The Storming of the Town--A Description of the
Assault--Capture of the Malakoff and Redan--Am left on the
Field Wounded--Our Loss, the French Loss, and the Enemy's
Loss--The Spoil--The Aspect of the Interior of the Town
after the Siege--Napoleon's Opinion as to the Source of
England's Strength--Letter of 14th Sept., 1855.
SEBASTOPOL STORMED.
We fell in at 9 a.m.; a dram of rum was issued to each man as he stood
in the ranks; all hands had previously been served with two days'
rations. There were in our ranks a great number of very young men, who
had not much idea of the terrible work that lay before them; but there
were others who knew only too well, having helped to unfurl the Standard
of Old England, in conjunction with that of France, on the Heights of
Alma, the 20th September, 1854; who had routed the enemy on the heights
of Inkermann, and had had near twelve months' hard wrestling with the
foe--and no mean foe either; men who had proved themselves on many a
hard-fought field worthy the name of Britons, for neither the storms of
autumn, nor the snows of winter, nor the heat of a July sun, neither the
sword nor bayonet, nor the musketry fire could subdue them. Although
backed by a countless host, the Russians could not withstand "the
astonishing infantry,"--which had not degenerated from their
forefathers, who had stormed the bloody parapets of Badajoz,
San-Sebastian, and Ciudad Rodrigo, and England might well be proud of
them; and I can say it was a pleasure to look upon and attend to the
wants of such cool, determined men.
Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noble Briton,
Whose blood is fetch'd from fathers of war-proof.
_Shakespeare._
We were about to face the enemy in deadly conflict once more. The
defence of Sebastopol had raised the Russians in the estimation of the
bravest of the brave, and their Sovereign and country had no reason to
regret entrusting that defence to their hands.
Before I proceed to describe the assault, I would point out that
Sebastopol had for the first time in military history, since powder had
been invented, defied the united fire of some 900 guns of the largest
calibre, exclusive of mortars, which had been directed on the devoted
city from early morning of the 5th September. When the final bombardment
opened, the very earth trembled beneath the terrible crash. It was
grand, but awful. But after it the enemy's batteries looked as strong as
ever. We might apparently have gone on bombarding until now. The Redan
and Malakoff appeared to be much stronger than when we first looked at
them, although no fewer than 1,600,000 shot and shell had been hurled at
them. I say again, the Russian nation might well be proud of the manner
their army had defended that fortress. At last cold steel had to do what
artillery had been baffled at. If my readers are at all acquainted with
military history, they will know that large breaches have invariably
been made by artillery fire in the enemy's fortifications before ever
the "dogs of war" were let loose at them. But no breach was made in the
fortifications of Sebastopol.
After remaining for a short time under arms, we marched off about 9·30
a.m. There was no pomp or martial music, no boasting; but all in that
mighty throng moved with solemn tread to the places that had been
assigned them; all, both old and young, seemed to be determined "to
conquer or die." The older hands were very quiet, but they had that set
look of determination about them that speaks volumes.
The bombardment was still raging on that terrible 8th September; every
gun and mortar that our people and our noble Allies, the French, could
bring to bear upon the enemy's works, was raining death and destruction
upon them. The stormers had all got into their places--they consisted of
about 1,000 men of the old Light and 2nd Division; the supports were
formed up as closely as possible to them, and all appeared in readiness.
History may well say the storming of a fortress is an awful task. There
we stood, not a word being spoken; every one seemed to be full of
thought; many a courageous heart, that was destined to be still in death
in one short hour, was now beating high.
It was about 11·15 a.m., and our heavy guns were firing in such a way as
I had never before heard. The batteries fired in volleys or salvoes as
hard as they could load and fire, the balls passing a few feet above our
heads, while the air seemed full of shell. The enemy were not idle; for
round shot, shell, grape, and musket-balls, were bounding and whizzing
all about us, and earth and stones were rattling about our heads like
hail. Our poor fellows fell fast, but still our sailors and artillerymen
stuck to it manfully. We knew well that this could not last long, but
many a poor fellow's career was cut short long before we advanced to the
attack. The reader will, perhaps, hardly credit that a number of the
older hands--both officers and men--were smoking, and taking not the
slightest notice of the "dance of death." Some men were being carried
past dead, and others limping to the rear with mangled limbs, while
their life's blood was streaming fast away. We lost, as I have said, a
number of officers and men before we advanced. We looked at each other
with amazement, for we were now (about 11·30 a.m.) under such a fire as
was without parallel in the history of the world. Even Leipsic (where
the Allies alone had 1400 field guns, and the French 1000) was eclipsed.
Upwards of 100,000 dead and wounded lay upon that field, but the contest
lasted three days and nights. The people at home were complaining
because we did not take Sebastopol! A number of visitors--ladies and
gentlemen from England--now saw that we were trying to do our duty. The
appalling and incessant roar of the thunderbolts of war was deafening,
and our enemies were bidding us defiance, or, in other words, inviting
us to the combat; and I have not the slightest hesitation in saying that
some of our visitors, who came out to find fault, or "pick holes in our
coats," were horrified, and wished they had stayed at home. It was a
warm reception for a number of lads that had just joined us; it really
seemed a pity to send them out to meet such a fire.
As the hour of twelve drew near, all hands were on the alert; we knew
well it was death for many of us. Several who had gone through the whole
campaign shook hands, saying, "This is hot; good bye, old boy." "Write
to the old folks for me if I do not return," was the request made by
many.
[Illustration: THE FRENCH ATTACK ON THE MALAKOFF.]
At about fifteen minutes before twelve a number of our guns were brought
to bear upon the _chevaux-de-frise_, and sent it into a thousand pieces;
so that it should not stop us, as it had done on the 18th June. Many of
us cherished doubts as to the result, although we dared not express
them. Our numbers looked very small to attack such a place as the Redan,
and the greater portion of the attacking and supporting columns too
young and inexperienced for such a fiery ordeal. But, as one old hand
said, "We can only die!" I know that I appealed to the Throne of
Grace for strength of mind and body to do my duty to Queen and Country,
and for the help of His protecting arm, which I knew well was not
shortened.
DEMAND FOR COURAGE.
Thy life's a warfare, thou a soldier art,
Satan's thy foeman, and a faithful heart
Thy two-edg'd weapon; patience is thy shield,
Heaven is thy chieftain, and the world thy field;
To be afraid to die, or wish for death,
Are words and passions of despairing breath.
Who doth the first, the day doth faintly yield;
And who the second, basely flies the field.
_Quarles._
Nothing is more trying than to have to stand under a dropping fire of
shell, and not be able to return a shot. The enemy had the range of our
trenches to a nicety, and could drop their shells into them just as they
liked. We lost a number of men, before we advanced to the attack, by
this vertical fire. But the grand struggle was now close at hand, when
the Muscovites' greatest stronghold was to be torn from their grasp.
CAPTURE OF THE MALAKOFF.
I was close to one of our generals, who stood watch in hand,[7] when,
suddenly, at 12 o'clock, the French drums and bugles sounded the charge,
and, with a shout of _Vive l'Empereur_, repeated over and over again by
some 50,000 men--a shout that was enough to strike terror into the
enemy--the French sprang forward, headed by the Zouaves, at the
Malakoff, like a lot of cats. On they went like a swarm of bees, or
rather, like the dashing of the waves of the sea against a rock. We in
our old advanced works had a splendid view--it was grand but terrible;
the deafening shouts of the advancing hosts told us they were carrying
all before them. They were now completely enveloped in smoke and fire,
but column after column kept advancing, pouring volley after volley into
the breasts of the defenders. They, the French, meant to have it, let
the butcher's bill be what it might. At about a quarter-past 12, up went
the proud flag of France, with a shout that drowned for a time the roar
of both cannon and musketry.
CAPTURE OF THE REDAN.
And now came our turn; we had waited for months for it, and at times
almost longed for it. But it was a trying hour. As soon as the French
flag was seen upon the Malakoff, our stormers sprang forward, led by
Col. Windham; the old Light Division leading, consisting of 300 men of
the 90th, about the same number of the 97th, and about 400 of the 2nd
Batt. Rifle Brigade; and with various detachments of the 2nd and Light
Division, and a number of Blue Jackets, carrying scaling ladders. Our
men advanced splendidly, with a ringing British cheer, although the
enemy poured a terrible fire of grape, canister, and musketry into them,
which swept down whole companies at a time. We, the supports, moved
forward to back up our comrades, but anyone with "half an eye" could see
that we had not the same cool, resolute men, as at Alma and Inkermann;
though some of the older hands were determined to make the best of a bad
job; and I am happy to record that the old Inkermann men took it very
coolly; some of them lit their pipes, I did the same. A brave young
officer of ours, a Mr. Colt, told me he would give all he was worth to
be able to take it as comfortably as some of our people did--it was his
first time under fire--he was as pale as death and shaking from head to
foot, yet he bravely faced the foe. The poor boy (for he was not much
more) requested me not leave him; and he fell dead by my side, just
outside the Redan.
COURAGE DEFINED.
The brave man is not he who feels no fear,
For that were stupid and irrational;
But he whose noble soul its fear subdues
And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.
As for your youth whom blood and blows delight,
Away with them; there is not in their crew
One valiant spirit.
_Joanna Baillie._
Our people were now at it in front; we advanced as quickly as we could,
until we came to the foremost trench, when we leaped the parapet, then
made a rush at the blood-stained walls of the Redan--we had a clear run
of over 200 yards, under a murderous fire of grape, canister, and
musketry. However any one ever lived to pass that 200 yards seemed a
miracle, for our poor fellows fell one on the top of the other; but
nothing but death could stop us. The musket balls whistled by us more
like hail than anything else I can describe, and the grape shot cut our
poor fellows to pieces; for we had a front and two cross fires to meet.
It seemed to me that we were rushing into the very jaws of death, but I
for one reached the Redan without a scratch. While standing on the brink
of the ditch, I considered for a moment how best to get into it, for it
appeared to be about twenty feet deep, with no end of our poor fellows
at the bottom, dead and dying, with their bayonets sticking up; but the
mystery solved itself, our men came rushing on with a cheer for Old
England, and in we went, neck or nothing, scrambled up the other side
the best way we could, and into the redoubt we went with a shout truly
English. The fighting inside the works was desperate--butt and bayonet,
foot and fist; the enemy's guns were at once spiked; some of the older
hands did their best to get together sufficient men for one charge at
the enemy, for we had often proved that they were no lovers of cold
steel, but our poor fellows melted away almost as fast as they scaled
those bloody parapets, from a cross-fire the enemy brought to bear upon
us from the rear of that work. The moss of that field grew red with
British blood.
The struggle at the Redan lasted about an hour-and-a-half, and the
reader may form some idea of the fighting from our loss, which was as
follows:--Killed and wounded of all ranks, 2,472, and 176 missing.[8]
The mistake that our generals made was in not sending sufficient men.
Twenty thousand men ought to have been let loose; we should not then
have lost anything like the number we did, as very many officers and men
were killed when retiring; but we had handled the enemy so roughly that
they did not further attempt to molest us. The French officers and men
were in ecstacies of admiration at the doings of our people at the
Redan, and exclaimed, "English, you have covered yourselves with glory
this day!" And I now fearlessly assert that the handful of men who
undertook that blood-stained work earned a rich wreath of laurels that
day. Yet we were but a handful when compared with the vast hordes of the
enemy.[9] But with all their strength they hesitated about coming to
close quarters. Had we had even ten thousand men with us, the Russians
would have gone into the harbour at the point of the bayonet, or else
been made to lay down their arms. But no; men were sent up in driblets,
to be slaughtered in detail! The few hundreds who did enter that
blood-stained fortification fought with butt end and bayonet, and not
many returned without securing some token in the shape of wounds more or
less severe. Still the few who did meet the enemy taught them to respect
us, for they no more dared to follow us than they would a troop of
lions. We had not been beaten, though we were crushed by cross-fires and
heavy masses of men; yet all the time our trenches were crowded with men
eager to be let loose at the enemy! We had a Wolseley with us, it is
true, but he was only in a subordinate position. We wanted such a man as
he, or Sir Colin Campbell, or a Roberts, and we should have carried all
before us. Then, in all probability, we should have had a star, but not
without some hard work for it. As it was, we got no star, though we had
for twelve long dreary months to be continually fighting--and the
fighting was such as would almost make the much-vaunted heroes of
Tel-el-Kebir blush: not that I wish to rob them of the honours that a
grateful country has bestowed upon them.
THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL.
The night of the 8th September, 1855, is one long to be remembered. Our
camp was startled by a series of terrible explosions, and we could not
make out what was up, but at length discovered that the enemy were
retiring under cover of the blowing up of their vast forts and
magazines. Oh! what a night! It baffles all description. Many of our
poor fellows were then lying on the ground, having been wounded in all
sorts of ways, with the burning fortress all around them! The Redan was
blown up, and a number of our men went up with it, or were buried alive!
Reader, try and imagine the position of the wounded lying just outside
the Redan. The renowned Redan Massey was there weltering in his blood,
together with a number of others, while hundreds of tons of powder was
exploding within 300 yards of them! Those of the wounded who managed to
reach the camp were well looked after; our doctors worked incessantly,
they threw their whole heart and soul into it, and all appeared to do
their best. Men were continually being brought home to camp with every
description of wounds. I myself was carried thither, having received
five wounds in different parts of the body, my left hand shattered, and
two nasty wounds in the head. I was totally unconscious when taken out
of the Redan, and for some hours afterwards. At about 6 p.m., I found
myself in our front trench, with a dead 33rd man lying across me; I got
him off the best way I could, and then tried to get up, but found that I
could not stand, for I had almost bled to death. Dr. Hale, V.C., did all
he could for me; I then had to remain and take my chance or turn of
being carried to camp, where I arrived about 7·30 p.m., when my wounds
were dressed, and a good cup of beef tea revived me; there I had to
remain for upwards of three months, but, with careful attendance, and a
good, strong constitution, I was, by that time, ready for them
again.[10]
THE TALE OF KILLED, WOUNDED, AND MISSING.
Our loss had been very heavy, but that of our noble Allies was fearful
on that terrible 8th September. They acknowledged the following
figures:--Killed, 5 generals, 24 field officers, 124 subalterns of
various ranks, 2,898 non-commissioned officers and men; wounded, 10
generals, 26 field officers, 8 missing, 229 subaltern officers, 4,289
non-commissioned officers and men, and upwards of 1000 missing; the
total killed, wounded, and missing, or the finishing stroke of the
butcher's bill, was, as regards the French, 8,613. Our loss in the
different ranks was as follows:--Killed--officers 29, 1 missing;
non-commissioned officers 42, 12 missing; privates 361, 168 missing.
Wounded--officers, 144; non-commissioned officers, 154; privates, 1,918.
A number of the missing were afterwards found to have been killed. Total
killed, wounded, and missing, 2,839. Our loss, for the numbers engaged,
was far greater than that of our Allies.
The enemy's loss was something awful. They acknowledged a loss, from the
5th to the 8th September inclusive, of upwards of 25,000 officers,
non-commissioned officers and men! Thus the final effort for the capture
of this town cost in round numbers between 35,000 and 40,000 men. Such
are some of the so-called "glories," but I would rather say "horrors" of
war.
THE SPOIL.
The extent of the spoil captured by the Allies was almost incredible,
notwithstanding all that the Russians had expended or destroyed. The
cannon of various sizes numbered 3,840, 128 of which were brass (a great
number had been thrown into the harbour, in order to avoid their being
taken); round shot, 407,314; shell, 101,755; canister cases, 24,080;
gunpowder, 525,000 lb; ball cartridges, 670,000 rounds, and other
articles too numerous to mention. The spoil was equally divided between
our people and our gallant Allies.
Low down the billows under,
Lies now his vaunted thunder,
Every plank is split asunder.
Honour the Crimean Army,
No more his cannon frown,
Above his boasted town;
Bastions and forts are down;
And all his proud array of ships,
And his guns with fiery lips,
lie cooling beneath the wave.
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE REDAN AFTER ITS CAPTURE.]
This mighty contest was, for the time it occupied and for the means
employed on both sides, without a parallel. The vast resources of the
British Empire had been largely drawn upon before haughty Russia could
be humbled. The forces employed, the greater portion of which were
carried there and back by the fleets of Old England, were as
follows:--210,000 French, 105,000 British, 40,000 Turks, 15,000
Piedmontese, with 1500 guns, and over 80,000 horses, to say nothing of
the enormous quantity of war material and food required for that great
host. This force had been confronted by far more than an equal number of
Russians. The annals of war have nothing to compare with it, and all
former campaigns sink into insignificance. Four great battles had been
fought and won by the Allies, followed by an arduous and unparalleled
siege of eleven months' duration, terminating in a glorious victory, and
the total destruction of 118 ships of war, the capture of a fortress
defended by 6,000 pieces of cannon, and the final defeat of an army of
150,000 men which defended it. Old England may well be proud of her army
and her navy, which enable her to bid defiance to the world.
Shakespeare gave utterance to the simple truth, when he said:--
Come the three corners of the world in arms,
And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,
If England to itself do rest but true.
INSIDE SEBASTOPOL.
The horrors inside the town, where the enemy had established their
hospitals, baffle all description. Some of our non-commissioned officers
and men went into those places, and described the scenes as
heart-rending and revolting in the extreme. Many of the buildings were
full of dead and dying mutilated bodies, without anyone to give them
even a drink of water! Poor fellows, they had well defended their
country's cause, and were now left to die in agony, unattended, uncared
for, packed as closely as they could be stowed away, saturated with
blood, and with the crash of the exploding forts all around them; they
had served their _loving friend_ and master, the Czar, but too well;
there they lay, in a state of nudity, literally rolling in their blood.
Many, when our men found them, were past all aid, others were out of
their mind, driven mad by pain and the appalling sights in the midst of
which they were. Our officers and men, both French and English, found
their way there indiscriminately, and at once set to work to relieve
them; medical aid was brought as quickly as possible to them, but
hundreds had passed beyond all earthly assistance.
Such a Sunday! Our men were struck with wonderment and horror at the
awful scenes--
Piled high as autumn shocks, there lay
The ghastly harvest of the fray;
The corpses of the slain--
Both friend and foe.
These were the horrors of war! Though a soldier and fully embued with
the spirit of patriotism, I would say with all my heart, "From war good
Lord deliver us." The man who delights in war is a _madman_; I would put
him in the thick of it for just one day, and he would then know a little
what war to the knife means. Our men, I am happy to relate, did
everything they could for those of the enemy in whom a spark of life was
found. Yes, the very men who only a few hours before had done all they
could to destroy life, were now to be found, in their right minds, doing
all that lay in their power for their unfortunate foes as well as
friends.
A soldier, it matters not what his rank, must not for one moment, when
engaged, think what the consequences are or may be. It is his duty to
destroy all he can belonging to the enemy; in fact, he is often worked
up to such a pitch that he becomes a perfect fiend, or, as the Russians
called us at the Alma, "red devils in petticoats." None but men who are
mad could do in cold blood the deeds that were performed by some of our
men.
[Illustration: A STREET IN SEBASTOPOL AFTER THE SIEGE.]
It is an old saying that "if anything is to be done let it be done
well," and--I must again repeat it--our men now set to work with a will
to do all that lay in their power to rescue from an untimely end as many
as they could. The sights on all sides melted to tears many veterans who
had resolutely stormed the heights of Alma, rode up the valley of death
at Balaclava, and stood as conquerors on the field of Inkermann, which
names will never be forgotten as long as language endures. Many bodies
were fast decomposing, and had to be interred at once--one common grave
answered for both friend and foe. The ditch in front of the Redan was
utilised for all who fell anywhere near it; those that fell in our
trenches were buried there, the parapets being in both cases thrown upon
them; the stench was almost unbearable for weeks afterwards. Some two
or three hundred rough-looking coffins were found in the town--they were
full, it was supposed, of officers, but the enemy had not had time to
bury them. A steamer came over from the north side on Monday, the 10th
September, 1855, under a flag of truce, and begged to be allowed to
remove the wounded. The request was at once granted, for our doctors
were only too glad to get rid of them, as they had plenty in their own
camps to attend to: a very great number of these poor fellows had been
suffering intense agony for forty-eight hours, when, without even a
drink of water, they were removed out of our sight. All our wounded
found in the town were carried as quickly as possible to camp; and then
the men set to work to get what they could for themselves out of the
midst of the ruins--set to work plundering, if you choose to call it so.
But it was dangerous work, and many of them lost their limbs, and some
their lives, through their foolishness, by the fire from the enemy
across the harbour. Some who were laden with all sorts of articles were
stopped by the officers, who wanted to know what they were going to do
with all that rubbish. The men would at once throw down their loads and
salute the officers, who repeated the question, "What on earth do you
want with all that rubbish, my men?" "An sure your 'onor don't we mane
to let furnished lodgings!" They were carrying chairs, tables, bed-cots,
in fact, articles too numerous to mention; "Sure, your 'onor, we are not
going to let the Zouaves have it all!" A stalwart Irish grenadier, when
being rebuked for pilfering, answered, "Sure, an your 'onor, them nice
gentlemen they call Zouaves have been after emptying the place clane
out; troth if the divil would kindly go to sleep for only one minute
them Zouaves would stale one of his horns, if it was only useful to keep
his coffee in." Truly these gentlemen were capital hands at fishing up
all that was likely to be useful. Some of our Hibernian boys had got a
good haul, and were making off as fast as possible, when a party of
Zouaves stopped them and wanted to go halves; but Paddy was not half
such a fool as he was taken for--he would not give up anything until he
had found out which was the best man, so the load was thrown down, and
the Frenchmen were very soon satisfied and only too glad to get out of
the way. It was a common saying in camp that there was nothing too hot
or too heavy for the Zouaves to walk off with, and where there was room
for a rat there was room for one of these nimble little gentlemen to get
in. They proved themselves all during the fighting troublesome customers
to the enemy; and now that the fight was over they distinguished
themselves by pilfering everything they could lay hands upon; but they
did not get all--our huts were made very comfortable by the wood that
our men brought out of the town. Although the second winter was far
colder than the first, we had means to resist the cold with, any amount
of clothing and good shelter, with plenty to eat and drink. By degrees
our wounded began to recover so as to be able to walk about the camp,
and to return to their duty; and had the war continued, we should have
had upwards of 100,000 men in our army alone, to march against the
enemy, but, thank God, it was ordered otherwise.
* * * * *
The following will prove that the enemy suffered a terrible loss during
that long siege, particularly in the last three months that the town
held out. The _Invalide Russe_ (one of their principal papers),
published their loss as follows; but I have every reason to believe that
it is far below the truth. The report stated that in our final efforts
to take Sebastopol from them, they suffered heavily; during the fifth
bombardment, which was in August, 1855, they acknowledged a daily loss
of 1,500 men, exclusive of officers; and then at the Tchernaya there
was a loss of close upon 10,000 men dead and wounded--that was on the
16th August, 1855. It added that whole brigades disappeared, and the
interior of the town was nothing but a slaughter house or a hell upon
earth; then it went on to say that they lost 1,000 men daily until the
last or final bombardment, and further, their loss was 18,000 men,
exclusive of officers, from the 5th to the 8th of September! We know
that they lost nearly double that number.
* * * * *
It is bad enough to be on the conqueror's side, but what must it be to
be on the side of the vanquished? The conquerors have something to keep
up their spirits, but the defeated lack every source of consolation.
* * * * *
We knew well that a grateful and kind-hearted people in old England were
watching every move we made. Mr. Bull does not mind how deeply he dives
into his pocket, so long as he can sit with his pipe and glass over a
good fire, and shout "We have beaten them again, my boys": and we had
given Mr. Bull something to talk about now that Sebastopol had been
taken. The bells of old England we knew would clash for joy, in peal
after peal, at the news of the fall of this town. But there is another
side to the picture. Many a good, kind, fond mother lost her son,
perhaps her only son; thousands were left fatherless; hundreds were left
to mourn absent husbands; and many a heart-rending scene in many a
formerly happy home was brought about by this terrible war.
REFLECTIONS.
I do hope that if ever we go to war again on account of Turkey, it will
be to help to drive the "Sick Man" out of Europe; but, above all, that
we shall always keep side by side with France, through thick and thin.
I believe we shall find a great friend and useful ally in her. It is
true what Napoleon I. said, that France and England united could dictate
to the whole world; and the statesmen who keep them united will be wise,
for none would then dare to attack us. "I have proved the strength of
England," said that great, little man; and when he came to die, he
acknowledged where the strength of England lay. Calling one of his
faithful followers to his bedside, he requested that the Book of Books
should be brought to him. Placing his hand upon the book, he fastened
his eyes upon those who stood speechless by his side--he that had made
the whole of Europe tremble at his word (England excepted)--and said, "I
have often wondered where the strength of England lay; but since I have
come to this lonely spot, I have had time to think, and I have come to
the conclusion that any thinking man must come to, _that the strength of
England lay in the great secret contained in this Book_." Reader, these
are memorable words, especially when we consider that they came from the
lips of one _who had spent nearly all his days an infidel_, and had had
to go to the rock of St. Helena to find out the truth. He died there,
_professing Christianity_, on the 5th May, 1821, aged 52 years; and the
old East Suffolk Regiment carried him to his grave--twelve grenadiers of
the 12th Regiment being selected to bear his remains to the place of
interment. Conqueror as he was, he had to lay down his arms to King
Death, comparatively young--
For when death the fatal route did bring,
His soul did march away. At the great judgment day,
Among the Blest may he be found, and all his sins forgiven!
As his route was, reader, in time thine shall surely be,
Kings and Dragoons, when called, must pass away.
While in hospital wounded, I caused the following to be sent to my
parents:--
Camp before the Ruins of Sebastopol,
September 14th, 1855.
My Dear, Dear Parents,
Thank God I have been saved alive through the grand but
bloody struggle. You will see this is not my writing. I may
as well tell you at once that they have hit me again. You
will, most likely, see my name in the papers as badly
wounded, but you must not despair; I am at present very
comfortable in hospital, with one of my comrades to look
after me, who now writes this from my dictation. I must tell
you they hit me on the head, in two places, and knocked my
left hand about rather badly, but I live in hopes of getting
over this, and I will warm them for it if ever I get a
chance. Well, to my story. To start with, I am happy to
inform you that the town is taken at last, but it has been,
as I always said it would be, a hard nut to crack. I told
you in my last that I did not think we should be long before
we were let loose at it; everything was kept very quiet; the
last, our grand bombardment, opened on the morning of the
5th, and the roaring of the heavy guns was something
deafening. I went into the trenches on the night of the 6th;
had a rough little bit of work on the night of the 7th; it
was then that I began to smell a rat that something was in
the wind; some of our poor fellows who had gone through the
whole campaign were, by a mistake, shot down by their own
comrades; I was in charge of the party, thirty odd men, and
lost two-thirds of them in two or three minutes, through the
men in the front trench not being informed that we were out.
I did not find out what was before me until I reached the
camp about 1 a.m. on the terrible 8th. I cannot now describe
that awful day's work which ended in a glorious victory. I
find our loss and that of the French has been frightful; it
is reported that our united loss has been upwards of 12,000,
killed, wounded, and missing. I do hope that this will be
the last item in the butcher's bill. If we are to have any
more fighting let's go at them in the open field, and then
if our numbers are anywhere near their's we will soon let
you know who will take possession; they fight well behind
earthworks, but they want a lot of Dutch courage into them
to make them show up in the open field. I hope you will be
contented with what I have said; I must not do anymore
to-day; I must keep quiet.
Well, I've had a few hours' rest and I feel that I should
like to bring this letter to a close; and will, if I am
spared, give you a long account of that terrible fight that
laid Sebastopol at our feet, and I am proud to say that a
great number of Norfolk and Suffolk men have helped to plant
our glorious old flag on the blood-stained walls of that
far-famed town, Sebastopol. It was a Norfolk man that led us
to the finishing stroke (Windham), and right well he did
it--it was, 'Come on, boys, and I will show you the way!'
The fighting, dear Parents, in the interior of the Redan was
desperate; when I come to recall it, it seems almost too
much for me. I cannot express my gratitude to the King of
Kings and Lord of Lords, who shielded my life,--I hope for
some good purpose,--on those bloody parapets, when my poor
comrades fell like Autumn leaves all around, to rise no
more. It seemed utterly impossible that any could escape;
and we had a great number of very young men with us who had
come out with drafts to fill up the gaps. But they were too
young for the trying work, many of them had not seen
seventeen summers; plenty of them had not had two months'
service. We wanted 20,000 tried veterans; but through some
mismanagement they were kept back.
I will write again as soon as I get a little more
strength--so cheer up, dear parents. Tell Tom he had better
eat some more beef and dumplings before ever he thinks of
soldiering; one in a family is quite enough to be shot at,
at a time. Tell poor mother to cheer up, I will come home to
Norwich some day, and give her as warm a greeting as the
Frenchmen gave me at Malta. I must now conclude. Give my
kind regards to all inquiring friends, and believe me, dear
parents,
Your affectionate son,
T. GOWING,
Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.
P.S.--What a lot of nonsense they put in the papers--it's
only filling up stuff, or, in plain language, boast. Men had
far better not write at all, if they cannot confine
themselves to the truth; for they only get laughed at, as
the papers are read in the camp. Please send Illustrated.
Yours, &c.,
T.G.
* * * * *
"Have I not heard great ordnance in the field,
And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?
Have I not in a pitched battle heard
Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang?"
OLD ENGLAND.
When Nature embellished the tint
Of thy hills and thy valleys so fair,
Did she ever intend that a tyrant should print
The footsteps of slavery there?
Nay, every Son of Albion "shall be free."
_Moore._
* * * * *
Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs
Receive our air, that moment they are free;
They touch our country and their shackles fall.
_Cowper._
* * * * *
This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise;
This fortress, built by Nature for herself,
Against infection and the hand of war;
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands;
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
_Shakespeare._