Chapter 7

They shall live renown’d in story,They whose arms, on fields of gore,Saved our homes and native landFrom the rude rough clash of war.T. G.

Our men had been crushed beneath a terrific fire, but not subdued. We knew well that a day—a terrible day—of reckoning would come, and longed to be let loose at them. “Oh, if we could only get them well out into the open fields,” said one old hand, “we’d make short work of them!” But, no chance of that. They had had several tastes of our bayonets, and wanted no more; so we had to set to work and hunt them out of one of the strongest fortifications in the world. Ultimately, the reader will find that we managed them.

The following was my letter home on this occasion:—

Camp before Sebastopol,June 18th, 1855 (Waterloo Day.)My Dear Parents,How to express my feelings to the God of all mercies I do not know. I drop a line as quickly as possible, in order to catch the mail, to let you know that I am still safe and sound, as I know that long before this can reach home you will have heard of the slaughter we have sustained. Slaughter is hardly a name for it—massacre. We have been cut to pieces in an attempt upon the town. I have not time to say much, and am too low-spirited. About two o’clock this morning we attacked the Redan, the 7th Fusiliers leading the stormers. Our dear old Colonel was killed. He was one of the bravest of the brave, for where all were brave he would lead the way. Almost every officer of ours has been either killed or wounded. I am the only sergeant of my company returned to camp without being wounded. Oh, what a morning! but through the mercy of God I have been spared, although my poor comrades fell in heaps all around me, one on the top of the other. But truth will go the furthest, the enemy has beaten both French and English this morning. Our poor fellows could not get at them, but were mowed down with grape, canister, and musketry, and broadside after broadside from their shipping. The sights all around are horrible, men continually being brought into camp with every description of wound. I heard one of our old hands say, a short time ago, although wounded and limping to hospital: ‘This is only lent; we’ll pay them off for it yet, and that before long.’ The sole cry in the camp is—‘Let’s go at them again.’ I hope you will excuse this short letter, as I must be off. I am for the trenches to-night.Believe me, yours, &c., &c.,T. GOWING,Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.P.S.—I was robbed of all I had in this world while out fighting (except the smallBibleyou gave me—they would not have that).

Camp before Sebastopol,June 18th, 1855 (Waterloo Day.)

My Dear Parents,

How to express my feelings to the God of all mercies I do not know. I drop a line as quickly as possible, in order to catch the mail, to let you know that I am still safe and sound, as I know that long before this can reach home you will have heard of the slaughter we have sustained. Slaughter is hardly a name for it—massacre. We have been cut to pieces in an attempt upon the town. I have not time to say much, and am too low-spirited. About two o’clock this morning we attacked the Redan, the 7th Fusiliers leading the stormers. Our dear old Colonel was killed. He was one of the bravest of the brave, for where all were brave he would lead the way. Almost every officer of ours has been either killed or wounded. I am the only sergeant of my company returned to camp without being wounded. Oh, what a morning! but through the mercy of God I have been spared, although my poor comrades fell in heaps all around me, one on the top of the other. But truth will go the furthest, the enemy has beaten both French and English this morning. Our poor fellows could not get at them, but were mowed down with grape, canister, and musketry, and broadside after broadside from their shipping. The sights all around are horrible, men continually being brought into camp with every description of wound. I heard one of our old hands say, a short time ago, although wounded and limping to hospital: ‘This is only lent; we’ll pay them off for it yet, and that before long.’ The sole cry in the camp is—‘Let’s go at them again.’ I hope you will excuse this short letter, as I must be off. I am for the trenches to-night.

Believe me, yours, &c., &c.,T. GOWING,Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.

P.S.—I was robbed of all I had in this world while out fighting (except the smallBibleyou gave me—they would not have that).

We had not long to wait for our revenge, and revenge is sweet when in the field. We had received some good strong drafts—not recruits, but volunteers from various regiments at home—fine, able men, that filled up the gaps, or went a long way towards it. Allstragglers were sent to their duty. Our Chiefs had found out by some means that we were to be attacked about the 26th of June, by an overwhelming force; our batteries, trenches, and all our guns were to be taken from us; and we were to be put into the sea, or capitulate. Much easier said than done. However, as we had to go into the sea, we took lessons in swimming—by way of taking plenty of ammunition with us. Although they had just thrashed us, we were not going to give up the game for one black eye. Sir G. Brown tendered his sword to defend the front trench with his division of ten regiments at his back. That noble old soldier addressed each brigade, in just a few suitable words, that a tried man like himself knew well how to deliver. As soon as we were formed up, the gallant old General was in the midst of us. He had not much bowing or scraping, but went at once to the point. “Well men, they,” pointing in the direction of the town, “are going to take our trenches and guns from us to-night. I have offered my sword to defend the leading trench, will you support me?” Suiting the action to the word, he drew his sword and waved it over his head. The answer that the brave old man got was a deafening shout, such a shout as that, a few hours after, struck terror into the boasting enemy; and we at once marched off to the post of honour. We had not gone far when another shout told us that we were not going alone. The 1st brigade of the Light Division consisted of the 1st-7th Royal Fusiliers, 23rd Royal Welsh Fusiliers, 33rd Duke’s own, 34th regiment, and 2nd battalion Rifle Brigade. Our comrades of the 2nd brigade consisted of the 19th, 90th, 77th, 88th and 97th regiments. The 2nd brigade came close behind us, backed up by the entire 2nd division, and a part of the Guards and Highlanders.

Into the front trench we went, and, as soon as it got dark enough, a good chain of sentries was thrown out to give us timely warning of the enemy’s approach.These men had to creep out on their hands and knees and lie flat on the ground, and as soon as they could see the enemy advancing, bound back to us and give the alarm; thus, all would be in readiness for them, although it was as dark as the grave. Everything was cut and dried, and they might come and try their hands at ducking us if they were game! We had not very long to wait, for they were game to the backbone. They opened a terrible shell fire upon all our leading trenches, both French and English, and we lost many of our men, as we were rather thickly posted. About 11.30 p.m. our sentries came running in, with the news that the enemy was advancing in force. We let them come. Our batteries threw out a number of fire balls, which at once lit up the whole place as clear as daylight. We, in the leading trench, kept well down out of the way of our own guns. The enemy came on through a perfect storm of shot, shell, grape, canister, and rockets; it must have mowed down their crowded ranks by wholesale, for they were coming on in massive columns, evidently for a fair trial of strength. All this time we in the trenches had not fired a shot. At a given signal our guns ceased, but the mortars still kept it up. Our two front ranks gave them a deadly point-blank volley, and at once stepped back, for we stood six deep in the trench waiting for them. The next two ranks then moved up and gave them another. They were not more than fifty paces from us. The front ranks of the column went down as grass before a scythe, and before the enemy had time to collect their wits they got another and another, which shook them to atoms. To finish them off they got two or three more volleys, for the rear of the column was pressing the head of it on. The deadly fire was a little too much for them, and they broke, hesitating as to which way to go. While they stood bewildered, they got two or three more volleys, which literally tore them to pieces, and, to make things a little moreuncomfortable for them, the words “Faugh-a-Ballagh” were shouted somewhere on our left—the gallant 88th got the credit of it. Translated into English this means, “Clear the road,” or way, and, in less time than it takes me to write it, all hands sprung over the top of the trench and rushed at them with the bayonet. We lost a number of men that we should not have lost had we acted solely on the defensive, for the enemy opened their heavy guns on friend and foe, in order to try and stop us. We chased them right up to the Redan, and then returned to our trenches. The next morning there was a flag of truce out, which was soon answered by our people. We could then have a good look at our handiwork of the previous night, and a ghastly sight it was, for hundreds of the enemy were cut to pieces by shot and shell.

I had seen the fields of the Alma, Balaclava, and Inkermann, and, in fact, everything of importance since the commencement of the campaign, but I had never seen anything to equal the sight that presented itself that morning; the enemy lay in columns as they had stood, or in places pile upon pile, four or five deep, in every conceivable position that mind could imagine. The Minié balls had done some fearful work. Into that part of the trench on our right, manned by the Rifles, Guards, and Highlanders, the enemy had, in spite of the terrible fire, entered, but they were there met by the bayonet, and never went back to Holy Russia. The trench was in places completely choked, the dead lying heaped up level with the top. Some of our nice boys joked the Guards and Highlanders next morning about leaving no work for the doctors, and some of those “feather-bed gentlemen” replied that they liked to do things well—they had been taught the first point. People may say what they like about our Guards, but they have proved themselves on many a hard-fought field very devils, particularly in a close fight.

Again I found opportunity to write to my parents, as follows:—

Camp before Sebastopol,June 28th, 1855.My Dear Parents,Just a few lines to inform you that we have got out of debt. My letter of the 18th told you of the terrible thrashing that the enemy gave us that morning. Well, we have met them again, and paid them off for it; and I think we have proved that we can hit just as hard as they can. On the 26th, about 11 p.m., they made a general attack all along our trenches—both French and English. We were ready for them, as they were for us on the 18th, and have paid them off in their own coin. It lasted about three-quarters-of-an-hour, and they have left close upon 4000 upon the field, dead and wounded; they boasted that they were going to put us into the sea; I for one, had a strong objection to this, as I cannot swim. I never before saw our men fight so spitefully. Volley after volley was poured into their advancing hosts, and then, with a ringing cheer for old England, we closed upon them with that weapon they so much dread. Some of our men’s bayonets were bent like reaping-hooks, which was a clear proof of the work we had been at. Although they beat us for once, we let them know that the Lion was on the war-path, and that he was well roused. I think out Allies got out of debt too, for they stuck to them well; we can always tell when they are winning, for they do not forget to shout. Our men are as quiet as a lot of lambs until the bayonet comes into play, and then it’s three British cheers, and sometimes three times three. The sights all over the field next morning, (the 27th), were horrible. We had a flag of truce out for about three hours, to allow the enemy to take away their dead and wounded, and during that time the greater portion of the troops that had been engaged returned to the camp. I got a slight scratch in the forehead, but nothing of any importance, so I have much to be thankful for. We did not lose many men, as we were under cover. We are creeping, bit by bit, up to the town; but the closer we get, the more bitter the fighting becomes. We have now plenty to eat and drink; there is all sorts of life in the camp, and duty is not half so hard as it has been. We have still the unseen enemy—cholera—with us, but upon the whole we keep up our spirits remarkably well. Our men appear to long for the day when we shall be let loose at the town—bombarding does not seem to have much effect upon their works—it must be taken with the bayonet, and whenever the day of reckoning comes, it will be a heavy one.Reinforcements keep joining us, both French and English, almost every day; and we have a splendid army, in spite of our heavy losses, ready at our commander’s call to advance with the flag of old England, and plant it on the proud walls of this noble fortress, which has put all others in the shade. Hardly a day passes but more guns and mortars are being mounted, and what the next bombardment will be I do not know. I will write as often as I can, but you must excuse some of my short notes; although I wear a red coat, I hope there is a warm heart beating beneath it. I must conclude with love to all, and double allowance for poor mother.Believe me ever, dear Parents,Your affectionate son,T. GOWING,Sergeant,Royal Fusiliers.

Camp before Sebastopol,June 28th, 1855.

My Dear Parents,

Just a few lines to inform you that we have got out of debt. My letter of the 18th told you of the terrible thrashing that the enemy gave us that morning. Well, we have met them again, and paid them off for it; and I think we have proved that we can hit just as hard as they can. On the 26th, about 11 p.m., they made a general attack all along our trenches—both French and English. We were ready for them, as they were for us on the 18th, and have paid them off in their own coin. It lasted about three-quarters-of-an-hour, and they have left close upon 4000 upon the field, dead and wounded; they boasted that they were going to put us into the sea; I for one, had a strong objection to this, as I cannot swim. I never before saw our men fight so spitefully. Volley after volley was poured into their advancing hosts, and then, with a ringing cheer for old England, we closed upon them with that weapon they so much dread. Some of our men’s bayonets were bent like reaping-hooks, which was a clear proof of the work we had been at. Although they beat us for once, we let them know that the Lion was on the war-path, and that he was well roused. I think out Allies got out of debt too, for they stuck to them well; we can always tell when they are winning, for they do not forget to shout. Our men are as quiet as a lot of lambs until the bayonet comes into play, and then it’s three British cheers, and sometimes three times three. The sights all over the field next morning, (the 27th), were horrible. We had a flag of truce out for about three hours, to allow the enemy to take away their dead and wounded, and during that time the greater portion of the troops that had been engaged returned to the camp. I got a slight scratch in the forehead, but nothing of any importance, so I have much to be thankful for. We did not lose many men, as we were under cover. We are creeping, bit by bit, up to the town; but the closer we get, the more bitter the fighting becomes. We have now plenty to eat and drink; there is all sorts of life in the camp, and duty is not half so hard as it has been. We have still the unseen enemy—cholera—with us, but upon the whole we keep up our spirits remarkably well. Our men appear to long for the day when we shall be let loose at the town—bombarding does not seem to have much effect upon their works—it must be taken with the bayonet, and whenever the day of reckoning comes, it will be a heavy one.Reinforcements keep joining us, both French and English, almost every day; and we have a splendid army, in spite of our heavy losses, ready at our commander’s call to advance with the flag of old England, and plant it on the proud walls of this noble fortress, which has put all others in the shade. Hardly a day passes but more guns and mortars are being mounted, and what the next bombardment will be I do not know. I will write as often as I can, but you must excuse some of my short notes; although I wear a red coat, I hope there is a warm heart beating beneath it. I must conclude with love to all, and double allowance for poor mother.

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

Thus ended all the boasting of the Russians. The flag of truce was up for two hours, and then had to be renewed, for they had not all their dead and wounded removed. We acted with them as they did with us on the 18th. A chain of sentries was placed out about 60 yards in front of our trenches, and all that fell on the inner side of the chain were carried by our people and laid down for their friends to take away; their men were very sullen, and their officers sarcastic—inquiring as to when we were going to take the town. Some of our officers told them we should awake them some of these fine mornings when they little suspected us; and our people joked them in return by asking when they were going to put us into the sea. A number of their officers could speak French, but few could speak English. The repulse that they had just sustained damped their spirits considerably; but the moment the white flag was out of sight, we were at it again.

I had nothing particular to record for a time except trench work, and as we had plenty of men our dutywas not heavy. The enemy continued to torment us as much as possible; and as we were now creeping closer to the town, almost every night there was something going on, and daily we lost a number of men and officers.

DEATH OF LORD RAGLAN.

And now we had something else hanging on our hands; we hadlost our brave Commander-in-Chief. The camp was startled on the morning of the 29th June, 1855, by the sorrowful tidings of the death of our much-beloved Commander-in-Chief, Lord Raglan. Men who had been accustomed to meet death looked at each other as if they had heard of the loss of some near relative. We did not know, until he was taken from us, how deeply we loved him. The army had lost a true friend—a friend to the combatant ranks. Our beloved country, and our much-beloved Sovereign, had lost a good, honest, faithful, and devout servant. His courage knew no bounds, and it was backed up by true Christian piety. He was a perfect gentleman, and had proved himself a soldier of no mean sort on many a hard-fought field in Spain, Portugal, France, and the Netherlands. He had served his country faithfully for upwards of half a century; and now he had laid down his life in the performance of his duty to the flag he loved so well. He was lamented by all, both high and low. The enormous responsibility of that unparalleled siege, together with the disastrous failure on the morning of the 18th June, broke the dear old gentleman’s heart. But he died as he had lived—a true soldier in a twofold sense, for he was not at all ashamed of his Great Captain. We mourned him as our Commander who had repeatedly led us on tovictory. We mourned him also as a Christian who had left a noble example behind him:—

We mourn for one whose honour’d name will standForemost amid the valiant of our land;Yet better far, we know to him ’twas givenTo be a soldier of his Lord in the land of the living.We mourn for one that’s now at restIn the bright land of endless bliss.Raglan, thou art gone! thy country mourns thee!Thy watchword when on earth was ‘forward!’But now, henceforth and for ever,Thy watchword will be ‘victory!’

All honour to the brave! he has gone to his everlasting home. All honour to him for his long and meritorious services. His old enemies, the French, against whom he had so often fought, now nobly stood forth to pay their respects and to do honour to one whose back they had never seen, and whom they never could subdue. The removal of the remains of our late lamented chief, Field-Marshal Lord Raglan, to Kazatch Bay, was a most imposing sight. The melancholy procession moved off about 3 p.m. on the 3rd July. All the way from the house in which his lordship had breathed his last was one continuous blaze of bright uniforms. At the house was stationed a party of the Grenadier Guards, and the French Imperial Guards; our Guards, the Zouaves, field batteries, and horse artillery batteries, with regiments of the line, both French, English, and Piedmontese, lined the road; the artillery, stationed at intervals, firing minute guns. The body was escorted by the 12th Lancers, about four squadrons; a strong party of French Cuirassiers, about four squadrons; then a party of Piedmontese cavalry, about four squadrons; troops of French horse artillery; troops of British horse artillery; and a strong party of French Chasseurs d’Afrique. Then came the coffin, covered with a black pall and the Union Jack; General Pélissier, the Commander-in-Chief of the French army; Omar Pasha, the Commander-in-Chief ofthe Ottoman army; General Marmora, the Commander-in-Chief of the Sardinian army; and General Simpson, the Commander-in-Chief of our army, rode on either side of the body, which was carried upon one of our horse artillery gun-carriages. Then came general officers of the British, the French, the Sardinian, and Turkish armies. Field batteries and horse artillery batteries were formed up all along the route, and fired minute guns as the solemn procession passed them. The united bands of various regiments were stationed at intervals, and played the “Dead March.” Every regiment in the Allied Army was represented by officers, non-commissioned officers, and men. His remains were not permitted to rest in an enemy’s country, but were carried with all honour down to the water’s edge, and duly handed over to the fleets, to be escorted under the flags of England, France, Turkey, and Sardinia. His loss to us as an army was great just at that critical moment. His name and memory were all that was left to animate us through the difficulties that were yet before us. The town was still firm, and the enemy’s numerous batteries still bade us defiance. But, we knew that Sebastopol must fall; else what would they say of us in Old England? Why, that we were not worthy of our forefathers. Let the reader have patience and he will soon learn how the work was done. The news will set his ears tingling, but, alas! it has sunk deep into many a mother’s broken heart.

Some of my heroes are low.I hear the sound of death ahead.

July passed off pretty quietly, but there was something in the wind; instead of returning to camp to rest, We all had to fall in at tattoo and march off to some part of the field, pile arms, and lie down. Our generals were not going to have another Inkermann job on their hands without being prepared for them.The Russians could see that the town must fall. It was only a matter of another month or so. The French had a splendid position in the Mamelon, were daily strengthening it, creeping and sapping up to the Malakoff; while our people were advancing step by step. The closer we got to the town the dearer the ground became, the fighting became more bitter, and we lost more men and officers daily. Their marksmen were always busy. The enemy were determined to make one more effort on a grand scale in order to try and save the town, and we did not know the spot or the hour the storm would burst upon us, so it was best not to be caught napping. Our batteries were being strengthened, and more guns and mortars added every day; and an immense iron girdle was now around the town, or the south side of it.

THE BATTLE OF THE TCHERNAYA.

On the morning of the 16th August, our camp was aroused by a tremendous firing to our right rear. The enemy had attacked us in the Valley of the Tchernaya, just to the right of Inkermann. We at once got under arms, the 2nd Brigade closing up, and there we remained. The firing got hotter and hotter; Prince Gortschakoff had now a vast host under his command, and he was making one more grand throw for victory. The fighting was very severe between the French and Sardinians on the one side, and Russians on the other. The Sardinians fought like men, and the Zouaves, as usual, like so many tigers, and the battle raged from morning until about 5 p.m. The enemy never had the slightest chance of success. I went on to the field in the evening and had a good look round; I found that the fighting had been in earnest. On and at the Tractor Bridge the dead lay in heaps, while the arches over theriver were completely choked or blocked up with Russian dead, the water running on either side of the bridge. The Russians, as usual, behaved in a most barbarous manner after the battle. They had been foiled at all points, and were compelled to retire. A party of French and Sardinians went to look up the wounded; the Russians could see plainly what the party was doing, yet they opened their heavy guns upon them! I came across a few French wounded Zouaves, and did all I could for them.

We were told not to go any further, or the enemy, on the hill to our left, would open upon us. The words were hardly uttered, when “bang” came a round shot right in the midst of us, but luckily did no harm; it only knocked some of their own wounded to pieces. No condemnation could be too strong for such unfeeling wretches. Their loss had been close upon 10,000. Such was the terrible battle of the Tchernaya. We had but little to do with it; some of our Artillery were engaged, and a portion of our Cavalry were formed up ready for a dash at them, but were not let loose. Rumours were rife that the Russians would try their luck again at Inkermann, but they never did; they had already got a good sickening there. The doomed city had now to take its chance, and I am approaching the last great scene of the campaign—the storming of the town that had kept the united armies and fleets of France, England, and Turkey at bay for nearly twelve months. The attention of the whole world was directed thither.

I wrote home at this time as follows:—

Camp before Sebastopol,August 18th, 1855.My Dear Parents,Long before this can reach you, you will have learnt by the papers the results of the terrible battle of the16th. In the Valley of the Tchernaya the enemy made a most determined attempt for victory, but the Allies met them at all points, and drove them back with terrific slaughter. I find that the Sardinians fought with desperation, well supported by the French, and backed up by some of our people. The attacking force has been estimated at from 60,000 to 70,000 men of all arms, and 160 guns. The fight lasted all day, and the struggle in various parts of the field has been severe; in fact it has been, on the part of the Russian commander, a grand throw for victory, to try and raise the siege; but as an officer, who saw the whole, told me this morning, they from 9 a.m. had not the slightest chance, that their defeat was inevitable, and that a crushing one. Our cavalry were formed up ready for them, under General Scarlett, but did not go at them; we were under arms all day, or nearly so, but did not advance. The enemy’s loss has been fearful in killed, wounded, and prisoners. I saw some of them, they are fine-looking men, but very dirty; I hear the prisoners amount to about 3,600, exclusive of officers, that is, including wounded and unwounded. The field presents a horrible spectacle; a few of us went down to have a look at it, and it was not the enemy’s fault that some of us did not stop there, for they pitched shot and threw shell right in the midst of us; we were doing all we could to relieve the poor wounded, both friend and foe. The sights all over the field were sickening, and I hope never to see the like again; there lay the ghastly fruits of war, in some places heaps upon heaps; the sight at the Tractor Bridge I shall not forget as long as I live; we spent some two hours on the field, did all we could to relieve the poor wounded, then walked home to camp. I have got two Russian medals I found upon the dead. I found that our friends, the Zouaves, had in some parts of the field handled the enemy very roughly, they had crossed bayonets with them, and they lay locked in each other’s arms dead. I do not think Prince Gortschakoff, with all his boasting, will try his hand against us in the open field, for some time to come; the enemy have not got enough go in them, except they are half maddened with rackie, to face us manfully. What the enemy have lost we do not know exactly, but not much under 10,000 or 12,000, and the result has slightly damped their spirits. Our loss, that is, the French and Sardinians is acknowledged by them to be between 2,000 and 3,000 men, but I believe it must be much more, by the aspect of the field. I believe you will now soon hear something that will set your ears tingling; this town cannot hold out much longer, and we are all ready at our commander’s call to advance shoulder to shoulder with our gallant Allies, and plant our glorious old Standard by the side of the Red, White,and Blue, on the blood-stained walls of this famed fortress. Trusting this will find you all well, pray for me, andBelieve me, my Dear Parents,Ever your affectionate son,T. GOWING,Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.P.S.—Thanks for the papers. I see that the eyes of the whole of Europe are upon us; we will give them something to talk about some of these fine mornings, but who will live to tell the tale, only One above knows. Try and keep up your spirits, all’s well that ends well.—T. G.

Camp before Sebastopol,August 18th, 1855.

My Dear Parents,

Long before this can reach you, you will have learnt by the papers the results of the terrible battle of the16th. In the Valley of the Tchernaya the enemy made a most determined attempt for victory, but the Allies met them at all points, and drove them back with terrific slaughter. I find that the Sardinians fought with desperation, well supported by the French, and backed up by some of our people. The attacking force has been estimated at from 60,000 to 70,000 men of all arms, and 160 guns. The fight lasted all day, and the struggle in various parts of the field has been severe; in fact it has been, on the part of the Russian commander, a grand throw for victory, to try and raise the siege; but as an officer, who saw the whole, told me this morning, they from 9 a.m. had not the slightest chance, that their defeat was inevitable, and that a crushing one. Our cavalry were formed up ready for them, under General Scarlett, but did not go at them; we were under arms all day, or nearly so, but did not advance. The enemy’s loss has been fearful in killed, wounded, and prisoners. I saw some of them, they are fine-looking men, but very dirty; I hear the prisoners amount to about 3,600, exclusive of officers, that is, including wounded and unwounded. The field presents a horrible spectacle; a few of us went down to have a look at it, and it was not the enemy’s fault that some of us did not stop there, for they pitched shot and threw shell right in the midst of us; we were doing all we could to relieve the poor wounded, both friend and foe. The sights all over the field were sickening, and I hope never to see the like again; there lay the ghastly fruits of war, in some places heaps upon heaps; the sight at the Tractor Bridge I shall not forget as long as I live; we spent some two hours on the field, did all we could to relieve the poor wounded, then walked home to camp. I have got two Russian medals I found upon the dead. I found that our friends, the Zouaves, had in some parts of the field handled the enemy very roughly, they had crossed bayonets with them, and they lay locked in each other’s arms dead. I do not think Prince Gortschakoff, with all his boasting, will try his hand against us in the open field, for some time to come; the enemy have not got enough go in them, except they are half maddened with rackie, to face us manfully. What the enemy have lost we do not know exactly, but not much under 10,000 or 12,000, and the result has slightly damped their spirits. Our loss, that is, the French and Sardinians is acknowledged by them to be between 2,000 and 3,000 men, but I believe it must be much more, by the aspect of the field. I believe you will now soon hear something that will set your ears tingling; this town cannot hold out much longer, and we are all ready at our commander’s call to advance shoulder to shoulder with our gallant Allies, and plant our glorious old Standard by the side of the Red, White,and Blue, on the blood-stained walls of this famed fortress. Trusting this will find you all well, pray for me, and

Believe me, my Dear Parents,Ever your affectionate son,T. GOWING,Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.

P.S.—Thanks for the papers. I see that the eyes of the whole of Europe are upon us; we will give them something to talk about some of these fine mornings, but who will live to tell the tale, only One above knows. Try and keep up your spirits, all’s well that ends well.—T. G.

RUSSIAN ATTACK IN THE TRENCHES.

On the evening of the 30th August, I went into the trenches with a party (and a good strong party it was) of our men—about 200, and a proportion of non-commissioned officers. We were under the command of the late Sir W. W. Turner, then Captain and Brevet-Major. The second in command was Captain Lord Richard Brown. We had, therefore, some capital officers with us, and men will go anywhere with officers upon whom they can rely. We had a good sprinkling of the right sort of stuff with us,old soldiers, or men that had been well tried upon field after field—from the Alma—and we had a few that had smelt powder on many a hard-contested field in India, such as Ferozeshah, Moodkee, Sobraon, and Goojerat—men that well knew how to do their duty, and were no strangers to a musket-ball whistling past their heads, who understood well a live shell in the air, and knew within a little where it was going to drop. One feels much more comfortable with such men than with three times their number who have never smelt powder. The honour of our glorious little isle has been safe in the hands of such men upon many a field. Well, we marched off smoking, as comfortably as if we were going to a pic-nic or garden party, as we had often done before. The only thing that seemed to trouble somewas, “Where’s the grog party?” As for the enemy, we knew well that we should most likely make their acquaintance before morning. We found that we were told off, with detachments of the 19th, 23rd, 33rd, 34th, 88th, and 97th, to hold the fourth parallel. There was another trench in front of us, full of men from various regiments. The firing was very heavy all night, or up to about 2 a.m., when all at once the word was given “Stand to! look out!” The enemy with an overwhelming force had attacked our front trench, and had either destroyed or routed our people out of it with the bayonet. I must say that the greater portion of the men in this front trench were recruits, men who had not learnt how to die, but who knew how to run. So much for placing the honour of our flag in the hands of a lot of boys, without mixing them with a good sprinkling of seasoned men. As soon as our poor frightened lads came rushing over the top of our trench our front was clear. Then the 19th, 88th, and 97th, let out an unearthly yell of “Faugh-a-Ballagh,” and at them we went. Not a shot was fired, but the “piece of cold steel” came into play. The enemy fought well; but in the end, with a tremendous cheer for Old England, and another for Ould Ireland, they were fairly pitchforked out of the trench; the open space between that and our front trench, or fifth parallel, being in places well covered with the dead and dying. Captain Vicars had now been dead upwards of five long months, which, under the trying scenes we had passed through, seemed a lifetime. But the 97th had not forgotten that Christian hero, for, above all the din of war and the booming of heavy guns, they could be distinctly heard shouting, “Remember Vicars, boys;” and men could be heard responding with “Yea, boys; give it them.” The enemy was chased back into the town, with a fearful slaughter, by comparatively a handful of Britons. Our loss was trifling, taking into consideration how we had punished theenemy. They went back much quicker than they had advanced, with their spirits slightly damped. Even before they reached the Russian works, their heavy guns opened with grape, thus killing and wounding a number of their own men; for the fire had to pass through their ranks before it reached us. We were not such fools as to stand still and let them mow us down; but, not being able to get at their guns, we got back as quickly as we could under cover. Next morning we found the dead lying in ghastly piles—friend and foe mixed together—but our people were a long way in the minority, as the greater portion of the enemy had got the bayonet in the back. We had a flag of truce out to bury the dead, and after that the enemy’s fire was terrible. We lost a number of men; but our sailors, manning our heavy guns, did not let them have it all their own way, and we had some rough music nearly all the day. We knew the town could not hold out much longer. It must have been something like a hell upon earth, each side trying which could pound the longest or hit the hardest. Everything around us indicated that the grandfinalewas fast approaching. All our batteries now assumed an awful magnitude. New batteries, both for guns and mortars of the largest calibre, had sprung into existence all around the south side of the doomed city since the last bombardment, and everything now indicated that one of the bloodiest struggles that ever men undertook was about to ensue. We had been pummelling at each other for near twelve long months; but we all knew that many a fine fellow then in camp, in all the pride of manhood, would not, in all probability, see the first anniversary of the Alma. We who had been present at the former bombardments knew well, by the preparations, that the coming struggle would eclipse them all; and, with the number and size of the armaments opposed to each other, it would be the most terrible the world had ever seen since powderhad been invented; for, in addition to all our vast batteries, our magnificent and united fleets were prepared to join in with us. Our men did not put themselves out in the least; they knew well the end must come. No man out of camp could hardly credit the amount of life and activity that existed there. Some regiments even got up theatrical performances, and some of the actors, a few hours after, were pounding away at the enemy as hard as they could load and fire; and, as the reader may be certain, our Jack Tars were well to the fore wherever there was any sport going on.

THE FINAL BOMBARDMENT OF SEBASTOPOL.

On the morning of the 5th September, 1855, the last bombardment opened with a terrific shock; close upon 1,500 guns and mortars were now blazing away at each other, the earth trembling the while—and so it continued all day. I went into the trenches on the night of the 6th—right into the front trench—and a warm corner it was. I remained there all night. Next morning we were ordered to remove to one of our rear trenches, where we had good cover, and, in spite of the tremendous firing, lay down and had a good sleep for two or three hours. We had a very narrow escape from a huge shell that came hopping right into the midst of us; we had just time to throw ourselves down, when it exploded, and sent our breakfast flying in all directions. One of our officers inquired if anyone was hurt, and a nice boy of ours answered that he was, “for, by dad, he had nothing to eat.” Reader, try and imagine, if you can, some hundreds of guns and mortars firing in salvoes. For a time the guns would stop, to allow them to get a little cool; then they would burst forth again, the thunder being enough to shake the very earth to its centre; andthis lasted for hours. We were completely enveloped in flames, and covered with smoke, dust, and stones. An old adage says “Familiarity breeds contempt.” That it is true I can bear witness, for a number of our men were in groups playing cards in the midst of the firing, our own shot flying close above their heads. Thus far I had witnessed five bombardments, but this was frightful. Some of our old hands said it was too good to last long. The Russian fire was very heavy; they had yet more guns in position than we, and made some of our batteries rather hot corners, while we came in for a fair share of shell, so that death was raining fast around. But during all that terrible day I never heard a desponding voice. We knew well we were in for it, and speculation ran high as to whether we should attack that night, but some thought that the bombardment would continue for two or three days more. We remained under this awful fire all day, and just as we were on the tiptoe of expectation, looking out for our relief, an officer belonging to the staff came up and got into talk with me in reference to our strength, and when I had told him I was directed to furnish 100 men to repair the Quarry Battery. I was left in temporary charge, as my officers had gone off on some duty. Shortly after, I was directed to take the remainder of my party to the leading trench, and remain there for orders. I then began to smell a rat; something was in the wind, although everything was kept very quiet. In walking through the trenches one might notice a change in the men’s faces. Savage they looked, but determined to do or die. We had now a great many very young men with us that had been sent out to fill up the gaps. They were brave enough for almost anything, but we had a job in front of us that was enough to shake the strongest nerves, and we wanted the men that had been sacrificed during the winter for want of management—they would have done it as neatly as they had turned theRussians back at the Alma and Inkermann. The work that was about to be carried out was a heavy piece of business, and required at least 20,000 men who had been well tried. We had them, but they were not let loose; had they been let go, we should have had a star for Sebastopol, and should have had an equal share of the glory—that’s if there is any in it—as we had up to then had, with our noble Allies.

Well, to the front trench I went with my men; it was about 200 yards from the Redan. I had not been there long, when an officer came up and wanted one officer, one sergeant, and thirty men, to go to the front as scouts or sentries; I told him my strength, I had no officer. He at once went and got sufficient men from the 31st Regiment, then came back and had a long chat with me until it got quite dark, which is what we were waiting for. He found out that I well knew the ground, and was no stranger to the work. I requested that the men we were going to take should be all picked men and not lads, as it was rather an important piece of business. We had to creep on hands and knees nearly up to the Redan, and it required men with all their wits about them; so a number of the men were changed, and I would have staked my life that 10,000 such as I then got would have hoisted the glorious old Standard on the blood-stained walls of Sebastopol, and then stood beside it triumphant.

Well, to my story, which is an awkward one. We crept over the top of the trench in the dark, and cautiously advanced about eighty yards, then commenced throwing or planting sentinels at about five or six yards apart; we had done the job, the officer lay down beside me and gave me further orders, and then crept back to the trench, leaving me in command. My orders were not to attempt to hold my ground should the enemy attack me, but to retire and give the alarm. After lying for some time we were attacked by an overwhelming force and retired. Theenemy tried to cut us off and take us prisoners, but they found it was no easy matter.[6]But, to make things worse, during our absence from the trench it had been filled with men of various Regiments; and, not knowing there was any one in front but the enemy, they opened a regular file fire, and we were in a pretty mess between two fires; our poor fellows dropped fast—some of them were shot dead, close to the trench, by our own people. We called as loudly as possible to cease firing, but with the noise they could not hear us. On collecting my party afterwards in the trench, I had to take all their names, as most of them were strangers to me, and found that we had lost nineteen men and two corporals out of thirty. Yet it lasted only two or three minutes. The General Officer inquired what regiment I belonged to, and, when I had told him, he expressed surprise, told me I had no business there, but ought to be in camp and at rest, as there was some sharp work cut out for the Fusiliers in the morning. That was the very first hint I got of the storming of the town. The General Officer directed me to go with an officer and another party, as I knew the ground, and show the officer where to place his men; I went again, posted all sentries and then returned to the trench, in doing which I stumbled across a poor fellow lying wounded and brought him in the best way I could. The men in the trench were this time told that there was a party in front; had that been done before the greater portion of my men would not have died, as they were nearly all shot by our own people. These are some of the “blunders” of war. On returning to the trench the second time I reported myself to the General Commanding, and he directed me to take my party hometo camp at once. I reached the camp about 1·30 a.m., and afterwards found that, true enough, there was a warm job cut out for us. We had led the way repeatedly—at the Alma, at the Quarries, and at the Redan on the murderous 18th June, and now we were told off to support the stormers, moving immediately behind them. I knew well that thousands must die—and a still small voice told me that I should fall. I know I tried to pray, begged the Lord to forgive my sins for His great name’s sake, and asked for His protecting arm around me, and strength of mind and body to do my duty to my Queen and Country. I then retired for a little rest, until about 5 a.m., when our men were up, and then no more sleep. I wrote a number of letters that morning for poor fellows—some of whom were laid low before mid-day, and others struck down maimed, some to rise no more, long before sunset.

The following, though it was never forwarded, was written at this time, in anticipation that I should fall:—

Camp before Sebastopol,2 a.m., 8th September, 1855.My Dear Parents,I feel that I must drop you a few lines. I came off the trenches at one o’clock this morning, to find that this town, which has given us so much trouble, and has already cost more lives than all the inhabitants of Norwich and its surroundings put together, is to be stormed to-day; long before this reaches you, or before the ink that I now use is hardly dry, hundreds, perhaps thousands, will have been launched into eternity. I feel it is an awful moment. I have repeatedly, during the last twelve months, been surrounded by death, and since the Alma have not known, honestly speaking, what fear is, as far as the enemy is concerned.But, dear parents, this is a solemn moment; thousands must fall—and we are told off to be in the thick of the fight. I feel confident that God’s arm is not shortened, and into His protecting care I commit myself. I must be candid, there is a stillsmall voice that tells me I shall fall, and if I do, I hope to meet you in a better world than this, where the nations shall learn war no more. I do not feel that I can say much, but let come what will, I am determined to try and do my duty for my Queen and Country. I am glad in one sense that this hour has come; we have looked for it for months, and long before the sun sets that is now rising, Sebastopol must be in our hands. I will now say good bye, dear and best of mothers; good bye, kind father; good bye, affectionate brothers and sisters. This letter will not be sent unless I fall; I have given it open into the hands of one of our sergeants who is in hospital wounded, and if I fall he has kindly offered to put a postscript to it and forward it. May the God of all grace bless you, dear parents, and help you to bear the pending blow.Believe me, everYour affectionate son,T. GOWING,Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.

Camp before Sebastopol,2 a.m., 8th September, 1855.

My Dear Parents,

I feel that I must drop you a few lines. I came off the trenches at one o’clock this morning, to find that this town, which has given us so much trouble, and has already cost more lives than all the inhabitants of Norwich and its surroundings put together, is to be stormed to-day; long before this reaches you, or before the ink that I now use is hardly dry, hundreds, perhaps thousands, will have been launched into eternity. I feel it is an awful moment. I have repeatedly, during the last twelve months, been surrounded by death, and since the Alma have not known, honestly speaking, what fear is, as far as the enemy is concerned.

But, dear parents, this is a solemn moment; thousands must fall—and we are told off to be in the thick of the fight. I feel confident that God’s arm is not shortened, and into His protecting care I commit myself. I must be candid, there is a stillsmall voice that tells me I shall fall, and if I do, I hope to meet you in a better world than this, where the nations shall learn war no more. I do not feel that I can say much, but let come what will, I am determined to try and do my duty for my Queen and Country. I am glad in one sense that this hour has come; we have looked for it for months, and long before the sun sets that is now rising, Sebastopol must be in our hands. I will now say good bye, dear and best of mothers; good bye, kind father; good bye, affectionate brothers and sisters. This letter will not be sent unless I fall; I have given it open into the hands of one of our sergeants who is in hospital wounded, and if I fall he has kindly offered to put a postscript to it and forward it. May the God of all grace bless you, dear parents, and help you to bear the pending blow.

Believe me, everYour affectionate son,T. GOWING,Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.

As I did not return to camp after the action, the comrade to whom I entrusted the letter added this postscript:—

P.S.—Dear Sir—I am truly sorry to have to conclude this kind letter: your noble son fell inside the Redan (Sebastopol is taken). Your son, from the day he joined the regiment, proved himself a credit to us, and a most determined soldier. I have every reason to believe that he is now where you would not wish to have him back from; a nobler death he could not have met with than that in the hour of victory. I know, Dear Sir, it is hard for you to lose such a noble boy, but I hope the Lord will give you strength to bear up under this trying blow.I am, Dear Sir,Your faithfully,J. HOLMES,Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.

I am, Dear Sir,Your faithfully,J. HOLMES,Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.

I was brought into camp in time to prevent the foregoing being despatched, and after my recovery added the following, which will explain itself:—

Camp before Ruins of Sebastopol,March, 1856.My Dear Parents,You see that I have, thank God, been spared to see what they had to say about me after I was supposed to be dead. It is true that I fell inside the Redan, and was totally unconscious for some time, but, thank God, though woundedheavily, am still where mercy is to be shown. I was carried home to camp and to the hospital just in time to save the above being posted, but I will keep it as long as I live, and if I live to come home will bring it with me, for truly I have had a merciful God watching over me, and am spared, I hope, for some good purpose, for this wonderful God of our’s can see from the beginning to the end, He is the same unchanging God that the Patriarchs trusted in. There is talk of peace, and those who want to continue the war will, I hope, come out and show us the way, as General Windham did on the 8th September last; they would most likely soon give in. I am not one of those who would have peace at any price, but if I am allowed to express my opinion, I think our ends have been gained. The Russians have been considerably humbled. We have beaten them four times in four pitched battles, have rent one of the strongest fortresses in the world from them, and I think they have had enough of France and England. If I am spared to come home I will bring this with me, as its contents might be too much for poor mother to bear.From your rough but affectionate son,T. GOWING,Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.

Camp before Ruins of Sebastopol,March, 1856.

My Dear Parents,

You see that I have, thank God, been spared to see what they had to say about me after I was supposed to be dead. It is true that I fell inside the Redan, and was totally unconscious for some time, but, thank God, though woundedheavily, am still where mercy is to be shown. I was carried home to camp and to the hospital just in time to save the above being posted, but I will keep it as long as I live, and if I live to come home will bring it with me, for truly I have had a merciful God watching over me, and am spared, I hope, for some good purpose, for this wonderful God of our’s can see from the beginning to the end, He is the same unchanging God that the Patriarchs trusted in. There is talk of peace, and those who want to continue the war will, I hope, come out and show us the way, as General Windham did on the 8th September last; they would most likely soon give in. I am not one of those who would have peace at any price, but if I am allowed to express my opinion, I think our ends have been gained. The Russians have been considerably humbled. We have beaten them four times in four pitched battles, have rent one of the strongest fortresses in the world from them, and I think they have had enough of France and England. If I am spared to come home I will bring this with me, as its contents might be too much for poor mother to bear.

From your rough but affectionate son,T. GOWING,Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.

Britain, the queen of isles, our fair possession,Secured by nature, laughs at foreign force;Her ships her bulwark, and the sea her dike,Sees plenty in her lap, and braves the world.Havard.

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