers had done. It was "give and take," but we generally
contrived to let the enemy have "excellent interest."
The following letter, giving additional details of the fighting on March
22nd, may be of interest here:--
Camp before Sebastopol,
March 29th, 1855.
My Dear, Dear Parents,
In answer to yours of the 1st inst., I am happy to inform
you that I am quite well, and in good spirits. I wrote you a
long letter on the 24th descriptive of the attack on the
22nd. Truly it was an awful night, and a terrible fight we
had. The attacking force, we find, were all picked men, most
of them sailors. We hear that the Russians have got a new
commander, and that he boasted he would compel us to raise
the siege or drive us all into the sea; and I must say that
they shaped well, for they came on manfully, but that nasty
piece of cold steel stood in the way. I told you in my last
about the death of poor Captain Vicars. I do not believe
that there was a man in the whole Light Division but would
have died to save that noble soldier. When the news flew
that Vicars had fallen it seemed to work upon our men, and
they were wrought up to a state of frenzy; and with all the
enemy's boasting, and with the overwhelming odds against us,
we managed to shift them, and, so to speak, almost pitched
them out of our batteries and trenches with the bayonet; and
I should like to know what sort of a Briton he would be that
would not follow such a man, such a two-fold soldier, as
Captain Vicars. One of the sergeants of the 97th told me
that only a few hours before the attack this exemplary,
noble Christian, was reading and expounding a portion of
God's word to his men, and engaging in prayer with them, and
shortly afterwards we find him calling upon these very men
to follow him to death or to victory. My dear parents, you
must not ask me such questions. I am bound to do my duty. I
will not, if I am cut to pieces, bring disgrace upon
Norfolk, that brought me up. We have only once to die, and
if I am to fall in front of this town, let it be with my
face to the foe. I do not wish to boast, but I think I am
out of their debt. I find the fellow that shot Captain the
Hon. C. Brown was a Russian or Greek priest, and it was the
same man that fired his revolver into our magazine, but a
bayonet thrust stopped his little game, and extinguished his
fanaticism. I must tell you that we all received great
praise, or soft soap, from Lord Raglan. I do not know
exactly the united strength of those who took part in that
fight, but the brunt of the fighting fell upon the 7th Royal
Fusiliers, 34th, 77th, 88th, 90th, and 97th regiments. To
explain the fight would be impossible--it was so dark. We
did not fire much, all was left to the bayonet; but to say
that this or that regiment did more than any other would be
a piece of injustice. We had a handful, and although they
were about ten to one, they found us one too many for them.
Whether it will be called a battle, or what our people are
going to call it, I do not know; this I know, it has been a
grand attempt at ducking us. We hear that the Zouaves fought
like so many tigers, and although the odds were heavy
against them, they routed the enemy off the field. I don't
think I ever told you before, that they are not all
Frenchmen that wear French uniforms. The Zouaves have a
number of English and Irish mixed up with them--wild spirits
that join them on account of the rapid promotion. You must
try and keep your spirits up. I am as happy as the day is
long, that is, when I have enough to eat. We must try and
make the best of a bad job. Nearly one-third of the
Fusiliers are Norfolk men, and I will be bound they will
hold their own, and I can tell you they are not the smallest
men that we have. I must conclude, with love to all. Give my
kind regards to all inquiring friends, and
Believe me as ever, dear Parents,
Your affectionate son,
T. GOWING,
Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.
P.S.--Try and keep your spirits up, dear mother. I will come
home some day lop-sided, with honours, that is, if I do not
get my head put under my arm.
T. G.
THE SECOND BOMBARDMENT OF SEBASTOPOL.
On the morning of Easter Monday the camp was shaken by the commencement
of the second bombardment. The French opened fire with some 350 heavy
guns, and our people with about 220 guns and mortars. The enemy returned
the fire with spirit, with some 600 of the heaviest guns and mortars,
exclusive of their shipping. It was something grand, but awful; the
ground seemed to tremble beneath the terrible fire. I was in camp, but
felt compelled to go up to the Victoria Redoubt to have a look at it.
The Russians frequently fired in salvoes, against both us and our
allies. This duel of Artillery went on day after day, but it all ended
in nothing, the enemy's works appearing to be as strong, after all this
expense and loss of life, as before the bombardment commenced. As Sir G.
Brown once said, the longer we looked at the place the uglier it got,
and it would have to be taken in the old way, let the consequences be
what they might; the bayonet must do what shot and shell could not. So
our people set to work to creep up to the prize that for the first time
had baffled all our united fire of Artillery, and try the effect of cold
steel. Every obstacle had to go down in order to enable us to get up to
their works, and during the remainder of April and May we had some
terrible fighting. More rifle pits had to be taken, and the old Light
Division sustained another heavy loss in Colonel Egerton, of the 77th,
who had from the commencement of the Campaign proved himself one of
Britain's truest sons. He fell dead at the taking of rifle pits, that
were afterwards named Egerton's pits; he was one of the biggest men I
ever saw in uniform. The old Pot-hooks (the 77th) fought in a most
dashing manner, and although they had lost their Colonel, their spirits
were not damped, but they went at it with a will as conquerors.
The enemy tried hard that night to re-take the pits, but it was no go;
they were met with a fire that mowed them down by wholesale; they then
got the bayonet. The 77th were backed up by a good strong party of the
33rd, and detachments of almost every regiment of the Light Division.[5]
The fighting was of a most formidable and determined character; but the
pits remained in the hands of the conquerors of Alma, Balaclava, and the
two Inkermanns. It would be impossible for me to describe all the
different combats, but every inch of ground up to the town had to be
dearly purchased by blood.
* * * * *
Nothing particular occurred to note now, except that a steady stream of
men kept joining us, particularly French, and we had now a splendid army
in front of the doomed city. Our men were burning to go at it, and take
it or die in the attempt; but we had some more outworks yet to capture
before we were to be let loose. From the early morning on the 7th of
June, the French were passing through our camp on the way to the
trenches. The Imperial Guards and Zouaves appeared in high spirits, and
our men turned out and cheered them lustily; and when their new chief,
Pelissier, with General Bosquet went by, you would have thought our
people had gone mad. General Bosquet was a great favourite with the
entire army; and Pelissier was known to be a most resolute man. Our men
cheered them heartily, throwing their caps in the air. The fire-eating
Bosquet and his chief seemed to appreciate the reception they got from
the old Light Division. As soon as the cheering had subsided a little,
the two leaders stopped, and Bosquet called out, "Thank you, my
men,"--then, with his hand up, to stop us from shouting--"We shall be at
them before long, shoulder to shoulder, and then, my boys, stick to
them." Our men cheered them until they were hoarse. Some of our officers
turned out to see what was up, but the French had passed on.
CAPTURE OF THE MAMELON AND THE QUARRIES.
We shortly afterwards fell in, and marched into the trenches. We knew
well that there was something to be done, but things were kept very
quiet. We mustered pretty strongly in our old advanced works. The French
went at the Mamelon in a masterly style, column after column, and as
fast as one column melted away, another took its place. We had a
splendid view of it--it was grand--and we could distinctly see one of
the Vivandiers on horseback, moving with the throng, and then dismount.
We cheered them most heartily.
* * * * *
Our turn came at about 5.30 p.m., and away we went at the Quarries with
a dash, the old 7th and 88th leading the van. It was England and Ireland
side by side. The enemy might well look astonished, for our bayonets
were soon in the midst of them. They were routed out of the Quarries;
and our people set to work with pick and shovel as hard as men could
work. But the enemy were no mean foe; they were armed with as good a
weapon as ourselves, and were not going to submit to being shut up in
the town, without giving some hard blows. They came on repeatedly, and
tried to re-take the position from us; but the old Fusiliers and
Connaught Rangers, assisted by detachments of various regiments of the
Second and Light Divisions, on each occasion sent them reeling back. At
times we were hardly pushed, for we had no ammunition left, and had to
do as we had done at Inkermann, viz., pitch stones at them. I am not
altogether certain that some of the 88th did not use their teeth--all is
fair in love and war. Both officers and men fought with desperation. It
was resolved by all of us not to be beaten; but at times we were under
such a fire of grape and musketry that it appeared impossible for
anything to live. As far as I could see, all had made up their minds to
die rather than turn their backs on the foe, and we had that night
leaders who knew how to die but could hardly run. As far as the old 7th
Fusiliers were concerned, we had some splendid officers--Mills, Turner,
Waller, Jones, Fitzclarence, all courageous men, just the right sort to
lead a storming party. Mr. Jones and Waller repeatedly led our men at
the enemy during that sanguinary night. At times all was confusion,
uproar, and smoke. Dust and showers of stones flew like hail. It was hot
work all night, but we meant to win or die. The hurrahs of our fellows
told both friend and foe that our blood was up. If we were short of
ammunition we had plenty of steel; we had a Wolseley with us and others
as good, but nearly all our commanders bit the dust, dead or wounded. I
had the honour of taking a man's name that evening for a most daring
act, viz., bringing a barrel of ammunition on his head across the open
field, under a tremendous fire, throwing it at our feet, exclaiming,
"Here you are, my lads, fire away," and then going back to get another.
I had the pleasure of meeting him afterwards in India, with the cross
upon his noble breast--"Gunner Arthur." But Arthur was not alone; two of
our own men--Private Matthew Hughes and Corporal Gumley did exactly the
same. Hughes, smoking his old clay pipe all the time, exclaimed, "Keep
it up, lads;" "Lend a hand, sir, to distribute these pills," addressing
a young officer. The fighting all night was of a deadly character, but
we had then got the Quarries, and were not going to let the enemy have
them again. As for the Mamelon, it was "ding-dong hard pounding." Five
times the French went at it. The fifth column was blown into the air to
a man, guns, platforms, and all; and then, with maddening shouts, the
gallant sons of France went at the ruins, and, in spite of the barbarous
brutes, took them. The Zouaves followed them up and went right into the
Malakoff, where a great number fell, but it was not the intention to
take or attempt to take that work. Our hands were full, we had all that
we could do to maintain our position; but we found time to give our
heroic Allies three times three, for they richly deserved it. All the
enemy's attempts at re-taking the Quarries were baffled, for some
fourteen times they were hurled back with a terrible slaughter. We were
now under good cover, the pick and shovel having been at it all night.
* * * * *
My letter home at this time was as follows:--
Camp before Sebastopol,
8th June, 1855.
My Dear Parents,
Once more a few lines to inform you that I am, thank God,
still in the land of the living. We have had another regular
go-in in front of this doomed city. The French were passing
through our camp nearly all day yesterday, and we had a good
idea that something was in the wind; they seemed all in
good spirits, and we turned out and cheered them heartily,
and their Chiefs seemed to appreciate it. In the afternoon,
I marched off with a strong party of our regiment; we had
some wild spirits of officers with us, that would lead men
at anything. We soon found out that they had a nice little
job cut out for us--all their outworks had to be taken from
them. We were told off to take the Quarries; we had strong
parties of the Light and 2nd Divisions with us, and about
5.30 p.m. the 7th Royal Fusiliers and the 88th Connaught
Rangers, dashed at them. It was rough hard hitting, for
about half-an-hour. It was a little piece of work well down.
We routed the enemy but we had hard work to hold our own,
for they came on repeatedly with strong columns, and tried
to re-take them from us. The fighting then became desperate,
the bayonet was freely used on both sides, but although the
enemy were three and four to one, they shrank back, and
although their officers tried to lead them on, they could
not be brought to a determined rush. Thank God, I escaped
once more, but it would be impossible for me to tell you
how, only that a merciful God has been watching over me. We
ran short of ammunition, and then we were in a nice mess; we
used stones as we did at Inkermann, and as soon as they came
close enough, we went at them with that ugly piece of cold
steel. We proved them again to be cowardly beggars in the
open field. Oh! I do wish they would let us go in and finish
them off, for with all this dilly-dallying we are daily
losing a number of our best men, and the men that are being
sent out to fill up the gaps are too young for this rough
work, but they are mixed up with the older hands, and they
stick to it well. I must tell you that our Allies, the
French, went at the enemy in a masterly style, column after
column, but I fear their loss has been heavy; as one entire
column of about 2,000 men was blown into the air; we hear
their loss amounts to upwards of 3,000 men. We have taken
three noble positions from them, and I hope you will now
soon hear news that will set the church bells of Old England
ringing again for victory, as after the Alma, Balaclava, and
Inkermann. But, dear parents, who will live to tell the tale
of the fall of this town, only One above knows. But when one
comes to look at it seriously, it's terrible work; many a
poor mother has to mourn a noble boy, that was hale and
hearty yesterday morning. But there, we must not look at it
in that light, or we could never do our duty. I know our
loss must have been heavy, not much short of 800 killed and
wounded. But the Light Division, as at the Alma, has borne
the brunt of it. Camp life at present is very pleasant, we
have now plenty to eat, and as much as we require to drink;
and this I know, if any one wants more fighting than we get,
he is a glutton, for we are often at it from morning until
night, and from night until morning, but no grumbling. We
will try and give Mr. Bull, some of these mornings,
something to talk about. I see by the papers, that the
people at home begin to find out that it's no disgrace to be
a soldier. I hope you will excuse this short note, will
write again if I am spared, in a few days. Trusting this
will find you all enjoying the best of blessings. Good-bye,
dear parents, and God bless you.
I am, your affectionate son,
T. GOWING,
Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.
Returning to camp next morning, we were thanked for our conduct by Lord
Raglan, who promised to report all for the information of Her Most
Gracious Majesty. We were heartily greeted by our comrades. Our loss had
been very heavy. In killed and wounded the Mamelon, Quarries, and
Circular Trench had cost the Allies close upon 3,500 officers,
non-commissioned officers, and men, but yet our people were full of
hope; the enemy had lost all their outworks, and every inch of ground
was hotly disputed. The Quarries were afterwards well named "The
Shambles," for we daily up to the 8th September lost a number of men in
them from the cross-fires of the enemy.
We had now some rough work. From the 7th to the 17th June it was one
continual fight. We had a magnificent army around or in front of the
south side of the town, and our men were burning to go and take it, or
die. We had now been some nine months besieging the town, which had for
that time defied the united powers of France, England, and Turkey,
assisted by some 15,000 Sardinians. It is true the latter had nothing to
do with the actual siege, but they took the place of our men or the
French in guarding our communications. One great battle--Alma--had been
fought to get at it, and two others had been fought in order to prevent
the raising of the siege--Balaclava and Inkermann; and the civilized
world were again asking when the last great _coup_ would be made.
SEBASTOPOL AGAIN BOMBARDED.
On Sunday, the 17th June, 1855, the third bombardment of Sebastopol
opened with a terrible crash, and from morning until night they kept it
up as hard as they could load and fire; the very earth seemed to shake
beneath the crash of guns. We all marched into the trenches full of hope
that the grand and final struggle was about to commence. We thought we
had come to the last scene in the great drama. The Old Fusiliers were
told off for the post of honour. We were to lead the way. It was not the
first time we had done it, and from the colonel downwards all seemed in
good spirits; and on that memorable 18th June, the 40th anniversary of
Waterloo, we were to combat side by side with our old enemy, and thus
avenge that historic battle.
ATTACK BY THE ALLIES AND ITS BLOODY REPULSE.
At a given signal away went the French at the Malakoff with a ringing
cheer of _Vive l'Empereur_. It was quite dark, for it was just about 2
a.m. The Malakoff looked like a vast volcano, with a continual stream of
men going at it. At another signal off we went at a rapid pace, with our
Colonel in front, sword in one hand and revolver in the other; they let
us get well out into the open so that we had no cover, and then, reader,
such a fire met us that the whole column seemed to melt away. Still on
we went, staggering beneath the terrible hail. Our Colonel fell dead,
our Adjutant the same, and almost every officer we had with us fell dead
or wounded, but still we pressed on until we were stopped by the
_chevaux-de-frise_, and in front of that our poor fellows lay in piles.
We were there met with a perfect hell of fire, at about fifty yards from
us, of grape, shot, shell, canister, and musketry, and could not return
a shot. Our men could not advance and would not retire, but were trying
to pull down the barrier or _chevaux-de-frise_. We might just as well
have tried to pull down the moon. The "retire" was sounded all over the
field, but the men stood sullen and would not heed it. Our men and those
of other regiments were fast dropping; at last the remnant of the
attacking column retired to the trenches amidst a storm of grape, which
nearly swept away whole companies at a time. The enemy mounted the
parapets of the Redan, and delivered volley after volley into us. They
hoisted a large black flag and defied us to come on. At length, our
Artillery got into play, and literally swept them down, so that they did
not have it all their own way long. Our front trench was nearly 800
yards from the Redan. The cry of "Murder" could be heard on that field,
for the cowardly enemy fired for hours upon our countrymen as they lay
writhing in agony and blood. As some of our officers said, "This will
never do, we will pay them for all this yet!" We would have forgiven
all, had they not brutally shot down poor helpless wounded men.
On the left attack they were a little more fortunate, led on by the
gallant 18th Royal Irish and the 9th, the Norfolk, Regiment. These
regiments let the enemy know what they might expect if we could only get
at close quarters with them. Major-General Eyre addressed them in Irish,
and said that he hoped their deeds that morning would make many a cabin
in Old Ireland ring again. The men of that regiment were wrought up to a
state of madness, and on they went, right into the town, but, as the
other attacks had proved failures, they likewise were compelled to
retire, and lost a great number of men the like of which could not
easily be replaced. The Royal Irish and the 9th were backed up by the
28th, 38th, and 44th Regiments, and as they carried all before them it
was hard lines that they had to fight their way out of the town again.
The Allies had been kept at bay for upwards of eight months--and out of
all that vast army employed only two regiments managed to cut their way
into Sebastopol on that terrible 18th June, and one of them was "the
Holy Boys." Herein is another source of pride for Norfolk.
Major-General Eyre's address had a wonderful effect upon the 18th Royal
Irish, and it was not lost upon the Norfolk regiment. The fighting in
the cemetery was desperate. Not a shot did those two noble regiments
fire, but with a ringing cheer they dashed at the enemy. No powder was
wasted, but the Russians were fairly pitched out of their works. Their
general's appeal had touched them to the quick, and these gallant
regiments seemed to vie with each other in the rapidity of their
movements, and in their deeds of valour. A few prisoners were taken. One
huge Grenadier, profusely bleeding, might have been seen dragging by the
collar of his coat a monster of a Russian. Pat had fought and subdued
his antagonist, and then remembered mercy, exclaiming, "Go it, lads;
there are plenty more of them yonder. Hurrah for ould Ireland!" The
bayonet was used with tremendous effect by these regiments; but the
other attacks had been driven back, or, in other words, mowed down with
a fearful slaughter, and could not close in with the enemy. The French
lay in piles in front of the Malakoff, and the ground beyond our then
front trench was saturated with some of the best blood of Britain. There
lay some hundreds of those who had led the way up the heights of Alma,
side by side with those who had taken a leading part in driving the
Russians from the heights of Inkermann, who had fought with Vicars in
the trenches, and, night after night and day after day, had kept the
enemy at bay. Our gallant Blue Jackets lay in heaps. They had
volunteered to carry the scaling ladders for us, "The Stormers," and I
must pay them a tribute of respect, for they stuck to us well under
great difficulties, carrying heavy ladders, and died almost to a man
rather than let the enemy see their backs. "All honour to the bravest of
the brave." The columns of attack had not been driven back by the weight
of numbers. Nay, they were mowed down with grape, canister, musketry,
and broadside after broadside from the shipping; and, I am sorry to have
to record it, the enemy seemed to take delight in shooting down poor
helpless wounded men, who were trying to limp or drag their mangled
bodies away from the devouring cross-fires. For hours during that
dreadful day they would not answer the flag of truce; but the black
flag, or flag of defiance, was flying upon all their batteries, while
some hundreds, yea, thousands of our poor fellows were lying with every
description of wound, exposed to a burning sun--and here the reader
should remember that the heat in the Crimea in summer is equal to that
of India. There lay, I repeat, poor helpless men weltering in their
blood, with an unnatural enemy actually firing upon them, and laughing
at their calamity--such were the brutes that we had to fight against. At
length the white flag was seen to float upon the Redan, the Malakoff,
and all the other batteries. The enemy placed a strong chain of sentries
all along the front of their works--evidently picked men--and they had
actually had a wash, and some of them a clean shave. All our men that
had fallen in front of the _chevaux-de-frise_ they brought and lay for
us to take away. Reader, this was humiliating to the feelings of a
Briton. They were, moreover, very insulting, and it would not have taken
much, if our officers had not been firm, for our men (some of them at
least) to have dashed their brutal heads half off with "one straight
from the shoulder"; for they had no arms, except the sentries placed in
front of our trenches. Our men were very quiet and sullen, but one
could read "revenge" written on their countenances. As soon as all the
dead and wounded had been removed, the short truce terminated, the white
flags on the different batteries were waved to and fro, and down they
went, but were hardly out of sight when "bang" went the heavy guns at it
again. And our sailors and artillerymen worked them as hard as they
could load and fire, which soon made the frowning Redan, the Malakoff,
and all the enemy's batteries very warm corners; for our huge 13-inch
shell sent guns, platforms, and all that was anywhere near, flying into
the air. So Mr. Russia found to his cost that we were not going to give
the game up just yet.
Well, it must be confessed we had had what might be called a good sound
drubbing, and I can affirm that our people are not good hands at putting
up with much of that; officers and men wanted "to go at it again" and
wipe out the stain or die--but we had to obey orders. We had been
beaten, both French and English combined, and our men could hardly
believe it. In returning to camp that morning, one could not get a civil
answer from any of the men. If you told a man to do anything he would
turn round and tell you to do it yourself. It was almost a miracle how
any of the storming columns escaped. My clothing was cut all to pieces,
I had no fewer than nine shot holes through my trousers, coat, and cap,
but, thank God, I was not touched. Out of my company, which went into
action with 1 captain, 2 lieutenants, 4 sergeants, 4 corporals, 2
drummers, and 90 men, all that came out of it with a whole skin were 13
men besides myself; No. 3 Company returned to camp with 9 men out of 96.
So I hope, reader, you will be able to see we stuck to them well before
we gave in. We were burning to go at them again, but we had to pocket
the defeat and wait our turn. It did not matter to whom I spoke about
that bloody repulse, all were nearly mad. The fault had to be thrown on
some one. I must tell the truth--it was not the fault of the officers
who led, it was not the fault of the men who formed that unlucky column
of stormers. But, reader, we were sold that morning (I am sorry to have
to record it) by traitors from our own ranks! Men (brutes, rather,) had
deserted us because they had been justly punished for misconduct, and
informed the enemy the exact hour and the precise signal for the
advance. I knew one of these rascals, but for the sake of the gallant
regiment to which he belonged I withhold his name. I am happy to state,
however, that he lived to reap a portion of his reward, for he was
transported for life,--treatment too good for such a black-hearted
villain, for he was the cause of some thousands of the bravest of the
brave being launched into eternity. If we could have forced the
_chevaux-de-frise_, the 9th and 18th would not have been the only
regiments of the Allied Army to enter Sebastopol that morning, for we
had some of the right sort of stuff with the Fusiliers. I do not believe
a man of us thought one word about supports. It was simply "do or die"
with that heroic column; but still the fact remains that a handful of
men were sent to be slaughtered without supports. We had rated our enemy
too cheaply; our commanders forgot that we could not get at them with
the queen of weapons, but had to stand and be mowed down from behind
good cover, and with a deep ditch between us!
Our camp presented a very mournful spectacle. Officers, non-commissioned
officers, and men, were being carried home covered with wounds; some
limping along, others besmeared with dirt, powder, and blood, doing
their best to reach the camp, assisted by a comrade. A great number of
"resurrectionists" turned up (men who did not return to camp with their
companies, and were reported killed or missing). These had got so far
in advance that they, poor fellows, could not get back until the flag of
truce was up. So some got into pits, others into large holes made by
shells, and there had to lie. It would have been madness for them to
have attempted to reach our trenches across the open field amidst the
withering fire that the enemy could have brought to bear upon them. We
were only too glad to receive them back. As it was, the poor old
Fusiliers had suffered fearfully; we had paid dearly for leading the
way. And although we had lost our brave Colonel and Adjutant, and almost
all our officers had been hit more or less, still that indomitable pluck
that will carry a Briton through fire and water was not all thrashed out
of us. On all sides one heard such expressions as--"Well, we'll warm
them up for this yet!" The questions asked were "I say, have so-and-so
come back?" "Have you seen ----?" "Has Sergeant ---- come back?" Men
were running about the camp inquiring about particular friends, and as
soon as they found me writing home, I was besieged. "Sergeant, will you
write a line for me, please?" I think I wrote close upon twenty short
notes for our men, some of whom were wounded slightly; others had nasty
cuts and bruises, and wanted to conceal them, thinking that we should
have another go-in before long. Our Allies, the French, seemed
down-hearted, and very low-spirited. They cannot fight a losing battle;
so long as they are victorious they do not appear to care much what they
lose. As far as we were concerned, we knew well that we had lost a
friend--our best friend--in our dear old Colonel. He was as brave as a
lion, and his familiar cry was: "Come on men; follow me." Not
half-an-hour before he fell he was in prayer. He knew that he was going
to lead the way, and that thousands must fall. But, reader, that
gallant soldier was ready for life or death. He could have been seen
walking up and down in the trench, addressing one after another. Some of
his expressions were: "Men, when we advance, move your legs; remember,
not a shot; all must be done with the bayonet." When the order was given
to advance, we all rushed over the trench, the Colonel shouting,
"Fusiliers, follow me, and prove yourselves worthy of your title." I was
close to him. He had ordered a number of active non-commissioned
officers to keep up with him; and, as we bounded across the plain, he
waved his sword and shouted, "Fusiliers, follow me; come on!" Just
before he fell he stopped to have a look around. At this time our poor
fellows were falling one on the top of another; for the batteries in
front, right and left, were like so many volcanoes pouring forth a
never-ceasing stream of fire. Truly it was an awful scene. It did not
last much more than half-an-hour; and my readers may form some idea of
the terrible fire we had to face, for our loss was as follows:--Killed,
wounded, and missing, 7,988 French and British! But
They shall live renown'd in story,
They whose arms, on fields of gore,
Saved our homes and native land
From the rude rough clash of war.
T. G.
Our men had been crushed beneath a terrific fire, but not subdued. We
knew well that a day--a terrible day--of reckoning would come, and
longed to be let loose at them. "Oh, if we could only get them well out
into the open fields," said one old hand, "we'd make short work of
them!" But, no chance of that. They had had several tastes of our
bayonets, and wanted no more; so we had to set to work and hunt them out
of one of the strongest fortifications in the world. Ultimately, the
reader will find that we managed them.
The following was my letter home on this occasion:--
Camp before Sebastopol,
June 18th, 1855 (Waterloo Day.)
My Dear Parents,
How to express my feelings to the God of all mercies I do
not know. I drop a line as quickly as possible, in order to
catch the mail, to let you know that I am still safe and
sound, as I know that long before this can reach home you
will have heard of the slaughter we have sustained.
Slaughter is hardly a name for it--massacre. We have been
cut to pieces in an attempt upon the town. I have not time
to say much, and am too low-spirited. About two o'clock this
morning we attacked the Redan, the 7th Fusiliers leading the
stormers. Our dear old Colonel was killed. He was one of the
bravest of the brave, for where all were brave he would lead
the way. Almost every officer of ours has been either killed
or wounded. I am the only sergeant of my company returned to
camp without being wounded. Oh, what a morning! but through
the mercy of God I have been spared, although my poor
comrades fell in heaps all around me, one on the top of the
other. But truth will go the furthest, the enemy has beaten
both French and English this morning. Our poor fellows could
not get at them, but were mowed down with grape, canister,
and musketry, and broadside after broadside from their
shipping. The sights all around are horrible, men
continually being brought into camp with every description
of wound. I heard one of our old hands say, a short time
ago, although wounded and limping to hospital: 'This is only
lent; we'll pay them off for it yet, and that before long.'
The sole cry in the camp is--'Let's go at them again.' I
hope you will excuse this short letter, as I must be off. I
am for the trenches to-night.
Believe me, yours, &c., &c.,
T. GOWING,
Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.
P.S.--I was robbed of all I had in this world while out
fighting (except the small _Bible_ you gave me--they would
not have that).
We had not long to wait for our revenge, and revenge is sweet when in
the field. We had received some good strong drafts--not recruits, but
volunteers from various regiments at home--fine, able men, that filled
up the gaps, or went a long way towards it. All stragglers were sent to
their duty. Our Chiefs had found out by some means that we were to be
attacked about the 26th of June, by an overwhelming force; our
batteries, trenches, and all our guns were to be taken from us; and we
were to be put into the sea, or capitulate. Much easier said than done.
However, as we had to go into the sea, we took lessons in swimming--by
way of taking plenty of ammunition with us. Although they had just
thrashed us, we were not going to give up the game for one black eye.
Sir G. Brown tendered his sword to defend the front trench with his
division of ten regiments at his back. That noble old soldier addressed
each brigade, in just a few suitable words, that a tried man like
himself knew well how to deliver. As soon as we were formed up, the
gallant old General was in the midst of us. He had not much bowing or
scraping, but went at once to the point. "Well men, they," pointing in
the direction of the town, "are going to take our trenches and guns from
us to-night. I have offered my sword to defend the leading trench, will
you support me?" Suiting the action to the word, he drew his sword and
waved it over his head. The answer that the brave old man got was a
deafening shout, such a shout as that, a few hours after, struck terror
into the boasting enemy; and we at once marched off to the post of
honour. We had not gone far when another shout told us that we were not
going alone. The 1st brigade of the Light Division consisted of the
1st-7th Royal Fusiliers, 23rd Royal Welsh Fusiliers, 33rd Duke's own,
34th regiment, and 2nd battalion Rifle Brigade. Our comrades of the 2nd
brigade consisted of the 19th, 90th, 77th, 88th and 97th regiments. The
2nd brigade came close behind us, backed up by the entire 2nd division,
and a part of the Guards and Highlanders.
Into the front trench we went, and, as soon as it got dark enough, a
good chain of sentries was thrown out to give us timely warning of the
enemy's approach. These men had to creep out on their hands and knees
and lie flat on the ground, and as soon as they could see the enemy
advancing, bound back to us and give the alarm; thus, all would be in
readiness for them, although it was as dark as the grave. Everything was
cut and dried, and they might come and try their hands at ducking us if
they were game! We had not very long to wait, for they were game to the
backbone. They opened a terrible shell fire upon all our leading
trenches, both French and English, and we lost many of our men, as we
were rather thickly posted. About 11.30 p.m. our sentries came running
in, with the news that the enemy was advancing in force. We let them
come. Our batteries threw out a number of fire balls, which at once lit
up the whole place as clear as daylight. We, in the leading trench, kept
well down out of the way of our own guns. The enemy came on through a
perfect storm of shot, shell, grape, canister, and rockets; it must have
mowed down their crowded ranks by wholesale, for they were coming on in
massive columns, evidently for a fair trial of strength. All this time
we in the trenches had not fired a shot. At a given signal our guns
ceased, but the mortars still kept it up. Our two front ranks gave them
a deadly point-blank volley, and at once stepped back, for we stood six
deep in the trench waiting for them. The next two ranks then moved up
and gave them another. They were not more than fifty paces from us.
The front ranks of the column went down as grass before a scythe, and
before the enemy had time to collect their wits they got another and
another, which shook them to atoms. To finish them off they got two or
three more volleys, for the rear of the column was pressing the head of
it on. The deadly fire was a little too much for them, and they broke,
hesitating as to which way to go. While they stood bewildered, they
got two or three more volleys, which literally tore them to pieces,
and, to make things a little more uncomfortable for them, the words
"Faugh-a-Ballagh" were shouted somewhere on our left--the gallant 88th
got the credit of it. Translated into English this means, "Clear the
road," or way, and, in less time than it takes me to write it, all
hands sprung over the top of the trench and rushed at them with the
bayonet. We lost a number of men that we should not have lost had we
acted solely on the defensive, for the enemy opened their heavy guns on
friend and foe, in order to try and stop us. We chased them right up to
the Redan, and then returned to our trenches. The next morning there
was a flag of truce out, which was soon answered by our people. We
could then have a good look at our handiwork of the previous night, and
a ghastly sight it was, for hundreds of the enemy were cut to pieces by
shot and shell.
I had seen the fields of the Alma, Balaclava, and Inkermann, and, in
fact, everything of importance since the commencement of the campaign,
but I had never seen anything to equal the sight that presented itself
that morning; the enemy lay in columns as they had stood, or in places
pile upon pile, four or five deep, in every conceivable position that
mind could imagine. The Minie balls had done some fearful work. Into
that part of the trench on our right, manned by the Rifles, Guards, and
Highlanders, the enemy had, in spite of the terrible fire, entered, but
they were there met by the bayonet, and never went back to Holy Russia.
The trench was in places completely choked, the dead lying heaped up
level with the top. Some of our nice boys joked the Guards and
Highlanders next morning about leaving no work for the doctors, and some
of those "feather-bed gentlemen" replied that they liked to do things
well--they had been taught the first point. People may say what they
like about our Guards, but they have proved themselves on many a
hard-fought field very devils, particularly in a close fight.
Again I found opportunity to write to my parents, as follows:--
Camp before Sebastopol,
June 28th, 1855.
My Dear Parents,
Just a few lines to inform you that we have got out of debt.
My letter of the 18th told you of the terrible thrashing
that the enemy gave us that morning. Well, we have met them
again, and paid them off for it; and I think we have proved
that we can hit just as hard as they can. On the 26th, about
11 p.m., they made a general attack all along our
trenches--both French and English. We were ready for them,
as they were for us on the 18th, and have paid them off in
their own coin. It lasted about three-quarters-of-an-hour,
and they have left close upon 4000 upon the field, dead and
wounded; they boasted that they were going to put us into
the sea; I for one, had a strong objection to this, as I
cannot swim. I never before saw our men fight so spitefully.
Volley after volley was poured into their advancing hosts,
and then, with a ringing cheer for old England, we closed
upon them with that weapon they so much dread. Some of our
men's bayonets were bent like reaping-hooks, which was a
clear proof of the work we had been at. Although they beat
us for once, we let them know that the Lion was on the
war-path, and that he was well roused. I think out Allies
got out of debt too, for they stuck to them well; we can
always tell when they are winning, for they do not forget to
shout. Our men are as quiet as a lot of lambs until the
bayonet comes into play, and then it's three British cheers,
and sometimes three times three. The sights all over the
field next morning, (the 27th), were horrible. We had a flag
of truce out for about three hours, to allow the enemy to
take away their dead and wounded, and during that time the
greater portion of the troops that had been engaged returned
to the camp. I got a slight scratch in the forehead, but
nothing of any importance, so I have much to be thankful
for. We did not lose many men, as we were under cover. We
are creeping, bit by bit, up to the town; but the closer we
get, the more bitter the fighting becomes. We have now
plenty to eat and drink; there is all sorts of life in the
camp, and duty is not half so hard as it has been. We have
still the unseen enemy--cholera--with us, but upon the whole
we keep up our spirits remarkably well. Our men appear to
long for the day when we shall be let loose at the
town--bombarding does not seem to have much effect upon
their works--it must be taken with the bayonet, and whenever
the day of reckoning comes, it will be a heavy one.
Reinforcements keep joining us, both French and English,
almost every day; and we have a splendid army, in spite of
our heavy losses, ready at our commander's call to advance
with the flag of old England, and plant it on the proud
walls of this noble fortress, which has put all others in
the shade. Hardly a day passes but more guns and mortars are
being mounted, and what the next bombardment will be I do
not know. I will write as often as I can, but you must
excuse some of my short notes; although I wear a red coat, I
hope there is a warm heart beating beneath it. I must
conclude with love to all, and double allowance for poor
mother.
Believe me ever, dear Parents,
Your affectionate son,
T. GOWING,
Sergeant,
Royal Fusiliers.
Thus ended all the boasting of the Russians. The flag of truce was up
for two hours, and then had to be renewed, for they had not all their
dead and wounded removed. We acted with them as they did with us on the
18th. A chain of sentries was placed out about 60 yards in front of our
trenches, and all that fell on the inner side of the chain were carried
by our people and laid down for their friends to take away; their men
were very sullen, and their officers sarcastic--inquiring as to when we
were going to take the town. Some of our officers told them we should
awake them some of these fine mornings when they little suspected us;
and our people joked them in return by asking when they were going to
put us into the sea. A number of their officers could speak French, but
few could speak English. The repulse that they had just sustained damped
their spirits considerably; but the moment the white flag was out of
sight, we were at it again.
* * * * *
I had nothing particular to record for a time except trench work, and as
we had plenty of men our duty was not heavy. The enemy continued to
torment us as much as possible; and as we were now creeping closer to
the town, almost every night there was something going on, and daily we
lost a number of men and officers.
DEATH OF LORD RAGLAN.
And now we had something else hanging on our hands; we had _lost our
brave Commander-in-Chief_. The camp was startled on the morning of the
29th June, 1855, by the sorrowful tidings of the death of our
much-beloved Commander-in-Chief, Lord Raglan. Men who had been
accustomed to meet death looked at each other as if they had heard of
the loss of some near relative. We did not know, until he was taken from
us, how deeply we loved him. The army had lost a true friend--a friend
to the combatant ranks. Our beloved country, and our much-beloved
Sovereign, had lost a good, honest, faithful, and devout servant. His
courage knew no bounds, and it was backed up by true Christian piety. He
was a perfect gentleman, and had proved himself a soldier of no mean
sort on many a hard-fought field in Spain, Portugal, France, and the
Netherlands. He had served his country faithfully for upwards of half a
century; and now he had laid down his life in the performance of his
duty to the flag he loved so well. He was lamented by all, both high and
low. The enormous responsibility of that unparalleled siege, together
with the disastrous failure on the morning of the 18th June, broke the
dear old gentleman's heart. But he died as he had lived--a true soldier
in a twofold sense, for he was not at all ashamed of his Great Captain.
We mourned him as our Commander who had repeatedly led us on to
victory. We mourned him also as a Christian who had left a noble example
behind him:--
We mourn for one whose honour'd name will stand
Foremost amid the valiant of our land;
Yet better far, we know to him 'twas given
To be a soldier of his Lord in the land of the living.
We mourn for one that's now at rest
In the bright land of endless bliss.
Raglan, thou art gone! thy country mourns thee!
Thy watchword when on earth was 'forward!'
But now, henceforth and for ever,
Thy watchword will be 'victory!'
All honour to the brave! he has gone to his everlasting home. All honour
to him for his long and meritorious services. His old enemies, the
French, against whom he had so often fought, now nobly stood forth to
pay their respects and to do honour to one whose back they had never
seen, and whom they never could subdue. The removal of the remains of
our late lamented chief, Field-Marshal Lord Raglan, to Kazatch Bay, was
a most imposing sight. The melancholy procession moved off about 3 p.m.
on the 3rd July. All the way from the house in which his lordship had
breathed his last was one continuous blaze of bright uniforms. At the
house was stationed a party of the Grenadier Guards, and the French
Imperial Guards; our Guards, the Zouaves, field batteries, and horse
artillery batteries, with regiments of the line, both French,
English, and Piedmontese, lined the road; the artillery, stationed
at intervals, firing minute guns. The body was escorted by the 12th
Lancers, about four squadrons; a strong party of French Cuirassiers,
about four squadrons; then a party of Piedmontese cavalry, about
four squadrons; troops of French horse artillery; troops of British
horse artillery; and a strong party of French Chasseurs d'Afrique.
Then came the coffin, covered with a black pall and the Union Jack;
General Pelissier, the Commander-in-Chief of the French army; Omar
Pasha, the Commander-in-Chief of the Ottoman army; General Marmora,
the Commander-in-Chief of the Sardinian army; and General Simpson, the
Commander-in-Chief of our army, rode on either side of the body, which
was carried upon one of our horse artillery gun-carriages. Then came
general officers of the British, the French, the Sardinian, and Turkish
armies. Field batteries and horse artillery batteries were formed up
all along the route, and fired minute guns as the solemn procession
passed them. The united bands of various regiments were stationed at
intervals, and played the "Dead March." Every regiment in the Allied
Army was represented by officers, non-commissioned officers, and men.
His remains were not permitted to rest in an enemy's country, but were
carried with all honour down to the water's edge, and duly handed over
to the fleets, to be escorted under the flags of England, France,
Turkey, and Sardinia. His loss to us as an army was great just at that
critical moment. His name and memory were all that was left to animate
us through the difficulties that were yet before us. The town was still
firm, and the enemy's numerous batteries still bade us defiance. But,
we knew that Sebastopol must fall; else what would they say of us in
Old England? Why, that we were not worthy of our forefathers. Let the
reader have patience and he will soon learn how the work was done. The
news will set his ears tingling, but, alas! it has sunk deep into many
a mother's broken heart.
Some of my heroes are low.
I hear the sound of death ahead.
July passed off pretty quietly, but there was something in the wind;
instead of returning to camp to rest, We all had to fall in at tattoo
and march off to some part of the field, pile arms, and lie down. Our
generals were not going to have another Inkermann job on their hands
without being prepared for them. The Russians could see that the town
must fall. It was only a matter of another month or so. The French had a
splendid position in the Mamelon, were daily strengthening it, creeping
and sapping up to the Malakoff; while our people were advancing step by
step. The closer we got to the town the dearer the ground became, the
fighting became more bitter, and we lost more men and officers daily.
Their marksmen were always busy. The enemy were determined to make one
more effort on a grand scale in order to try and save the town, and we
did not know the spot or the hour the storm would burst upon us, so it
was best not to be caught napping. Our batteries were being
strengthened, and more guns and mortars added every day; and an immense
iron girdle was now around the town, or the south side of it.
THE BATTLE OF THE TCHERNAYA.
On the morning of the 16th August, our camp was aroused by a tremendous
firing to our right rear. The enemy had attacked us in the Valley of the
Tchernaya, just to the right of Inkermann. We at once got under arms,
the 2nd Brigade closing up, and there we remained. The firing got hotter
and hotter; Prince Gortschakoff had now a vast host under his command,
and he was making one more grand throw for victory. The fighting was
very severe between the French and Sardinians on the one side, and
Russians on the other. The Sardinians fought like men, and the Zouaves,
as usual, like so many tigers, and the battle raged from morning until
about 5 p.m. The enemy never had the slightest chance of success. I went
on to the field in the evening and had a good look round; I found that
the fighting had been in earnest. On and at the Tractor Bridge the dead
lay in heaps, while the arches over the river were completely choked or
blocked up with Russian dead, the water running on either side of the
bridge. The Russians, as usual, behaved in a most barbarous manner after
the battle. They had been foiled at all points, and were compelled to
retire. A party of French and Sardinians went to look up the wounded;
the Russians could see plainly what the party was doing, yet they opened
their heavy guns upon them! I came across a few French wounded Zouaves,
and did all I could for them.
* * * * *
We were told not to go any further, or the enemy, on the hill to our
left, would open upon us. The words were hardly uttered, when "bang"
came a round shot right in the midst of us, but luckily did no harm; it
only knocked some of their own wounded to pieces. No condemnation could
be too strong for such unfeeling wretches. Their loss had been close
upon 10,000. Such was the terrible battle of the Tchernaya. We had but
little to do with it; some of our Artillery were engaged, and a portion
of our Cavalry were formed up ready for a dash at them, but were not let
loose. Rumours were rife that the Russians would try their luck again at
Inkermann, but they never did; they had already got a good sickening
there. The doomed city had now to take its chance, and I am approaching
the last great scene of the campaign--the storming of the town that had
kept the united armies and fleets of France, England, and Turkey at bay
for nearly twelve months. The attention of the whole world was directed
thither.
* * * * *
I wrote home at this time as follows:--
Camp before Sebastopol,
August 18th, 1855.
My Dear Parents,
Long before this can reach you, you will have learnt by the
papers the results of the terrible battle of the 16th. In
the Valley of the Tchernaya the enemy made a most determined
attempt for victory, but the Allies met them at all points,
and drove them back with terrific slaughter. I find that the
Sardinians fought with desperation, well supported by the
French, and backed up by some of our people. The attacking
force has been estimated at from 60,000 to 70,000 men of all
arms, and 160 guns. The fight lasted all day, and the
struggle in various parts of the field has been severe; in
fact it has been, on the part of the Russian commander, a
grand throw for victory, to try and raise the siege; but as
an officer, who saw the whole, told me this morning, they
from 9 a.m. had not the slightest chance, that their defeat
was inevitable, and that a crushing one. Our cavalry were
formed up ready for them, under General Scarlett, but did
not go at them; we were under arms all day, or nearly so,
but did not advance. The enemy's loss has been fearful in
killed, wounded, and prisoners. I saw some of them, they are
fine-looking men, but very dirty; I hear the prisoners
amount to about 3,600, exclusive of officers, that is,
including wounded and unwounded. The field presents a
horrible spectacle; a few of us went down to have a look at
it, and it was not the enemy's fault that some of us did not
stop there, for they pitched shot and threw shell right in
the midst of us; we were doing all we could to relieve the
poor wounded, both friend and foe. The sights all over the
field were sickening, and I hope never to see the like
again; there lay the ghastly fruits of war, in some places
heaps upon heaps; the sight at the Tractor Bridge I shall
not forget as long as I live; we spent some two hours on the
field, did all we could to relieve the poor wounded, then
walked home to camp. I have got two Russian medals I found
upon the dead. I found that our friends, the Zouaves, had in
some parts of the field handled the enemy very roughly, they
had crossed bayonets with them, and they lay locked in each
other's arms dead. I do not think Prince Gortschakoff, with
all his boasting, will try his hand against us in the open
field, for some time to come; the enemy have not got enough
go in them, except they are half maddened with rackie, to
face us manfully. What the enemy have lost we do not know
exactly, but not much under 10,000 or 12,000, and the result
has slightly damped their spirits. Our loss, that is, the
French and Sardinians is acknowledged by them to be between
2,000 and 3,000 men, but I believe it must be much more, by
the aspect of the field. I believe you will now soon hear
something that will set your ears tingling; this town cannot
hold out much longer, and we are all ready at our
commander's call to advance shoulder to shoulder with our
gallant Allies, and plant our glorious old Standard by the
side of the Red, White, and Blue, on the blood-stained
walls of this famed fortress. Trusting this will find you
all well, pray for me, and
Believe me, my Dear Parents,
Ever your affectionate son,
T. GOWING,
Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.
P.S.--Thanks for the papers. I see that the eyes of the
whole of Europe are upon us; we will give them something to
talk about some of these fine mornings, but who will live to
tell the tale, only One above knows. Try and keep up your
spirits, all's well that ends well.--T.G.
RUSSIAN ATTACK IN THE TRENCHES.
On the evening of the 30th August, I went into the trenches with a party
(and a good strong party it was) of our men--about 200, and a proportion
of non-commissioned officers. We were under the command of the late Sir
W. W. Turner, then Captain and Brevet-Major. The second in command was
Captain Lord Richard Brown. We had, therefore, some capital officers
with us, and men will go anywhere with officers upon whom they can rely.
We had a good sprinkling of the right sort of stuff with us, _old
soldiers_, or men that had been well tried upon field after field--from
the Alma--and we had a few that had smelt powder on many a
hard-contested field in India, such as Ferozeshah, Moodkee, Sobraon, and
Goojerat--men that well knew how to do their duty, and were no strangers
to a musket-ball whistling past their heads, who understood well a live
shell in the air, and knew within a little where it was going to drop.
One feels much more comfortable with such men than with three times
their number who have never smelt powder. The honour of our glorious
little isle has been safe in the hands of such men upon many a field.
Well, we marched off smoking, as comfortably as if we were going to a
pic-nic or garden party, as we had often done before. The only thing
that seemed to trouble some was, "Where's the grog party?" As for the
enemy, we knew well that we should most likely make their acquaintance
before morning. We found that we were told off, with detachments of the
19th, 23rd, 33rd, 34th, 88th, and 97th, to hold the fourth parallel.
There was another trench in front of us, full of men from various
regiments. The firing was very heavy all night, or up to about 2 a.m.,
when all at once the word was given "Stand to! look out!" The enemy with
an overwhelming force had attacked our front trench, and had either
destroyed or routed our people out of it with the bayonet. I must say
that the greater portion of the men in this front trench were recruits,
men who had not learnt how to die, but who knew how to run. So much for
placing the honour of our flag in the hands of a lot of boys, without
mixing them with a good sprinkling of seasoned men. As soon as our poor
frightened lads came rushing over the top of our trench our front was
clear. Then the 19th, 88th, and 97th, let out an unearthly yell of
"_Faugh-a-Ballagh_," and at them we went. Not a shot was fired, but the
"piece of cold steel" came into play. The enemy fought well; but in the
end, with a tremendous cheer for Old England, and another for Ould
Ireland, they were fairly pitchforked out of the trench; the open space
between that and our front trench, or fifth parallel, being in places
well covered with the dead and dying. Captain Vicars had now been dead
upwards of five long months, which, under the trying scenes we had
passed through, seemed a lifetime. But the 97th had not forgotten that
Christian hero, for, above all the din of war and the booming of heavy
guns, they could be distinctly heard shouting, "Remember Vicars, boys;"
and men could be heard responding with "Yea, boys; give it them." The
enemy was chased back into the town, with a fearful slaughter, by
comparatively a handful of Britons. Our loss was trifling, taking into
consideration how we had punished the enemy. They went back much
quicker than they had advanced, with their spirits slightly damped. Even
before they reached the Russian works, their heavy guns opened with
grape, thus killing and wounding a number of their own men; for the fire
had to pass through their ranks before it reached us. We were not such
fools as to stand still and let them mow us down; but, not being able to
get at their guns, we got back as quickly as we could under cover. Next
morning we found the dead lying in ghastly piles--friend and foe mixed
together--but our people were a long way in the minority, as the greater
portion of the enemy had got the bayonet in the back. We had a flag of
truce out to bury the dead, and after that the enemy's fire was
terrible. We lost a number of men; but our sailors, manning our heavy
guns, did not let them have it all their own way, and we had some rough
music nearly all the day. We knew the town could not hold out much
longer. It must have been something like a hell upon earth, each side
trying which could pound the longest or hit the hardest. Everything
around us indicated that the grand _finale_ was fast approaching. All
our batteries now assumed an awful magnitude. New batteries, both for
guns and mortars of the largest calibre, had sprung into existence all
around the south side of the doomed city since the last bombardment, and
everything now indicated that one of the bloodiest struggles that ever
men undertook was about to ensue. We had been pummelling at each other
for near twelve long months; but we all knew that many a fine fellow
then in camp, in all the pride of manhood, would not, in all
probability, see the first anniversary of the Alma. We who had been
present at the former bombardments knew well, by the preparations, that
the coming struggle would eclipse them all; and, with the number and
size of the armaments opposed to each other, it would be the most
terrible the world had ever seen since powder had been invented; for,
in addition to all our vast batteries, our magnificent and united fleets
were prepared to join in with us. Our men did not put themselves out in
the least; they knew well the end must come. No man out of camp could
hardly credit the amount of life and activity that existed there. Some
regiments even got up theatrical performances, and some of the actors, a
few hours after, were pounding away at the enemy as hard as they could
load and fire; and, as the reader may be certain, our Jack Tars were
well to the fore wherever there was any sport going on.
THE FINAL BOMBARDMENT OF SEBASTOPOL.
On the morning of the 5th September, 1855, the last bombardment opened
with a terrific shock; close upon 1,500 guns and mortars were now
blazing away at each other, the earth trembling the while--and so it
continued all day. I went into the trenches on the night of the
6th--right into the front trench--and a warm corner it was. I remained
there all night. Next morning we were ordered to remove to one of our
rear trenches, where we had good cover, and, in spite of the tremendous
firing, lay down and had a good sleep for two or three hours. We had a
very narrow escape from a huge shell that came hopping right into the
midst of us; we had just time to throw ourselves down, when it exploded,
and sent our breakfast flying in all directions. One of our officers
inquired if anyone was hurt, and a nice boy of ours answered that he
was, "for, by dad, he had nothing to eat." Reader, try and imagine, if
you can, some hundreds of guns and mortars firing in salvoes. For a time
the guns would stop, to allow them to get a little cool; then they would
burst forth again, the thunder being enough to shake the very earth to
its centre; and this lasted for hours. We were completely enveloped in
flames, and covered with smoke, dust, and stones. An old adage says
"Familiarity breeds contempt." That it is true I can bear witness, for a
number of our men were in groups playing cards in the midst of the
firing, our own shot flying close above their heads. Thus far I had
witnessed five bombardments, but this was frightful. Some of our old
hands said it was too good to last long. The Russian fire was very
heavy; they had yet more guns in position than we, and made some of our
batteries rather hot corners, while we came in for a fair share of
shell, so that death was raining fast around. But during all that
terrible day I never heard a desponding voice. We knew well we were in
for it, and speculation ran high as to whether we should attack that
night, but some thought that the bombardment would continue for two or
three days more. We remained under this awful fire all day, and just as
we were on the tiptoe of expectation, looking out for our relief, an
officer belonging to the staff came up and got into talk with me in
reference to our strength, and when I had told him I was directed to
furnish 100 men to repair the Quarry Battery. I was left in temporary
charge, as my officers had gone off on some duty. Shortly after, I was
directed to take the remainder of my party to the leading trench, and
remain there for orders. I then began to smell a rat; something was in
the wind, although everything was kept very quiet. In walking through
the trenches one might notice a change in the men's faces. Savage they
looked, but determined to do or die. We had now a great many very young
men with us that had been sent out to fill up the gaps. They were brave
enough for almost anything, but we had a job in front of us that was
enough to shake the strongest nerves, and we wanted the men that had
been sacrificed during the winter for want of management--they would
have done it as neatly as they had turned the Russians back at the Alma
and Inkermann. The work that was about to be carried out was a heavy
piece of business, and required at least 20,000 men who had been well
tried. We had them, but they were not let loose; had they been let go,
we should have had a star for Sebastopol, and should have had an equal
share of the glory--that's if there is any in it--as we had up to then
had, with our noble Allies.
Well, to the front trench I went with my men; it was about 200 yards
from the Redan. I had not been there long, when an officer came up and
wanted one officer, one sergeant, and thirty men, to go to the front as
scouts or sentries; I told him my strength, I had no officer. He at once
went and got sufficient men from the 31st Regiment, then came back and
had a long chat with me until it got quite dark, which is what we were
waiting for. He found out that I well knew the ground, and was no
stranger to the work. I requested that the men we were going to take
should be all picked men and not lads, as it was rather an important
piece of business. We had to creep on hands and knees nearly up to the
Redan, and it required men with all their wits about them; so a number
of the men were changed, and I would have staked my life that 10,000
such as I then got would have hoisted the glorious old Standard on the
blood-stained walls of Sebastopol, and then stood beside it triumphant.
Well, to my story, which is an awkward one. We crept over the top of the
trench in the dark, and cautiously advanced about eighty yards, then
commenced throwing or planting sentinels at about five or six yards
apart; we had done the job, the officer lay down beside me and gave me
further orders, and then crept back to the trench, leaving me in
command. My orders were not to attempt to hold my ground should the
enemy attack me, but to retire and give the alarm. After lying for some
time we were attacked by an overwhelming force and retired. The enemy
tried to cut us off and take us prisoners, but they found it was no easy
matter.[6] But, to make things worse, during our absence from the trench
it had been filled with men of various Regiments; and, not knowing there
was any one in front but the enemy, they opened a regular file fire, and
we were in a pretty mess between two fires; our poor fellows dropped
fast--some of them were shot dead, close to the trench, by our own
people. We called as loudly as possible to cease firing, but with the
noise they could not hear us. On collecting my party afterwards in the
trench, I had to take all their names, as most of them were strangers to
me, and found that we had lost nineteen men and two corporals out of
thirty. Yet it lasted only two or three minutes. The General Officer
inquired what regiment I belonged to, and, when I had told him, he
expressed surprise, told me I had no business there, but ought to be in
camp and at rest, as there was some sharp work cut out for the Fusiliers
in the morning. That was the very first hint I got of the storming of
the town. The General Officer directed me to go with an officer and
another party, as I knew the ground, and show the officer where to place
his men; I went again, posted all sentries and then returned to the
trench, in doing which I stumbled across a poor fellow lying wounded and
brought him in the best way I could. The men in the trench were this
time told that there was a party in front; had that been done before the
greater portion of my men would not have died, as they were nearly all
shot by our own people. These are some of the "blunders" of war. On
returning to the trench the second time I reported myself to the General
Commanding, and he directed me to take my party home to camp at once. I
reached the camp about 1·30 a.m., and afterwards found that, true
enough, there was a warm job cut out for us. We had led the way
repeatedly--at the Alma, at the Quarries, and at the Redan on the
murderous 18th June, and now we were told off to support the stormers,
moving immediately behind them. I knew well that thousands must die--and
a still small voice told me that I should fall. I know I tried to pray,
begged the Lord to forgive my sins for His great name's sake, and asked
for His protecting arm around me, and strength of mind and body to do my
duty to my Queen and Country. I then retired for a little rest, until
about 5 a.m., when our men were up, and then no more sleep. I wrote a
number of letters that morning for poor fellows--some of whom were laid
low before mid-day, and others struck down maimed, some to rise no more,
long before sunset.
* * * * *
The following, though it was never forwarded, was written at this time,
in anticipation that I should fall:--
Camp before Sebastopol,
2 a.m., 8th September, 1855.
My Dear Parents,
I feel that I must drop you a few lines. I came off the
trenches at one o'clock this morning, to find that this
town, which has given us so much trouble, and has already
cost more lives than all the inhabitants of Norwich and its
surroundings put together, is to be stormed to-day; long
before this reaches you, or before the ink that I now use is
hardly dry, hundreds, perhaps thousands, will have been
launched into eternity. I feel it is an awful moment. I have
repeatedly, during the last twelve months, been surrounded
by death, and since the Alma have not known, honestly
speaking, what fear is, as far as the enemy is concerned.
But, dear parents, this is a solemn moment; thousands must
fall--and we are told off to be in the thick of the fight. I
feel confident that God's arm is not shortened, and into His
protecting care I commit myself. I must be candid, there is
a still small voice that tells me I shall fall, and if I
do, I hope to meet you in a better world than this, where
the nations shall learn war no more. I do not feel that I
can say much, but let come what will, I am determined to try
and do my duty for my Queen and Country. I am glad in one
sense that this hour has come; we have looked for it for
months, and long before the sun sets that is now rising,
Sebastopol must be in our hands. I will now say good bye,
dear and best of mothers; good bye, kind father; good bye,
affectionate brothers and sisters. This letter will not be
sent unless I fall; I have given it open into the hands of
one of our sergeants who is in hospital wounded, and if I
fall he has kindly offered to put a postscript to it and
forward it. May the God of all grace bless you, dear
parents, and help you to bear the pending blow.
Believe me, ever
Your affectionate son,
T. GOWING,
Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.
As I did not return to camp after the action, the comrade to whom I
entrusted the letter added this postscript:--
P.S.--Dear Sir--I am truly sorry to have to conclude this
kind letter: your noble son fell inside the Redan
(Sebastopol is taken). Your son, from the day he joined the
regiment, proved himself a credit to us, and a most
determined soldier. I have every reason to believe that he
is now where you would not wish to have him back from; a
nobler death he could not have met with than that in the
hour of victory. I know, Dear Sir, it is hard for you to
lose such a noble boy, but I hope the Lord will give you
strength to bear up under this trying blow.
I am, Dear Sir,
Your faithfully,
J. HOLMES,
Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.
I was brought into camp in time to prevent the foregoing being
despatched, and after my recovery added the following, which will
explain itself:--
Camp before Ruins of Sebastopol,
March, 1856.
My Dear Parents,
You see that I have, thank God, been spared to see what they
had to say about me after I was supposed to be dead. It is
true that I fell inside the Redan, and was totally
unconscious for some time, but, thank God, though wounded
heavily, am still where mercy is to be shown. I was carried
home to camp and to the hospital just in time to save the
above being posted, but I will keep it as long as I live,
and if I live to come home will bring it with me, for truly
I have had a merciful God watching over me, and am spared, I
hope, for some good purpose, for this wonderful God of our's
can see from the beginning to the end, He is the same
unchanging God that the Patriarchs trusted in. There is talk
of peace, and those who want to continue the war will, I
hope, come out and show us the way, as General Windham did
on the 8th September last; they would most likely soon give
in. I am not one of those who would have peace at any price,
but if I am allowed to express my opinion, I think our ends
have been gained. The Russians have been considerably
humbled. We have beaten them four times in four pitched
battles, have rent one of the strongest fortresses in the
world from them, and I think they have had enough of France
and England. If I am spared to come home I will bring this
with me, as its contents might be too much for poor mother
to bear.
From your rough but affectionate son,
T. GOWING,
Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.
* * * * *
Britain, the queen of isles, our fair possession,
Secured by nature, laughs at foreign force;
Her ships her bulwark, and the sea her dike,
Sees plenty in her lap, and braves the world.
_Havard._
* * * * *
Island of bliss! amid the subject seas
That thunder round thy rocky coast, set up,
At once the wonder, terror, and delight
Of distant nations: Whose remotest shores
Can soon be shaken by the naval arm;
Not to be shook thyself, but all assaults
Baffling, as thy hoar cliffs, the loud sea wave.
_Thomson._