The 18th at once rushed out of the cemetery towards the town, and

succeeded in getting into some houses; Captain Hayman was gallantly

leading his company when he was shot. Once in the houses, they prepared

to defend themselves. Meantime the enemy did their utmost to blow down

the houses with shot, shell, grape and canister, but the men kept close,

though they lost many men. They entered these houses about six o'clock

in the morning, and could not leave them until eight o'clock in the

evening. The enemy at last blew up many of the houses, and set fire to

others. When our men rushed out of them the fire was now spreading all

over. The 9th also effected a lodgment in some houses, and held their

possession as well as the 18th. Why were these men not supported by

large bodies of troops, so as to take the enemy on the flank, and round

behind the Redan? Whose fault was it? Not the men's! Whose fault was it

that the Redan was not breeched by round shot, and the abatis swept away

before the assault was made? Not the men's. Whose fault was it that

large supports were not pushed forward to the Redan, on the assault

being made? Not the men's. Nothing can be compared to the bravery,

daring and courage of the officers and soldiers of the British army,

when they are brought properly into action; but when a handful of men

are sent to take a stronghold like the Redan, armed as it was with all

sorts of destructive missiles, and manned by an immense force, it could

not be expected that men could do impossibilities. An armistice to bury

the dead was granted by the Russians, and at 4 o'clock in the afternoon

of the 19th, white flags were hoisted on the Redan and Malakoff, and in

an instant afterwards burying parties of the French and English emerged

from the trenches and commenced to carry off their dead and bury them in

rear of the trenches, all in one grave, and in their clothes as they

lay, except the officers who were taken to camp, and buried at

Cathcart's Hill. Many wounded men were found close to the abatis, who

were lying there thirty-six hours in their blood-stained clothes, in the

scorching sun, without a drop of water to quench their thirst. Several

had crawled away during the night, and hundreds had died of their wounds

as they lay. After the burial was over, the white flags were lowered and

firing commenced again once more. As the ambulance waggons moved along

the Woronzoff road towards the hospitals, I could not help regretting

our loss in officers and men, more especially Captain John Croker. He

was a very strict officer, but a very kind gentleman; that is, he

expected every man to do his duty faithfully and zealously, and beyond

that, he was indulgent, generous, and always anxious for the comfort,

happiness, and amusement of his company. A better, braver, or more

dignified and gentlemanly officer, a kinder friend than Captain John

Croker was not in the service, nor one more precise, more exacting, more

awake to the slightest professional neglect of duty and his loss to the

grenadier company, I am sure, will be deeply and sorely felt; he was a

native of the County Limerick. On arrival at the hospital the doctor

examined my wound, and found that the bone was fractured. He then set

it, after taking out three splinters, dressed it, put it in a splint,

gave me a glass of brandy, and put me to bed. The hospital was getting

so crowded I was one of a party of wounded men who were sent down to

Balaklava hospital on mules, next day at ten o'clock. The number sent

down from the division was two hundred; each mule carried two patients;

we sat back to back. On arrival at Balaklava hospital, we were told off

to comfortable huts, each containing beds or cots. The wounded men were

separate from the others; those very severely wounded were put to bed,

and at dinner time one of Miss Nightingale's ladies came round, and

spoke kindly to us, and examined our wounds, which we appreciated very

much; and at tea time the same lady brought us arrowroot and port wine.

Next morning the doctor dressed our wounds, and the lady brought us all

sorts of delicacies. How different to the camp rations of salt junk and

hard tack; and now we had a real lady to nurse us and attend to our

wants. I thought that it was worth getting wounded to have such

attendance. Nothing could surpass the kindness and attention which these

ladies showed the wounded men; each of them has a certain number of

patients under her care; and truly their kindness and unremitting

exertions did more good to alleviate the pain and suffering of the

wounded men than all the doctor's medicine. The weather was so very hot

that my arm began to swell, so that the doctor got alarmed and consulted

another doctor, when they decided to amputate my arm. I did not like the

idea of losing my arm, but the doctors thought the swelling would get

into my body; so when the nurse came round with the arrowroot in the

evening, after she had washed and dressed my wound, she advised me not

to have my arm taken off, but go down to a spring that gushed from a

rock at the foot of the hill and there hold the wound under the stream

as long as I could bear it, every day. I did as she told me. I then told

the doctor that I would not have my arm taken off. I sat at the spring

all day, except at meal times, and held my arm under the cold water that

rushed out of the rock, and at the end of a week the swelling reduced.

From that time it began to get better; I was in good health and was

allowed to walk round the hills during the day. The head surgeon, Dr.

Jephson, allowed us every privilege, and our nurse brought us note

paper, envelopes and postage stamps, so that we could write home to our

friends. The invalids were allowed to roam round the rocks all day

between meal times. The hospital, which has been recently established,

affords great comfort to our sick and wounded men, who will be saved the

evils of a sea voyage to Scutari. It already presents the appearance of

a little village with small patches of gardens in front of the huts; and

its position on those heights, among the rocks, overhanging the sea and

steep crags, which wind up past the old Genoese tower that stands at the

entrance of Balaklava harbour, to the height of our camp over the sea,

is strikingly picturesque. The judicious surgical treatment of my arm,

and the careful manner in which the doctor's directions were carried out

by our nurse, together with holding it under the stream of cold spring

water, soon restored it to use again; several other men whose wounds

were very severe were fast improving under this lady's care. Her

assiduity and skill as a nurse, as well as the gentle kindness of her

manner, fully warranted the greatest respect from her patients, who

almost idolized her, whose presence in the hut stilled the pain of the

wounded men. We often wondered whether she ever slept, as she seemed to

be always attending one or another of her charge. Miss Nightingale had

left Balaklava for Scutari a few days ago, so I had not the

gratification of seeing that heroic lady, whose honoured name is often

mentioned among the soldiers of the British Army with the most profound

respect—that high born lady Florence Nightingale, the sick and wounded

soldier's friend, whose name will be handed down to future generations,

as the greatest heroine of her sex, who left her happy home with all the

genial associations, comforts and social attractions which her birth,

education and accomplishments so well enable her to appreciate; going

out to a country wherein every turn spoke of war and slaughter; taking

up her abode in an hospital containing none of her own sex save those

noble ladies who accompanied her as nurses; watching and tending the

sick from morning till night, among hundreds of wounded, sick, emaciated

and hungry soldiers. All these things considered, there has indeed

rarely, if ever, been such an example of heroic daring combined with

feminine gentleness. Although there is a heroism in charging the enemy

on the heights of Inkerman, in defiance of death and all mortal

opposition, worthy of all praise and honour, yet the quiet sympathy, the

largeness of her religious heart, and her wondrous powers of

consolation, will ever be remembered with the love, thankfulness and

affection of the soldiers of the British Army, and by no one more than

T. Faughnan.

LINES TO MISS FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.

At the Crimean war thy life was new;

You left your home, and country too,

To tend the wounded with hand so fair,

To Balaklava hospital you did repair.

Miss Florence Nightingale, for you is given

The soldier's prayer to God in Heaven,

That you may soar to Him above,

For your right noble valour and Christian love.

If Angels are here on earth below,

You must be one of them we know;

For flesh and blood can not compare,

Such genuine valour and angelic care.

As you displayed, without one thought

Of the sleepless nights on you it brought;

May God His blessings on you descend,

Is a soldier's prayer whom you did befriend.

When you this earthly race have run,

May Angels lead you to the Son,

There to sing with Christ for evermore,

Whom here, on earth, you ever did adore.

T. FAUGHNAN.

After it was ascertained at the regiment that I was not killed, as was

reported, but only wounded, and in hospital at Balaklava, the commanding

officer had me promoted to full corporal, and my promotion dated back

from the first of April previous, which left me three months' back pay

to draw. This news reached me a few days before I was discharged from

hospital. On the 20th of August, I was discharged from hospital, and

once more proceeded to join my regiment in camp. After thanking the

Sisters for all their kindness and attention to me while under their

charge, I bid them all good-bye, and started for the front with six

others.

On arrival at camp, the first I met was Major Gordon, who was very glad

to see me. He said to me, "Faughnan, we all thought you were killed that

morning. I am sorry I did not know that you were only wounded before I

sent off the returns; I would have recommended you for the Victoria

Cross—but it cannot be helped now, as I have recommended Corporal John

Smith for it." I thanked him very kindly, and joined my company, who

were all well pleased to see me.

There is a sad feeling among the officers and soldiers in camp, and deep

regret evinced, at the loss of Lord Raglan, who departed this life at

nine o'clock, p.m., the 28th June, 1855. His death appears to have at

once stilled every feeling but that of respect for his memory; and the

remembrance of the many long years he faithfully and untiringly served

his country; and his frequent cheering visits among the men in camp, had

endeared him to the army now before Sebastopol. A military procession

was formed at four o'clock in the afternoon of the 3rd of July to escort

the body to Kazatch Bay. As many as could be spared from duty in the

trenches and, with safety to the camp, from every infantry regiment,

formed an avenue from the British to the French headquarters, and from

thence to Kazatch Bay, where the "Caradoc" was ready to receive her

melancholy freight. The French troops formed a similar avenue. The

cavalry and batteries of artillery were formed up behind the lines of

infantry, and bands were stationed at intervals, and played the Dead

March as the procession moved slowly along the route marked out by the

lines of infantry. The coffin was carried on a gun carriage—the

soldier's hearse. At each side rode the four commanders of the allied

armies; then followed all the generals and officers who could be spared

from trench duty. As the solemn procession moved along, minute guns were

fired by the field artillery of the French. At Kazatch Bay, marines and

sailors were formed up on the wharf; the naval officers were in

attendance; and the body of Lord Raglan was placed on board of Her

Majesty's Ship "Caradoc," and removed from that battle-field where both

his body and mind had suffered for the last nine months, and where many

hundreds of gallant officers lie, in their gore and glory, waiting for

the sound of the last trumpet.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXI.

CAPTAIN COLTHURST—SIEGE—BOMBARDMENT—ASSAULT—REDAN—THE BATTLE—

8TH SEPTEMBER—THE EVACUATION—RUSSIANS—BRITISH IN SEBASTOPOL.

August 25th. Captain Colthurst arrived at camp with a draft of three

hundred men, who were posted to the different companies, to fill up the

vacancies left by those who fell in battle, or died in hospital, or

camp, during the winter. During the month of July and August our loss in

the trenches was very heavy, although the achievements were not such as

brought great fame and honour to the hard-working army. The outworks had

approached so near the Russian batteries that our trenches afforded very

insufficient shelter from shot, shell, and rifle-bullets which killed

and wounded so many of our working parties, swelling the list of dead

and wounded very much every twenty four hours. Every thing was now

reported ready by the engineers and artillery officers for one last and

desperate assault on the fortifications.

The labour bestowed by the Russians to strengthen the Redan and Malakoff

was almost inconceivable—a formidable abatis of sharpened stakes in

front, a parapet thirty feet high, ditch twenty feet deep by twenty-four

feet wide, with three tiers of heavy guns and mortars rising one above

another. Such was the Malakoff and Redan. The plan of assault was, a

vigorous fire to open on the enemy's batteries, by the Allies, on the

5th, 6th and 7th; followed on the 8th of September, 1855, by a storming

of the Malakoff by the French, and of the Redan by the British. Generals

Pellisier and Simpson arranged that at dawn, on the 8th, the French

storming columns were to leave the trenches, the British to storm the

Redan; the tricolour flag planted on the Malakoff was to be the signal

that the French had triumphed, and the British were then to storm the

Redan, for unless the Malakoff was captured first, the Redan could not

be held, as the former was the key of the position, therefore the

Malakoff should be attacked first, and with a very strong force.

Appalling in its severity was the final bombardment of Sebastopol. It

began at day-break, as previously arranged by the commanders, the shot

and shell shaking the very ground with the tremendous reverberation,

raising clouds of earth and overturning batteries along the Russian

lines, filling the air with vivid gleams and sparks and trains of fire,

burying the horizon in dense clouds of smoke and vapour, and carrying

death and destruction into the heart of, and all over the city. After

three hours of this tremendous fire, the gunners ceased for a while to

cool their guns and rest themselves; then resumed with such effect that

the Russian earth-works became awfully cut up, without, however,

exhibiting any actual gaps or breaches, which would have befallen stone

batteries, under such a storm of shot and shell; proving the defensive

power of earth-works. Darkness did not stay this devastation; shell and

shot continued to whistle through the air, marking out a line of light

to show their flight, and crashing and bursting against the defences and

buildings. The Malakoff and Redan, when no longer visible in daylight,

were brought out into vivid relief by the bursting of shells and the

flashes of guns. One of the ships in the harbour caught fire from a

shell, and was burnt to the water's edge. All through the night the fire

continued, which prevented the Russians from repairing their parapets

and embrasures, and with dawn on the 6th, the roar of cannon was only

interrupted by a few intervals to cool the guns. The enemy, seeing that

the hour of peril had arrived, used almost superhuman exertions to work

their batteries; increased agitation was visible among them, and several

movements seemed to indicate the removal from the south to the north

side of the harbour of all such persons and valuables as would not be

required to render assistance in the defence. Again did a night of

intermittent fire ensue. On the 7th, another ship was burnt in the

harbour by our shells; flames broke out in the town, and a loud

explosion like that of a magazine took place in the evening.

THE NIGHT BEFORE THE BATTLE, 8TH SEPT., 1855.

To-morrow, comrade, we

At the Great Redan must be,

There to conquer, or both lie low

The morning star is up,

But there's wine still in the cup,

And we'll take another tot, ere we go, boys, go,

And we'll take another tot, ere we go.

'Tis true, in warriors' eyes

Sometimes a tear will rise,

When we think of our friends left at home;

But what can wailing do,

Sure our goblet's weeping too!

With its tears we'll chase away our own, boys, our own,

With its tears we'll chase away our own.

The morning may be bright;

But this may be the last night

That we shall ever pass together;

The next night where shall we

And our gallant comrades be?

But—no matter—grasp thy sword and away, boy, away,

No matter—grasp thy sword, and away!

Let those who brook the lot

Of the Russian great despot,

Like cowards at home they may stay;

Cheers for our Queen be given,

While our souls we trust to heaven,

Then for Britain and our Queen, boys, hurra! hurra! hurra!

Then, for Britain and our Queen, boys, hurra!

THOS. FAUGHNAN.

On the morning of the 8th, a destructive and pitiless storm of shot and

shell continued until noon, when the fire of our batteries ceased, and

the storming columns of the French issued forth, preceded by riflemen

and sappers and miners. The French had bridges as substitutes for

ladders; the ditch was crossed by the bridges, and the parapet scaled

with surprising celerity. Then commenced the struggle, with guns,

rifles, pistols, swords, bayonets, and gun-rammers; but in a quarter of

an hour the tricolour flag floated on the Malakoff, announcing that the

formidable position was taken.

Although the French had captured it, the Russians so well knew its

value, it being the key to the whole position, that they made furious

attempts at re-capture. But the French General judiciously sent powerful

reserves to the support of McMahon, and these reserves maintained a

series of desperate battles against the Russians within the Malakoff,

bayonet against bayonet, musket against musket, man against man. The

contest continued for several hours; but the French triumphed, and drove

the Russians from their stronghold.

Anything more wildly disorderly than the interior of the Malakoff can

hardly be imagined. The earth had been torn up by the explosion of

shells, and every foot of the ground became a frightful scene of bloody

struggles; thousands of dead and wounded men being heaped up within this

one fort alone. As soon as the tricolour was seen floating on the

Malakoff, two rockets gave the signal for the British columns to storm

the Redan. Out rushed the storming party, preceded by the ladder and

covering party, a mere handful altogether; indeed it appears astonishing

that so few should have been told off for so great a work; every soldier

had a perilous duty assigned him. The riflemen were to cover the advance

of the ladder party, by shooting down the gunners at the embrasures of

the Redan; the ladder party to place the ladders in the ditch. As soon

as the storming party rushed from the Quarries, the guns of the Redan

opened a fierce fire on them, sweeping them down as they advanced. Col.

Unett, of the 19th Regiment, was one of the first officers that fell,

and Brigadiers Von Straubenzie and Shirley were both wounded, and

scarcely an officer who advanced with the storming party but got either

killed or wounded. The distance from the Redan to the Quarries was too

great, being over two hundred yards, which gave the enemy a good

opportunity to mow the storming party down with a tremendous fire of

grape, canister and musketry. The survivors advanced and reached the

abatis, the pointed stakes of which, standing outward presented a

formidable obstacle to further progress; however the men made gaps

through which they crawled. Then came another rush to the ditch, when

the ladders were found to be too short. However, our men scrambled down,

and climbed up, many falling all the time under the shot of the enemy.

Officers and men were emulous for the honour of being among the first to

enter this formidable battery; but alas too weak, in the numbers

necessary for such an enterprise. Mounting to the parapet, the beseigers

saw the interior of the Redan before them filled with masses of soldiers

and powerful ranges of guns and mortars; wild and bloody was the scene

within the assailed fort. Colonel Wyndham (afterwards Sir Charles) was

the first officer to enter; and when fairly within the parapet, he and

the other officers and men did all they could to dislodge the Russians

from behind the traverse and breast works; but the Russians overpowered

our handful of men that were sent to take this stronghold, for we had no

support to back up those that got a footing in the Redan. The Russians

continued bringing up reinforcements and soon overpowered the few

British, who saw they must either retire or remain to be shot down. New

supporting parties kept arriving in such driblets and in such confusion

as to render impossible any well directed charge against the place. If,

for a time a few men were collected in a body, volleys of musketry,

grape, canister, and old pieces of iron of every description, fired from

their big guns, levelled our men to the dust. The officers and men at

last seeing no supports coming to their aid, lost heart and retreated to

their trenches.

The embrasures of the parapets, the ditch, and all round the abatis

became a harrowing scene of death and wounds; heaps of dead and wounded

lay all round the Redan, and piles of them lay at the bottom of the

ditch, where they fell by the Russian shot, as they climbed up the

scaling ladders. At two o'clock the attack was over, and in these two

hours the British loss was very severe. No other day throughout the war

recorded so many killed and wounded which amounted to the large number

of 2450 in all. The French loss was three times more severe it comprised

no less than 7550 killed and wounded.

Next day another attack was to be made on the Redan. Sir Colin Campbell

sent down a party cautiously in the night to see how the Redan was

occupied; it was found to be vacated, telling plainly of the

abandonment, by the Russians, of the south side of the town. It appears

that Gortchakoff, when the impossibility of maintaining his position

became evident, commenced blowing up the public buildings of the town;

the gunners, during the early hours of the night, kept up a sufficient

fire to mask their proceedings in the stillness of the night when the

allied camps were filled with men, either sleeping or thinking anxiously

of the scenes which day-light might bring forth. Lurid flames began to

rise in Sebastopol; explosions of great violence shook the earth, and

intense commotion was visible to the men in the trenches. The fires

began in various parts of the town, and tremendous explosions behind the

Redan tore up the ground for a great distance; and other explosions

succeeded so rapidly that a thick, murky mass of smoke and flames from

burning buildings, imparted an awful grandeur to the scene. Now came a

resistless outburst which blew up the Flagstaff battery; then another

blew up the Garden battery. As day-light approached, Fort Paul, Fort

Nicholas Central, and Quarantine Bastion, were seen surrounded by

flames. We could not withhold our admiration of the manner in which

Gortchakoff carried out his desperate plan, the last available means of

saving the rest of the garrison.

On the morning of the 9th September, when the troops in camp heard the

announcement that the mighty city had fallen, the city which, during

twelve months, had, day by day, been looked at and studied by our

generals and engineers, and in front of which 10,000 of our troops had

been killed or wounded on the preceding day,—with difficulty was the

announcement credited, so accustomed had all been to the dashing of

their hopes, and the non-fulfilment of their predictions. I was one

among many who hastened into the town and was astonished at the enormous

extent of the batteries, and the manner in which our shot and shell had

knocked down and torn up the massive buildings. The French soldiers

rushed into the town, peered about the burning houses, and plundered

them of chairs, tables, looking-glasses, and countless articles, and

carried them up to their camp. The French soldiers always keep a bright

look-out for plunder. I must say that our men did not touch a single

article, that I ever heard of, except one man, who found a lot of money

in a bank. He emptied it into his haversack, and left at once. The bank

clerks in their excitement and hurry must have forgotten to take the

money in their haste to get out of the city. We had a chain of cavalry

all round the town, to keep back stragglers, and stop any person from

taking anything out of the town. Thus ended the wondrous Siege of

Sebastopol. On the 8th of September, when the allied commanders found

that the Russian garrison, together with inhabitants had crossed to the

north side of the harbour it became their duty to ascertain whether any

traps or explosive mines had been laid by the enemy, before our troops

could be allowed to occupy the town, to ward off camp followers, and to

divide the spoils of the garrison between the two invading armies; and

to take measures for the destruction of the forts and docks.

The appearance of the town, at the time that we entered it, was fearful

indeed. Destructive forces had been raging with a violence never before

equalled in the history of sieges; and the whole internal area was one

vast heap of crumbled earth-work, shattered masonry, shot-pierced

buildings, torn-up streets, scorched timbers, broken guns and muskets,

and shattered vehicles. The buildings were shattered into forms truly

fantastic; some of the lower stories almost shot away and barely able to

support the superstructure; some with enormous gaps in the walls. Proofs

were manifold that the Russians intended to defend the town street by

street, had we forced an entrance for across every street were

constructed barricades defended by field pieces. In some of the best

houses columns were broken by shot, ceilings falling, which these

columns had once supported; elegant furniture crushed beneath broken

cornices, beams, and fragments of broken looking-glasses, mingled with

the dust on the marble floors. The effect of our 13-inch shells had been

extraordinary. These dread missiles, of which so many thousand had been

thrown into the town, weigh 200 pounds each, and falling from a great

height, have the weight of over sixty tons descending deep below the

foundation of the houses, and when they explode, scattering everything

around far and wide. Our army still continued to encamp outside the

town, sending only as many troops as would suffice to guard it, and take

up the principal buildings among the ruins for guard-houses. Now we have

plenty of wood, each company sending a fatigue party daily from the camp

to Sebastopol for it. These parties could be seen by the Russians from

the north side pulling down the houses for the wood, and carrying it to

camp. While doing so the Russians invariably fire upon us, from the

north side of the harbour, where they have thrown up very strong forts,

armed with the heaviest guns. They have placed some of those guns with

the breach sunk into the ground, in order to get elevation, and throw

shot right into our camp amongst our tents, not unfrequently killing and

wounding our men.

We have now regular guards and sentries all over Sebastopol. After

posting a sentry one day, I happened to go down some steps which led to

the basement of a large building, and there I found to my horror fifteen

dead Russians. My sense of smell first detected them in the dark vault;

they were in the worst state of putrefaction. It was found on removing

them that they had all been wounded, and had crawled in there and died

from their wounds. We buried them where thousands of their comrades were

buried, in rear of the Redan. The army is now quiet—no firing except an

odd shot from the Russians at our fatigue parties in Sebastopol. We have

no trench duty to perform—nothing but the regular camp guards; we have

plenty of fuel and good rations; any amount of canteens on the ground,

so we are making up now in comfort for the hard times we had last

winter. The army was now at a stand-still, having nothing to occupy

their time.

But the commanders began to look forward to a second wintering in the

Crimea as a probability. Invaluable as the railway had become, it was

inadequate to the conveyance of the immense bulk and weight of supplies

required day by day in the army, and hence it is necessary to do that

which, if done in the early part of last winter, would have saved so

many valuable lives—to construct a new road from Balaklava to the camp.

Therefore the road was laid out and large numbers of our men worked on

it daily; but making roads is only child's play compared with making

trenches under shot, shell, grape and canister. The whole of the

divisions were kept continually at road-making; the road promises to be

a splendid one, and we were all anxious to make it. We had no less than

10,000 men working on this road, between Balaklava and the front. By the

end of October a most excellent road was constructed, including branch

roads to the several divisions. The French at the same time constructed

a road across the valley which connects their camp with the main road to

Kamiesch; and besides they have improved the old Tartar roads.

Our army suffered much last winter from the want of roads. This

excellent road which the British army has constructed, will ever remain

as a memento of British occupation. During the three weeks of September

which followed the evacuation of the south side of Sebastopol the

Russians were quietly but actively strengthening their fortifications on

the north side, making all the heights bristle with guns, and firing a

shot whenever an opportunity offered to work mischief upon our guards,

sentries, and fatigue-parties in the town. We had planted a few guns in

position so as to bear on the northern heights; but no disposition was

shown to open a regular fire on them, except an odd shot to remind them

that we were ready for them at any time.

Camp rumours arose concerning some supposed expedition into the interior

of the Crimea, but the securing of the captured city was regarded as the

first duty.

On the 20th September, 1855, the anniversary of the battle of the Alma,

a distribution of the medals for the Crimea, and clasps for Alma,

Balaklava and Inkerman, took place among the troops; these decorations

were very much appreciated by the officers and men. The day was

commemorated with much festivity and amusement in both camps.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXII.

EXPEDITION TO KINBURN—THE VOYAGE—ODESSA—LANDING—CUTTING

TRENCHES—BOMBARDMENT—THE WHITE FLAG—CAPITULATION—THE

PRISONERS—RECONNAISSANCE—THE MARCH—VILLAGE—BIVOUAC—MARCH—

A VILLAGE—PIGS AND GEESE—DEPARTURE—THE FLEET—RETURN—

SIR W. CODRINGTON—RUSSIAN SPY.

An expedition to Kinburn having been decided upon by the allies, on the

6th of October a squadron of H. M. fleet were in readiness at Kamiesch

Bay to convey the 17th, 20th, 21st, 57th, and 63rd Regiments, together

with marines, artillery and engineers under the command of General

Spencer. As we marched to Kamiesch Bay the morning was close and sultry.

When we got a third of the way private Hanratty fell out of the ranks

and reported himself sick, when Captain Smith calls out, "Corporal

Faughnan, take Hanratty back to hospital." "Yes, sir," says I, we were

then marching down a very steep hill. I marched back to the hospital,

although I was badly able, for I was bad with dysentery myself at the

time, and for upwards of two weeks previously, and was so weak that I

could scarcely march; but I did not wish to give in and be left behind.

After I gave over the sick man, I saw the regiment a long way off in the

valley. I marched as fast as I was able with a full kit. In the

afternoon rain commenced to drizzle, and the regiment halted to cloak. I

then gained on them and soon overtook them. When we halted at the beach

I could have fallen down from weakness and exhaustion, but I kept up my

pluck and never gave in. The troops were embarked on board the fleet by

small steam-tenders; the 17th Regiment had the honour of being conveyed

to Kinburn by the flag-ship "Royal Albert."

On the 7th October, the troops having been on board, and everything

ready, we set sail, accompanied by several line-of-battle ships, small

steamers, gun-boats, mortar-vessels, and three French floating

batteries, constituting an armament of great magnitude. The English

squadron comprised six steam line-of-battle ships, seventeen steam

frigates, ten gun-boats, six mortar vessels, three steam tenders and ten

transports. The Russians north of Sebastopol were in wild excitement

when this large squadron appeared; but the ships soon disappeared from

the Crimea.

The admirals signalled to the several captains to rendezvous off Odessa.

As we got out to sea the band discoursed music while the officers were

at dinner; before dinner they played as usual the "Roast Beef of Old

England," which we had not heard for many months before.

We had no hammocks, so we were obliged to lie all round the decks in

groups during the night. At eight o'clock next morning we cast anchor

off Odessa, three miles from the town. It was then the turn for the

citizens to be alarmed by this display of force.

The Russians on the heights, in barrack square and all round the city

became incessantly active in making observations. We could see the old

fashioned telegraph on the towers along the coast working, and clouds of

Cossacks, infantry and artillery, formed up along the cliffs, ready to

defend the place if attacked. All day on the 9th the fleet remained at

anchor, about 80 French and English vessels forming a line six miles in

length, eagerly watched from the cliffs by large masses of troops. The

rocket-boats, gun-boats, mortar-vessels, and floating batteries might

have gone nearer and crumbled the city to ruins; but such was not our

orders, and not a shot was fired, and thus was Odessa spared for the

third time during the war.

The object of the admirals in making this feint on Odessa, was to draw

the Russian troops away from Kinburn, thereby reducing the number of

troops in that garrison.

The 10th and 11th we were still at anchor, dense fogs giving the seamen

a foretaste of the dangers of that coast; and as the 12th and 13th were

very stormy, the admirals would not risk leaving until the weather

moderated; thus it happened that the citizens had the threatening fleet

in view for six days. The squadrons weighed anchor on the morning of the

14th, and cast anchor off Kinburn that afternoon; in the evening some of

the French and English gun-boats entered the estuary of the Dneiper,

passing the Fort of Kinburn under a heavy fire from the enemy.

On the morning of the 15th the troops were landed along the beach out of

range of the fort, by the launches of the ships, each being filled with

soldiers, and made fast to each other by means of the painter. After the

troops were all got into the launches, they formed several long lines of

red coats in little boats—each boat was steered by a naval officer.

The front boat of the line being made fast to a small steamer, the whole

were then towed in front of the beach where we were to land. As the

steamer ran in towards the shore, she cast off the line of boats, and

while they were under way each let go the painter, and headed towards

the beach running in close on a sandy bottom, when the troops jumped

ashore and deployed from where we landed to the River Dneiper, while the

gun-boats went up the river. By this double manœuvre the Russians were

prevented from receiving reinforcements by sea, while the garrison were

cut off by land. In the evening the mortar vessels began to try their

range on the forts.

The troops brought no tents, and only three days' rations. After posting

outlying pickets, we were set to work cutting a trench from the sea

where we landed to the river Dneiper, a distance of five miles. While we

were digging the trench during the day, the outlying pickets had a

skirmish with a small force of Cossacks; but the chief labour was the

landing of stores and artillery, tedious and dangerous work over the

rough surf, occasioning the swamping of some of the boats. A camp was

formed, but without tents. At two o'clock in the morning we had the

trench cut and manned ready to receive the Russian reinforcements for

the garrison, which were expected from Odessa, but which did not come.

However, a large force of Cossacks came along at three o'clock in the

morning, when we opened a heavy fire upon them from our new trench,

forcing them to retire quicker than they came, we then kept a good

look-out till morning. Generals Spencer and Bazaine made a cavalry

_reconnaissance_ at day-break, when the Cossacks retired altogether.

About four companies of the French and English marksmen were placed

under cover at a distance of four hundred yards in rear of the fort, and

kept up a fusilade on the Russian gunners; while at the same time the

artillery opened a strong fire on the fort; at nine o'clock the ships

opened fire on the garrison.

The "Royal Albert," "Algiers," "Agamemnon," and "Princess Royal," and

four ships of the line, approached abreast of the principal fort; the

"Tribune" and "Sphinx" attacked the earth-work battery. The "Hannibal,"

"Dauntless," and "Terrible," took position opposite the battery near the

end of the fort, while the smaller vessels directed their attack on the

east and centre of the fort. Thus the Russians, from the shape and

position of the fort, were attacked on all sides at once. Each ship

poured its broadside upon the port and the strand batteries as it

passed, and received the enemy's fire in return. From nine o'clock until

noon these powerful vessels maintained their terrible fire against the

forts, crashing the parapets and disabling the guns, while the mortar

vessels set fire to the buildings within the fort. The "Arrow" and

"Lynx," with others, were exposed to much danger. Having taken up a

position close to the batteries to discharge their shell upon the fort,

they received in return an iron torrent which tried the resolution of

the crew.

At twelve o'clock the Russians hoisted a white flag, when an English and

a French officer met the Governor at the entrance of the fort, when he

tendered his surrender in military form by giving up his sword, but not

without bitter tears and a passionate exclamation expressive of wounded

national and professional honour. The officers bore the scene with

dignity, but with deep mortification, and many of them were on the verge

of mutiny against the Governor, so strong did they resist any proposals

of surrender. The garrison laid down their arms, and were marched

outside the town and placed close to our camp, with a chain of sentries

and the French around them. The number of prisoners taken was 1,500,

besides 500 killed and wounded; several of our doctors were sent to

attend their wounded in the fort.

The prisoners were divided, the English half were taken on board the

"Vulcan," while the other half were taken on board the French ships. The

prisoners having been sent off to Constantinople, the captors proceeded

to garrison Kinburn, repairing and increasing the defences, clearing

away the ruins, repairing the walls and embrasures, replacing the

damaged cannon by large ship guns, deepening the ditch, reforming the

palisades, strengthening the parapets, restoring the casemates,

completing efficient barracks and magazines, in the interior of the

fort, and depositing a large amount of military stores of all kinds.

When the small garrison, the other side of the estuary, opposite

Kinburn, Aczakoff, found that their guns could effect little against the

invaders, and that Kinburn was forced to yield, they blew up the St.

Nicholas battery, on the morning of the 18th, and retired a few hours

afterwards. On the 20th Generals Spencer and Bazaine set out on a

_reconnaissance_ with several regiments of both forces, about five

thousand strong. After marching on a sandy plain, like a desert, ten

miles, we halted close to a village, piled arms, and were allowed to go

foraging into the village, which we found deserted by the inhabitants;

but they left abundance of pigs, geese, fowls and provisions, bread

baking in the ovens, pails of milk and several other most useful

articles, besides in the gardens we found abundance of potatoes,

cabbage, tomatoes, pumpkins, and almost all sorts of vegetables. We

divided the town with the French; after tearing down several houses for

fuel and making camp fires, we commenced cooking fowls, turkeys, geese,

potatoes, cabbages and vegetables; while others were off through the

village killing pigs, geese, turkeys, and chickens, others cutting down

branches of trees from a wood hard by, for the purpose of making huts to

protect us for the night, as we had no tents, and covering them with hay

from the hay yards, and shaking plenty of hay inside to lie on; every

mess erected one of these huts. After indulging in the good things,

which I can assure you we enjoyed, we lay down very comfortably for the

night in the hay, and slept most soundly. Next day at two o'clock

General Spencer reviewed the troops under his command, with the French

General and his soldiers looking on. We were to have the pleasure of

another night in this camp. After enjoying boiled fowls, roast turkeys

and plenty of fresh vegetables, we lay down among the hay and slept

well, thanks be to God. Next morning, after breakfast, we marched to

another village named Roosker, ten miles off. We halted outside the

village, and sent in foraging parties from each regiment, dividing the

town with the French and placing line of sentries in the centre. As we

approached the village, the people fled, leaving everything behind,

pigs, geese, ducks, fowls, bread, milk and butter. As we killed the live

stock, we placed them on the commissariat waggons and brought the spoils

back to camp. It was a most amusing scene, the French and English

officers and soldiers shooting geese, ducks and hens, with their

revolvers, and the men chasing the pigs and stabbing them with their

bayonets. A soldier catches a pig by the hind leg, the animal drags him

into the French lines, when a French soldier claims the animal, and a

kind of a good natured quarrel ensues about the ownership of the pig.

The geese rose in flocks, and the officers had the greatest sport

shooting them. These were jolly times. After ransacking the town, we set

fire to it, and marched back to our old bivouac, ten miles distant.

After arriving at our old camp ground, lo and behold! our huts were all

demolished, and not a thing left on the ground. The Cossacks had been

there during our absence, and burned and destroyed everything. We could

see them away in the distance, about 400 strong, watching our movements;

however, we bivouacked there as best we could that night. As we marched

back, we passed several windmills which we set fire to. Next morning we

marched to Kinburn with the commissariat waggons loaded with pigs,

geese, fowls, turkeys, potatoes, and cabbage, which were served out as

rations in the usual manner.

On the 28th October, Generals Spencer and Bazaine began their

arrangements for our departure, first shipping all the stores, guns, and

horses, and selecting a sufficient number of troops to garrison and

guard Kinburn during the winter; but to bring away all the other forces.

Sir Edmund Lyons and the French Admiral selected the vessels which were

to be left to protect the place from any Russian attack across the

estuary. On the morning of the 29th, troops embarked on board the fleet

from the wharf at Kinburn.

The 17th Regiment was conveyed to the Crimea, by the "Terrible." It was

a most imposing spectacle, this magnificent fleet sailing in line with

the two flag ships leading, and signalling their orders to the captains

of the other ships; the line extended over ten miles. What must the

Russians along the coast think of this immense armament? The fleet cast

anchor in Kamiesch Bay, on the 1st November; and the troops disembarked

at once and marched to our old camp on Cathcart's hill.

This expedition did the troops more good than all the medicine in the

hospital could have done. I was a new man when I got back. If Hanratty

had braved it out as I did, and had come on with the expedition, he

might have been well by this time, instead of which he is yet in

hospital. The change of air and fresh vegetables worked wonders in

restoring and invigorating the men's health. On our return to camp we

found that a quantity of rum which was left behind, with other

regimental stores, in charge of a sergeant and twelve men was all gone;

for which the sergeant was tried and reduced, and the privates were

severely punished.

During the month of November we had another change in the command of the

army, the appointment of General Sir W. J. Codrington, vice General

Simpson. The appointment of Sir William was very popular with the army,

and brought increased activity among the troops.

Among other improvements, which were made to meet the wants of the army,

was a large reservoir in the ravine between the 2nd light, and the 4th

divisions, in the construction of which the French took a prominent

part. This reservoir is capable of supplying three divisions of the

British and three of the French with abundance of good spring water

during winter and summer. Everything seems to have been done now to

protect and meet the wants of the army during the coming winter. Almost

every kind of supplies is in abundance, and the army in the best of

health and spirits.

I was in command of a divisional guard, near Tchernaya valley, when a

Russian spy was given in my charge by a cavalry _reconnaissance_ party.

I immediately posted a sentry to take charge of this prisoner; but he

watched his opportunity and slipped out under the fly of the tent. The

sentry gave the alarm, when I rushed out after him, calling a file of

the guard to follow me. As I gave him chase, I threw off my

accoutrements, in order to give me more freedom; he had then about one

hundred and fifty yards start of me, and was barefooted, whilst I had

heavy boots on; however, I gave him chase. We had run about two miles

when I saw that I was gaining on him, and I kept gaining, little by

little, for about five miles, when I came up behind him. I was then

nearly out of breath; I kept close behind him a good while till I got my

wind, then I threw my foot before him with the Connaught touch, and

pitched him on his face; then I jumped on him and held him, keeping him

down, lest he might overpower me if he got up, as he was a most powerful

man, and the file of the guard had not come up to us yet. While I gave

him an odd kick, he begged for mercy, which I granted, and marched the

Tartar back, meeting the file of the guard as I was returning. If I had

let that spy escape, I would have been tried by a court-martial; but my

Irish experience in running, before I joined the service, stood to me

then; I would have run after him into the Russian camp before I would

have lost him. When I got back to the tent, I tied him to the pole with

a guy rope, at the same time tying his hands behind his back. I was

determined he should not get away again.

The camp followers and speculators have got so numerous that they have a

large bazaar formed in the rear of the 4th division. Large shops of

almost every description, saloons, billiard tables, restaurants, hotels,

groceries, tobacconists, wholesale and retail liquor stores, and in fact

almost everything that can be got in any town, can be had here for cash.

There is another large bazaar in the French camp. As we assemble in

Smith & Co.'s liquor store of an evening, drinking "Guiness's bottled

stout," smoking our pipe or cigar with the greatest of comfort, we could

but contrast our position with that of this time last year, when the

inclement weather commenced. The want of food, forage, huts, clothing,

fuel, medicine, roads, vehicles and horses, proved its tragic results.

Men lay down in the mire to die of despair, and no commanding officer

could tell how many of his poor soldiers would be available for duty

next day. But now, towards the close of 1855, we have every kind of

supply in abundance, thanks to the people of England! The army is well

fed and well clothed, and we are looking out for some active operations

against the enemy. The Russians continue to fortify the northern heights

without firing a shot, and we occupy the south quietly, without

disturbing them. How long this will last will be seen in the next

chapter.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXIII.

ARMISTICE—CESSATION OF HOSTILITIES—EXCHANGE OF COINS—HEIR TO

FRENCH IMPERIAL THRONE—TREATY OF PEACE—INVITATIONS—GRAND REVIEW—

REMOVAL OF THE ARMY—EMBARKATION—THE VOYAGE—SHIP ON FIRE—ARRIVAL

AT MALTA—JOIN THE RESERVE BATTALION—PROCEED TO ALEXANDRIA—THE

VOYAGE—ARRIVAL—VISIT PLACES OF RENOWN—VISIT CAIRO—THE

NILE—ARRIVAL—THE CITY—BAZAARS.

At the end of February, 1856, the diplomatists at Paris agreed upon an

armistice during the discussion of a treaty of peace. The immediate

effect was observable in the Crimea, as soon as the several commanders

had received information. On the morning of the 1st March, a white flag

was hoisted on the Tchernaya bridge, and near it assembled the Russian

commander, a staff of officers, and a troop of Cossacks. The English

commander with his staff, accompanied by others from the French and

Sardinians, descended across the valley to the bridge where they met the

Russians with whom they discussed the details of an armistice. The

cessation of hostilities was to last one month, during the consideration

of the treaty. Through the aid of their interpreters they decided that

the Tchernaya river was to be the boundary between the opposing armies.

The quietest month spent by the allied armies in the Crimea was the

month of March, 1856. Hostilities were entirely stopped, and yet none

could say whether they might not commence again with all their horrors.

The diplomatists at Paris had one month to decide the question of peace

or war.

The commanders, while maintaining their boundary arrangement, did not

prohibit friendly meetings of the opposing armies on their respective

banks of the boundary line, where the officers and soldiers frequently

assembled to look at each other in peace and try to converse in a

friendly manner across the stream, when the exchange of coins and other

small articles or mementoes took place, and an interchange of civilities

such as "bono Johnny," "bono Francais," "bono Roos," besides other

complimentary expressions. This intercourse was kept up during the month

of the armistice. For the rest, the operations of the month differed

little from those of the camp at Aldershot, all the divisions being

exercised and reviewed in the open spots all round the camp. Sometimes

the Russians held their reviews on the same day that we did, with the

glittering bayonets of each full in view of the other, and both alike

safe in the conviction that no unfriendly shot would disturb the pageant.

On the 23rd of this month, festivities in the French camp celebrated the

birth of an heir to the French imperial throne; bonfires were kindled,

guns fired, reviews held, horse-racing on the banks of the Tchernaya,

healths drank by the French and their allies, even the Russians

participated in the rejoicings, for they lighted fires all along their

lines.

April brought with it the treaty of peace. Before the hour had arrived

when the armistice would have expired, news was received that the treaty

had been signed at Paris. When peace was proclaimed, an interchange of

invitations took place between the Russian army and the allies. The

Russian soldiers came over to our camp, in small parties at a time,

and we did the same to their camp, each party in charge of a

non-commissioned officer. I and twelve privates visited the Russian camp

and their bazaar, which we found much the same as our own. All sorts of

English goods were sold there, even "Bass's bottled ale," and "Guiness's

porter," at a dollar a bottle. Their bread was as black as your boot;

the coffee-houses were crowded with English, French and Russian

soldiers, drinking, singing, and dancing; and the interchange of any

amount of "bono Johnnys," "bono Roos," and "bono Francais," trying to

make each other believe that they were great friends.

On the 17th April, the British and French troops had a grand review on

the heights near St. George's Monastery (at which General Luders, the

Russian commander, with his brilliant staff, was present). They were

formed up in line of continuous quarter distance columns of battalions,

when the commanders of the different armies with their gorgeous retinue

of staff and cavalry officers rode along the line, with the bands of

each regiment playing in succession; after which they marched past the

grand assemblage of commanders and staff, in quick time, each regiment

marching past in grand division style, with its band playing in front.

General Luders returned deeply impressed with the appearance of the

allied armies, and expressed himself much gratified at the attention

shown him by the allied forces. Duties of a more serious character,

however, now demanded the attention of the Generals. Large armies were

to be removed from the Crimea, and vast stores of provisions and

ammunition; besides all the round shot the Russians had fired at us

during the siege, which we had gathered and carried on our back to the

railway depôt for shipment to England with all the commissariat stores

brought down from each divisional depôt at the front where they had been

collected in such immense quantities. Day after day, during the summer

months, did the various regiments leave the Crimea, some for Malta,

others for the Ionian Islands, the West Indies, or Canada, but the

greater part for England. All the camp equipage and stores for each

regiment had to be brought into transport order, and everything brought

to Balaklava for shipment.

About the 10th of May the 17th Regiment marched from their old camp on

Cathcart's Hill, and embarked at Balaklava at two o'clock in the

afternoon, on board the steam transport "Sir Robert Low." At 3 p.m. we

moved slowly out between the rocks which overhang the narrow entrance to

the harbour. We were all on deck with tears in our eyes, taking a last

sad look towards "Cathcart's Hill" where we had left so many noble

comrades behind in that cold desolate plateau, so far away from friends

and relatives; these thoughts filled us with sadness. As our ship glided

through the beautiful calm, blue waters of the Euxine, the land faded

from our view. We then turned our thoughts homewards after giving thanks

to God for the great mercy he had shown in bringing us safely through

all the death struggles and hardships which our brave troops had

suffered; and now that we were returning alive we had every reason to be

thankful.

The weather being fine, we made the passage across the Black Sea in 48

hours. The second day at two p.m., we passed the old fortress of Riva

which commands the entrance to the Bosphorus, passing Constantinople at

3 o'clock, taking a last look at that strange old city, with its

picturesque sights, the tall minarets and the blue waters of the

Bosphorus catching the golden light as the sun dipped behind the distant

hills. We rounded Seraglio point and steamed down the Marmora, passing

the Seven Towers on our right, and slowly the beautiful city faded from

our view forever. We had a smooth passage across the Sea of Marmora.

Next morning at ten o'clock we passed Gallipoli. On the 14th May, at 9

o'clock in the evening, as our ship was running at the rate of ten knots

an hour, an alarm of fire came from the cook's galley. The troops were

immediately formed up along the decks, and the pumps manned. After a

quarter of an hour's hard work we mastered the fire, and put it out, but

not before it had burned a large hole in the ship's deck, and destroyed

the galley. We had in truth a narrow escape, the fire nearly getting the

better of us. On the morning of the 17th May we arrived at Malta, where

we received orders to proceed to Quebec. The Regiment being over the

strength of non-commissioned officers, those who had families at home

got the preference of remaining behind, and joining the reserve

battalion at Malta. I was one of the latter; after bidding good-bye to

the old regiment, with tears in my eyes, I disembarked with twelve

others and joined the reserve battalion. The regiment proceeding to

Canada next morning at 8 o'clock, we after landing, were quartered in

Strada Reale Barracks.

The garrison was at this time filled with the soldiers of more than one

nation, and the medley of tongues was rather bewildering to the ears, as

was the diversity of costume to the eyes. There were the Italian and

German Legions promenading the streets in their gay uniforms, Malta

fencibles, English artillery and infantry. The large number of soldiers

in such a small place made it a perfect military hot-house.

The Strada Reale, with its lazy moving crowds and singular architecture,

was soon entered. Lights were beginning to brighten the shop-windows and

streets; occasionally sparkling from the numerous bay-windows above; but

though the night was approaching, the air, deeply impregnated with the

fumes of tobacco and odour of garlic, was close and suffocating, more

especially from the intense heat exhaled from the arid rock, which had

all day blazed under a fierce sun. The barracks were so crowded, and the

weather so hot, that the doctor ordered the 17th under canvas at St.

Frances' Camp. An order detailed your humble servant, Corporal Faughnan,

to proceed on June 6th, by one of the Peninsular and Oriental Company's

steamers, to Alexandria, there to take over some marine invalids

according to written instructions, and take charge of them to Malta.

June 6th. At nine o'clock, a.m., I embarked on board the steamer for

Alexandria. As we passed out of the harbour at 9.30, the sky was blue

and pleasant, the air balmy and clear. The Island, like a blue cloud in

the distance, faded away, and again the trackless waste of waters

stretched like a boundless expanse around us.

June 9th. It is now three days since we left Malta. We should have been

in harbour to-day, but have been retarded somewhat by head winds.

June 10th. Expecting to enter port this morning, I was early on deck. We

were already in sight of land. As we neared the coast, one of the first

things that caught my attention was the number of windmills, standing

upon an eminence along the shore; at first they reminded me of a line of

soldiers in skirmishing order, but as we neared them they lifted their

tall, circular forms, and stretched out their sheeted arms, like huge

sentinels keeping watch along the coast. The entrance to the harbour is

a tortuous and difficult one; vessels cannot get in by night or by day

without a very experienced pilot. We were straining our eyes to catch

the first glimpse of the strange land, and there, just upon that

projecting point of land we are now passing, where you see an

insignificant lighthouse, stood a famous and costly tower, bearing upon

its top, as it lifted its colossal form above the waves, a beacon-light

to guide the mariner to his haven. It is said to have been so lofty it

could be seen one hundred miles at sea—which of course, is a mistake.

The gigantic tower of white marble was erected by the old Egyptian kings

three hundred years before the birth of Christ. It was one of the "seven

wonders of the world." But here we are safe at our moorings. How strange

everything looks. There are the hulks of a number of great old ships,

rotting away and falling to pieces into the water. They were once the

Viceroy's fleet. The flags of many nations float from the masts around

us. There is a boat approaching with a Union Jack flying, and manned

with blue jackets.

After landing the passengers, we had to pass through the Custom House. A

liveried servant in Turkish costume, guarding the door, politely bowed

us through, and we stood before the receiver of customs. He wore a rich

Turkish costume, a magnificent turban on his head, a gold-hilted sword

by his side; he addressed us in English and called all our names from a

list; as we answered we passed on. No other questions were asked;

personal baggage is seldom examined at this port. We had scarcely passed

the door before we were surrounded by a crowd of donkey boys in blue

shirts and red fez caps. They began pulling and snatching at our baggage

for the privilege of taking it to a hotel. Luckily, an omnibus,—a

European innovation,—from the very hotel we had selected, stood at the

entrance, and we made a sudden dash into it. A crack of the driver's

whip, and we were whirling through the dirty, narrow streets of the

Turkish quarter of the city. We soon emerged into the English part of

the town, and a magical change came over the scene; a fine open square

ornamented with fountains and surrounded with beautiful stone houses

presented a most inviting appearance. A runner from the hotel conducted

me to the Marine Hospital, when I presented the order for the invalids

to return with me to Malta, when the surgeon informed me that two of the

men had had a relapse and could not be removed for some time. This gave

me a good opportunity to visit several of the renowned localities,

places of antiquity, and monumental records, that the ravages of war and

the wreck of time have failed to obliterate. During the voyage I had

made the acquaintance of two Frenchmen, and after I got back to the

hotel they were pleased when I told them that I would have to stop at

Alexandria for some time, and did not know how long; they could speak

English pretty well and we got quite familiar. The hotel was kept by a

Frenchman, and the business of the hotel was conducted on the European

plan, but the floors and walls were constantly crumbling, scattering

sand and lime upon clothes and furniture, and affording plenty of hiding

places for bugs and fleas. Of the presence of the latter we had too

strong demonstration, but fleas in Egypt are as common as sand on the

sea shore, and we made up our mind to pay the tribute of blood demanded

by those pests, with the resignation of martyrs.

We next visited Cleopatra's Needle, since removed to London. Of these

remarkable obelisks there are two, just within the walls and near the

sea shore at the northeast angle of the city—one is standing, the other

has fallen down and is now nearly buried in the ground. They are of the

same material as Pompey's Pillar, red granite, from the quarries of

upper Egypt. These two obelisks stood about seventy paces apart; the

fallen one lies close to the pedestal; its length, in its mutilated

state, is sixty-six feet, and was given, many years ago, by Mohammed Ali

to the British Government, who have lately brought it home. The standing

one is about seventy feet high, seven feet seven inches in diameter at

the base, and tapering towards the top about five feet.

Next day we visited the Catacombs, which are about three miles outside

the city; the Frenchmen hired a guide and we all rode on donkeys. The

grounds near the entrance were once covered with costly habitations and

beautiful gardens. The vast extent of these underground tenements, their

architecture, symmetry, and beauty; the more wonderful from the fact

that they are all chiselled out of the solid rock, must excite the

greatest wonder and admiration. In these tombs, generation after

generation have laid their dead; Egyptians, Persians, Greeks, Romans and

Saracens have, no doubt, in turn used them, and different nations have

here blended in the common dust, at least such is the common opinion.

Ancient Alexandria, with all her magnificence and splendour, is now

nothing but heaps of ruins. The modern city stands upon the ruins of the

past—well may we say the great, immortal past. An Egyptian city at

night is a gloomy place—business suspended, shops all closed, no

amusements, no meetings, no windows next the street to shed even a

little light upon the gloomy alleys; all is involved in Egyptian

darkness, but silence is not there, for dogs are among the wondrous

speakers of this land. They howl about in packs like wolves, owning no

master, making night hideous with their row and fights; in addition to

this, the watchman's yell rang through the city every quarter of an

hour; it woke me more than the guns before Sebastopol; a calm of fifteen

minutes succeeds, and again the lengthened shout assures the citizen

"all is well." Being disturbed by the watchman's call, howling of dogs,

bugs and fleas, we could not sleep, so we were up early and had

breakfast at seven o'clock, after which we all agreed to visit Cairo,

and at once proceeded to the railway station, which, by the way, has

only been lately constructed. The present facilities for reaching Cairo

can only be appreciated by those who have been familiar with the former

slow locomotion of canal and river. Then it was by the toilsome process

of wind and oars. Now a first-class railroad of about one hundred miles

connects the cities. At ten a.m., the signal was given, and we struck

out into the great delta of the Nile; away to the left is the harbour of

Aboukir, where the immortal Nelson with his fleet met the French in

1798. His victory was complete; all the French ships except two, were

captured, and the victor was rewarded with the title, "Baron Nelson of

the Nile."

The immense green plain stretched out each side of us as far as the eye

could reach. Crops of some kind are raised all the year round, except

while the soil is covered with water from the inundation of the Nile.

There is no cold weather to prevent the growth of vegetables. Look out

of the carriage window: do you see that long line of water just by the

side of us? It is the Nile. The Nile! The famous Nile, that has a place

in history with the Euphrates and the Jordan;—for thousands of years

sending out a living flood from its mysterious and hidden sources,

rolling onward through this great valley, and emptying itself, by its

seven mouths, into the blue sea; a river which the Egyptians worshipped,

and whose waters, by the rod of Moses, were turned into blood.

About 5 p.m., our train came to a halt in the station of Grand Cairo. We

landed on the platform amid the strangest crowd of human beings I had

ever seen congregated. There was the Turkish official, with his great

loose sleeves and flowing robes, gold hilted sword and turbaned head,

loathsome looking beggars, wretched women and squalid children. As we

emerged from the station, a hotel porter, in English costume, addressed

us in English, "Shepherd's hotel, sir? Omnibus just here, all right!"

and in fifteen minutes we were in a good European hotel, built in the

oriental style, with a large open court and pleasure-grounds; terms only

two dollars a day. After tea, which was ready on our arrival at the

hotel, we took a walk through the city. The streets are numerous, narrow

and crooked, there being but one in the business part of the town wide

enough for a carriage; this public thoroughfare being only about 35 feet

wide, many of the others are not more than ten feet. The upper stories

of the houses projecting over the lower ones, and the large prominent

windows projecting still beyond the houses, the windows of the upper

stories are brought so near together, you could easily step from one to

the other. The bazaars are very busy places, and are thronged by a mixed

and motley multitude of people, camels, horses, donkeys, men, women, and

children, mingled together in strange confusion, while the noise and

bustle present a wild and striking scene that can be nowhere witnessed

but in an Arabic city. Amid this wild confusion may be seen a great

variety of oriental costumes. But the turbaned heads predominate, the

black of the Copt, the blue-black of the Jew, the green and white of the

Moslem are mingled in strange variety. There moves a lordly Turk with

loose sleeves and flowing robes, with all the solemn dignity of his

nation; the grandee, with his rich flowing robes of silk and lace, loose

breeches, white stockings and yellow slippers; the swarthy skinned, half

naked fellah, the bare-faced, half-dressed, toil-worn country woman with

tatooed lips and eyebrows, and by her side the dignified lady with

long, close veil, red trowsers, long yellow boots, and dress of

richly-embroidered cloth. These ladies ride astride of donkeys; the

ample folds of their long veils and loose robes almost hide the little

animal from view.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE PYRAMIDS—CROSSING THE NILE—ISLAND OF RODA—ARK OF

BULRUSHES—VISIT CHEOPS—HELIOPOLIS—PALACE OF SHOOBRA—PALM

GROVES—THE CITADEL—JOSEPH'S WELL—DERVISHES—RETURN

After hiring three donkeys to take us to the Pyramids next morning at

eight o'clock, we retired to rest and slept much better than we did the

night before; the live stock were not quite so numerous as they were in

the last hotel. We were up bright and early, had breakfast at seven

o'clock, after which we mounted our donkeys and were soon outside Cairo,

an old town on the banks of the Nile, founded upon the site of the old

Egyptian Babylon; it is much older than Grand Cairo. Here are the ruins

of the old Roman fortress, besieged and taken by the Turks. The solid

walls and high towers are yet standing, on the front of which may still

be seen the Roman eagle. This fortress has now become a Christian town

and is dedicated to St. George, the patron saint of the Copts. There are

also three convents here, one is occupied by the Roman, Armenian, and

Syrian Maronites, another by the Copts, a third by the Greeks. In this

Greek convent it is said that the Virgin and the Blessed Child, Jesus,

had their abode during their sojourn in Egypt; here, too, are ancient

structures said to have been built by Joseph, and used for treasure

houses, in which corn was stored for the days of famine. In an upper

chamber over one of the towers is an ancient Christian record sculptured

on wood in the time of Diocletian. It is well preserved and of curious

device; below is a representation of the Deity sitting on a globe

supported by two angels, on either side of which is a procession of six

figures representing the twelve apostles. Just on the opposite bank lies

Gizeh, from which the Pyramids are named, with a ferry at the upper end

of the town. As we approached the ferry, we were surprised at the number

of people who thronged the landing place; numerous boats of all

sizes were waiting for freight; donkeys and their riders, camels

with their huge burdens, ragged men and women, were mingled

together—antique-looking boats in strange confusion. After securing a

ferry boat we gave the boatman an extra sixpence each to land us for a

short time upon the beautiful little island of Roda whose grassy banks

and shady groves have long been the resort of pleasure parties from

Cairo. On this island stands the celebrated Nilometer; this is a square

chamber built of stone, in the centre of which is a graduated stone

pillar. By a scale on this pillar the daily rise of the Nile is

ascertained; this is proclaimed every day during the inundation in the

streets of Cairo. By this island, also, tradition fixes the place where

a daughter of Levi, under the pressure of that cruel decree, took an ark

of bulrushes, daubing it with slime and pitch and put the child therein

and laid it in the flags by the river's brink. At this island, the

faithful sister, Miriam, half concealed among the banks, watched with

anxious solicitude the fate of her infant brother. Are these the waters

that went rippling by the ark of the infant Moses, and over which he

afterwards stretched his miraculous rod, transforming them into a

torrent of blood? Oh Scripture, how wonderful thou art in thy story.

Landing from the boat, we were in Gizeh, an old town, the miserable

wreck of what it once was in the days of the Mamelukes. Passing along

these streets, large quantities of oranges, dates and other fruits with

bread and vegetables were exposed for sale. We bought some of these

things and had some lunch; after a half hour's rest we started again, we

had now about four miles to make across the open plain, the huge

pyramids all the time in sight; we passed three Arab villages on our

way. The appearance of indolence and poverty is everywhere apparent. A

dozen ferocious dogs with bristling hair and savage howl, were sure to

herald our approach. As we emerged from the last village the gray forms

of those great sepulchral monuments lay just before us; their huge

proportions seemed rapidly to increase as we neared them. They stand

upon a rocky eminence, their base elevated one hundred and fifty feet

above the plain just at the foot of the range of hills, behind which

lies the vast ocean of sands constituting the great Lybian desert.

The ride was over, and we stood in amazement at the base of Cheops.

There are five groups of these pyramids, numbering in all about 40. They

extend up and down the valley for ten or twelve miles: most of them have

such gigantic proportions as to justly entitle them to a place among the

wonders of the world. They all stand upon the brow of the hills opening

back into the great Lybian desert. As we stood in deep contemplation,

gazing in wonder on this mighty structure we had come to examine, what

huge proportions; what an immense labour; what years of human toil! But

they were built for all that, and here they stand, and have stood for

thousands of years, defying the storms of the desert, and the lightnings

of the firmament; how wonderful are the works of men! About a dozen

Arabs, with loose trowsers, short jackets, and red fez caps, came up and

spoke to us. "Want to go up de top sah?" said the leader of the gang,

"me take you up, take you inside, all round." "How much you ask?" said

one of the Frenchmen. "He's the sheik," pointing to the best looking,

who stood erect, holding the folds of his striped gown about him with

all the dignity of a Turk, "he's the sheik, he make de bargains." We

agreed with the sheik, for a guide to show us up and down, inside, and

all round, for a dollar. We started with our guide,—we soon got up half

way, and there we stopped to draw breath; the steps are from two to

three feet, high, corresponding to the thickness of the layers of stone;

of these layers or tiers of stone, there are two hundred and sixty-five,

the ascent is quite fatiguing especially if one attempts to hurry; it

took us twenty minutes to reach the top. A few moments' rest and I began

to look about me, pondering on the magnitude of the stones, and the

numerous names in many languages carved upon them. Forty feet of its top

has been torn away, and what from the ground looked like a point too

small to stand on, is a broad platform, thirty feet wide. I was

surprised at the magnitude of the stones even at this height, two or

three feet thick, and several feet long, what wondrous labour it must

have been to elevate such masses of stone to such a height from the

ground, and yet men now say such nations were ignorant and uncivilized.

I looked upon the broad plain that stretched away before me; there was

much charming in the air, at this height. I took a survey of the great

panorama, which lay in its variety and beauty at our feet. There was the

green valley of the Nile, stretching away as far as the eye could reach,

welcoming the golden sunlight that came down from the cloudless sky;

with the majestic and wonderful river, as it rolled in dignity onward to

its ocean home. Yonder in the distance were the Arabian hills skirting

the vast expanse of the Lybian desert, that lay in bleak sterility

beyond; nearer by, a spot upon the landscape, was the great city "Grand

Cairo," its great gray, towering citadel, its mosques and minarets. Then

I turned and looked down upon the battle field where Bonaparte, with

thirty thousand men, met Murad Bey; where the memorable battle of the

Pyramids was fought, and Abercrombie fell; where Bonaparte tried to

inspire his men with valour by pointing to these monuments, exclaiming:

"forty centuries are looking down upon you from these mighty structures."

The thunder of the battle ceased, the smoke cleared away, thousands were

left dead upon the field, and the triumphant Bonaparte camped within the

walls of Grand Cairo. Cheops is a travellers' register, and many a

visitor has inscribed his name upon the summit. After adding our names

(an English barbarism I believe it to be; but it began in our

school-days) to the many already there, we descended in safety. As we

approached the base our guide led the way to the opening that conducts

to the interior. This entrance is on the north side, and about fifty

feet from the base. It is a low doorway for so magnificent a structure;

but who expects anything but a dark and dreary passage to the tomb? for

such is the place to where this opening leads, a tomb hidden in the most

stupendous pile of stones the skill and labour of man ever erected. The

entrance is a low one, and we had to stoop nearly double; we had entered

but a few feet when we found ourselves involved in darkness. Luckily we

had brought a couple of wax candles with us from Cairo; having lighted

the candles we continued to descend the narrow, dismal passage. Our

guide conducted us to the King's chamber; this is the great sepulchre

chamber of this astonishing structure. Its length is thirty-four feet

four inches; breadth, seventeen feet seven inches, and height nineteen

feet two inches. The only piece of furniture this chamber contains is a

chest of red granite, chiselled from a solid block; its size is larger

than the passage leading to the chamber, so that it must have been

placed there when the room was built. Was it for this sarcophagus this

stupendous pile of stones was erected? What has become of the lordly

occupant? When, and by whom was it filled and when did it give up its

treasure? There it stands in mute and mock defiance of every effort to

ascertain the history of its owner. Like the tomb of Jesus after the

morning of the resurrection, it was empty; the stone had been rolled

away from the door, but no angel sat upon it to give the anxious visitor

any tidings of its occupant. We now turned our attention to a few other

interesting objects in close proximity. I had often heard and read of

the Sphinx, but now I had the gratification of looking at this great

monster. We are first struck with its peculiar formation, and its

immense proportions. It is one hundred and twenty-eight feet long; from

the rock on which it rests its lion-like breast to the top of the head

is fifty-five feet nine inches. It is in a crouching posture, and it

stretches out its enormous paws fifty feet in front of its capacious

breast. This unwieldy monster is a monolith, cut from the native rock of

the limestone of which it forms a part. This imposing head was adorned

with a covering much resembling a wig, the flowing hair of which can

still be seen projecting from each side. Time, the driving sands of the

desert, and the hand of violence, have left their wasting influence on

this noble piece of Art. The horns that adorned the head have been

broken off, but there it stands without them, still grand, noble, and

majestic.

The whole western bank in this vicinity of the green valley of the Nile,

for miles and miles, has been consecrated to the repose of the dead.

Here are the sepulchres of kings, mummy pits, ibis tombs and rock-hewn

chambers, for the magnificent sarcophagi of Apis bulls. Here countless

thousands have been gathered unto their fathers, and the sands of the

desert are every year covering them deeper and deeper. In the centre of

one of these pits was a large granite chest, cut from the solid block,

very much like the one I have described in the king's chamber in the

pyramid. This was covered by a lid of the same material. This lid had

been carefully lifted off and set on one side. Within the chest lay the

sarcophagus. It was covered with hieroglyphical figures and

inscriptions, and looked as fresh and perfect as when first deposited.

It had not yet been opened. Within that sculptured chest was sleeping

the mummied remains of some distinguished personage. For thousands of

years he had enjoyed here the quiet sleep of the tomb, among his fathers

and kindred; but now his long repose must be disturbed, and in some

far-off museum, inquisitive strangers would gaze upon the blackened and

withered features, and wonder who he was! After seeing those wondrous

ancient monuments of Egyptian greatness and idolatry, and paying the

sheik and backsheesh to our guide, we mounted our lively little donkeys

and returned to Cairo.

The sun was just dipping his golden disk beneath the western horizon,

far over the distant deserts, as we entered the gates and wound our way

through the narrow crowded streets of Grand Cairo. We crossed the

suburbs, gained the hotel, and enjoyed a good bath. A hard day's toil

climbing the pyramids gave additional relish to the smoking viands, and

refreshed, we retired to bed to dream of stone-coffins, mummy-pits, and

sphinx. We awoke next morning from a refreshing sleep. The sun was

shining in at our windows, the songs of the birds were awaking inspiring

echoes among the tangled foliage of the Ezbekieh, and the air was

fragrant with the perfume of the sweet flowers of the East. The day was

to be devoted to an excursion to some place of interest a few miles from

the city. Breakfast over, we stood on the steps of the hotel and our

three donkey boys whom we had engaged were in readiness; we mounted our

donkeys and started off to visit the ruins of Heliopolis, the ancient

On, or the City of the Sun. These ruins are about six miles from Cairo,

and the ride a most delightful one, through green fields of corn and

various productions of the luxuriant soil. Now an orange grove opens

upon our sight, then an extensive vineyard, while all the time our

pathway was shaded by avenues of tamarack, fig and acacia, that wove

their branches in tangled arches above our head. As we approached

nearer, a beautiful obelisk lifts its slender form high into the

heavens, standing in solitary grandeur the only monument left to mark

the site of the ancient, opulent city. It is a single shaft of red

granite, sixty-eight feet two inches high, and six feet three inches

broad at the base. This is the oldest obelisk in existence, and here it

stands in its original position. Its firm base and towering head have

withstood all the assaults of time, the convulsions of the elements and

the devastations of war. The wreck and ruin of four thousand years have

not prevailed against it. The grounds around and in the vicinity of this

obelisk have been cultivated, here the fellaheen sow their seed and

gather their harvest, yet here stood one of the oldest and finest cities

of the world, and here are buried the remains of some of the earliest

temples. The ancient Egyptian name of the city, as interpreted, is the

"City of the Sun." The Greeks called it Heliopolis, and the Hebrews,

Bethshemesh (House of the Sun). This place was one of the most

celebrated seats of ancient learning; it was famed for astronomy as well

as the worship of the sun. The sacred bull, Mervis, shared also with the

sun the divine honours of the city, and was one of the most noted among

the sacred animals of Egypt. Not far from the obelisk is the beautiful

fountain of the sun; the water springing directly from the earth. The

people say this is the only living spring in the valley of the Nile. A

few yards from this spring a very old sycamore tree spreads broad and

thick its massive branches, forming an inviting shade. When Joseph and

Mary, with the child Jesus, fled from the jealous and cruel Herod, and

took refuge in Egypt, tradition says they reposed under the shadow of

these overhanging boughs and drank water from the renowned fountain.

Here, too, was the school of Moses. From the waters of the Nile that

flowed but a little distance from here, the daughter of Pharoah rescued

the weeping infant; and she called him Moses, for she "drew him out of

the water." In the court of Pharoah he found a home. Here he became

learned in all the wisdom of the Egyptians. How all those recollections

forced themselves on me. We next visited the palace of the Shoobra; it

is about four miles from the city and near the banks of the Nile. A

beautiful avenue, shaded by acacia trees, leads from the city to it;

when these trees are in bloom they fill the air with fragrance. The

grounds are beautifully laid out, and are frequently open to the public,

and large numbers of visitors resort to them. They are beautifully

diversified with terraces, walks, towers, flowers and shaded avenues.

Many of the walks are tastefully paved with small black and white

pebbles, wrought into various designs of Mosaic work. The great

attraction of the garden is a noble reservoir of water gushing from

marble fountains in the forms of crocodiles. From this beautiful place

where the senses are regaled by nature and art, we returned to the city

and made a special detour, in order to pass through an Egyptian date

palm grove. These groves are planted in rows like our orchards. It is

surprising what a variety of purposes the tree serves, and how useful it

is made. These trees sometimes grow from fifty to seventy feet high, and

are of uniform size from top to bottom. The summit is surmounted by a

beautiful crown of leaves. Every part of the tree seems to be of some

use; a charming beverage is made from the fruit, used among the natives;

wine is made from the sap. The bark and part of the wood are

manufactured into mats, baskets, and various other useful articles, the

leaves are manufactured into a great variety of fancy articles. But the

large crop of fruit is what renders it most valuable, and the failure of

the date crop is one of the greatest calamities that can befall the

land; the tree is also ornamental as well as useful. They are the most

beautiful and striking objects of Egyptian landscape scenery. This grove

is very extensive and spreads over several miles of the country. But

while we have visited these places of interest the day has rapidly

passed, and the evening sun is throwing his parting rays upon the

beautiful landscape, and we must hasten to our hotel. Once more we are

threading our way through the narrow streets of the city, and our ears

are saluted with strange sounds from the vendors of different articles,

as they hawk them about. The streets are passed, the din of cries die

away in the distance; we are back to the hotel; a long ride and the

delightful air has given us a good appetite for the evening meal which

was ready on our arrival. After we had done justice to the delicious

oriental viands, prepared for us by our hospitable host, we retired for

the night and slept well. After breakfast next morning, we walked out to

visit some of the ancient monuments of this wonderful city. The citadel

was the first object of our admiration. It is the fortress of the city

and tower of its defence, the depository of its munitions of war. It

stands upon a hill, its massive, frowning walls overlooking the city on

one side, and on the other the great barren desert that stretches away

towards the Red Sea. From this tower is one of the finest views that can

be obtained. First cast your eye towards the great Lybian desert, and

see the time-defying pyramids, from the top of which we have before

contemplated this land of the Pharaohs. On the other side, the beautiful

Nile, slowly weaving his serpentine folds through groves of palm, and

along green and flowery banks, and a city of three hundred thousand

inhabitants at our feet, with the massive circuitous walls that enclose

it; the great mosques and multitude of minarets that crown them all,

forming one of the most remarkable and striking peculiarities of a

Mohammedan country. Within this fortress stands a splendid palace of the

Pasha, and by its side the harem, with beautiful fountains and pleasure

grounds.

But what astonished us most, is the wonderful contrivance to supply the

citadel with water; it is certainly worthy of the presiding genius of

the land. This well is cut into the solid rock to the enormous depth of

two hundred and sixty feet, and at the mouth fifty feet wide. Around the

wall is a winding stairway cut close into the rock, with a partition

wall of the rock left, about three feet thick, between it and the well,

with occasional holes for windows to look through into the main shaft.

Any one who has seen Dover shaft leading from Snargate street to the

heights, will at once understand how this well is constructed; the open

passage through the centre of that structure corresponding to the well;

the circular stairway winding round it, to the descent here, cut in the

rock, by which the bottom is reached. One of the most striking things

connected with the well, is the manner of elevating the water. A large

ox is taken down this winding stairway near to the bottom of the well

where a cog-wheel machine for raising water is situated. The food is

taken down to him, and he is kept here as long as he is able to work.

This well was found covered up under a wall, by Sultan Yoosef (Joseph)

while clearing away the debris when building the fortress in A.D. 1711,

hence "Joseph's well." Turning from the well, we next pay a visit to the

mosque of Mohammed Ali. It is a gorgeous structure, the finest and most

renowned in Modern Egypt, standing upon the hill of the citadel and

inclosed by its ramparts; it lifts its proud form high above its

companions. The whole interior, pillars, walls, and arches is of

beautiful alabaster brought from the quarries of upper Egypt.

The mosque is also a burying place. It is the tomb of Mohammed Ali. He

built it during his life, chiefly with the design of making it a

mausoleum for his ashes when his eventful career was at an end. A

conspicuous part of the building has been set apart for his tomb; a

railing surrounds it, gorgeous decorations have been lavished upon it,

and near it lights are kept continually burning. Here, in pompous state

he reposes, and dreams no more of rivals, of conquests, or of power.

Such is life! This being our last day in Grand Cairo, after tea we

walked round the city to see all we could of this ancient place, and

learn the habits of the people.

Here may be seen exhibitions and illustrations of all the passions and

affections of the human heart. As we were returning to our hotel, we saw

under the shade of a tree a company of Dervishes. These are a singular

religious sect; they are anxious to obtain a reputation for superior

sanctity, and many of them make pretensions to the performance of

miracles. They are frightfully superstitious. Their devotional exercises

are often of the wildest and most extravagant kind. Taking hold of hands

in a large circle round a tree, they commence swinging their bodies

backward and forward, jerking the head and shaking the hands, keeping

time to a sort of murmuring exclamation, sometimes pronouncing the name

of "Allah." As the excitement increases, they toss their hair, foam at

the mouth, scream and seem to give themselves up to the wildest excesses

of religious enthusiasm. They let go hands and then commence spinning

round like a top, stretching out their arms. By the velocity of their

motion, spreading out their loose dress like a large umbrella, for

twenty minutes or more, without pause or rest, and continually

increasing velocity. These religious devotees will twirl with a rapidity

truly astonishing, making fifty revolutions a minute. We are indeed

sorry to see their example followed in England by the Jumpers, &c. But

we have seen enough of this foolish, useless, so-called religious

enthusiasm. It would be well if such energy and devotion could be turned

into a more useful channel. This, however, can only be done by God and

His Church. Here is our hotel, and our day's excursion is ended.

We were up early next morning and had breakfast at seven o'clock,

settled our bill with the landlord, and rode to the railway station in

an omnibus, and took our departure by train at ten o'clock for

Alexandria.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXV.

THE HOSPITAL—MOHAMMEDAN SABBATH—DEPARTURE—THE VOYAGE—MALTA—

DEPARTURE—VOYAGE FOR ENGLAND—PORTSMOUTH—VOYAGE TO DUBLIN—

ARRIVAL AT LIMERICK—THE 6TH ROYAL REGIMENT—PROMOTED—ALDERSHOT—

ROUTE FOR GIBRALTAR—THE VOYAGE.

On my arrival at Alexandria, I went to the Hospital, where I was

informed that I would have to wait a few days longer. The men were fast

improving, but were not sufficiently recovered to warrant the doctor's

confidence of their strength, or to survive the trials of a long voyage.

When I returned to the hotel, the two Frenchmen were waiting my return

for dinner. Next morning they were to leave Alexandria by steamer for

Jaffa, _en route_ for the Holy Land. After breakfast I accompanied them

to the steamer, and there we parted, perhaps for ever. They were jovial,

decent fellows, and we enjoyed each other's company very much during our

short acquaintance. Their names were respectively Napoleon Pomponnet and

Joseph Belair.

It being Friday, the Mohammedan Sabbath, I visited one of their mosques,

which is always open and made a place of public prayer. Here the devout

come at all times of the day to perform their devotions; but the child

of the Prophet does not abstain from his ordinary work on the Sabbath,

except at the hour of prayer, about midday, and then the mosques are

crowded. The mosque is built round a central square; around this square

a portico is built, and in the centre of it is a fountain of water for

ablution. A good supply of water seems to be considered indispensable

among Mohammedans to purify for worship. The side of the building facing

Mecca is the most important one. The portico on this side is more

spacious, and has one or two extra rows of columns. This side of the

mosque is the place of prayer. A niche in the wall marks the direction

of Mecca, and in that direction the faces of the worshippers are always

turned—Christians always turn to the east. To the right of this niche

stands the pulpit, and on the opposite side is a raised platform,

supported by small columns, on which is a desk, upon which is kept a

volume of the Koran, and from it a chapter is read to the congregation.

The floors have no seats, and are covered with matting to accommodate

the worshippers; the rich and the poor pray side by side. Females

scarcely ever go to pray in the mosque; if they go at all they go at

different hours to the men, and by themselves—but they are taught that

it is better to pray in private. Indeed, it is said, women seldom, if

ever, pray at all! One little ceremony, however, must not be forgotten.

Do not attempt to enter a mosque with your boots on. Recollect that, O

Englishmen! These devout attendants would lift up their hands in holy

horror, and send you back as a dog. Stockings are not generally worn,

except by the best classes, who wear cotton socks in very cold weather;

the only covering for their feet ever worn is a low kind of slipper,

made of yellow morocco leather, sharply pointed and turned up at the

toes. As these are always slipped off when one enters a mosque they are

turned down at the heel. The Mohammedan Sabbath comes on Friday, the

Jews' on Saturday, and the Christians' on Sunday—the Lord's Day. Here I

am, where the Sundays come in succession, so that extremes meet, for we

have no Sunday at all, although five periods are set apart in each day

as special seasons of prayer. These, every good Mohammedan is expected

to observe, but they are neglected, and many persons, it is said, do not

pray at all. But this neglect does not arise from the want of an

admonition. From the minarets of their mosques the call is regularly

made. One of these calls is just after midnight, another about the break

of day. At the appointed hour, the muezzin ascends to the gallery of the

minaret, pitches his voice to a monotonous chant, and commences, "God is

great! God is great! Prayer is better than sleep! I testify that there

is no deity but God! I testify that Mohammed is God's prophet! Come to

prayer, come to prayer!" Sometimes quite long exhortations are given.

The Mohammedan Sabbath is but little regarded. The bazaars are all open,

and labour of every description is carried on. The mosques are opened an

hour at noon, and yet but few take any notice of the call to prayer.

Here are several Christian places of worship—both Roman Catholic and

Protestant—besides several Greek chapels.

Monday morning at ten o'clock, I went to the hospital, when the doctor

informed me that the men would proceed by the steamer which arrived from

the east yesterday afternoon on her way to Malta. I then returned to the

hotel, settled with the landlord, came and received the invalids from

the hospital, and marched them on board one of the Peninsular & Oriental

Company's steamers. At two p.m. we moved out from the harbour, the sky

was of a deep blue, not a cloud or film of vapour as big as a man's hand

to cast a flitting shadow on the calm, blue waters as they glistened in

the summer's sun. I stood upon the promenade deck, my eyes intently

fixed upon the receding shore, and as it faded from my view I bade

farewell to Egypt, "Adieu, thou strange and wondrous land! land of the

old wonders, the phœnix, the pyramids and sphinx, I shall never see thee

more! Egypt what a treasure book of history and of study thou hast been!

Once thou wert the pride and glory of the earth, but now how changed and

fallen! Thy temples and gods have crumbled into dust! Plundered even of

the remnants of thy former greatness! The occupants of thy tombs have

been borne away, thy obelisks removed, and what remained of thy statues,

altars and images, stolen to adorn the parks and enrich the museums of

modern cities. But, though thou sittest in silence, solitude and

degradation, the traveller will still come and muse among thy ruins, and

thou wilt ever continue to be teacher among the nations!" Such were the

reflections that passed through my mind as the dark line of shore grew

fainter and fainter, blending with the rolling billows of the deep blue

sea, till all was out of view. I looked about me—there was the ship on

which I stood, the deep blue vault of the heavens over my head, the vast

expanse of waters that encircled me, and all the rest had disappeared.

We have about four days' sail from Alexandria to Malta. The attention,

civility and politeness with which the passengers were treated during

this voyage by the captain and crew deserve our warmest gratitude. After

a delightful voyage of nearly four days, we entered the harbour of

Valetta about eight o'clock on the morning of the 25th June, 1856. After

landing, I reported myself at the brigade office, and handed over the

invalids at the general hospital, marched out to St. Frances' camp and

joined my battalion there. While stationed in Malta we were exercised by

the general commanding the garrison, with a battalion of the German and

Italian legion, twice a week on Flori-Anne Square. Except those general

reviews, we did very little drill, duty was very easy, and the rations,

to us, after the hard-tack we were used to in the Crimea, seemed

excellent. We got a generous supply of smoking warm goat's milk in our

coffee every morning and also for our tea in the evening. The milkman

brought his flock of goats round to our tents crying out, "milk! Johnny

me change milk with mungey for the goat." We traded pieces of bread for

goat's milk.

The houses are built of grey stone; the streets are steep and narrow;

many of them have stone stairways cut in the solid rock, and some of

them are arched over head. One of the most venerable and interesting

structures in this ancient city is the old church of St. John, which was

built in honour of the patron saint of the knights; it is 240 feet long

by 60 feet wide. The most curious part of this church is the floor;

beneath it many of the old knights are entombed, and above them the

armorial bearings of all the Grand Masters of the order are inlaid in

Mosaic of various and beautifully coloured marbles. The hand of time has

faded the fine fresco paintings of the dome of this venerable structure,

but the elaborate Mosaic work of the floor is still the wonder and

admiration of every visitor. The climate is warm and exhilarating, the

air salubrious and invigorating, and many invalids come here from colder

latitudes to restore their health during the winter months. But our time

at this delightful station is short; we embark for England on the 18th

July.

At last the long wished for day (by some) has arrived, and we embarked

on board H.M.S. "Simoom," in Valetta harbour at ten o'clock a.m. the

18th July, 1856. All being ready at two p.m. we steamed slowly out of

the harbour amid cheer after cheer from the citizens and soldiers who

crowded the batteries along the harbour to give us a last cheer and wave

of their handkerchiefs; we all stood on the deck returning the cheers

and waving our handkerchiefs also until the island, like a little cloud,

vanished from view in the distance.

The sky was blue, the air clear and invigorating, and scarce a ripple on

the face of the deep. As our noble ship glided smoothly through the

clear blue waters of the Mediterranean, our hearts were glad and our joy

was great to think that we were returning to our homes, our families and

our friends, who were anxiously waiting our return. The afternoon was

occupied in swinging hammocks and drawing blankets and provisions from

the ship's steward; the men were in the best of spirits, and amused

themselves during the voyage in singing, dancing, and all sorts of

amusing games. We had excellent rations during the voyage, plum-pudding

and pea soup on alternate days. On the morning of the fourth day we

sighted the old rock of Gibraltar, rearing its lofty crest to the sky.

As we rounded Europa point our transport hoisted her number (every ship

that passes the rock must show her colours) which was answered from the

signal station, which stands on the loftiest point of the rock. At

twelve o'clock we cast anchor in the quarantine harbour where we had a

delay of two hours, during which time we were surrounded with bumboats,

selling all sorts of delicious fruits, oranges, lemons, cigars, tobacco

and pipes to the men. At two p.m. we weighed anchor and steamed down

through the straits, soon leaving the rock of Gibraltar far behind. As

our ship glided swiftly before a beautiful breeze with studding-sails

set, sweeping onward like some huge bird of prey through "The Gut," we

could not help noticing the contrast of scenery between the Spanish and

African sides of the straits; the former beautifully clothed in a mantle

of green, with herds of sheep pasturing along its undulating banks down

to the water's edge; while the latter with its barren-looking and sun

scorched hills, and tremendous precipices, rising several thousand feet

above the sea, looked more wild and picturesque. The evening was so

delightful, we all sat on deck till a late hour enjoying the sublimity

and grandeur of the scene; the moon shone so clear and brilliantly from

her celestial throne, and the stars twinkling bright and shining in the

clear blue firmament, throwing a pale light through the face of the

deep, watching at the same time our noble ship, as she glided swiftly

through the smooth clear waters, dashing the sparkling spray and foam

from her bows. On the morning of the fifth day from Gibraltar, we sailed

round the green shores of the Isle of Wight, on the one side, while the

low sandy coast of Hampshire, indented by the roadstead of Portsmouth,

that showed a perfect forest of masts towering above its sea defences,

made the beautiful island look most lovely, recollecting it was the

place where Her Majesty lived and which she loved. We passed through the

stately ships of war, as they rode majestically at anchor; an

interchange of signals took place between the flag ship and ours,

directing our captain where to anchor we supposed, and soon we cast

anchor off Portsmouth harbour, and shortly after the troops disembarked

and marched to Anglesea Barracks, where we were quartered _pro tem._

Soon after our arrival, my wife and two children joined me; we rested

here a week when we embarked on board a mail steamer for Dublin, landing

at the north wall on the 6th August, after a rather rough passage; all

the women and children were sea sick; marched to Kingsbridge station

where we took the train for Limerick; arriving there at four p.m. we

joined the depôt in the New Barracks. I was here about three months when

my oldest child, a boy six years old, took sick with the scarlet fever,

and on the 23rd November, 1856, he died. I was very happy previous to

this, but the death of this only boy made me very sorrowful.

On the first of March, 1856, I was appointed assistant school teacher at

the garrison school, where I continued until the 22nd November, 1856,

when I volunteered with several other non-commissioned officers to the

2nd Battalion 6th Royal Regiment, which was then being raised at Preston

by Lieutenant-Colonel Fraser. Our depôt being over the strength of

non-commissioned officers, we were allowed to volunteer to this new

battalion. At ten o'clock a.m. on the 22nd November, after signing our

accounts, and receiving our pay up to that time, we took the train for

Dublin, thence by steamer to Liverpool, where we landed at 7 o'clock on

the morning of the 23rd, had breakfast at a hotel, and proceeded by the

ten o'clock train to Preston; arriving there at two p.m. marched to

barracks, and reported ourselves at the orderly room of the 2nd

Battalion 6th Royal Regiment. Next morning at ten o'clock,

Lieutenant-Colonel Fraser, with Adjutant Kitchener, inspected us at the

orderly room, and posted us to our respective companies. That evening my

name appeared in regimental orders thus:

"REGIMENTAL ORDERS BY LT.-COL. FRASER,

COMMANDING 2ND BATTALION, 6th ROYAL REGIMENT.

PRESTON BARRACKS, 24th Nov., 1857.

1085, Corporal Thomas Faughnan to be Colour-Sergeant from the 22nd

instant, and posted to No. 5 Company.

By Order,

(Signed) H. KITCHENER,

Lt. & Adjutant 2nd B., 6th R. Reg't."

Next day Lieutenant Kelson, who commanded No. 5 company, appointed me

his pay-sergeant. The company were 150 strong, and not one of them had

yet received their uniform and kits. Between the drills and parades

which were long and frequent, I drew the recruits' uniforms, knapsacks,

and kits from the quartermaster's store, marked them myself, and had

their clothing altered and properly fitted at the master-tailor's shop.

I must say the Crimea was nothing to what I went through in Preston.

After the battalion had got organized, clothed and drilled, we got the

route for Aldershot.

On the 26th February, 1858, at 10 o'clock in the morning we proceeded by

rail to Aldershot, arriving at Farnborough Station at 4 o'clock in the

afternoon, and marched to South Camp, where we were quartered in the

huts of L lines. During our term at Aldershot, the battalion was put

through a strict course of drill. On the 15th of April, H. M. the Queen,

and H. R. H. Prince Albert, received the troops in camp, when we marched

in grand divisions. They were much pleased at the manner in which the

movements were performed by the young battalion, and H. R. H. Prince

Albert expressed himself in a highly complimentary manner to the

general, who conveyed it to the troops in orders. After the review was

over, Her Majesty and Prince Albert drove round the camp in an open

carriage as the men were at dinner, when the band of each regiment

played "God Save the Queen" as they passed each respective regiment.

That was the last time I ever saw H. R. H. Prince Albert, for he died,

deeply lamented by the British Army, on the 14th December, 1861. On the

second of May we received a letter of readiness for Gibraltar. On the

12th, the colonel received the route to proceed by rail on the 18th

inst., to Portsmouth, there to embark on board of H. M. Ship "City of

Manchester" for Gibraltar. On the morning of the 18th May, 1858, the

second Battalion 6th Royal Regiment marched from South Camp to

Farnborough Station, where we took the train for Portsmouth. The signal

being given, the train moved out of the station with its lively freight

of redcoats, rattling steadily on over the beautiful green landscapes.

Trees seem to go rushing past; still on and on, panting in its rapid

course, flies the long train, clattering past walls and bridges with a

crash, whistling shrill to warn the unwary of its approach, and howling

like a demon pursued, as with hiss and roar it plunges into the tunnel.

To describe all the incidents which came under my notice at the station

might be thought tedious. Suffice it to say that we arrived at

Portsmouth at 2 p.m. and embarked on board H. M, Ship "City of

Manchester," in the main dockyard. At 4 p.m. all being reported present

and correct, the captain gave the signal and we moved out from the wharf

amid loud cheers from the spectators, which were heartily returned by

the red coats on board, and we passed down the bright, sparkling Solent,

glistening in the sunshine of a beautiful May day.