Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give
To sounds confused; behold the threaden sails.
Borne with the invisible and creeping wind,
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea,
Breasting the lofty surge.
Shakespeare.
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Beyond the ordinary routine of barrack life, and the every-day duty of a
dragoon, nothing very remarkable occurred during my term of service, in
addition to what I have related, until the embarkation of my regiment
for active service in the Crimea.
The reader will please to observe that I had never before been on a
campaign, and the regiment in which I had the honour to serve had never
been particularly distinguished in battle for a period of more than
twenty years. It had been well understood for years, that whenever a
serious war was declared we should be first on the roll of regiments for
service. In fact, we had twice been under orders for India--once during
the Affghanistan campaign in 1841-2, and again when the Sikh war broke
out--but the cavalry already abroad turned out a sufficient force for
the purpose.
I may safely remark that three-fourths of the soldiers in the British
army would sooner serve on a campaign than endure the monotony of life
in a barrack. The former kind of service is just the sort of life for
which all really good men join the army. There are many very
respectable, educated men serving in the ranks of our dragoon regiments
that would cheerfully endure the hardships of a campaign and the
privations of a camp life, surrounded by danger, disease, cold, hunger,
and even death, in preference to years of drudgery and comparative
inactivity in barracks.
It is wonderful to see with what rapidity the ranks of a cavalry
regiment proceeding on active service are augmented from other corps not
under orders to serve. As may be supposed, when a regiment is told off
for service abroad, there are numbers who are physically incapable of
enduring the change of climate, and others whose term of service having
nearly expired, with other considerations, render it advisable for
commanding officers to reject them; consequently, their places have to
be filled up by a system of volunteering from other regiments.
On such occasions, orders are sent to the commanding officers of those
corps remaining at home to supply a certain number of good men. These
orders are read out to the soldiers when they assemble for roll-call at
evening stable hour. The regiment, with the locality to which it is
proceeding, and the nature of the service in which it is expected to be
engaged, together with the number of men required, is distinctly
specified; after which, it is stated that "those men willing to serve
will step forward." Instantly the words are delivered there is a rush
to the front of many more than is required. In my opinion, nothing can
be more noble: there stand the gallant fellows ready to sacrifice a life
of comparative ease for hardships, danger, and, probably, death in a
foreign land.
I have frequently noticed that the men so volunteering are chiefly the
most intelligent and best soldiers in the regiment--men who, having
enlisted as soldiers, wish to fulfil the purpose for which they joined
the army, and not the idle "skulks" who enlist, thinking that a
soldier's life in barracks is easier than the occupation in which they
are engaged as civilians.
By this system of volunteering, the best men and willing hearts have
ever been secured for the desperate struggles in which they have from
time, to time been engaged. The amount of enthusiasm which pervades the
army and the greater part of the population on the declaration of war,
is a striking instance of the bravery of the British race. The
deserving soldier--always well treated by civilians in England, Ireland,
and Scotland in time of peace--is absolutely idolised when proceeding on
or returning from a campaign. I perfectly remember the--I might almost
say--triumphant march of a portion of our regiment from barracks for
many days, on our way for embarkation at Plymouth. The country people
cheered us, shook hands, clung to our stirrups, gave us tobacco, and, at
times, too much drink. The ladies--high, low, and middle-class--waved
their handkerchiefs, threw us kisses, "wished they were going with us,"
and many made us handsome presents of money, rings, etc. We were all in
good health and spirits, and our horses fresh, sound, and full of
spirits.
In this order we entered Plymouth, and were rapidly embarked aboard
three transports, and sailed the evening of the day we arrived, amidst
many a round of hearty cheers from the thousands of people who crowded
on the beach.
Nothing very extraordinary occurred during the voyage to Varna, except
that many of our men were dreadfully sea-sick, the nature of our duty on
board rendering it impossible for us to lie down, which is the only
effectual remedy for sea-sickness.
I was fortunate enough to obtain a mixture, containing a few drops of
chloroform, from our surgeon, and I scarcely felt the effects of the
buffeting which the vessel sustained a few days after we were fairly out
at sea. The horses were sadly crowded, and many suffered from want of
exercise and ventilation, a little nitre being served out to us in order
to be mixed with the bran mashes, and their eyes, nostrils, and face
being regularly sponged with sea-water, at stable hours, tended to
refresh them and to allay inflammation, the most frequent of all
disorders to which troopers are subject when confined for any length of
time aboard ship. I have made no remarks in reference to my personal
feelings on leaving friends and relatives in England, for by this time I
had many comrades in the regiment to whom I was as much attached as to
anyone else, except my mother. It was owing to no want of affection to
the latter that, although I could have had a short "pass" before I left
the country, I did not visit her. I knew she would feel it very
acutely, and that the little word "good-bye" at parting would have been
ringing in my ears during many a weary march.
I saw many a heart-rending scene on leaving barracks, along the line of
march, with the friends and relations of our men resident in those
country parts, and towns we passed through on our way to Plymouth, and
on the evening of our embarkation. Therefore I was not sorry that I had
not gone through the ordeal, for, like many of my comrades, I might,
even in the garb of a soldier, have betrayed the weakness of a man.
The anticipation of a severe engagement and the shock of battle itself
is nothing to the very trying ordeal of parting with a dear friend,
probably for ever. The piercing screams of mothers, sisters,
sweethearts and wives, are usual concomitants of the embarkation of
British soldiers on active service. The grasp of a father's or
brother's hand as they linger on the pier, the steady gaze into the
soldier's eye, the twitching of the mouth and the smothered sob, prevent
the articulation of the word "good-bye!" The soldier's natural pride
mostly predominates over tears, and the display of sorrow indulged in by
civilians under similar circumstances, but although I did not subject
myself to the ordeal of such a leave-taking, I felt deeply for certain
of my comrades, who, although as brave soldiers as ever leaped into a
saddle or drew a sabre in action, were utterly prostrated with grief
after leaving their friends on the beach.
This kind of grief proceeds from a sort of sorrow at having been the
cause of suffering to those you love dearly and leave behind. For this
I have sometimes thought the soldier is to blame, because, in order to
gratify a roving disposition, or other causes, he leaves his home,
blasting the hopes of a father who may have given him a good education,
and looked forward to the time when the boy grown into a man may be a
prop to him in his declining years. He tramples upon the deep and true
affection of a mother, and throws to the winds the kindly words and
devotion of his brothers and sisters. Next to a soldier's mother,
nothing on earth is more dear to him than a sister. Women are
invariably fond of soldiers: some like them simply for their gaudy
attire, others adore them for their splendid figure, but every woman
respects the soldier who risks his life in the service of his country.
The last to bid him adieu and the first to welcome him home will be the
soldier's sister, if he is blessed with one. The mother may be dead,
the father hastening to the grave, from old age and infirmities, but if
there is a sister alive, she will always welcome to the most humble cot
her gallant soldier-brother, when, suffering from wounds and broken down
in constitution, he returns from the wars. Thousands of men (I am too
well aware) live and die regardless of the affections of mother, father,
brother, or sister, but the majority of our brave fellows in all ranks
of the service retain the affections and associations inculcated during
early youth.
Superior intelligence in the soldier is as great a recommendation as
mere brute strength, and, let the discontented say what they please, the
duty of a soldier will never deaden the feelings of a man, who during
the most arduous and dangerous campaign can always find time to think.
I never was fond of preaching morality to others. Always cheerful and
fond of company, I would never debar the soldier from enjoyment, either
in or out of barracks. I do not mind confessing that I have had many a
"turn up" with policemen, especially when those so-called "guardians of
the peace" have attempted to take an unwarrantable liberty with a
comrade. But to those "ruffians" in the uniform of soldiers, who
constantly figure in our police-courts on the cowardly charge of
fighting with their belts and indiscriminately striking civilians in the
streets with the frightful weapons, I would say, "You are no soldiers."
Indeed, the whole term of the service of such men is not worth a day's
pay. They are only the refuse of society, who have foisted themselves
upon the public service with no other object than that they fancy they
can eat the bread of idleness, and be better clothed and lodged than by
remaining civilians. In the latter case, they would become a burden to
the country through being lodged in some gaol or transported, and in the
army they are not only a disgrace to their corps in time of peace, but
are always the first to scheme and skulk when any fighting or long
marching has to be done.
Such characters would laugh at and deride any display of affection,
simply because they never knew it. They would ransack a cottage when
campaigning, abuse the inmates, break up the furniture through sheer
wantonness, and commit all sorts of frightful excesses; but show them an
enemy in force, let the trumpet or bugle sound the "advance," and they
are the first to show the "white feather."
Your genuine blackguard, whether he be a "rough" in a London mob, or a
soldier in the ranks, is invariably a coward when he is equally matched.
All attempts to reform him by discipline, good advice, and kind
treatment, will fail in making a bad man good, but fear of death and the
"cat-o'-nine-tails" will make him the most abject wretch alive. Lash
him to the halberds after a drum-head court-martial on the line of march
and he will writhe about like an eel, and scream like a jay before a
lash is laid on his back. I am no advocate for flogging in time of
peace, but if it were abolished in time of war, the gallows and the
gibbet-post would have to be substituted. A long campaign with plenty
of fighting is, however, the best purgative to get rid of these
characters, because none of them will enlist or volunteer in time of
war; those already in the service will desert or contrive to be taken
prisoners if they can, and those who remain in the ranks are kept to
their duty by the aid of the "cat," without which I am certain they
would neither march nor fight, but always be ready to plunder, and
disgrace the British name.
To return, however, to our voyage. The men regained their usual spirits
in the course of a few hours, and as the three vessels, which had
embarked the greater part of our men and horses, sailed out of the Sound
on a beautiful evening in the early part of May, 1854, the joke and
song, with the merry laugh at some attempts to dance, told plainly that
there was more of gladness than sorrow on board our transport. The
sailors especially were very pleased with our company: they donned our
clothes, examined our arms, patted our horses, and would have jumped on
their backs had they been allowed. After we had been at sea a couple of
days a stiff breeze sprung up, and many of the men being unable to drink
their daily rations of excellent rum, the sailors tossed theirs off
instead, with many a wish for their safe return from "a-lickin' the
Roosians." The weather was, however, on the whole favourable, and the
men having quite recovered from sickness, before a week had passed were
enabled to drink their own rum and eat their rations with amazing
relish; indeed, food is never so enjoyable as after a recovery from
sea-sickness.