CHAPTER III.

That nothing in their lifeBecame them like the leaving it.

We had proved, in a hundred fights, that no enemy could resist our men. But at Inkermann, victory hung in the balance, and our weak Battalions had to resist the enemy’s heavy columns bayonet to bayonet. It was Greek meeting Greek, for a number of most determined encounters were maintained against very heavy odds; and as often as the Russian Infantry charged us, our people met them with that never-failing weapon. The 41st and 49th regiments held the Sandbag Battery, and were fairly mobbed out of it by the overwhelming numbers of the enemy, who were exulting in their victory with yells of triumph, when up came the Guards, and in they went with a cheer and a rush that told heavily upon the foe. The Russians, except the dead and dying, were literally lifted out of the battery and its vicinity, by these gallant regiments. Our army may well be proud of its present Commander-in-Chief, for it was His Royal Highness himself who led these unconquerable men. Fresh draughts of “Rackie” had to be issued to the legions of Russia, in order to make them face us again. All was done that could be devised by the enemy, in order to fasten victory to their standards. Holy Russia was represented on the field by the two Imperial Grand Dukes, sons of their sacred chief, and the soldiers were taught that they must, as true Russians, die for their holy Czar; the glory of conquering in the presence of his children, even at the expense of life, would open the gates of heaven to them. (?) They were repeatedly urged on to the attack, and as often driven back. The41st fought like tigers, to gain time for their comrades to come up. The grey-coated battalions of the enemy were now on the right, on the left, and in front of us, but there was not a desponding voice in our ranks. The Duke of Cambridge was requested to retire a little out of the immediate reach of the murderous musketry fire. But—“No; I will, when these follows are shifted,” was the reply. It was well that the French came up when they did. Our men were gradually being crushed in some parts of the field, but showing the enemy a most determined front. It was at this juncture that His Royal Highness set so animating an example; and the French coming up to our assistance, again the hosts of Russia had to retire. About this time a cry was raised that the ammunition was running short. Sir G. Brown, exclaimed—“Then there is nothing for it but the bayonet:at them, my lads.” And at them we went; and they had to go back, although their Princes boasted that they would put us all into the sea. It was a great pity we had not the 42nd, 79th, and 93rd Highlanders with us, for we knew well they would have left their marks upon the enemy, under the guidance of their old Commander, Sir Colin Campbell, but they had to watch Balaclava. We lost a great number of officers, and at the close of the day the 4th division was commanded by a captain. But on that memorable field if there was one corner hotter than another, the Guards had it. At one time they were completely surrounded by the assailing multitudes, and the dense fog prevented them from seeing anything but the foes all round. Shoulder to shoulder, with a ringing cheer, they cut their way out; shouting, “Keep to the colours.” It was a bloody contest; but this little band—now reduced to about 700 unwounded men, showed the enemy an undaunted front. The 20th was sent to help them. They staggered under the murderous fire that met them. This battery had now become more like aslaughterhouse than anything else. The Guards went at them again, and routed the Russians out of it. At the 5-gun battery the fighting was desperate, but the enemy never got into it to live. Inkermann may well be called the soldiers’ fight, for at times the fog was so thick that we could not see friend from foe. Our men, however, managed to find the Russians, and then “shift” them.

Except Trafalgar and Waterloo, no battle fought by the British since the invention of powder has called forth such exultation. And still the word “Inkermann” stimulates the warlike enthusiasm of every Briton, and the rising generations will recall with rapture the name of some distant relative and exclaim, “He fought and fell at Inkermann,” while with manly pride they feel that they have sprung from fathers whom the nation at large delights to honour. The Alma and Balaclava awakened the war-spirit—that indomitable spirit that lies latent in the breast of every Briton. The news of victory at these places set the church bells ringing; but the victory by a mere handful of men on the heights of Inkermann, went through every Briton like an electric shock; and thousands at once volunteered to defend the flag, side by side with the heroic sons of France. In our most remote colonies, the people of British extraction exulted at the tidings of Inkermann. In all our large cities—London, Manchester, Leeds, Sheffield, Birmingham, Norwich, Nottingham, &c., in the workshops, in the furnace-rooms, at the forges, in the meanest tap-rooms, in the most remote village taverns, in the hills of Scotland, and the bogs of Ireland—all were proud they were united Britons, and of the same stock that had just hurled the armies of Russia, although in overwhelming numbers, from the heights of Inkermann. My young readers must bear in mind that this battle was not fought by men who were well fed, well clothed, or well housed, nor by an army that was well prepared; but, on the contrary, by men who were, so tospeak, half starved, clothed in rags, and exposed to all the inclemencies of a rigorous climate, whilst they were attacked by hordes of men confident of victory, whose feelings had been wrought to madness by stimulants and priestcraft. At one time victory trembled in the balance; some of our guns were in the hands of the enemy, and the gunners had been all shot or cut down. But the boys of the Emerald Isle were close by. The 88th Connaught Rangers and the 49th went at them; and re-captured the guns. The advance of our Guards at the Sandbag, or 2-gun battery, was grand, and surely it could be said of them, “Nothing could stop that astonishing Infantry.” No sudden burst of undisciplined valour, no nervous enthusiasm weakened their order; their flashing eyes were bent upon the dark masses in their front; their measured tread shook the ground; their ringing cheer startled the infuriated columns of the enemy, as their bayonets were brought down to the charge; and, led by a grandson of a king—H.R.H. the Duke of Cambridge—in they went, shoulder to shoulder, and the enemy with all their boasted strength, were driven down the hill.

The stubborn infantry still made goodTheir dark, impenetrable hill;Each stepping where his comrade stood,The instant that he fell.

At the Alma and Balaclava, when the enemy had gained a temporary success, they behaved in a most barbarous manner to our wounded; sometimes their officers set them the example by plunging their swords into the helpless. At Inkermann, they outstripped all their former deeds of assassination. Mercy they did not seem to understand when once our poor fellows were in their clutches. But yet our men, I am happy to record, would not retaliate, except in so far as that, after the battle was over, their wounded were left to lie, while ours were removed from the field; but those who were alive next morning were then attended to, and takento our hospital tents. Such are the horrors of war. Our loss had been heavy: there were killed 4 Generals, 50 Officers, 42 Sergeants; total killed, wounded, and missing, 2700, exclusive of the French loss, and that was heavy for the numbers engaged. The whole French army were loud in their expressions of admiration of the British, their exultation seemed to be beyond all bounds, for our deeds had put Alma and Balaclava in the shade, and cast a fresh lustre upon our glorious old Standard. They looked at us in wonderment, for they knew well the odds we had fought against, hour after hour. And, I have not the slightest doubt, some of their old officers thought of our forefathers who had so often fought them, and never once met them but to give them a good sound thrashing. As Napoleon said, we had often been beaten, but would not give in; we would stick to them like a good bull-dog, and worry them out. Reader, such was Inkermann.

Night closed around that conquering band,The lightning showed the distant field,Where they who won that bloody day,Though few and faint, were fearless still.

The aspect of the field was awful—dead and dying mutilated bodies in all directions. Many of our men had been wounded frequently with shot and bayonet; others were cut limb from limb, and yet a spark of life remained. Many had perished by the bayonet and it was noticed that but few had fallen with one thrust. In and around the 2-gun battery the sights were sickening. Our Guardsmen, and 41st, 47th, and 49th, lay locked in the arms of the foe with their bayonets through each other—dead. Some of our officers and men were found dead, with no fewer than twelve or fifteen bayonet wounds; the appearance of the poor fellows who had been thus tortured was painful. To describe the scene would be impossible—the result of eight hours’ hand-to-hand conflict—it washorrible to look upon. Scarcely did any field in the whole Peninsular War present, as the result of conflict, such a murderous spectacle as the terrible sights that now lay before us. There were literally piles of dead, lying in every posture that one could imagine; I may say that there were acres of defaced humanity—ghastly wounds from sword, bayonet, grape, and round shot; poor fellows literally shattered—and yet with life still in them. Others lay as if they had been asleep—friend and foe mixed together. In some parts of the field our men lay in ranks as they had stood; and the enemy in columns, one on the top of the other. The Russian Guardsmen lay thick all over the field. Upwards of 2000 dead were found belonging to the enemy. Just outside the 2-gun Battery the wounded were numerous, and their groans were pitiful; while cries of despair burst from the lips of some as they lay, thinking perhaps of wives and helpless little ones far away. The Russian dead were buried in large pits by themselves; and our people and our gallant allies, the French, were laid side by side. For hours during that dreadful night of woe and victory, the wailing of a poor dog—which had followed his master—could be distinctly heard. The faithful creature had found his master’s body, and he pierced the night air with his lamentations. Such was the field of Inkermann. That was keeping up Gunpowder Plot with a vengeance.

The letter I sent to my parents on this occasion was as follows:—

Camp before Sebastopol,November 6th, 1854.My dear Parents,Long before this reaches you, you will have seen the account of our glorious battle of the 5th (yesterday). It was a terrible fight. I was in the trenches when it commenced. We had a shy at them there, and sent them back much quicker than they came out. A number of us then marched on to thefield of Inkermann. The fight was raging when we got there; and the fog was so dense that we could not see what we were doing, or where to go. Our poor fellows soon began to drop. We were wet through to the skin, and as hungry as hunters. We were ordered to the Five-Gun Battery, to support our comrades. Sir Thomas Troubridge was in command, and it took all our time to hold our own. What a gunpowder plot! but, above all, what a Sunday! I thought, dear father—I thought of you, and what you were most likely doing. It’s no use my trying to hide or cloak matters up—you will see this is not my handwriting—they have managed to hit me at last; but you must not be alarmed; I am not half so badly hit as some of my poor comrades are, so keep up your spirits. I am in good hopes of getting over this; and, if it should please the Lord to spare me, to be a comfort to you in your declining days. Do not answer this, as a number of us are to be sent down to Scutari. Will write as soon as I can. Do, dear parents, try and keep your spirits up; and I know you will not forget me at the Throne of Grace. I will try and give you, at some future day, a full account, as far as I could see, and from what I can find out from my comrades. Will write as soon as I can. Cheer up! I’ll warm them up for this, if ever I get a chance. My kind love to poor mother, brothers, and sisters.Believe me, dear Father,Your affectionate son,T. GOWING,Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.

Camp before Sebastopol,November 6th, 1854.

My dear Parents,

Long before this reaches you, you will have seen the account of our glorious battle of the 5th (yesterday). It was a terrible fight. I was in the trenches when it commenced. We had a shy at them there, and sent them back much quicker than they came out. A number of us then marched on to thefield of Inkermann. The fight was raging when we got there; and the fog was so dense that we could not see what we were doing, or where to go. Our poor fellows soon began to drop. We were wet through to the skin, and as hungry as hunters. We were ordered to the Five-Gun Battery, to support our comrades. Sir Thomas Troubridge was in command, and it took all our time to hold our own. What a gunpowder plot! but, above all, what a Sunday! I thought, dear father—I thought of you, and what you were most likely doing. It’s no use my trying to hide or cloak matters up—you will see this is not my handwriting—they have managed to hit me at last; but you must not be alarmed; I am not half so badly hit as some of my poor comrades are, so keep up your spirits. I am in good hopes of getting over this; and, if it should please the Lord to spare me, to be a comfort to you in your declining days. Do not answer this, as a number of us are to be sent down to Scutari. Will write as soon as I can. Do, dear parents, try and keep your spirits up; and I know you will not forget me at the Throne of Grace. I will try and give you, at some future day, a full account, as far as I could see, and from what I can find out from my comrades. Will write as soon as I can. Cheer up! I’ll warm them up for this, if ever I get a chance. My kind love to poor mother, brothers, and sisters.

Believe me, dear Father,Your affectionate son,T. GOWING,Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.

The following is a copy of a letter addressed to Field-Marshal Lord Raglan, by command of Her Most Gracious Majesty, on receipt of the news of the victory at Inkermann:—

Her Majesty is desirous of expressing her gratitude for the noble exertions of the troops in a conflict which is unsurpassed in the annals of war for persevering valour and chivalrous devotion. The strength and fury of the attacks, repeatedly renewed by fresh columns with a desperation which appeared to be irresistible, were spent in vain against the unbroken lines, and the matchless intrepidity of the men they had to encounter. Such attacks could only be repulsed by that cool courage, under circumstances the most adverse, and that confidence of victory, which have ever animated theBritish Army. The banks of the Alma proved that no advantages of position can withstand the impetuous assault of the Army under your command. The heights of Inkermann have now shown that the dense columns of an entire army are unable to force the ranks of less than one-fourth their numbers in the hand-to-hand encounters with the bayonet which characterized this bloody day.Her Majesty has observed with the liveliest feeling of gratification the manner in which the troops of her ally, the Emperor of the French, came to the aid of the divisions of the British Army engaged in this numerically unequal contest. The Queen is deeply sensible of the cordial co-operation of the French Commander-in-Chief, General Canrobert, and the gallant conduct of that distinguished officer, General Bosquet; and Her Majesty recognizes in the cheers with which the men of both nations encouraged each other in their united charge, proofs of the esteem and admiration mutually engendered by the campaign and the deeds of heroism it has produced.The Queen desires that your lordship will receive her thanks for your conduct throughout this noble and successful struggle, and that you will take measures for making known her no less warm approval of the services of all the officers, non-commissioned officers, and men, who have so gloriously won, by their blood freely shed, fresh honours for the Army of a country which sympathises as deeply with their privations and exertions as it glories in their victories and exults in their fame.Let not any private soldier in those ranks believe that his conduct is unheeded. The Queen thanks him. His country honours him.Her Majesty will anxiously expect the further despatch in which your lordship proposes to name those officers whose services have been especially worthy of notice. In the meantime I am commanded by Her Majesty to signify her approbation of the admirable behaviour of Lieut.-General Sir George Brown, and her regret that he has been wounded in the action. Her Majesty has received with feelings of no ordinary pleasure your lordship’s report of the manner in which Lieut.-General His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge distinguished himself. That one of the illustrious members of her royal house should be associated with the toils and glories of such an Army is to the Queen a source of great pride and congratulation.To Major-General Bentinck, Major-General Codrington, Brigadier-Generals Adams, Terrens, and Buller, your lordship will be pleased to convey the Queen’s sympathy in their wounds, and thanks fortheir services. To the other officers named by your lordship I am directed to express Her Majesty’s approbation. The gallant conduct of Lieut.-General Sir de Lacy Evans has attracted the Queen’s especial thanks. Weak from a bed of sickness he rose at the sound of the battle, not to claim his share in prominent command, but to aid with his veteran counsel and assistance the junior officer upon whom, in his absence, had devolved the duty of leading his division.Proud of the victory won by her brave army—grateful to those who wear the laurels of this great conflict—the Queen is painfully affected by the heavy loss which has been incurred, and deeply sensible to what is owing to the dead. Those illustrious men cannot indeed receive the thanks of their sovereign, which have so often cheered the soldier in his severest trials; but their blood has not been shed in vain. Laid low in their grave of victory, their names will be cherished for ever by a grateful country, and posterity will look upon the list of officers who have fallen as a proof of the ardent courage and zeal with which they pointed out the path of honour to their no less willing followers.The loss of Lieut.-General the Honourable Sir George Cathcart is to the Queen and to her people a cause of sorrow which even dims the triumph of this great occasion. His loyalty, his patriotism, and self-devotion, were not less conspicuous than his high military reputation. One of a family of warriors, he was an honour to them and an ornament to his profession. Arrived in his native land from a colony to which he had succeeded in restoring peace and contentment, he obeyed at a moment’s notice the call of duty, and he hastened to join that army in which the Queen and his country fondly hoped he would have lived to win increased renown.The death of Brigadier-Generals Strangways and Goldie has added to the sorrow which mingles in the rejoicing of this memorable battle. The Queen sympathises in the loss sustained by the families of her officers and soldiers, but Her Majesty bids them reflect with her, and derive consolation from the thought, that they fell in the sacred cause of justice, and in the ranks of a noble army.I have the honour to be, my lord,Your lordship’s obedient, humble servant,NEWCASTLE.To Field-Marshal Lord Raglan, K.C.B., and C.

Her Majesty has observed with the liveliest feeling of gratification the manner in which the troops of her ally, the Emperor of the French, came to the aid of the divisions of the British Army engaged in this numerically unequal contest. The Queen is deeply sensible of the cordial co-operation of the French Commander-in-Chief, General Canrobert, and the gallant conduct of that distinguished officer, General Bosquet; and Her Majesty recognizes in the cheers with which the men of both nations encouraged each other in their united charge, proofs of the esteem and admiration mutually engendered by the campaign and the deeds of heroism it has produced.

The Queen desires that your lordship will receive her thanks for your conduct throughout this noble and successful struggle, and that you will take measures for making known her no less warm approval of the services of all the officers, non-commissioned officers, and men, who have so gloriously won, by their blood freely shed, fresh honours for the Army of a country which sympathises as deeply with their privations and exertions as it glories in their victories and exults in their fame.Let not any private soldier in those ranks believe that his conduct is unheeded. The Queen thanks him. His country honours him.

Her Majesty will anxiously expect the further despatch in which your lordship proposes to name those officers whose services have been especially worthy of notice. In the meantime I am commanded by Her Majesty to signify her approbation of the admirable behaviour of Lieut.-General Sir George Brown, and her regret that he has been wounded in the action. Her Majesty has received with feelings of no ordinary pleasure your lordship’s report of the manner in which Lieut.-General His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge distinguished himself. That one of the illustrious members of her royal house should be associated with the toils and glories of such an Army is to the Queen a source of great pride and congratulation.

To Major-General Bentinck, Major-General Codrington, Brigadier-Generals Adams, Terrens, and Buller, your lordship will be pleased to convey the Queen’s sympathy in their wounds, and thanks fortheir services. To the other officers named by your lordship I am directed to express Her Majesty’s approbation. The gallant conduct of Lieut.-General Sir de Lacy Evans has attracted the Queen’s especial thanks. Weak from a bed of sickness he rose at the sound of the battle, not to claim his share in prominent command, but to aid with his veteran counsel and assistance the junior officer upon whom, in his absence, had devolved the duty of leading his division.

Proud of the victory won by her brave army—grateful to those who wear the laurels of this great conflict—the Queen is painfully affected by the heavy loss which has been incurred, and deeply sensible to what is owing to the dead. Those illustrious men cannot indeed receive the thanks of their sovereign, which have so often cheered the soldier in his severest trials; but their blood has not been shed in vain. Laid low in their grave of victory, their names will be cherished for ever by a grateful country, and posterity will look upon the list of officers who have fallen as a proof of the ardent courage and zeal with which they pointed out the path of honour to their no less willing followers.

The loss of Lieut.-General the Honourable Sir George Cathcart is to the Queen and to her people a cause of sorrow which even dims the triumph of this great occasion. His loyalty, his patriotism, and self-devotion, were not less conspicuous than his high military reputation. One of a family of warriors, he was an honour to them and an ornament to his profession. Arrived in his native land from a colony to which he had succeeded in restoring peace and contentment, he obeyed at a moment’s notice the call of duty, and he hastened to join that army in which the Queen and his country fondly hoped he would have lived to win increased renown.

The death of Brigadier-Generals Strangways and Goldie has added to the sorrow which mingles in the rejoicing of this memorable battle. The Queen sympathises in the loss sustained by the families of her officers and soldiers, but Her Majesty bids them reflect with her, and derive consolation from the thought, that they fell in the sacred cause of justice, and in the ranks of a noble army.

I have the honour to be, my lord,Your lordship’s obedient, humble servant,NEWCASTLE.

To Field-Marshal Lord Raglan, K.C.B., and C.

As a further mark of Her Most Gracious Majesty’s approbation of the heroic, matchless gallantry displayed on that memorable field, the following Royal Warrant was issued:—

The Queen has been pleased to command that, as a mark of Her Majesty’s recognition of the meritorious services of the non-commissioned officers of the Army, under the command of Field-Marshal Lord Raglan, in the recent brilliant operations in the Crimea, the Field-Marshal shall submit, through the General Commander-in-Chief, the name of one Sergeant of each Regiment of Cavalry, of the three Battalions of Foot Guards, and of every Regiment of Infantry of the line, to be promoted to a cornetcy or ensigncy for Her Majesty’s approval; and, with the view to render immediately available the services of these meritorious men, Her Majesty has directed that the Field-Marshal do appoint provisionally, and pending Her Majesty’s pleasure, the Sergeants so recommended to Regiments in the Army under his command; and Her Majesty has further been graciously pleased to signify her intention that, on the several recommendations receiving Her Majesty’s approval, the commissions shall in each case bear date the 5th of November, 1854.

For these are deeds which must not pass away,Names that must not, cannot wither;For through tracks of death they led the wayOn the blood-stained heights of Inkermann.

A FEW WORDS ABOUT A NORFOLK HERO AT INKERMANN.

Of all the brave men who fought at Inkermann, none could surpass Sir Thomas Troubridge. It is but little use trying to pick out this or that regiment, for on that memorable field there were no supports or reserves; every man was in the fighting line, and it was “conquer or die.” One in the thick of the fight could not see much, but I simply know that none could take the shine out of the old Fusiliers. And with such men as Colonel Lacy Yea, Sir Thomas Troubridge, Captain Shipley, Lord R. Brown, Mr. Jones, and a few others, our men would have gone through fire and water. Sir Thomas Troubridge was the admiration of all, for, though terribly wounded, he would not allow himself to be removed from the ground until victory had declared itself for the sons of Albion, but remained, with the bravest fortitude, encouraging his men to “fight it out.” He would now and then call out, “Fire away, my lads; give them the steel if you get a chance; stick to them my men.” It was a sergeant named Laws, (a Norwich man), who ran for a doctor to attend upon him; but his resolute spirit did not forsake him. No, he would rather die on the field, at his post with his Fusiliers, than be carried to a place of safety. And his noble conduct had a wonderful effect upon the men, for everyone would have died rather than forsake him—such a gallant soldier. At the Alma his conduct was the admiration of all who could see him, for he was often in front of us, encouraging us; but he escaped that fiery ordeal without a scratch, to fall, with both feet gone, on a more glorious field. Like a number of the bravest of the brave, he was a good living man, and was prepared for anything. He was as true as steel; an honest, upright, truthful, fearless, good man, gifted with a clear, comprehensive mind, and every inch a Fusilier.

Note referred to at Page 41.

THE FIRST TO LAND IN THE CRIMEA.

I do not wish to be partial, but to give honour where honour is due. There have been doubts expressed as to which regiment landed first on the enemy’s shore in the Crimea, on the 14th September, 1854. I will claim that honour for the 7th Royal Fusiliers; and, further, for that noble hero the late General (then Major) Sir Thomas St. Vincent Cochrane Troubridge, Bart. Sir Thomas sprang from a family of tried warriors, his father being right hand man to the immortal Nelson, at St. Vincent, the Nile, and Trafalgar. The following letter will, I hope, clear up all doubts as to who first landed.

Viceregal Lodge, Dublin,April 17th, 1856.My Dear Sir,As doubts have been expressed as to which regiment landed first in the Crimea, I therefore think it only an act of justice to inform you that a company of the 7th Fusiliers, under Major Sir T. Troubridge, was in my boat; and that the only boat near us was one belonging to, I think, theSanspareil, and having Rifles on board. Sir G. Brown had previously landed with Captain Dacres, R.N. I may say that mine were the first troops landed in the Crimea. I write this that you may do justice to a regiment that I have long known, and that is second to none in the British Army.I remain, my dear Sir,Truly yours,C. VESEY,Com. R.N., and A.D.C.

Viceregal Lodge, Dublin,April 17th, 1856.

My Dear Sir,

As doubts have been expressed as to which regiment landed first in the Crimea, I therefore think it only an act of justice to inform you that a company of the 7th Fusiliers, under Major Sir T. Troubridge, was in my boat; and that the only boat near us was one belonging to, I think, theSanspareil, and having Rifles on board. Sir G. Brown had previously landed with Captain Dacres, R.N. I may say that mine were the first troops landed in the Crimea. I write this that you may do justice to a regiment that I have long known, and that is second to none in the British Army.

I remain, my dear Sir,Truly yours,C. VESEY,Com. R.N., and A.D.C.

Voyage to Malta—Scenes between Decks—An insufficiency of Doctors—Landing at Malta—Kind Treatment in Hospital—The Nurses—Fast Recovery—Letter Home—Longing to be at it again—Purchase of Blankets and other Comforts—Another Letter Home—To the Front again—Reception by old Mess-Mates—Sufferings of the Army—Break-down of the Commissariat—Plenty of Stores Rotting in Harbour, but none to be got by the Troops—Make-shifts—Appearance of the Men.

As soon as it came to my turn I was attended to, and my wounds dressed and bandaged. I remained for two days, and then a number of us were sent to Scutari. We were taken down to Balaclava on mules, some of them lent by our chivalrous allies the French. We got a good shaking, but eventually found ourselves on board an old steamer. It was a horrible scene—poor fellows having every description of wound; and many died before we left the harbour. We were packed on board anyhow,—to live or die; and away we went. The sea was rather boisterous, and, I can assure the reader, I was not very comfortable, with poor fellows dying fast all around me. There were not sufficient medical officers to look after fifty men, much less three or four hundred.

I would here ask the reader to try and picture to himself a ship rolling and tossing about at sea with such a freight. The sight was heart-rending. Many of our poor fellows had had not the slightest thing done for them since they were wounded on that bloody field. They had fought and helped to uphold thehonour of their country, and were now left to die in agony, and—oh! horror of horrors!—their poor mangled bodies were infested with vermin. I could give particulars that would cause the blood of the reader to curdle in his veins and shock his credulity, but I forbear. Enough has been said, surely, to afford a sufficient condemnation of British management! Yet in spite of these facts, which were too patent to be kept from them, thousands upon thousands of the youth of the three kingdoms were burning to join their countrymen at the seat of war. On behalf of the British army I demand fair treatment for the men who are willing to risk their lives in the service of their country. Horses and even dogs received far more attention and better treatment during that trying campaign than the poor sick and wounded men. I say that what is needed is some system of organization that shall render impossible the repetition of such inhumanities as disgraced the Crimean campaign. Let men of brains, and with human hearts in their bosoms, be appointed to devise such a system, and I am certain my fellow-countrymen will grudge no expense in making it effective. Our doctors worked like horses, but they could not do impossibilities; six times the number could not have done the work—but the fault did not rest with them.

After being tossed about for some four or five days, we reached Scutari, to find it so full of sick and wounded that we were not allowed to land, and on we had to go to Malta. Describe the scene between decks I could not. Men were on all sides shrieking with pain, some were lying in a state of putrefaction, others in a morbid state, and some were being carried up on deck, to be consigned, wrapped in a blanket, to a watery grave.

At last we reached our desired haven, Malta, and were taken ashore as quickly as possible. Many an eye was wet with tears; the good people did allthat lay in their power for us, and we could see pity beaming upon every countenance. We found the Maltese a kind-hearted people. On to the hospital we went, were at once put to bed, and attended to by kind motherly hands, that did all that was possible to soothe us. Nothing could exceed the kindness of all those who had anything to do with us. In one month I was on my feet again, convalescent, and with plenty of good nourishment I soon began to gather strength; and in the early part of January, 1855, wanted to be off again, to have a little satisfaction, but I had to remain another month.

I wrote to my parents from Malta, under date as follows:—

December 21st, 1854.Once more a line from your rough but affectionate son. Your letters have all duly reached me. I am happy to inform you that I am getting on capitally. I have the best of attention; and, what’s more, a pretty young lady for my nurse. You know, father, that soldiers have an eye to pretty girls; but woe be to the man who would attempt to molest one of these dear creatures, for they are worth their weight in gold. I am able to stand up, I am happy to inform you; but I must not let my nurse see me, or the doctor would eat me.

December 21st, 1854.

Once more a line from your rough but affectionate son. Your letters have all duly reached me. I am happy to inform you that I am getting on capitally. I have the best of attention; and, what’s more, a pretty young lady for my nurse. You know, father, that soldiers have an eye to pretty girls; but woe be to the man who would attempt to molest one of these dear creatures, for they are worth their weight in gold. I am able to stand up, I am happy to inform you; but I must not let my nurse see me, or the doctor would eat me.

We found that the nation’s heart was bleeding for her soldiers and sailors—a grateful country was roused by the before unheard-of privations and sufferings and the heroic stand that her sons were making. All, even our enemies, were compelled to admire the daring devotion and courage displayed by a mere handful of men, at the heights of Alma; all were compelled to applaud the conduct of our soldiers on the plains of Balaclava; and the stand made at Inkermann will be the theme of admiration for ages to come. England and the world admitted that every man had nobly done his duty, and that the conquerors on Inkermann’s heights had every whit the courage and daring of their forefathers.

I was now well able to take my walks abroad and have a good look at all the sights and scenes of Malta, and there are some grand sights to be seen—the Church of St. John, I suppose, is one of the grandest in the world. Then I used to wander around the vast fortifications day after day. Accounts kept coming in from the seat of war. We heard that our poor fellows were dying fast of starvation and cold; death was, in fact, raging through the camp at a fearful pace, and yet our men stuck to it. From letters I received from the front, it appeared the storm that had struck the Crimea had swept away nearly all our poor fellows’ tents, and they had to get into caves in the rocks, and do the best they could on that terrible 14th November, 1854. The ship “Prince,” with winter clothing for the whole army, had gone down just outside the harbour of Balaclava—all hands perished; and a number of other ships shared the same fate. The cold was something terrible, men were frost-bitten, daily losing fingers and toes, and undergoing such sufferings as no tongue or pen can describe. In December, 1854, and January and February, 1855, our poor fellows were dying like rotten sheep for want of the common necessaries of life—they had little or no food, hardly sufficient clothing to cover their nakedness, the tents were full of holes, and they had nothing but mud to lay their weary bones in, with the thermometer far below freezing point. Then, too, they often had to fight with desperation to hold their own. So, upon the whole, there was not a very bright prospect before me.

Regiments and drafts kept passing on for the front, and I was longing to have a slap at them once more, just by way of getting out of debt; so, towards the end of February, 1855, after I had made some splendid purchases in the way of good blankets, 2 dozen good flannel shirts, 2 dozen ditto drawers, 2 dozen warm gloves for my comrades, a good supply of flannels formyself, and a brace of revolvers, off I went once more to fight for Old England, home, and glory. These facts were communicated to my parents, in the following letter:—

Malta, Feb. 11th, 1855.My Dear Parents,I do not think I shall be here much longer. A number of us are ready for them again, and I have a debt to pay off, but at your request will not run my head into danger more than I can avoid; but I hope the Lord will give me strength of mind and of body to do my duty; for, father, I do believe I am a true-born Suffolk man, for I could not bear the thought of skulking. If ever I fall, I hope it will be with my face to the foe, and that after I have got out of debt—for I should not like to owe them anything. I never yet told you that two of them came at me at Inkermann, and that was not fair, taking into consideration they could see that I was engaged at the time with a huge monster. Never mind; thank God I have got over that, and am ready for them again. I hope my next letter will be from the interior of Sebastopol. The French appear to mean business; hardly a day passes but ships laden with them put in here for coal. A number of their Imperial Guards landed here a few days ago. There were four or five of us out for a walk; and when it was explained to them that we had all been at the Alma, and were wounded at Inkermann, you would have thought they had gone mad; they embraced and kissed us over and over again, and shouted ‘Bon Anglais, Bon Anglais!’ and ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ until further orders. I thought it was a great pity we did not understand each other—we had two interpreters—and I can tell you that they had quite enough of it; but as far as I could see, the very name of Inkermann was enough for three or four cuddles; and although I did not like to be kissed by a man, I had to put up with it. They are fine looking men; a great many of them are much taller than I am (six feet), and, if they get a chance, will most likely leave their mark upon the Russians. At all events, they will soon have a peep at them, and will find them ugly customers to deal with. Well, we parted with our friends on the best of terms, but we had to put up with another good squeeze. I must tell you I have been marketing. I have bought all sorts of warm clothing for my comrades, for I find it is needed: they found the cash. I have got a good revolver for myself, and am off to-morrow. I do not wish to boast; but, come what will, I will never bring disgrace upon our old county—dear old Suffolk,that gave me birth—or upon Norfolk, that brought me up. Remember, dear father, Norfolk can boast of Nelson.[2]Keep up your spirits, dear parents; all’s well that ends well. Will write as soon as I can. Good bye, and God bless you.Believe me, as ever,Your affectionate son,T. GOWING, Sergeant,Royal Fusiliers.

Malta, Feb. 11th, 1855.

My Dear Parents,

I do not think I shall be here much longer. A number of us are ready for them again, and I have a debt to pay off, but at your request will not run my head into danger more than I can avoid; but I hope the Lord will give me strength of mind and of body to do my duty; for, father, I do believe I am a true-born Suffolk man, for I could not bear the thought of skulking. If ever I fall, I hope it will be with my face to the foe, and that after I have got out of debt—for I should not like to owe them anything. I never yet told you that two of them came at me at Inkermann, and that was not fair, taking into consideration they could see that I was engaged at the time with a huge monster. Never mind; thank God I have got over that, and am ready for them again. I hope my next letter will be from the interior of Sebastopol. The French appear to mean business; hardly a day passes but ships laden with them put in here for coal. A number of their Imperial Guards landed here a few days ago. There were four or five of us out for a walk; and when it was explained to them that we had all been at the Alma, and were wounded at Inkermann, you would have thought they had gone mad; they embraced and kissed us over and over again, and shouted ‘Bon Anglais, Bon Anglais!’ and ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ until further orders. I thought it was a great pity we did not understand each other—we had two interpreters—and I can tell you that they had quite enough of it; but as far as I could see, the very name of Inkermann was enough for three or four cuddles; and although I did not like to be kissed by a man, I had to put up with it. They are fine looking men; a great many of them are much taller than I am (six feet), and, if they get a chance, will most likely leave their mark upon the Russians. At all events, they will soon have a peep at them, and will find them ugly customers to deal with. Well, we parted with our friends on the best of terms, but we had to put up with another good squeeze. I must tell you I have been marketing. I have bought all sorts of warm clothing for my comrades, for I find it is needed: they found the cash. I have got a good revolver for myself, and am off to-morrow. I do not wish to boast; but, come what will, I will never bring disgrace upon our old county—dear old Suffolk,that gave me birth—or upon Norfolk, that brought me up. Remember, dear father, Norfolk can boast of Nelson.[2]Keep up your spirits, dear parents; all’s well that ends well. Will write as soon as I can. Good bye, and God bless you.

Believe me, as ever,Your affectionate son,T. GOWING, Sergeant,Royal Fusiliers.

We had a jolly time of it all the way up, plenty of the good things of this life on board. What a difference! what a contrast to the voyage down! We had forgotten all our pains and sorrows, and were once more on the way to assist our comrades in subduing the haughty Muscovites. We knew well that in all probability few of us would ever see our dear old home again, or those who were near and dear to us. But we had to look stern necessity in the face. It was a call to duty that we were obeying, and for “England’s home and beauty” we would go forward, let the consequences be what they might. Many an aching mother’s heart was following our every movement. The scenes that we had already passed through were enough to melt more than one Absolom’s heart, and set him thinking, first, of an endless eternity, and then of a fond and almost broken-hearted mother at home. But duty, stern duty, must be done, and done well, “for England expects that every man will in the hour of need do his duty.” It was still very cold, but we had plenty of clothing and wanted for nothing. We had some splendid sights going through the Dardanelles. Constantinople looked grand; but we were not allowed to disembark, though we stayed there for a time to take in coal; then away we went. We met some of our poor fellows coming from the front. We found the Black Sea very rough, in fact, rolling mountains high, but our gallant old ship dashed on;we had another in tow, but lost her—the cable broke in the night, and she had to look out for herself. We reached the snug little harbour of Balaclava on the morning of the 8th March, 1855, and, as usual, found it crammed with shipping. We had to remain outside, until our Captain obtained permission to enter, then in we went and landed; at once marching to the front to the old Light Division, and I again found myself in the midst of old chums—but what an alteration! Poor half-starved miserable-looking creatures, mere wrecks of humanity, but still with that unconquerable look about them, so that it was a pleasure to do anything for them. I had a treat in store for my company. I asked and obtained leave to go to Balaclava the following day, telling the Captain what I had brought for the men. I took six men with me and loaded them with some of the good things I had purchased, and away we went back again. We had to plough through mud nearly all the way up to our ankles; and when I came to open the packages and distribute the goods, I got many a “God bless you, Sergeant.” A flannel shirt and drawers were worth their weight in gold. I did not lose a man out of my tent after I rejoined, except from the enemy’s fire; the flannel kept the cold out; the men were always cheerful and I could do anything I liked with them—they were a brave set of fellows. Let our men have but fair treatment, and I have not the slightest hesitation in saying, that they would, if well officered, shake the biggest bullies on the Continent out of their boots, and chase them off any field.

The loss of thePrince, on the evening of the 14th November, 1854, just outside the harbour of Balaclava, was the cause of thousands of poor fellows coming to an untimely end; for, in addition to an enormous supply of everything that could be thought of to combat the foe with, such as small-arm ammunition, shotand shell of all sizes, &c., she had on board for the army the following:—

Eight other ships were also lost, with nearly all hands on board, that night. The value of their freights has been estimated at £1,500,000. But the value of the stores and outfits for the army was incalculable. From that date the deplorable condition of the army commences. Yet there were thousands of tons of stores lying at Balaclava, rotting. The Commissariat had completely broken down. All that was wanting, was someone with a head on to put things straight—all was higgledy-piggledy and confusion. The cavalry horses, that had cost an enormous amount, sank up to their knees in mud at every step, until they dropped exhausted; and all the way from the camp to Balaclava were to be seen dead horses, mules, and bullocks in every stage of decomposition. And our poor fellows, who had fought so well at the Alma, Balaclava, and the two Inkermanns, were now dying by hundreds daily. The army was put upon half rations, viz:—half-a-pound of mouldy biscuit, and half-a-pound of of salt junk (beef or pork); coffee was served out, but in its raw green state, with no means of roasting it. No wood or firing was to be had, except a few roots that were dug up. Men would come staggering into the camp from the trenches soaked to the skin and ravenously hungry, when a half-pound of mouldy biscuit would be issued, with the same quantity of salt junk, so hard that one almost wanted a good hatchetto break it. The scenes were heart-rending. The whole camp was one vast sheet of mud, the trenches in many places knee deep; men died at their posts from sheer exhaustion or starvation, rather than complain, for if they reported themselves sick the medical chests were empty. And amidst all these privations the enemy kept peppering away at them. A bright but melancholy proof was then given of what Britons will endure before they give up. But, perhaps, one of the most mortifying pills that our poor fellows had to swallow was the knowledge that, although they were dying by wholesale for the want of shelter, clothing, and food, the huts had arrived in safety at Balaclava, or were floating about the harbour and being stolen by those handy little fellows, the Zouaves, to make fire-wood of; the overcoats lay in lighters; while food and nourishment, and every comfort that could be thought of by a kind-hearted people—such as potted meats of all descriptions, ground coffee, preserved soups, good thick warm flannel shirts, comforters knitted by ladies at home, flannel drawers, and good fustian jackets, waterproof coats and leggings, and tobacco in tons—were rotting in the harbour or stacked up upon the shore. A few men who were stationed at or near Balaclava got the lion’s share. The Guards had not much to complain of after they were sent down to Balaclava, for they were in clover—little or nothing to do—and if they did not exactly live upon the fat of the land, they ought to have done so. As for the unfortunate divisions that had, day after day and night after night, to face the foe in the trenches, hardly an officer, or man but was suffering from diarrhœa or dysentery. And, to make things worse, medicine could not be had. Some of our regimental doctors actually begged the chief medical authorities, for humanity’s sake, to let them have some medicine for diarrhœa or fever; but, no! the answer was “We have none.” “Have you any medicine for rheumatism?” “No! we have none.”Thus, our fellow-countrymen were left to die, whilst tons of medicines of all descriptions were close at hand, floating in the harbour of Balaclava! But I must be honest, and say plainly that a vast deal of the sickness was brought on by the men themselves by excessive drinking. We were allowed three (and sometimes four) drams of the best rum daily; but from the manner in which it was issued it would not intoxicate the men, for it was divided into three or four parts, and in camp it was mixed with lime juice. But there were hundreds not satisfied with that, who would go anywhere and do anything to get more; and then in all probability fall down, and, if not noticed by some one, the extreme cold soon settled up their account—frost-bitten or frozen to death. Thus, it was not all the fault of the authorities. The whole army was in rags and filth, and half frozen in the trenches in front of the enemy. Not one, but hundreds, were stricken down by starvation. They were only about eight miles from plenty, and yet were dying of hunger; there were clothing and medical stores in ship-loads, but no organization. And yet, with all this wretchedness, our men fought with undaunted bravery whenever the enemy attempted to trespass upon the ground they were told to hold.

In January, 1855, after thousands had died, the warm clothing was served out, but blankets were still short. And—would you believe it, reader?—when men who had died in hospital were taken to their last abode rolled up in a blanket, on arrival at the grave or pit, the unfortunate dead, perhaps a loving son of some poor heart-broken mother, was rolled out of the blanket into his grave in a state of nudity, and at once covered up with a few shovels-full of earth,the blanket being brought back and washed, and becoming the property of one who had helped at the interment. I knew of a very painful case. One of our sergeants named G——s, had buried two poor fellows on a cold bleak morningin the month of January, 1855, but through some mistake had left them in their blankets. On returning to camp he met our Colonel, who inquired what he had been doing; and when the poor fellow said that he was returning from the cemetery, and that he had just interred two men, the Colonel roared out—“Then where are the blankets, Sir; go back and get them, and parade them before me when washed.” A kinder-hearted man, or a braver soldier than our Commander never faced the foe; but orders must be obeyed. Some regiments were reduced to a single company, and had to be sent out of the field, yet had not suffered much from the enemy. The Guards left home 2,500 strong, and reinforcements amounting to 1500 had joined them; but by the end of 1854 they could only muster about 900 fit for duty. Lads were sent out and died almost as soon as they landed; one night in the trenches was quite enough for them—they either crawled back to camp and died, or were sent home again, or to Scutari or Malta. A number of poor fellows were almost daily sent down to Balaclava on litters—one on either side of a mule—they formed a ghastly procession; many died before they reached the port. Death was stalking all over our camp, on every side was cholera in its worst form, dysentery, diarrhœa, rheumatism, catarrh, and scurvy. Men were positively forbidden to take off their boots, as it was found impossible to get them on again; while some might be seen limping about the camp in the snow (two or three feet deep) with no boots of any sort; others with boots up to their knees, which they had borrowed from some dead Russian. Some of our critics (newspaper correspondents) were at a loss to find out to what regiment a man really belonged, or even what nation, as during the worst part of the winter no two men were dressed alike. Some had hay bands bound round their legs, others had long stockings outside their rags or trousers, some had garters made from oldknapsacks, others had leggings made from sheep skins, bullocks’ hides, buffalo hides, horse hides—anything to keep the extreme cold out. Some had got hold of a Russian officer’s overcoat, which was almost a load to carry. As for Joseph’s coat of many colours, I do not think it would have taken a prize for patchwork by the side of some of our men’s clothing. They say patch beside patch looks neighbourly, but our men’s coats were nothing but rags tacked together. As for head dress, some had mess-tin covers that could be pulled down well over the ears; others had coverings for the head made out of old blankets four or five times doubled. Yet there was but little murmuring so long as the men could get sufficient to eat, and in the midst of all their troubles they were loyal to the backbone, and would sing aloud “God save the Queen.” Some of their beards and moustaches were almost two feet long, and sometimes these were so frozen that they could not open their mouths until they could get to a fire and thaw them. As the reader may imagine, they were a queer-looking lot; but nothing but death could subdue them. They were not very “illigant” in their appearance, but one could read in their countenances that they meant death or victory. During January, 1855, the men were informed that Her Most Gracious Majesty had been pleased to grant a medal with three clasps for the Crimean campaign, thus—one for Alma, one for Balaclava, and one for Inkermann. Little Inkermann was not named; and some of the officers, non-commissioned officers, and men, who had fought there, were not at all satisfied. Some of our men inquired what we were to get for the town. Why, a star, of course!A crack of the head more likely.This was in January, 1855; we little dreamt then that we should have nine months’ more continuous fighting before Sebastopol fell, and that much more of the best blood of Britain was to be spilt long before then. I have often thought since that my gettingthose two nasty pokes at Inkermann was the means, in the hands of God, of saving my life; for I thus escaped the hardships of the months of November and December, 1854, and January and February, 1855. During my absence from the camp there was not much fighting going on, except at the “ovens,” as our men called them; for the enemy could not stand the intense cold any more than our men; though they had the best of us, as they had good shelter huts until our guns knocked them about their ears.

THE SOLDIER’S DEATH.

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