A Soldier's Experience; or, A Voice from the Ranks
by T. Gowing · English · Gutenberg #46989 · 1,327,076 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: A Soldier's Experience; or, A Voice from the Ranks
Author: T. Gowing
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Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SOLDIER'S EXPERIENCE; OR, A VOICE FROM THE RANKS ***
A SOLDIER'S EXPERIENCE.
_THIS BOOK BELONGS TO_
.....................................
If thou art borrowed by a friend,
Right welcome shall he be
To read, to study, not to lend,
But to return to me.
Not that imparted knowledge doth
Diminish learning's store;
But books, I find, if often lent,
Return to me no more.
Read slowly. Pause frequently.
Think seriously. Return duly--
With the corners of the leaves not turned down.
[Illustration:
_OLDHAM PHOTO. COLCHESTER._ _AUTOTYPE_
T. GOWING,
_Late Sergeant-Major, Royal Fusiliers_.]
A SOLDIER'S EXPERIENCE
OR
A Voice from the Ranks:
SHOWING
THE COST OF WAR IN BLOOD AND TREASURE.
A PERSONAL NARRATIVE OF
THE CRIMEAN CAMPAIGN, FROM THE STANDPOINT
OF THE RANKS;
THE INDIAN MUTINY, AND SOME OF ITS ATROCITIES;
THE AFGHAN CAMPAIGNS OF 1863.
ALSO
SKETCHES OF THE LIVES AND DEATHS OF
SIR H. HAVELOCK, K.C.B., AND CAPTAIN HEDLEY VICARS.
TOGETHER WITH
SOME THINGS NOT GENERALLY KNOWN.
BY ONE OF THE ROYAL FUSILIERS.
_NOTTINGHAM_:
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR BY THOS. FORMAN AND SONS
1896.
_All Rights Reserved._
_Price:--Gilt Edges, 6s. 6d._
Copies may be had on application to the Author--T. GOWING,
200, CHIPPINGHOUSE ROAD, SHEFFIELD; or from
THE PUBLISHERS, NOTTINGHAM.
PREFACE.
Having been much encouraged by the rapid sale of 22,500 copies of the
first editions of my book, and being urged by a number of friends to go
more deeply into the subject, I have revised and considerably enlarged
it, and hope that the following pages will prove of interest, not only
to the rising generation, but to all thinking people. I have confined
myself strictly to a narrative of facts, whether the incidents related
came under my own observation or otherwise. A number of gentlemen have
kindly given me valuable assistance, and I am, moreover, indebted to
some of the best military writers, having consulted Napier, Maxwell,
Alison's "Europe," Wellington's Despatches, &c. Historical facts are
here brought forward which, probably, few of the rising generation are
acquainted with. My object has been to compress the largest amount of
information into the smallest possible space, and to insert in one
volume some of the most surprising and interesting events that have ever
taken place on land, and in which a Briton will glory.
Some may regard the work as of a very mixed character, nevertheless I am
in hopes that it will both interest and entertain thousands. And here I
must beg my readers to remember that the book is submitted to their
judgment as a record of facts, and not as an attempt at fine writing.
I took part in some of the most desperate scenes in those arduous
campaigns of the Crimea, the Indian Mutiny, and Afghanistan. At the Alma
I was one of those who led the way up the fatal heights; at Inkermann I
was in the thick of the fight, and was wounded. I was beside that
Christian hero, Captain Hedley Vicars, when he fell in his country's
cause, with the words on his lips--"For England's home and glory--follow
me." It would be well if thousands of the fast young men of the present
day took a lesson from the life of that exemplary soldier. I was also
engaged in those memorable struggles that were carried on, night after
night and day after day, before Sebastopol; and was wounded a second
time in that bloody attack on the Redan, in which a Norfolk man--the
late General (then Colonel) Windham--gained an immortal name. In giving
my experiences during that campaign I may in some respects seem to be
repeating an "oft-told tale," yet, as a personal narrative, it will, I
think, be new to many, and will afford information not elsewhere to be
found.
The letters to my parents from the seat of war in the Crimea and India,
from 1857 to 1876, I have ventured to publish, trusting they will prove
of more than passing interest, and set more than one thinking, "Where is
my boy to-night?" Many of them were written under great difficulty in a
bleak tent or hut, with the thermometer far below freezing point, with
my wet rags frozen on my back; often my overcoat stiff with frost.
Others from some of the hottest stations in India, with the sweat
rolling off one like rain; the only covering would be a mosquito shirt
and drawers, made of the finest muslin, with the thermometer indicating
125 or 130 degrees of heat in your room.
The descriptions of the different fights, both by day and night,
particularly the storming of Sebastopol, and the aspect of the interior
of those blood-stained walls after the siege, will help to depict in
their true colours the horrors of war.
"A Peep Behind the Scenes" will, I trust, also prove interesting to
thousands.
The list of killed and wounded of the various regiments is authentic, as
is likewise the number of officers, non-commissioned officers, and men
who died of disease and hardships that neither pen nor tongue can
describe.
The records of the Royal Fusiliers, the Connaught Rangers, and the Old
Forty-Twa's, or Black Watch, together with incidents of other regiments,
I feel confident will interest many.
In the chapters on the Indian Mutiny I have narrated some of the most
atrocious deeds that were perpetrated, and shown how vengeance was most
surely meted out to the miscreants who were guilty of them.
The description of the Afghan campaign of 1863 will, I hope, clearly
prove that we had some rough work before the sons of the Himalayas were
subdued; while the manners and customs of the people of India, which I
have briefly dwelt on, will, I feel certain, afford considerable
amusement.
The list of the battles that have been fought by our army from 1704 to
1882, with the various regiments that took part in them, will further
illustrate this country's expenditure in blood during all those years.
The losses of each regiment on the field of Waterloo may not be known
to all; while the opinion of Napoleon I. as to where the strength of
England lay deserves to be held in remembrance.
The Will of Peter the Great I have incidentally published, as it may
astonish many, who will, from a perusal of it, obtain a clue to the
policy pursued by Russian Statesmen to this day.
The chapter of Curiosities may be relied upon, as containing a record of
facts, some of which will be found amusing and others heart-rending. The
mysteries of Providence I have endeavoured to illustrate.
The sketches of the lives and deaths of Sir H. Havelock and Captain
Hedley Vicars will, I feel confident, be of interest to many. Their
examples in life and death were sublime.
The purest treasure mortal times afford
Is spotless reputation; that away,
Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.--_Shakespeare._
The last chapter, I trust, will be found instructive and interesting. It
shows the enormous cost of war in blood and treasure, bringing out the
indomitable determination of our forefathers "to conquer Napoleon or
die." Often our numbers have been few, but fearless still; often broken
and crushed, but never subdued.
With confidence I now submit my work to my fellow-countrymen, trusting
that none will criticise too harshly the humble literary efforts of one
who has tried to do his duty upon many a hard-fought field, and who is
ready to do it again rather than see that flag we love so well trampled
in the dust.
T. GOWING,
Late Sergeant-Major, R.F.,
and Allahabad Garrison.
INTRODUCTION.
Great Britain has produced a race of heroes who, in moments of danger
and terror, have stood as "firm as the rocks of their own native
shores," and when half the world have been arrayed against them have
fought the battles of their country with heroic fortitude. We have
written with no wish to foster a bellicose spirit, for we regard war as
an evil which is only endurable when the cause is just. But no love of
peace should deaden our admiration of brilliant deeds, and unquailing
heroism. War, like peace, has its virtues, which only a fanatic will
under-value. Happy England no longer girds on the sword but with a good
reason. But we presume that a record of achievements in war--victories
complete and surpassing--gained by our countrymen, our brothers, our
fellow citizen-in-arms, who have waved our triumphant standard on the
Indus, the Tagus, the St. Lawrence, and the Seine (the thunder of our
guns has resounded in China, in the mountains of the Pyrenees, and on
the coast of the Black Sea)--a record which stimulates the memory of the
bravest of the brave, and brings their gallant deeds before us--will, we
are confident, prove acceptable to millions of the happy inhabitants of
our silver-coasted isle.
The natives of Britain have at all periods been celebrated for innate
courage and unshaken firmness; and the national superiority of the
British troops over those of the finest armies of Europe, as well as the
multitudinous hosts of Asia, has been evinced in the midst of the most
imminent perils. History contains so many proofs of extraordinary acts
of bravery that no doubts can be entertained concerning the facts which
will follow in this work.
It must be admitted that the distinguishing feature of the British
soldier is intrepidity. This quality was manifested by our forefathers
when their country was invaded by Julius Cæsar, when the undaunted
Britons rushed into the sea to attack the Roman soldiers; and although
they had little or no discipline, and were armed in an inferior manner
to their adversaries, yet their fierce and dauntless bearing intimidated
Cæsar's favourite Tenth Legion. But their bravery was unavailing against
Cæsar's disciplined legions. In the course of time a military system,
with discipline and subordination, was introduced; and British courage
being thus regulated, a full development of the national character
followed, and in the hour of need it has frequently shone forth in all
its native brilliancy in a way that nothing could daunt, nothing dismay.
The military force of the Anglo-Saxons consisted principally of
infantry. The chivalrous Thanes, noblemen and men of property, fought on
horseback, and armed and mounted a portion of their retainers. The
infantry consisted of two classes--heavy and light; the former carried
large shields, and were armed with spikes and long broad-swords, and
spears; while the latter were armed with swords and spears only. There
were also men armed with clubs, and others with battle-axes and
javelins.
The Saxon law esteemed every man a soldier, unless incapacitated by age
or physical weakness, and he was regularly trained in the use of arms.
The head of a family was the leader of all the capable males in that
family.
The line of battle of our Saxon forefathers was simple in the extreme.
The Royal standard stood in the centre; around it gathered the mounted
Thanes, while the infantry stood in the foremost ranks to bear the brunt
of the fighting. The weapons carried by the infantry during several
reigns succeeding the Conquest were bows and arrows, half-pikes, swords,
and daggers. Armour was worn on the head and body, and in course of time
the practice became general, and men were so completely encased in steel
that it was almost impossible to slay them. But the introduction of
gunpowder for purposes of war, in the early part of the fourteenth
century, produced a change in the arms of both mounted and dismounted
soldiers. Bows and arrows gave place to various kinds of fire-arms, but
the British archers continued formidable gentlemen to face. We find
that, during the reign of Queen Elizabeth, companies of infantry
numbered from 150 to 300 men. Each company had a colour, and were armed
in five different ways. A company formed up for attack, or defence,
would appear thus:--
[COLOUR]
25 30 40 40 40 40 40 30 35
Arque- Archers. Muskets. Pikes. Halberds. Pikes. Muskets. Archers. Arque-
busiers. busiers.
It was customary to unite a number of companies into one body called a
regiment, which frequently numbered 3000 men, exclusive of officers.
Armour was gradually laid aside by the infantry in the 17th century, as
it was not proof against the musket-ball, which weighed one-tenth of a
pound.
The introduction of long knives or bayonets, in 1672, which at first
were made to fit or screw into the muzzles of the muskets to be used
after the ammunition had been exhausted, soon became a great favourite
with our men. In the early part of the 17th century regiments were
reduced to 1000 men, exclusive of officers; and gunpowder, which
heretofore had been carried in flasks, was made up into cartridges and
carried in pouches, as now. In 1764 the infantry discontinued carrying
the sword. Since then the arms of the infantry have been limited to the
musket or rifle and bayonet. The arms and equipments of the British
soldier have seldom differed materially from those of other European
States. At times, however, through neglect, the arms of our soldiers
have been inferior to those of nations against whom they have had to
contend. Such was the case at Inkermann with our Fourth Division and
Marines; but, notwithstanding this disadvantage, the superiority of the
Briton came out in all its splendour.
Great Britain has produced a race of lion-like champions, who have dared
to confront a host of foes, and have proved themselves valiant with any
arms. At Creçy King Edward III., at the head of 30,000 men, defeated
100,000 renowned French veterans, completely routing them from the
field. Ten years afterwards, Edward, Prince of Wales, at Poictiers,
defeated another French army of 60,000 horse, besides infantry, with but
14,000 of the sons of Albion, capturing the French King and his son upon
the field. Again, on the field of Agincourt, King Henry V., with an army
of about 13,000 Britons, routed the Constable of France, with the flower
of the French nobility and 60,000 of their choicest troops. In the wars
of Queen Anne the fame of the British army, under the unconquerable and
redoubtable Duke of Marlborough, was spread throughout the world.
Witness the deeds of that brave army in Egypt in 1801. Under the noble
Abercrombie, there the vainly styled "Invincibles" had to bow and give
up the palm to the descendants of Creçy. Again, we would glance at that
noble army throughout the Peninsula and the south of France, under the
command of the immortal Wellington. Here Britons, side by side with the
gallant sons of the Emerald Isle, routed their boastful enemy from field
after field, and nailed victory after victory to our glorious old
standard. We think it has been pretty clearly proved that the sons of
Albion, side by side with the noted boys of Erin's Isle, have not
degenerated from their unconquerable forefathers who fought and
conquered at Creçy, Poictiers, Agincourt, and Blenheim. And the
determined stands made by the British army at Waterloo and Inkermann,
against overwhelming odds, has compelled the world to admire. We would
not forget the achievements of the invincible bands on the heights in
front of Delhi, and at the Residency of Lucknow; also in the recent
battles in the Soudan, against multitudinous fanatics. All engaged there
proved that they were no unworthy successors of the veterans of
Marlborough, Wellington, and Clyde, who fought and conquered on a
hundred fields.
We say again that the sons of Albion of the 19th century can produce a
catalogue of victories, both by sea and by land, that stands
unparalleled in the annals of the world. The fame of the deeds of the
past and present generations in the various battle-fields where the
robust sons of Albion and Erin's Isle have fought and conquered
surrounds the British standard with a halo of glory. These achievements
will live in the pages of history, stimulating the rising generations to
the end of time. It has been frequently proved of late, in the hour of
peril, that they are true and loyal sons, and "faithful unto death." The
rank and influence which our much beloved isle has attained among the
nations of the world have in a great measure been won for her by her
intrepid sons. And to all who have the welfare of their country at heart
we hope the following pages will prove instructive and interesting.
T. G.
INDEX.
CHAPTER I.
Boyhood--Enlistment--Will of Peter the Great--Recruits'
Drill--What the Fusiliers were Thirty Years ago--The Young
Idea had to be Taught how to Shoot--The Fusiliers Depart for
the East--The Writer quickly follows them--Voyage out--Call
at Gibraltar and Malta--Landing in Turkey--Its Scenery and
People--Marching and Counter-Marching--The Unseen Enemy,
Cholera--Embark again for the Crimea, escorted by the Fleets
of England and France--An Account of the Services of the
Leader of the Crimean Army, Lord Raglan--Also of Sir G.
Brown, Sir De Lacy Evans, Sir Colin Campbell, Sir George
Cathcart, and the Earl of Cardigan--Population of the
British Empire--Remarkable Battles that have been fought on
Sundays--Voyage up the Black Sea--The Russian Fleet
Pages 1-40
CHAPTER II.
Disembarkation in the Crimea--First Night in the Enemy's
Country, a night long to be remembered, no shelter--March to
the Alma--The Battle--The Fusiliers Leading the Van--Letter
from the Heights to my Parents--A Fair Description of that
Terrible Fight--March from the Alma--Balaclava easily
Taken--We take up our position in front of Sebastopol--First
Bombardment--The Battle of Balaclava--Charge of the Light
and Heavy Brigades--Poem by Tennyson--Little
Inkermann--Trench Work--The Battle of Inkermann, the
Soldiers' Fight--Am Wounded--Description of that
Fight--Aspect of the Field after the Fight--My Letter
Home--Sent on to Malta--Letter from Her Majesty--Notes on a
Norfolk Hero at Inkermann, Sir T. Troubridge--Who first
Landed in the Crimea 41-93
CHAPTER III.
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
94-106
CHAPTER IV.
More Trench Work--Meeting with Captain Vicars--My Letter of
the 15th March, 1855--Night Attack in the Trenches--Capt.
Vicars' Death--A few Remarks showing his Noble Character--My
Letter Descriptive of the Fight--Storming Rifle Pits--More
Trench Duty--Supplementary Letter--The Taking of the
Quarries and Circular Trench--Desperate Fighting before
Sebastopol, the 7th and 88th Leading--My Letter Home, 8th
June--Continued Fighting--First Assault on the Town--Its
Bloody Repulse--The Poor Old Light Division Cut to
Pieces--The Fusiliers again Led the Way--My Letter of the
18th--Waiting to be Revenged--A Terrible Night--Attack by
the Enemy and its Bloody Repulse--My Letter of the 28th
June, describing the Fight--Death of Lord Raglan much felt
through the Allied Army--The Battle of Tchernaya, 16th
August--The Enemy's Last Throw for Victory Defeated--My
Letter Home of the 18th August--Creeping Closer and Closer
to the Doomed City--The Last or Terrible Bombardment--A
Nasty Blunder, our own people pitching into us--My Letter
Home, 2 a.m., 8th Sept.--P.S. to it announcing my Death--My
P.P.S. after I had recovered 107-154
CHAPTER V.
The Storming of the Town--A Description of the
Assault--Capture of the Malakoff and Redan--Am left on the
Field Wounded--Our Loss, the French Loss, and the Enemy's
Loss--The Spoil--The Aspect of the Interior of the Town
after the Siege--Napoleon's Opinion as to the Source of
England's Strength--Letter of 14th September, 1855 155-175
CHAPTER VI.
Numerical List of Killed And Wounded in the various
Regiments forming the Crimean Army--Loss of the Light and
Second Divisions--Loss by Neglect, Hardships, and
Starvation--List of the Regiments that formed the various
Divisions of the Army--After the Siege--Lines on Miss
Florence Nightingale--A Peep Behind the Scenes--A Dreadful
Explosion in the Camp and its Consequences--Lieut. Hope and
the Fusiliers again leading almost to certain death--My
Letter of 26th December, 1855, to my Parents.--Concluding
Remarks, and Return Home to be nearly Killed with
Kindness.--Irish Anecdotes--Records of the Royal
Fusiliers--A Sketch of the "Holy Boys"--The Connaught
Rangers not to be despised--Letter Home, 27th October,
1854--Lines on the Campaign 176-250
CHAPTER VII.
India, its Extent and Resources--Its Population--Its
Invasion by Alexander--The beginning of the English Empire
in India--The East India Company and its Officers--How the
Empire was Extended--The Afghan Campaign of 1839-40-41--The
Sikh War--Battle of Ferozeshah--The Norfolk Regiment amongst
those who Safeguarded England's honour--Battle of
Aliwal--The "Holy Boys" again Leading the way--The Burmese
War--Our Sepoy Army and how it was treated--The Mutiny
Predicted--The Commencement of the Mutiny in
1857--Comparative Numbers of Native and British
Troops--Mungul Pandy, the First Mutineer--Fatal Indecision
of our Commanders--The Revolting Scenes at Delhi--List of
the People Killed by the Rebels--The Force that first
encountered the Mutineers--Rapid Spread of the Mutiny--Nana
Sahib's Proclamation--The Butchery of Women and
Children--Delhi Captured and the Mutineers put to the sword,
by a Norfolk Man, Sir Archdale Wilson--The Delhi Field Force
and its killed and wounded--Vengeance exacted--Disarming
Mutinous Regiments--Description of the Scene--Blowing Rebels
from the Guns--The 10th (Lincolnshire) Regiment at Benares
251-300
CHAPTER VIII.
The Task before Sir Colin Campbell--Disaster at
Arrah--Relief by Major Eyre--Attempted Surprise at
Agra--Short, sharp work--The Mutiny in Oude--Relief of
Lucknow by Sir Colin Campbell--The Fighting--Withdrawal of
the Garrison--Return to Cawnpore--General Windham in
Difficulties--Nana Sahib Defeated--Lucknow again Invested,
and again Relieved--Sikhs and Ghoorkas Fighting on our
side--Death of Captain Hodson--Flying Columns Formed--Our
Loss in following the Mutineers--The Proclamation of
Pardon--Disarming the Native Troops--The Mutineers at
Meean-Meer--Jack Ketch and his Victims--The Outbreak on the
Frontier in 1858--The 7th Royal Fusiliers at
Peshawur--Native Thieves--A Forced March--Encounter with the
Enemy--A Truce--Hostilities Resumed--Bravery of the
Ghoorkas--The Fusiliers Return to Ferozepore--March to
Saugor (Central India)--Ravages of Cholera--Personal Opinion
as to the Natives of India--The Ways, Manners and Customs of
the People--Taking the Census--The Steps taken to Prevent
another Mutiny--Letters from India 301-379
CHAPTER IX.
List of Battles Fought by Land between 1704 and 1882,
showing Date when each was Fought, the Number we Lost, the
supposed Number of the Enemy's Loss, the Regiments that
Fought them, and a few Remarks upon some of them--First
Action of the 15th Hussars--A Gallant Regiment of
Tailors--Singular Description of a Deserter, from _London
Gazette_, 1689--An Account of the Rise of the late Duke of
Wellington--Loss of each Regiment on the Field of
Waterloo--Some of the Duke's Letters about the Field of
Waterloo--Napoleon and the French Press--The British Amazon
380-416
CHAPTER X.
Curious Modes of Recruiting in the "Good Old Days"--Pig
Killing--The Late Duke of Kent--Examples of Brevity--Act of
Self Devotion--The Piper of the 74th Highlanders at
Badajoz--It is better to leave "Well" Alone--Hard up! Hard
up!--Remarkable Wounds and Hairbreadth Escapes--Introduction
of Bayonets into our Army, and the use our people have made
of them since 1672 up to the late go-in in Egypt, at
Tel-el-Kebir--Desperate Defence of Colours--Heroic Stands by
Small Armies against overwhelming Odds--The 52nd
Regiment--Suffolk Regiments--England not a Military Nation?
417-452
CHAPTER XI.
The Great Book--Mysteries of Providence--The Gift of a Bible
and what it led to--The Secrets of the Sacred
Shrine--Opinions of a Native Hindoo Priest. 453-464
CHAPTER XII.
General Sir Henry Havelock, K.C.B.--Stories of his
Boyhood--Joins the Army--His Military Career--Promotion a
long time in coming--His Merits gradually being
Recognised--Employed in various important affairs--The
Christian Commander and his Regiment of "Saints"--His
Advance to the Capture of Cawnpore--The Horrible Atrocities
that were committed by the Mutineers--The Heavy Losses of
the Avenging Army--The Relief of Lucknow--The Closing
Scene--"See how a Christian can Die"--His Death-bed Advice
to his Son--Reflections--The Lessons to be Learned from the
Life of such a Christian Hero--The Loss to the
Country--Lines "In Memoriam" 465-486
CHAPTER XIII.
Captain Hedley Vicars, a Loving Son and a Faithful Soldier
of the Cross--His Early Life--Joins the Army, and devotes
himself to his chosen profession--His eyes opened to Truths
of the Gospel--Prayerful Conduct--In the Crimea--Killed in a
Night Attack on the Trenches--The Feeling of the Men
composing Light Division--Letters to his Mother--Last
Letter--In Memoriam--Letter to Lord Rayleigh announcing his
Death--Letter from a Brother Officer--Testimony of Private
Soldiers to his worth--The Lessons of his Life 487-501
CHAPTER XIV.
The Black Watch--The British Army, 1889 502-535
CHAPTER XV.
The Cost of War--The Bloody Fields of Eylan and
Friedland--The Great Northern Confederation--Nelson and the
Russian Emperor--Battle of Trafalgar--British Victories in
Spain--Napoleon's disastrous Russian Campaign--Prussia
Powerless and Bankrupt--Good reason for German
Vindictiveness--Battles of Lutzen & Bautzen--England assists
Austria--The terrible Battle of Dresden--German Triumph at
Kutczback--Battles of Gross Beeren, Dennewitz, and
Leipsic--Napoleon beaten and sent to Elba--The Cost of War
in France alone--Flight from Elba--Quatre Bras, Wavre, and
Ligny--Battle of Waterloo--The Total Loss of the Allies in
this short Campaign--The Total French Loss--Concluding
Remarks 536-585
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
THE AUTHOR'S PORTRAIT _Frontispiece_
FIELD-MARSHAL LORD RAGLAN, K.C.B., _&c._ 17
GENERAL SIR GEORGE BROWN, G.C.B. 21
LIEUT-GENERAL SIR DE LACY EVANS 22
MAJOR-GENERAL SIR COLIN CAMPBELL (LORD CLYDE) 25
VIEW OF THE HEIGHTS OF ALMA 46
CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT BALACLAVA 59
PLAN OF THE HEAVY CAVALRY CHARGE 61
THE GUARDS AT INKERMANN 78
THE ATTACK ON THE TRENCHES, 22ND MARCH, 1855 110
THE FRENCH ATTACK ON THE MALAKOFF 159
INTERIOR OF THE REDAN AFTER ITS CAPTURE 167
A STREET IN SEBASTOPOL AFTER THE SIEGE 169
THE SCENE OF THE MASSACRES AT CAWNPORE 281
CAWNPORE WELL 286
BLOWING THE MUTINEERS FROM THE GUNS 295
GENERAL SIR HENRY HAVELOCK, K.C.B. 465
CAPTAIN HEDLEY VICARS, 97TH 487
CHAPTER I.
Boyhood--Enlistment--Will of Peter the Great--Recruits'
Drill--What the Fusiliers were 30 years ago--The Young Idea
had to be taught how to Shoot--The Fusiliers depart for the
East--The Writer quickly follows them--Voyage out--Call at
Gibraltar and Malta--Landing in Turkey--Its Scenery and
People--Marching and Counter-marching--The Unseen Enemy
"Cholera"--Embark again for the Crimea, escorted by the
Fleets of England and France--An Account of the Services of
the Leader of the Crimean Army, Lord Raglan--also of Sir G.
Brown, Sir De Lacy Evans, Sir Colin Campbell, Sir George
Cathcart, and the Earl of Cardigan--Population of the
British Empire--Remarkable Battles that have been fought on
Sundays--Voyage up the Black Sea--The Russian Fleet.
I first saw the light of day in the quiet little town of Halesworth, in
Suffolk, on the 5th of April, 1834; my parents were good Christian
people, my father a Baptist minister. I remained with them in Halesworth
until I was about five years old, when I removed with them to Norwich. I
was brought up very comfortably; my boyish days being spent at school,
and, like many more, I was for ever getting out of one scrape into
another; evil companions led me into a number of things which when I
came to my senses I knew well to be wrong, and I was fast breaking the
hearts of those who wished me well; but, thank God, I was spared to bind
up some of the wounds that I then caused. I had my own way to a
dangerous length, through having a fond mother, who did all that lay in
her power to hide my mis-doings--which is a _fault_ that most boys will
in after life forgive, and with gratitude remember. Thus, year after
year rolled on. As a youth I admired much the appearance of a soldier,
little thinking of all that lay behind the scenes. I had read Nelson's
exploits from boyhood, studied all his principal battles, and learned
how he had forced our old enemies the French to tremble before him, till
his glorious deeds made the whole Nation love and adore him, while his
last thrilling words to his men will be remembered as long as our
language endures--"England expects that every man will do his duty,"--a
watchword that to this day inspires thousands in whose veins runs some
of the best blood of Britain. I also read with eagerness Wellington's
brilliant career through life, how he first beat the Indians, ten and
twelve to one, on various fields, and then rolled them up in a masterly
style at the battles of _Assaye_ and _Argaum_, returning home shortly
afterwards to find more employment for his master-mind in Spain,
Portugal, and France, and, eventually, striking down his spiteful enemy,
Napoleon, on the ever-memorable field of Waterloo. The reader may,
perhaps, from the foregoing form some idea as to the bent of my
mind,--"Death before dishonour."
In 1853 and the early part of 1854, as those of my readers who are old
enough will remember, the Turks were trying to defend themselves against
their ancient foes the Russians, and thrilling accounts were appearing
in our newspapers about the different fights at the seat of war on the
Danube. In March, 1854, the Western Powers, England and France, declared
war against Russia, and at once rushed to the assistance of "the sick
man," soon putting a different aspect upon the face of affairs, and
justifying the saying of that astute, though unscrupulous, general,
Napoleon I.--England and France united could dictate to the whole world.
The fighting had been raging between the "Big Bully" (Russia) and the
"Sick Man" (Turkey) for upwards of twelve long months; and, although the
Turks then fought desperately for hearths and homes, numbers began to
prevail, and in despair he called upon England and France to assist
him. All was done that could be thought of to try and avert a general
war; kind words were used both by England and France, but these did not
avail. Russia was finally requested to withdraw her vast armies from
Turkish soil. But, no! despotic Russia was blinded by fury. The
hereditary policy of Peter the Great was being carried out; the prey was
at her feet, and, rather than relinquish it, she would dare the two
strongest nations on the face of the globe. The "holy will" of Peter the
Great, I would here remind the reader, is always before the eyes of the
Czars and Statesmen of Russia; and their over-mastering policy, let the
consequences be what they may, is, therefore, animated by a spirit of
aggrandisement. This will is worth reading, and I have taken the liberty
of transcribing it, as it supplies the key to that crafty policy which
the Muscovite power is for ever steadily pursuing.
WILL OF PETER THE GREAT.
"In the name of the Holy and Indivisible Trinity, We, Peter
and Emperor of all the Russias, to all Our Successors on the
Throne and in the Government of the Russian
Nation--Providence has evidently designed Russia to be the
Conqueror and Ruler of all Europe, and of the World."
He then lays down the following rules for the attainment of that
object:--
RULES.
I. The Russian Nation must be constantly on a war footing to
keep the soldiers warlike, and in good condition. No rest
must be allowed, except for the purpose of relieving the
State Finances, recruiting the army, or biding the
favourable moment of attack. By these means peace is made
subservient to war, and war to peace, in the interest of the
aggrandisement and increasing prosperity of Russia.
II. Every possible means must be used to invite, from the
most cultivated European States, commanders in war, and
philosophers in peace, to enable the Russian Nation to
participate in the advantages of other nations without
losing any of its own.
III. No opportunity must be lost of taking part in the
affairs and disputes of Europe, especially in those of
Germany, which from its vicinity is of the most direct
interest to us.
IV. Poland must be divided by keeping up constant jealousies
and confusions there, the authorities must be gained over
with money, and the Assemblies corrupted so as to influence
the election of the Kings. We must get up a party of our own
there, send Russian troops into the country and let them
sojourn there so long that they may ultimately find a
pretext for remaining there for ever; should the
neighbouring States make difficulties, we must appease them
for the moment by allowing them a share of the territory
until we can safely resume what we have thus given away.
V. We must take away as much territory as possible from
Sweden, and contrive that they shall attack us first, so as
to give us a pretext for their subjugation; with this object
in view, we must keep Sweden in opposition to Denmark, and
Denmark to Sweden, and seditiously foster their mutual
jealousies.
VI. The consorts of the Russian Princes must always be
chosen from among the German Princesses, in order to
multiply our family alliances with the Germans, and so unite
our interests with theirs; and thus, by consolidating our
influence in Germany, to cause it to attach itself
spontaneously to our policy.
VII. We must be careful to keep up our commercial alliance
with England, for she is the power which has most need of
our products for her navy, and at the same time may be of
the greatest service to us in the development of our own. We
must export wood and other articles in exchange for her
gold, and establish permanent connections between her
merchants and seamen and our own.
VIII. We must keep steadily extending our frontiers
northward along the Baltic, and southward along the shores
of the Black Sea.
IX. We must progress as much as possible in the direction of
_Constantinople_, and _India_; he who can once get
possession of these places is the real ruler of the world.
With this view we must provoke constant quarrels, at one
time with Turkey and at another with Persia; we must
establish wharves and docks in the Euxine, and by degrees
make ourselves masters of that sea as well as the Baltic,
which is a doubly-important element in the success of our
plan; we must hasten the downfall of Persia and push on into
the Persian gulf, if possible re-establish the ancient
commercial intercourse with the Levant through Syria, and
force our way into the Indies, which are the storehouses of
the world; once there we can dispense with _English gold_.
X. Moreover, we must take pains to establish and maintain an
intimate union with Austria, apparently countenancing her
schemes for future aggrandisement in Germany, and all the
while secretly arousing the jealousies of the minor States
against her. In this way we must bring it to pass that one
or the other party shall seek aid from Russia, and thus we
shall exercise a sort of protectorate over the country,
which will pave the way for future supremacy.
XI. We must make the House of Austria interested in the
expulsion of the Turks from Europe, and we must neutralise
its jealousy at the capture of Constantinople, either by
pre-occupying it with a war with the old European States, or
by allowing it a share of the spoil, which we can afterwards
resume at our leisure.
XII. We must collect round our House, as round a centre, all
the detached sections of Greeks which are scattered abroad
in Hungary, Turkey, and South Poland. We must make them look
to us for support, and then, by establishing beforehand a
sort of ecclesiastical supremacy, we shall pave the way for
universal sovereignty.
XIII. When Sweden is ours, Persia vanquished, Poland
subjugated, Turkey conquered--when our armies are united,
and the Euxine and the Baltic are in the possession of our
fleets--then we must make separate and secret overtures,
first to the Court of Versailles and then to that of Vienna,
to share with them the dominion of the world. If either of
them accept our propositions, which is certain to happen if
their ambitions and self-interest are properly worked upon,
we must make use of the one to annihilate the other; this
done, we have only to destroy the remaining one by finding a
pretext for a quarrel, the issue of which cannot be
doubtful, as Russia will then be already in the absolute
possession of the East and of the best part of Europe.
XIV. Should the improbable case happen of both rejecting the
propositions of Russia, then our policy will be to set one
against the other, and make them tear each other to pieces.
Russia must then watch for and seize the favourable moment
and pour her already-assembled hosts into Germany, while two
immense fleets, laden with Asiatic hordes and conveyed by
the armed squadrons of the Euxine and the Baltic, set sail
simultaneously from the Sea of Azoff and the Harbour of
Archangel, sweeping along the Mediterranean and the
Atlantic, they will overrun France on the one side, while
Germany is overpowered on the other. When these countries
are fully conquered the rest of Europe must fall--must fall
easily and without a struggle--under one yoke. Thus Europe
can and must be subjugated.
In the spirit of this extraordinary document, the Czars of Russia have
ruled and plotted ever since the days of Peter; but the sequel of this
little book will help to prove how Holy Russia was chastised and
checkmated upon field after field, the strongest fortress in her Empire
torn from her grasp, and eventually, in spite of her vast army, she was
compelled to eat a large amount of humble pie, made by a pastry-cook
that Peter the Great had not thought much of, viz:--Mr. John Bull. The
lesson thus read to her was severe enough; but it would appear as if in
the lapse of time much of it has been forgotten. If so, Britain's sons
may be called upon to repeat it--and they will, too, if ever Russia
attempts to interfere with India. Mr. Bull has a "pretty rod in pickle"
for Russia or any other power that should dare to encroach upon our
Indian Empire; for, if roused, we could put more men into the field in
India than Russia, with all her boasted strength, could muster.
For the solemn sentence this day confronts Russia on the frontier of
Afghanistan, "Hitherto shalt thou come, but no farther." The proud and
dauntless Briton exclaims, "Behind this boundary all is mine;" back! or
take the consequence of confronting a free, happy and united people who
number 300,000,000, that do not want to find a pretext for a quarrel
with its neighbours; but the voice of millions of faithful British
subjects proclaims with determination we will not yield one inch of soil
to any despotic power; we offer you peace with one hand with sincerity,
and war to the knife with the other rather than dishonour.
I was now fast approaching my twentieth year--a dangerous age to many
unsettled in mind; and the thrilling accounts that were constantly
coming home from the East, worked me up to try my luck as others had
done before me, so, in the early part of January 1854, I enlisted into
one of the smartest regiments of our army, the Royal Fusiliers. I
selected this regiment for its noble deeds of valour under Lord
Wellington, in the Peninsular. They, the old Fusiliers, had made our
enemies, the French, shake on many a hard-fought field. Let the reader
just look over the record of the "Battles of the British Army," or
"Napier's Peninsula," and he will remember the Royal Fusiliers, as a
Briton, with pride, as long as he lives. View them at _Albuera_, 16th
May, 1811. I would borrow Napier's pithy language about them--"Nothing
could stop the astonishing Infantry: how, inch by inch and foot by foot,
they gained the heights of Albuera with a horrid carnage; swept the
entire host of France from before them; gave them a parting volley, and
then stood triumphant, fifteen hundred unconquerable British soldiers
left out of the proud army of England, which that morning had exceeded
six thousand combatants." "They had not died for nothing," for the
French military historians acknowledged that ever after that they
approached the British Infantry with a scared feeling of distrust, for
these never knew when they were beaten. A corps like that might be
destroyed, but not easily defeated. Thus, my lot was cast with a
regiment that had in days of yore planted the Standard of Old England in
many a "hot corner," and was destined to do it again. The deeds of the
good loyal old corps had been handed down from father to son; and I
found some of the right sort of stuff in it, men that would do or die,
and dare everything that lay in their power to keep up the reputation of
the regiment, whose motto was "Death or Victory."
On joining I was about 6ft. high, very active and steady, was soon
brought to the notice of my officers, and went up the ladder of
promotion pretty quickly. A month or two after I had joined, had got
over the goose step, and had been taught how to "catch flies," war was
declared by our Government, in conjunction with France, against Russia.
All regiments were at once put upon a war footing, and thousands who had
an appetite for a little excitement or hard knocks, rushed to the
Standard; while those who only liked pipe-claying and playing at
soldiers, soon got out of the way by retiring upon "urgent private
affairs."
"War is honourable
In those who do their native rights maintain;
In those whose swords an iron barrier are
Between the lawless spoiler and the weak."
_Baillie._
Those of my readers who are old enough will remember the pitch of
excitement to which the blood of Old England was worked up: the eyes of
the whole world were turned upon us; the deeds of our forefathers had
not been forgotten--their exploits had astonished the civilised world;
both by land and sea they had been the admiration of all, whether friend
or foe, when led by such commanders as the immortal Nelson and the Iron
Duke. We, their descendants, were about to face in deadly conflict the
strongest and most subtle nation of the civilized world, that could
bring into the field one million of bayonets, swayed by despotic power.
But numbers were not taken into consideration, our only cry was "Let's
get at them." The Fusiliers were quickly made up to about one thousand
strong, and embarked at Southampton on the 5th of April, 1854, for the
East, under command of an officer who afterwards proved himself one of
the bravest of the brave, Col. Lacy Walter Yea, a soldier in every sense
of the word, both in the field and out of it; just the right man in the
right place to command such a corps as the Royal Fusiliers.
In marching out of the Barracks at Manchester to the railway station,
one could have walked over the heads of the people, who were wrought up
to such a pitch of excitement as almost amounted to madness. Our
inspiring band in front struck up "The British Grenadiers," "The Girl I
left behind me," "We are going far away." Fathers shook hands with their
sons, and bade them farewell, while mothers embraced them; and then the
bands struck up "Cheer! boys, cheer!" which seemed to have a thrilling
effect upon the multitude, and to give fresh animation to the men. The
expressions from the vast crowd as our men marched along were, "Pur
them, Bill," "Remember Old England depends upon you," "Give them plenty
of cold steel and then pur them," "Keep up your pecker, old boy--never
say die," "Leave your mark upon them if you get a chance." At last the
noble old corps reached the railway station, and then there were
deafening shouts. Some cried, "We'll meet again, and give you a warm
reception when you come back;" then, after one hearty "God bless you"
from a vast multitude, away they went behind the iron horse. We had a
number of Manchester men in our ranks, and, although that town is noted
for its peace principles, they let the enemy know at the Alma,
Inkermann, and throughout the Campaign, that they knew how to fight.
Well, reader, the old Fusiliers have gone to help to carry out the
orders of our Government and Her Most Gracious Majesty--"God bless her."
But your humble servant is left behind to have a little more knocked
into his head in the way of marching and counter-marching, and the young
idea had to be taught how to shoot. It did not matter much where one
went--all the talk was about the gallant old corps, wishing them
God-speed and a safe return to their native isle. The depôt was soon
removed from Manchester to Winchester, where I completed my drill, and
with steadiness went up to the rank of corporal; and, about the 15th of
June, a strong draft was selected to join the service companies then in
Turkey. After having passed a close medical inspection, corporal T. G.
was told off for the draft; and it is not an easy thing to describe my
feelings. I deemed myself, I must acknowledge, a proud man; and felt
that the honour of our dear old isle hung upon my shoulders; I pictured
myself coming home much higher in rank, and with my breast covered with
honours, the gifts of a grateful country; but I little dreamed of the
hardships that were before me. My comrade, a good honest Christian,
quoted the following lines with a sparkling eye, at the same time
brandishing a stick over his head:--
Not once or twice in our proud island's story,
The path of duty was the way to glory.
_Shakespeare._
He fell at the Alma. The Searcher of all hearts knew well that he was
more fit to face Him than I was; his whole life was that of a Christian
from the day I first knew him, and he was never ashamed of his colours.
We marched out of Winchester about twelve hundred strong, detachments of
various regiments, with a light heart, nearly the whole of the good
people of that city marching with us. The same scenes were enacted as
at Manchester, when the regiment went off; we had hard work to get
through the people; there was many a fond farewell from broken-hearted
mothers, and many a tear was shed, for all that was near and dear to
many were just off to a foreign land, to back up the comrades who had
gone before. With a ringing cheer from some thousands of people wishing
us God-speed and a safe return to our native homes, away we went, and
were conveyed to Portsmouth in safety, duly arriving at the Port which
had in days of yore witnessed the departure of thousands of the bravest
sons of England to return no more. We found the people of Portsmouth a
warm-hearted set, and they gave us a genuine reception in sailor-like
fashion. In marching through the streets, which were thronged with
pretty girls, the bands in front struck up "The Girl I left behind me."
We had various greetings as we passed on to the Dock-yard, such as,
"Stick to them, my boys," "Give it them if you get a chance," "Remember
old England depends upon you," "We'll not forget you." With one
tremendous cheer we passed on into the Dock-yard, and thousands of
voices joined in shouting "Farewell, God bless you." We soon found
ourselves on board a noble ship--about twelve hundred fine young fellows
determined to "do or die," little dreaming of the hardships we should
have to encounter, hardships that no pen or tongue can adequately
describe. We cheered heartily for Old England and England's Queen. An
old General Officer told us to cheer when we came back, and we replied
that we would, for we were just in the right frame of mind to carry the
Standard of Old England through thick and thin, prepared to dare all the
legions that the "Czar of all the Russias" could bring against us, and
to stand shoulder to shoulder with our allies the French, in a foreign
land. Napoleon's words were now to be verified. The strongest nation in
the world had thrown down the gauntlet at the feet of France and
England, and Waterloo was now to be avenged by our uniting against the
disturber of the peace of Europe. The following pages will prove that,
with all their boasted strength, and that although fighting behind one
of the strongest fortifications in the whole world, the Russians came
off second best, and had to submit to the dictates of the flag that for
near one thousand years has proved itself, under good guidance, second
to none. Peter the Great, though he mentioned the gold of England,
forgot her steel and her "dumplings" that were so hard to digest, and
the haughty legions of Russia soon had to endure such a pounding at the
hands of the sons of Albion and Gaul, that they were glad to relinquish
the prey which they had almost within their grasp.
Well, off we went, steaming and sailing, out of Portsmouth, with any
amount of cheering and shouting. Next morning some of our fellows
appeared as if one good man could beat a dozen of them; they looked in a
most pitiable plight. They had not brought their sea legs with them and
it was blowing rather fresh--what the sailors call a nice breeze--and
those who could work and eat might do so for about forty-eight hours;
but the greater portion of those who had, only a few hours previous,
been making all the row they could, were lying all over the decks,
huddled up like so many dying ducks. I never was sea-sick, but I have
every reason to believe, from what I have seen of it, that it is not at
all desirable; my comrade, a strong young man of some twenty-four years,
was quite knocked up for some days, so I suppose I must not be too hard
upon the poor victims of _mal-de-mer_. In a few days, most of the men
were all right again; we passed two or three of our ocean bull-dogs and
plenty of other ships homeward-bound; had nothing particular to note,
but that we were going out to defend a rotten cause, a race that almost
every Christian despises. However, as soldiers we had nothing to do
with politics,--we had simply to carry out the orders of Her Most
Gracious Majesty and her Government.
We called at the Rock and took in coal, staying there one day, so that
we had a good look at that wonderful place, which is the eyesore of
Spain, and likely to remain so, for she will never get it again. It is
immensely strong, nature and art having combined to render it well-nigh
impregnable, and our people are not likely to be starved into a
capitulation, as we constantly keep there some seven years' food for
about ten thousand troops. I do not believe an enemy's ship could float
near it, while on the land side the approach is very narrow and most
securely defended. At any rate, the Spaniards will scarcely be foolhardy
enough to make the attempt; if they do, they will find it a very hard
nut to crack.
Off we went again, up the Mediterranean and on to Malta. We found it
unpleasantly hot, but there was plenty of life--the place seemed full of
Maltese, English, French, Germans, Swiss, Italians, in fact
representatives of all nations of the earth, except Russians, and these
we were on the way to look up. Malta appears to be admirably defended;
we had a good look around it and at some of its huge forts. The Maltese
boys, or I should rather say children, much amused us by their smartness
in diving right under the ship and coming up with a piece of the coin of
the realm in their mouths, immediately going down again after another. I
never witnessed any one staying under water so long as these boys did,
they seemed to be quite at home paddling on their side around the ship,
in fact they appeared to have quite an amphibious nature.
As soon as we got coal, off we went again--on to Varna. They quickly put
us on shore, and right glad were we to get there, for it is not very
comfortable in a troopship--shut up, with scarcely standing room,
constantly being pitched and tossed about, especially if you should
happen to lose your balance and come down "soft upon the hard," with
your face in contact with some of the blocks, and have a lot of sailors
grinning at you--for they do not seem to have any pity for a poor fellow
staggering about like a drunken man.
Well, we parted with our sailors on the best of terms; we had found them
a fine jolly lot. At Varna we found ourselves mixed up with Turks,
Egyptians, French, English, Maltese, Jews, Greeks, &c., it was a regular
Babel. Our new allies, the French, were remarkably civil, and their
artillery were fine-looking men. We were at once marched off to join our
regiments. The old 7th formed a part of the Light Division under Sir G.
Brown, at Monistier, about twenty miles from Varna. Sir G. Brown was a
veteran who had won his spurs on many a hard fought field against our
old enemies the French; but we were now allies, and all old sores must
be forgotten and buried six feet deep; we had now one common foe--the
Russians--to face; and shoulder to shoulder we were about to fight.
Monistier appeared a very pleasant place. There were all sorts of sports
got up in the camp to keep up the men's spirits, which was much needed;
we had an unseen enemy in the midst of us--cholera--that was daily
finding and carrying off its victims. We were soon away,
cholera-dodging, from camp to camp, or place to place; it was sweeping
off our poor fellows so very fast. Our colonel looked well after his
Regiment, particularly the draft. We were equally divided amongst the
companies; they found us plenty of work to do, making trenches,
batteries, gabions, marching and counter-marching. The French and
ourselves got on capitally, particularly the Zouaves, whom we found a
very jolly set, though they afterwards proved themselves a troublesome
lot to the enemy. It did not matter much where we went, we everywhere
found Turkey a most unhealthy place; while the Turks and
Bashi-Bazouks were a cut-throat looking crew, particularly the latter.
We marched back to Varna, and it began to be rumoured that we should
soon be off somewhere else. In the early part of August, the harbour of
Varna was partly full of transports, ready to ship us off again, and we
were heartily glad to get out of that; for we had lost a very great
number of men through cholera and fever. We lost the first English
officer in Turkey, Captain A. Wallace, who died from an injury received
in a fall from his horse while out hunting. The Turks struck me as a
queer lot, particularly the women, who did not seem to put themselves
out in the least, but were dirty and lazy-looking.
[Illustration: FIELD-MARSHAL LORD RAGLAN, K.C.B., &c.]
THE LEADER OF THE CRIMEAN ARMY.
In the hour of need Britons will ever do their duty. Our gallant
Commander, Lord Raglan, K.C.B., or, as he was known for many years, Lord
FitzRoy Somerset, was of noble blood, being the eighth son of the late
Duke of Beaufort, and was born in 1788. He entered the army in 1804,
being then a mere boy. Having wealth and plenty of influence at his
back, and a brilliant spirit, he soon brought himself into notice. He
was a captain in one of the finest disciplined regiments in our army
(the 43rd Light Infantry), which has proved itself on many a hard-fought
field second to none. At Vimiera (August 21st, 1808) this regiment
contributed largely towards routing the proud legions of France from the
field. That great General, Wellington, with the eye of an eagle, soon
detected our young hero's worth, and placed him on his staff, and we
find him by the side of his chief through field after field. It was on
grim Busaco's iron ridge (September 27th, 1810) that his Lordship
received his first wound, and it was there that the tide of French glory
was rolled back with terrible slaughter, upwards of 2000 being killed by
the British conquering bayonet alone. Again we find our hero on the
field of Fuentes de Oñoro, May 3rd and 5th, 1811, distinguishing himself
most brilliantly--again wounded but not subdued. We next find him, on
the 6th April, 1812, foremost among the storming party at the bloody
parapets of Badajoz, fighting with determination, and encouraging the
43rd to desperate deeds of valor. How he escaped that terrible night's
slaughter was almost a miracle, for near 5000 of our poor fellows lay in
front of those deadly breaches. Then we find him beside his chief on the
field of Salamanca, July 22nd, 1812, taking a distinguished part on that
memorable occasion. A French officer stated that 40,000 of his
unfortunate countrymen had been rolled up and routed from the field in
forty minutes. Wellington was one too many for Marshall Mormant, who was
completely out-generalled, and his army defeated in detail by the
conquering sons of Albion, side by side with the heroic boys of the
Emerald Isle. It was on this field that the 88th, or Connaught Rangers,
immortalized themselves. Lord FitzRoy Somerset was to be seen in all
parts of the field, delivering orders from his commander. Next we hear
of him on the plains of Vittoria, June 21st, 1813, by the side of his
chief wherever the fight was hottest, doing all that he could to
encourage and animate the men. Here it was that the legions of France
were completely routed, leaving all their guns in the hands of the
victors. This was the most disastrous defeat the French had as yet
received; they lost all, including their honour, for they ran like a
flock of frightened sheep, throwing away their arms in order to escape
the devouring swords of our Cavalry, who chased them for miles from the
field. We next trace his lordship through all the battles of the
Pyrenees--ten in number. At times Wellington moved so quickly that Lord
FitzRoy was the only one of all his brilliant staff who could keep up
with him. Napoleon's pet General, Soult, had to bow before the
all-conquering British bayonets. Our young hero still kept by the side
of his chief, and we find him on the fields of Nevelle, Orthes, and
Toulouse, adding to his renown through all those memorable struggles,
ever prompt in performing his duties, and amongst the foremost and the
bravest of the brave; not second, even to the fiery Picton, Crawford,
Evans, Brown, Campbell, or Napier. He was a true type of a Briton. If
there was a "hot corner" he was sure to find it. He had now fought his
last fight in the Peninsula. Buonaparte had been crushed by combined
Europe, whose armies had been kept in the field by English gold through
two campaigns, viz., 1813-14. Napoleon's wings being clipped, he was
sent to the Isle of Elba, as a state prisoner, with an annual revenue of
6,000,000 francs to be paid by France. Peace was signed on the 30th May,
1814, between the allied Powers--England, Austria, Russia, and Prussia
on the one hand, and France on the other; and our young hero returned
home with his commander. But the peace was of short duration. Napoleon
burst from his narrow prison, and once more landing in France, set the
whole of Europe in a blaze. An army was consequently sent into Belgium,
under command of the Iron Duke. Lord Somerset again accompanied him, and
was present at the memorable battles of Quatre-Bras and Waterloo, where
the conqueror of nations, backed by an army of grim Veterans, again
essayed to bid defiance to the British hosts. I must not, however,
attempt to go into the details of those lights now. Some of the best
blood of Britain was spilt there, and Lord Somerset was desperately
wounded; but he helped to strike the tyrant down to rise no more. After
the lapse of only a few months, our hero, though he left his right arm
on the field of Waterloo, again joined his chief in France, and remained
at his post till the conclusion of peace. Subsequently he was employed
in various capacities at the Horse Guards, until the breaking out of
the Crimean War, when he was selected to command the army sent out to
Turkey, and from thence to the Crimea. I have not the slightest
hesitation in saying that his lordship was looked up to by the whole
army with veneration. Under fire he was as "cool as a cucumber"--did not
seem to put himself out in the least; he was very kind in his manner,
but yet as brave as lion. At the Alma his lordship was in the thick of
the fight, giving his orders as calmly as if no bullets or shells were
flying around him. At Inkermann he sat his horse as collectedly as on
parade, although death was raging around. But, I must not here attempt
to enumerate his deeds through that trying campaign. On the return of
the victorious troops, after taking the Quarries and the Circular
Trench, his lordship thanked us for the manner in which we had done our
duty, and promised to report all for the information of Her Most
Gracious Majesty. Such words when uttered by a Commander-in-Chief are
always grateful to soldiers' ears, and go far to reward them for any
arduous labour they may have undergone; but praise coming from Lord
Raglan was felt to be more than ordinarily inspiring, for his lordship
was no stranger to the trying ordeal we had just passed through. The
fighting had been terrible, and he could appreciate the manner in which
his orders had been carried out; all had been left to the bayonet. It
was then, as it had often been in his lordship's younger days, England
and Ireland side by side. But our noble commander's end was now fast
approaching. His lordship was not at all well, although his indomitable
spirit would not yield; but the weighty responsibility of the disastrous
mishap, or repulse, of the 18th June, 1855, was too much for him: it
broke his heart, and he sank rapidly. But, reader, "his end was peace."
He could say with Job, "I know that my Redeemer liveth;" and he quietly
sank into the arms of that Lord and Master, whom he had not been
ashamed to acknowledge before men.
THE GENERALS OF DIVISION.
The following is a brief statement of the vast amount of service of the
gallant veterans who commanded the three divisions (Light, 1st, and 2nd)
that were destined to bear the brunt of the fighting from the Alma to
the fall of Sebastopol; and under this head we will include the hero of
Inkermann, Sir G. Cathcart, the commander of the 4th division.
[Illustration: GENERAL SIR GEORGE BROWN, G.C.B.]
LIEUT-GENERAL SIR GEORGE BROWN.
The commander of the Light Division was Lieut.-General Sir George Brown,
K.C.B. Sir George was a Scotchman. He joined the army in 1806, and his
first service was in Sicily. He went all through the Peninsular war,
under our great captain, Wellington, and frequently distinguished
himself; but as he was a poor man, and had none to help him on, he was
"left out in the cold." Others who had plenty of cash and influence
jumped over his head, although they had never smelt powder. Sir George
was present at the following battles in Portugal:--Roliça, 17th August,
1808; Vimiera, 21st August, 1808; Almeida, September, 1808. At these
places he showed the metal he was made of. The Duke acknowledged that he
had "done his duty," and there it ended. At Busaco (September 27th,
1810), he was engaged in a severe hand-to-hand conflict with one of the
staff of Marshal Massena, and proved the victor. At Badajoz he greatly
distinguished himself, proving to the whole army that he was one of the
bravest of the brave. Here he was wounded, and the Duke again
acknowledged that he had done his duty. From Roliça (1808) to Toulouse
(10th April, 1814), in storming parties and battles in Spain, Portugal,
America, and the Netherlands, he had proved himself a cool, determined
man, but was still only a captain; his crime was that he was poor;
talent and bravery were not in those days taken into consideration. But
still he held on and served his country faithfully wherever he was sent,
and the sequel will show that the fire was not all out of him; his
conduct at the Alma was grand, and at Inkermann he gave his orders as
coolly as if he had been talking to his gardener, and firmly faced the
foe until he fell wounded and reluctantly left the field.
[Illustration: LIEUT.-GENERAL SIR DE LACY EVANS, K.C.B., &c.]
LIEUT.-GENERAL SIR DE LACY EVANS.
This General had proved himself second to none on many a hard-fought
field in India, Spain, Portugal, America, the Netherlands, and Spain
again--where all were brave he would lead the way. He was an Irishman;
and his drawback, under the old dispensation, was his obscure position.
Mr. Evans entered the army as a volunteer, and by his dauntless
bravery obtained a commission on the 1st February, 1807. He was
present at the taking of Mauritius, and for his valour was promoted
to a Lieutenancy, in December, 1808. But here he was destined to stop
for years, although his conduct had been brought to the notice of the
then Commander-in-Chief and the public at large, but a "piece of red
tape" had got in front of him. He could lead the way through the deadly
breach repeatedly, but that bit of red tape he could not get over.
The facts may seem incredible, but they are true, and history will
attest it. His next service was in India, in the Deccan. He remained
in India until 1810; was engaged against Ameer Khan, and was once more
brought to notice for his talents and bravery, but still he remained
a plain Lieutenant. In 1812 he joined the army in Spain, and greatly
distinguished himself at the retreat from Burgas; he was wounded, but
kept his post throughout the battle. At Vittoria, June 21st, 1813, his
conduct was such that he was the admiration of his whole regiment--the
3rd Dragoons. At Salamanca he attracted the notice of Wellington, who,
unfortunately, never troubled himself much about daring obscure men.
All he got was, "Evans has done his duty;" but he remained a Lieutenant
still. Shortly afterwards his horse was killed under him, and he
received a contusion in the fall. At Badajoz, he led the forlorn hope,
and was wounded. At San Sebastian, he volunteered to lead the assault
and was wounded. At Toulouse (April 10th, 1814) he had two horses
killed under him, and was twice wounded. Will it be believed that this
gallant veteran, so often wounded, after all his brilliant services,
remained at the end of the Peninsular war still a Lieutenant? Peace
having been made with France, our hero sailed for America with General
Ross, his fellow-countryman. At the battle of Bladensburg Mr. Evans
had two horses killed under him, and was again wounded. He received
the thanks of his commander for his conduct. The same day, Lieut.
Evans led the stormers at Washington, and took it, with an enormous
booty; the upshot was the complete rout of the enemy and the American
Government: and although General Ross did his best to obtain promotion
for Mr. Evans, the hero of Washington remained a Lieutenant still. At
Baltimore the Americans were again defeated, and Mr. Evans was once
more thanked by his commander for the dashing manner in which he had
led a portion of the 3rd Dragoons, but no promotion followed, although
strongly recommended by the General commanding. The next exploit of
our hero was to lead a boarding expedition at a part of the American
fleet. Mr. Evans was the only military man employed; he was thanked for
his conduct, but there it ended. At New Orleans our arms suffered a
reverse, but Mr. Evans was said to have nobly done his duty. He shortly
afterwards returned to England, and was made a captain in (what do you
think, reader?) _a black, or West Indian regiment_--thus adding insult
to injury. Well, well, those days are past, but if this is a sample of
the "good old times," it is a happy thing that they are long gone by.
War soon again broke out with Napoleon, and Captain Evans's services
were requisitioned. On the field of Waterloo, he was again wounded;
and it was acknowledged by those in high position that Captain Evans
fought with conspicuous gallantry, leading our heavy cavalry on against
Napoleon's Cuirassiers; but no further promotion followed. He next
entered the Spanish service, commanding a British Legion, and there
he carried all before him. He reached the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel
in 1835, after twenty-eight years' service (it took Wellington only
twenty-six years to reach the rank of Field Marshal). This was the
"grand old man," who commanded us at Little Inkermann, October 26th,
1854. His conduct at the Alma and the two Inkermanns, was that of a
tried veteran, cool and determined to conquer or die; the music of
shot, shell, grape, canister, and musketry, had not much effect upon
his nerves; but he would not throw his men's lives away unnecessarily.
On the morning of the 5th November, he was on board ship at Balaclava
sick, but when he heard the booming of the guns, his practised ear
knew well that something serious was going on; the honour of the
flag he loved so well was in danger, and, as a true and loyal son of
Emerald's Isle, he at once landed and rode on to the memorable field
of Inkermann. Although his arm was feeble he could assist with his
counsel, for nothing could disturb his iron will but death. He passed
through that fiery ordeal without a scratch. He was in all parts of the
field, but as tranquil as if he was out for a country ride. Such was
the hero of a hundred fights.
[Illustration: LORD CLYDE, K.C.B., &c.
_Better known as Sir Colin Campbell._]
MAJOR-GENERAL SIR COLIN CAMPBELL.
This hero joined the army in 1808, and few lived to see more hard
fighting--he was a regular fire-eater. He started from humble life, and,
by dint of rough soldiering and an unconquerable spirit, fought his way
to the top of the tree; and I may say honestly that few officers in our
army, or any other, have been in half the number of battles. From 1808
to 1858 his was one continual blaze of triumph in all parts of the
globe. We trace him from the field of Corunna, on which his noble
countryman, Sir John Moore, met a soldier's death, to the final relief
and capture of Lucknow. Neither Sir De Lacy Evans, Sir George Brown, Sir
Charles Napier, nor the great Dukes of Marlborough and Wellington, ever
fought more battles than Lord Clyde; and I might almost challenge the
admirers of the great Napoleon I. to show such a catalogue of victories
as this gallant son of Scotland. In his maiden fight he proved he was of
the right sort of stuff to make a soldier. He was cool and collected,
and evidently determined to achieve victory or perish in the attempt. He
joined the Walcheren expedition, participating in the cruel sufferings
that destroyed nearly the whole army. It was an ill-fated enterprise,
and badly commanded--so much for favouritism; but the less we say about
it the better. However, even here Sir Colin Campbell contrived to reap
some "glory"--as our neighbours delight to call it. From 1809 to 1814 he
served under Wellington, in the Peninsula, upon field after field, from
Vimiera through such fights as would make the much-lauded heroes of
Tel-el-Kebir blush. We trace him through all the great conflicts that
won for his commander a dukedom, and compelled the nations of Europe to
respect our glorious old flag. The so-called "invincible" sons of France
had to yield the palm to the sons of Albion, and in struggle after
struggle their much-vaunted battalions had to give way before our
irresistible wall of steel. Shoulder to shoulder with Napier, Evans, and
Brown, Sir Colin Campbell was among the foremost in the forlorn hope at
Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz, and at the deadly breach of San
Sebastian,--leading on to almost certain death; and, although repeatedly
wounded, nothing could daunt, nothing dismay, this valiant Highland
Laddie. He was ever prominent, and helped very materially to achieve
some of the grandest victories ever won by British soldiers. But he was
poor, and little notice was taken of him; it was recorded of him that he
had done his duty, and there it ceased. Nevertheless, he carved out for
himself a name that will not readily be forgotten. The hero of San
Sebastian, Chillianwala, Alma, Balaclava, and Lucknow will be
remembered, I fearlessly assert, not only in Scotland, but throughout
the British Empire, with pride for ages to come; for he was ever
prominent wherever hard knocks were to be served out, and he was
acknowledged by those who were competent to judge to be a most
brilliant, heroic, and dashing soldier. He led no end of storming
parties, and some of the most desperate forlorn hopes that ever man
undertook, in all parts of the world. Repeatedly wounded, as I have
said, his spirit was not subdued. This gallant soldier appeared to have
a charmed life, for he always turned up at the right time and place, to
have the lion's share of the fighting. He had a good share of fights in
India, as Colonel Campbell, under Lord Gough. It was he who decided the
doubtful field of Chillianwala by leading the 61st regiment on to a
rapid, though prolonged and headlong, bayonet charge. He was wounded,
but kept his post, as he had often done before. Again, on the field of
Goojerat he fought with the same dauntless courage, which elicited the
highest applause from the hero of Borrosa, Lord Gough. We next find him
beside the conqueror of Scinde, Sir C. Napier. We shortly after trace
him up to Peshawur, fighting the lawless hill tribes, subduing them, and
returning to England just in time to take part in the Crimean
expedition. At the Alma, he gave the finishing stroke to the Russians,
exclaiming, with all the fire of youth, and waving his sword high in the
air--"We'll have none but Highland bonnets here." After the enemy had
been routed, Lord Raglan, in thanking him for his conduct, asked him if
there was anything he could do for him, and his only request was _to be
allowed to wear a Highland bonnet_, which was granted. And ever after
that, Sir Colin might be seen wearing his Highland bonnet (to the great
delight of the Highland regiments) instead of the usual head-dress of a
General. He fought throughout that campaign, and returned home--one
would have thought, to end his days in peace, having spent nearly half a
century in the service of his country; but no, in 1857 the Indian Mutiny
broke out. The brightest gem in Her Most Gracious Majesty's diadem was
threatening to break loose. It was held only by a few desperate men, who
might die, but would never surrender. Men of Sir Colin's stamp were
wanting. He was sent for; and when asked how long it would take him to
prepare to proceed to India to assume the command, his answer was--"In
twenty-four hours;" history will tell how he rolled back the Mutineers
on field after field--all had to yield to his conquering sword. He left
the Empire safe, and won for himself a Field-Marshal's baton and a
Peerage. But his end was now fast approaching; he had fought his last
fight and made his way to the top of the tree in his old days. The only
thing that had kept this grand old hero back, had been, as they say in
India, "pice, pice," or money, money. Red-tape is never friendly to the
poor man, no matter how brave, or what his talents are. Sir Colin
Campbell had displayed a dauntless contempt of danger, wherever his
country's honour was at stake; and he lived to receive from his
countrymen addresses of the highest thanks and some of the most eloquent
eulogies that were ever penned or spoken about a British soldier. But at
last he had to ground his arms to King Death; and we may be sure he was
ready for the change.
LIEUT.-GENERAL SIR GEO. CATHCART.
It can be truly said of him that he was another of Britain's bravest
sons. He was born in the year 1794; at the age of sixteen he joined the
army, and was appointed to the 2nd Life Guards, remaining with them a
little over one year, when he exchanged into the 6th Dragoons, or
Carabineers. His whole soul was alive to the honour of the flag of Old
England, and he seemed to long to measure his sword with the enemies of
that flag. Napoleon Buonaparte was then at the summit of his power; and,
as he was backed up by upwards of 1,000,000 bayonets, it took brave
hearts with strong arms to subdue him. We first find young Cathcart in
Russia, by the side of his father, who had been appointed British
Ambassador to the Court of St. Petersburg. He went out as aide-de-camp
to his sire, and as such had various duties to perform. During the
invasion of Russia by Napoleon in 1812, young Cathcart attended upon the
Emperor, and engaged in some exciting and important scenes. He was
continually employed carrying despatches at the peril of his life, and
during that momentous period was never known to shirk his duties, but
ever courageously pressed forward, having frequently to swim his horses
across deep and rapid rivers, and to ride them until they dropped dead
beneath him. The Emperor of Russia often expressed both his astonishment
and his approbation at the fortitude of our young hero. At the battles
of Lutzen and Bautzen he showed prodigious strength, activity, and
courage. At the battle of Dresden he fought desperately, and was by the
side of one of the greatest generals of the day (Moreau), when he met a
soldier's death. Lieut. Cathcart had now shared in eight pitched
battles, and any number of combats. Napoleon had at last been baffled by
Russia's snow and England's gold, had to bow to the dictates of combined
Europe, and retire to the Isle of Elba, with the empty title of Emperor.
Lieut. Cathcart, although of a noble stock, had no friend in the
red-tape office, and the excuse for not promoting him was that he had
not served with the British army--although the Russian, Prussian, and
Austrian armies had been kept in the field by means of British gold. But
when the disturber of the world broke from his prison-house, on the Isle
of Elba, young George was again called upon to face his old enemy, and
we next find him on the fields of Quatre-Bras and Waterloo. For his
valor he was promoted, as was the hero of Washington, into a West India
or black regiment. But he was as true as steel; he was skilful in times
of peace, and as brave as a lion in the presence of the foe. He
well-merited the highest eulogy that could be bestowed upon a Briton. He
had only just returned from the Cape of Good Hope, after subjugating the
lawless Kaffir tribes, when the Crimean war broke out. He had served his
country for forty-four years, had passed through many a hard-fought
field, and had lived to trample beneath his feet and silence some of the
red-tape gentlemen. Sir George was now well-known, and those at the head
of affairs appointed him to command a division in the East. He had been
made a Knight Companion of the Bath, and had only just time to pay his
homage to Her Most Gracious Majesty and depart. His division was not
engaged at the Alma, but at Inkermann it fought courageously, and it was
on this field that our hero met a glorious death. He fell while engaged
in repulsing one of the bloodiest attacks made by the enemy on that
memorable field. Thus fell, in the hour of victory, one of Britain's
bravest sons; and if a chariot of fire had been sent to carry him to the
skies, he could not have departed in a brighter blaze of glory.
Oh! forget not the field where he fell
The truest and best of the brave.
Sir George had sprung from a family of warriors, who had often cheered
their men on to victory; and in him Britain lost a true hero, while
posterity will point to the field on which, for England's home and
glory, General Sir George Cathcart victoriously fell. Inkermann will
never be forgotten.
* * * * *
Before I close this branch of my subject, I must say a few words about
another of the commanders, and then my non-military readers will be able
to see more clearly the advantages which money and position in life
could secure in our army.
The Earl of Cardigan did not enter the army until he was about
twenty-seven years of age. He joined the 8th Hussars, in May, 1824, and
had scarcely learnt his drill when he was promoted Lieutenant; in
eighteen months more was advanced to a Captaincy (but not in a black
regiment). He smoothly passed through the different grades, and in six
years from the date of joining, found himself a Lieutenant-Colonel and
commander of a regiment. He had never smelt powder, and, in fact, had
never seen the enemies of his country; influence and money had done the
whole. I think the reader will agree with me that it was not a bit too
soon that the purchase system was discontinued. When the army was formed
for Turkey, in the early part of 1854, this distinguished veteran of the
ball-room was selected to command our light cavalry brigade; and right
gallantly did he lead that brigade at Balaclava, October 25th, 1854. It
was a dashing piece of work, and he did it well; but that was the sum
and substance of his lordship's services in the field, and of which we
shall never hear the end. Poor old Sir George Brown, Sir De Lacy Evans,
Sir Colin Campbell, Sir George Cathcart, and a host of others too
numerous to mention, had gone through and seen ten times as much service
long before they had reached the ripe age of twenty-one. So much for
money and position.
* * * * *
_Punch_, in 1855, might well put it that the Crimean army was an army of
lions led by donkeys. More than half the officers did not know how to
manoeuvre a company; all, or nearly so, had to be left to
non-commissioned officers; but yet it would be impossible to dispute
their bravery, for they were brave unto madness. The writer has seen
them lead at the deadly bayonet charges, and at the walls and
blood-stained parapets of Sebastopol, as freely as they would have led
off in a ball-room; and our officers at Inkermann let the enemy see that
they knew how to fight as well as to dance, for there was no
manoeuvring, nothing but plain hard-hitting, and fair English fighting
(not cooking).
* * * * *
There are none more loyal than the sons of Albion, and none more fond of
seeing royalty at the head of their fleets and armies. As far back as
Cressy, fought on the 26th August, 1346, when we gained a glorious
victory over the French, Edward III. commanded, and there his son, the
Black Prince (as he was named from the colour of his armour) had to, and
did, win his spurs. The last action when royalty was in command, was
Dettingen, fought 27th June, 1743. There George II. commanded. His son,
the Duke of Cumberland, was with him and was wounded. The King and his
son were in the thick of the fight, setting a bright example; and the
same language as he used was adopted by the Duke of Cambridge at
Inkermann, to animate the men, namely, "Stick to them, my boys; now for
the honour of old England." The gallant bearing of the Black Prince,
particularly his behaviour to his prisoners after the battle, was well
imitated by the Duke of Cumberland and the present Duke of Cambridge,
for they showed on each occasion the greatest attention to the poor
wounded prisoners. The Duke of Cumberland refused to have his wounds
dressed or attended to in any way until the French officers who had been
wounded and taken prisoners were first looked after. "Begin," said His
Royal Highness, "with that poor man, for he is more dangerously hurt
than I am." The Duke of Cambridge, at Inkermann, was in the midst of the
battle and it was almost a miracle how His Royal Highness escaped; but
the British soldier has good cause to thank God for throwing His
protecting arm around him. His Royal Highness has for many years proved
himself a good soldier's friend, both in the field and out of it; and,
when those of royal blood will lead, the enemy, whether black or white,
may look out, for they are going to get it hot. At Inkermann things
looked desperate. Our weak battalions were being fairly mobbed off the
field. We had no support, except the Almighty, and He defended the
right. At times the day appeared to us to be lost; but our troops
quickly recovered themselves, at last closed upon the enemy with the
queen of weapons, and then was seen with what determination Britons can
fight. At a critical moment, when almost surrounded by the overwhelming
numbers of the foe, His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge and a few
other officers again rallied the men, and on they went with a desperate
headlong charge. The bayonet was then used with effect; the vast columns
of the enemy came on and on again, to be repeatedly hurled back by those
who would die rather than yield an inch. Such was Inkermann, with the
soldier's friend in the thick of it. The Guards had a warm corner of it:
if there was one place hotter than another on that field they got into
it.
* * * * *
A slight digression may here he pardoned. The reader may not be aware of
it, but, strange to say, the most desperate battles that have ever been
fought have been fought on Sundays, particularly Palm, Easter, and Whit
Sundays. The following are a few of them, showing day and date:--The
battle of Ravenna was fought on Easter Sunday, 1512. There are two
instances of battles between the Houses of York and Lancaster. The
battle of Towton was fought on Palm Sunday. It was there that Warwick
slew his horse, and swore to stand by Edward to his last gasp. The
victory was gained by Edward, March 29th, 1461. Ten years after, the two
parties met again, at Barnet, on Easter Sunday, April 14th, 1471.
Warwick here fought his last fight, and was mortally wounded,
exclaiming--
Lo now my glory is smear'd with dust and blood,--
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but dust and blood?
And live we how we can, yet die we must:
Kings and dragoons, when call'd, must come to dust.
One of the battles between Charles I. and his Parliament was fought on
Sunday, October 23rd, 1642. I cannot pass this over without noticing a
noble act of a loving son. Sir G. Scroope fell fighting for his king,
with twenty-six wounds. Next day his son obtained leave from the king to
find and fetch his poor father's remains. After a long search, the boy
found his father's body in a state of nudity, in the midst of a heap of
others; there was some warmth in it, and, after rubbing it for some
time, he improved it to motion; from motion to sense, and from sense to
speech. He lived for ten years afterwards, a monument to his son's
filial affection, care, and perseverance.
The battle of Loddon Hill was fought on Sunday, June 1st, 1679. The
battle of Aghrain or Boyne was fought on Sunday, July 12th, 1691. It was
there decided by force of arms that His Holiness the Pope of Rome should
no longer reign supreme over the sons of Albion. Ramillies was fought on
Whit Sunday, May 12th, 1706. There the French were routed from the field
by the Duke of Marlborough. There was an incident in this battle, which
proves that there is nothing lost by politeness. During the heat of the
action, an officer kept bowing and taking off his hat to His Grace the
Duke of Marlborough. He was requested to waive ceremony. While thus
bowing and scraping, a cannon ball passed over him, and _took the head
off one of the Duke's staff_. The officer at once remarked: "Your Grace
perceives that one loses nothing by politeness." It was at this battle
that the greatest General that England had ever produced had a very
narrow escape. Colonel Bingfield's head was carried off by a cannon
ball, while holding the stirrup for the Duke to re-mount. He (the Duke)
turned to those about him, and said, jocosely, "Gentlemen, that's close
shaving, but we'll see if we cannot pay them for it before night." The
battle of Almawza was fought on Easter Sunday, April 25th, 1707, at
which an incident occurred not generally known. The English army was
commanded by a Frenchman, and the French army by an Englishman; but the
Frenchmen beat the English. The battle of Bal, or Lafield, was fought on
Sunday, July 2nd, 1747. It was here that Wolfe, the general who
afterwards won Quebec for the British Crown, let them see what a
military genius he was. This is the man whom some of the red-tape
gentlemen wanted to make George II. believe was mad! "Mad, is he?"
exclaimed the King, "I wish, then, that he would bite some of my other
generals." The Peninsula War was fruitful of Sunday fighting. The battle
of Vimiera was fought on Sunday, August 21st, 1808. Fuentes de Oñoro was
decided on Sunday, May 5th, 1811. Ciudad Rodrigo was stormed on Sunday,
January 19th, 1812, with frightful slaughter. Orthes was fought on
Sunday, February 27th, 1814, when the French were fairly driven from the
field, 10,000 prisoners being captured. It was here that Marshal Soult
made sure that he had Wellington for once; and in exultation smote his
thigh, exclaiming--"At last I have him." But he counted his chickens
before they were hatched, for the then Light Division snatched his
expected victory from his hands. Toulouse, the last battle in this war,
was fought on Easter Sunday, April 10th, 1814. The Netherlands campaign
was decided at Waterloo; which battle was fought on Sunday, June 18th,
1815. The Burmese war has two examples of Sunday fighting. Rangoon was
taken on Easter Sunday, April 11th, 1852; and Pague on Sunday, November
21st, 1852. Then, in the Crimea, Inkermann, the soldiers' battle, was
fought on Sunday, November 5th, 1854. There we kept up "Gunpowder Plot"
with a vengeance. Sebastopol fell into the hands of the Allies, after an
unparalleled siege of nearly twelve months, on Sunday, September 9th,
1855. The Indian Mutiny fairly broke out at Meerut on Sunday, May 10th,
1857; and it was followed by the most atrocious deeds that ever
disgraced the earth. The first battle resulting in the relief of
Cawnpore by Sir H. Havelock, took place on Sunday, July 12th, 1857.
This, I would remark, is the most astonishing battle on record. The
enemy were routed from the field, their whole army driven from a strong
position, eleven guns captured, and the whole force scattered to the
winds, _without the loss of a single British soldier_. To what is this
astonishing effect to be attributed? _Our Christian hero, Havelock,
attributed it to the blessing of Almighty God in a righteous
cause_--the cause of _justice_, _humanity_, and _truth_. At all events
the enemy found out at Futtehpore, that even in the heat of a July sun,
British soldiers could and would fight with valour and effect.
* * * * *
In the early part of the present century, when Napoleon had collected an
army of veterans on the coast of France (opposite Dover), for the
purpose of invading and carrying death and destruction into this our
highly-favoured isle, our forefathers looked on with calm indifference,
putting their trust in God. All--from the highest in the land to the
humblest cottager, were prepared to meet the then mighty legions of
France; and, although our united population did not exceed 18,500,000,
we had 1,056,000 men in arms, ready to give Buonaparte and his followers
a warm reception; but he was a long-headed man, and, for all his
boasting, thought better of it. Out of this host of 1,056,000 soldiers,
over 950,000 of them were British-born subjects, the remainder being
made up by the King's German legions. In addition to that army, we had a
fleet of upwards of 900 sail-of-the-line, fully manned and equipped; and
all this vast armament was exclusive of our armies in India. At the
present date the population of Great Britain numbers 35,246,562, backed
up by upwards of 25,000 at Gibraltar, 150,000 at Malta, 2,337,085 at the
Cape of Good Hope; the Dominion of Canada, 4,506,800; Newfoundland,
nearly 200,000; West India Islands, 1,260,000; the Falkland Islands,
nearly 254,000; Australia and its dependencies, nearly 3,000,000; and
last, but not least, India, with its 240,933,000 of people, hundreds of
thousands of whom would rather be cut to pieces than forsake our
glorious Standard; for they have proved us well since the Mutiny. That
country is no longer held by a company of merchants, who try to squeeze
all they can out of the natives; but the people are ruled by laws as
equal as those under which we are privileged to live at home, and the
same gracious Sovereign is looked up to by its teeming millions. Then
there are our settlements in China; Ceylon with its happy and contended
population of 4,386,000 souls; besides numerous other colonies,
stations, and possessions scattered over the face of the globe. All
these hosts are British subjects, and Her Most Gracious Majesty--God
bless her--sways the sceptre of love over all. Now, where there is unity
there is strength. God is evidently blessing this little isle, and
whilst she remains faithful, He will help her. In round figures the
population of the British Empire numbers nearly 300,000,000: and,
although we do not keep up an army one quarter as vast as the armies on
the Continent, I think I may well say that any of the other Powers would
think twice--nay, thrice--before they venture to attack us. _Let us be
true to ourselves, loyal to our beloved Sovereign, and faithful to the
God that hath protected His people in all ages._ For, reader, mark it
well, we enjoy blessings in this island, under our glorious
constitution, that other nations of the earth know nothing of.
* * * * *
I have spoken in plain language, or I have tried to do so, and truth
will go the furthest. It is an old saying, that in a long war, like that
we had with the French at the end of the last and the commencement of
the present century, ending with Waterloo, good men will shoulder
themselves to the front, in spite of all obstacles, "and now-a-days none
dare fight the time," while the last few months have proved that there
are as good fish in the sea as ever were caught. Old England will not go
down the hill of fame while she can produce such true-hearted sons as
Wolseley, Roberts, Wood, Seymour, Graham, and he who has stepped forward
to lead the sons of Albion, H.R.H. the Duke of Connaught. Nelson's last
signal will always be present to the minds of his countrymen. In the
hour of need Britons will, as I have before observed, do their duty.
Some alarmists would have us believe that England is going down the
hill, and becoming an object of derision and contempt to our Continental
neighbours; but no--
Her flag has braved a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze.
Her sailors and soldiers are ready, aye ready,
And will fight for old England, again and again.
* * * * *
I must get on with my story. The time was now fast approaching for us to
depart, and towards the latter end of August we began to get ready for a
move. On the 7th of September, 1854, we sailed under sealed orders, and
left Turkey behind us.
We were now off, and it was a grand sight. Each steamer towed two
transports; a part of the fleet was in front, a part on either side, and
part behind us. We had some eight hundred ships of various sizes, and it
seemed as if no power on earth were capable of stopping us. The Russian
fleet might well keep out of our way. This voyage was truly a source of
delight to the proud and warlike feelings of a Briton. As each ship with
her consort steamed majestically out of the harbour of Varna, the hills
on either side echoed for the first time with the loyal strains of
England and France. The bands in a number of ships played "Rule
Britannia," "God Save the Queen," and the French and Turkish National
Anthems. We dashed past the huge forts on either side of us, with the
Turkish, English, and French flags floating proudly to the wind, and the
guns at each fort saluting us. I had a good look at them with a capital
glass; they appeared of an enormous size, and the guns large enough to
creep into. I have heard that no fewer than six midshipmen crawled into
one of them to get out of the wet; but I will not vouch for the truth of
the story. The guns are about thirty inches in diameter, and some of
them unscrew in the centre; they are shotted with a granite ball, which
is raised by a crane and weighs about 800 lbs.; while the charge
consists of about 110 lbs., of powder. Sir John Duckworth had some of
his squadron sunk or destroyed by these nice "little pills," when he
forced the Dardanelles, in 1807, and was compelled to beat a retreat. We
were only too glad to get away from Turkey; their towns look very well
at a distance, but none of them will stand a close inspection, for they
are filthy beyond description. We steamed up the Black Sea, bidding
defiance to the Russian Fleet. It was the first time that a British
Fleet had ever entered these waters. We spent a few days very
pleasantly--our bands every evening playing a selection of lively airs;
but at length we cast anchor and got ready for landing. Two days'
rations were served out to each man, the meat being cooked on board.
* * * * *
The composition of the Russian Fleet, which fled at our approach, and
took shelter under the guns of Sebastopol, was as follows:--
7 120-gun Ships
13 84 〃 〃
3 60 〃 Frigates
1 54 〃 〃
1 52 〃 〃
2 44 〃 〃
2 20 〃 Corvettes
4 18 〃 〃
4 18 〃 Brigs
4 16-gun 〃
4 12 〃 〃
6 16 〃 Schooners
2 8 〃 〃
4 12 〃 Cutters
3 10 〃 〃
28 With one or two Guns
30 Transport Vessels.
Nearly all these ships were built in British waters, and all on the
capture of Sebastopol were sent to the bottom, either by our guns or by
the Russians to prevent them falling into our hands. A few that took
shelter at Nicolaieff only escaped.
* * * * *
We were now approaching the enemy's shore for soldiering in reality, and
about to find out whether the sons of Albion had degenerated since the
days of their forefathers, who had carried our proud flag into all parts
of the world, and had proved victorious both by sea and land. The honour
of old England was, we realised, now in our hands. One good look at the
older men was quite enough, they meant to do or die; while our
commander, Lord Raglan, inspired us with confidence that he would lead
us on to victory.
* * * * *
The reader may now prepare himself for some rough, hard soldiering and
fighting.
* * * * *
A TRUE BRITON WHEN THE HONOUR OF THE NATION
IS AT STAKE.
"Tis much he dare:
And, to that dauntless temper of his mind,
He hath a wisdom that doth guide his brain
To act in safety."--_Shakespeare._
CHAPTER II.
Disembarkation in the Crimea--First night in the Enemy's
Country, a night long to be remembered, no shelter--March to
the Alma--The Battle--The Fusiliers leading the Van--Letter
from the Heights to my Parents--A fair description of that
Terrible Fight--March from the Alma--Balaclava easily
taken--We take up our position in front of Sebastopol--First
Bombardment--The Battle of Balaclava--Charge of the Light
and Heavy Brigades--Poem by Tennyson--Little
Inkermann--Letter home, 27th October, 1854--Trench Work--The
Battle of Inkermann, the soldiers' fight--Am
Wounded--Description of that Fight--Aspect of the Field
after the Fight--My Letter Home--Sent on to Malta--Letter
from Her Majesty--Notes on a Norfolk Hero at Inkermann, Sir
T. Troubridge--Who first landed in the Crimea?
On the 14th September, 1854, we landed at Old Fort. At a signal from the
Admiral-in-chief we all got ready, and the first consignment of the
Light Division were soon off at rapid pace. It was a toss-up between us
and a boat-load of the 2nd Batt. Rifle Brigade, as to who should have
the honour of landing first on the enemy's shore; but with all due
respect I say the Fusiliers had it, though there was not much to boast
of, as it was afterwards said the Rifles were a very good second (_see
note at the end of chapter_). We were not opposed in landing; a few
Cossacks were looking on at a respectful distance, but made no attempt
to molest us. It would have been madness on their part to have done so,
considering the enormous force we could have brought to bear upon them.
A company of ours, and one or two of the Rifles, were at once sent
forward to be on the look-out; Sir G. Brown went with them and nearly
got "nabbed;" they could have shot him, but wanted to take him alive,
believing that he was "a big bug;" some of our people, however, noticed
their little game, crept close up to the General, and when the Cossacks
thought of making a dash, set to work and emptied some of their saddles,
while the remainder scampered off as fast as their horses' legs could
carry them. Sir G. Brown had thus a narrow escape--as narrow as any he
had previously experienced in the Peninsula and elsewhere. The greater
portion of our army quietly landed--the French disembarking some little
distance from us. These had their little tents with them, and so had the
small detachment of Turks who were with us, but there was not a single
tent for the English Army--so much for management. Thousands of
Britain's sons, who had come to fight for Queen and Country, were thrown
ashore, as it were, without shelter of any kind.
A portion of the infantry with a few guns were first landed; but I must
say that our condition as an army in an enemy's country was pitiable in
the extreme. We had no tents, our officers had no horses, except a few
ponies; Sir George Brown's sleeping compartment and dining-room were
under a gun-carriage: even as bad off as we were our position was to be
envied, for, although we were drenched to the skin, we were on _terra
firma_. The poor marines and sailors in the men-of-war boats, were
towing large rafts, with horses, guns, and detachments of artillerymen,
amid a heavy swell from the sea, that was now running high--it was as
dark as pitch, the horses almost mad with excitement, kicking and
plunging. A number of poor fellows found a watery grave, rafts being
upset in the heavy surf whilst attempting to land--the sea dashing with
all its majestic force upon the sandy beach, although we could not see
it. We made fires the best way we could, with broken boats and rafts; It
was a fearful night! When morning broke, we presented a woeful
appearance; but we soon collected ourselves and assembled on the common.
Next day we managed to get hold of a few country carts, or waggons, full
of forage, that were being drawn by oxen and camels. We were all anxious
to get at the enemy, and longed to try our strength against any number
of boasting Russians. Our united army stood as follows:--English, or
rather Britons, four divisions of infantry, each division then
consisting of two brigades, each brigade of three regiments; to each
division of infantry was attached a division of artillery, consisting of
two field-batteries, four nine-pounder guns and two twenty-four pounder
howitzers; we had a small brigade of light cavalry with us, attached to
which was a six-pounder troop of horse-artillery; in all we mustered
26,000 men and 54 field guns. Our gallant allies, the French, had about
24,000 men and 70 field guns. The Turks had about 4,500 men, no guns or
cavalry, but they managed to bring tents with them. Thus the grand total
now landed, and ready for an advance to meet the foe at all hazards, was
54,000 men, with 124 field guns. And the subsequent pages will tell how
that force often met and conquered, amidst the storms of autumn, the
snows of winter, and the heats of summer; nothing but death could thwart
that dauntless host, whose leaders knew no excuses for weakness in the
day of trial. We were all ready to cry shame on the man who would desert
his country in the hour of need--
Hail to thee, Albion, that meet'st the commotion
Of Europe as calm as thy cliffs meet the foam;
With no bond but the law, and no bound but the ocean;
Hail, Temple of Liberty, thou art my home.
Home, home, sweet home.
_Moore._
The first night in the Crimea was a night long to be remembered by those
who were there. It came on to rain in torrents, while the wind blew a
perfect hurricane; and all, from the Commanders down to the Drummer
Boys, had to stand and take it as it came. And the rain did fall, only
as it does in the tropics. We looked next morning like a lot of drowned
rats. What our people were thinking about I do not know. Had the enemy
come on in strength nothing could have saved us. We were now in an
enemy's country--that enemy most powerful and subtle; it was known that
they were in force not far from us, though their strength was
unknown--yet we were absolutely unprovided with camp equipment or
stores.
They say fortune favours the brave, and, happily, the Russians let the
opportunity slip. Next day we were as busy as bees landing all sorts of
warlike implements--artillery, horses, shot, shell, and all that goes to
equip an army, except shelter. The "unseen enemy" was still with us,
daily finding its victims. Our men worked like bricks, were determined
to make the best of a bad job. We dried our clothing on the beach, and
the next night strong lines of picquets were thrown out to prevent
surprise, while we lay down, wrapped in our cloaks. On the 16th, we
still kept getting all sorts of things on shore in readiness to meet the
enemy; but our people seemed to forget that we were made of flesh and
blood. The French were well provided with tents and other comforts; we
still had none. On the 17th there was the same work getting ready for a
start; but the morning of the 18th saw us on our legs advancing up the
country. We then suffered from the want of water; what we did get was
quite brackish. On the morning of the 19th we marched fairly off with
the French on our right. We continued to suffer very heavily; a number
of men fell out for the want of a few drops of water, but it could not
be got, and we continued to march all day without sighting the enemy,
except only a few Cossacks, who kept a respectful distance from us. The
Light Division was in front, and we found out afterwards that was to be
our place whenever there were any hard knocks to be served out.
It began to get a little exciting in the afternoon. In front of us was a
handful of cavalry--a part of the 11th Hussars; and presently a battery
of Horse Artillery dashed off at a break-neck pace and began pounding
away at something we could not see. We saw that day the first wounded
man on our side--a corporal of the 11th Hussars; his leg was nearly off.
We soon got accustomed to such sights, passed on, and took no notice. As
we topped the rising ground we could see the enemy retiring; our Cavalry
were still in front, feeling the way--as they advanced the Cossacks kept
slowly retiring. We still advanced until it began to get dark, when
strong picquets were thrown out--we collected what we could to make our
bivouac fires, for we still had no tents. Some of our poor fellows died
that night sitting round the scanty fires, or wrapped in their cloaks. I
shall ever remember that night as long as I live. We sat talking for
some little time of our homes and friends far away. My comrade had just
had about an hour's sleep; when on waking he told me he had a
presentiment that he should fall in the first action. I tried to cheer
him up and drive such nonsense out of his head. I thought he was not
well, and he replied that he was very ill, but should be out of all pain
before to-morrow's sun set; however, he was determined to do his duty,
let the consequence be what it might, adding, "May the dear Lord give me
strength to do my duty for my Queen and Country, for I could not, my
boy," grasping my hand, "bear the thought of being branded as a coward."
Still retaining a firm manly grip he continued, "for God has washed all
my sins away in Jesus' blood. Come," he continued, "let's walk about a
little; I am getting cold." Afterwards, getting hold of my arm, he
stopped, looked me full in the face, and twice repeated the solemn
words, "Eternity, Eternity, know and seek the Lord while he may be
found, call upon Him while He is near, for you cannot tell what
to-morrow will bring forth, and it may be too late then." Then he
repeated parts of hymns, which I had often heard sung when a boy. I can
safely say he was one who was ready for anything--life or death. As he
had said, "his life was hid with Christ in God." We pledged that we
would do all that we could for each other in life or in death; I little
thought that his end was so near.
Such were some of the men who carried the standard that has braved the
battle and the breeze for a thousand years up the heights of Alma, and I
can say truly, that it is not the drunkard or the blackguard who makes a
thorough soldier, either in the field or out of it. As I proceed with my
narrative, I will give other examples--for instance, Sir H. Havelock,
Colonel Blackader, Major Malan, Lord Raglan, and also poor Captain
Hedley Vicars, of the 97th, one of the bravest of men, who loved the
Lord with all his heart and soul, and was not at all backward in telling
poor sinners what that Lord had done for him. As he would often say,
"Religion is a personal matter; have mercy upon me, oh God, for I am
vile."
[Illustration: VIEW OF THE HEIGHTS OF ALMA.]
THE BATTLE OF THE ALMA.
Well, to my story; the morning of the 20th found us once more on our
legs. Marshal St. Arnaud rode along our line; we cheered him most
heartily, and he seemed to appreciate it; in passing the 88th, the
Marshal of France called out in English, "I hope you will fight well
to-day;" the fire-eating old Connaught Rangers at once took up the
challenge, and a voice loudly exclaimed "Shure, your honour, we will,
don't we always fight well?" Away we then went at a steady pace,
until about mid-day--the Light and Second Divisions leading, in columns
of brigades. As we approached the village of Burlark, which was on our
side of the river, or what was called the right bank, the blackguards
set fire to it, but still we pressed on; we by the right, the Second
division by the left. We now advanced into the valley beneath, in line,
sometimes taking ground to the right, then to the left, and presently we
were ordered to lie down to avoid the hurricane of shot and shell that
the enemy was pouring into us. A number of our poor fellows lay down to
rise no more; the enemy had the range to a nicety. Our men's feelings
were now wrought up to such a state that it was not an easy matter to
stop them. Up to the river we rushed, and some,--in fact all I could
see,--got ready for a swim, pulling off their knapsacks and camp
kettles. Our men were falling now very fast; into the river we dashed,
nearly up to our arm pits, with our ammunition and rifles on the top of
our heads to keep them dry, scrambled out the best way we could, and
commenced to ascend the hill. From east to west the enemy's batteries
were served with rapidity, hence we were enveloped in smoke on what may
be called the glacis. We were only about 600 yards from the mouths of
the guns, the thunderbolts of war were, therefore, not far apart, and
death loves a crowd. The havoc among the Fusiliers, both 7th and 23rd,
was awful, still nothing but death could stop that renowned Infantry.
There were 14 guns of heavy calibre just in front of us, and others on
our flanks, in all some 42 guns were raining death and destruction upon
us. A number of our poor fellows on reaching the top of the slippery
bank were shot down and fell back dead, or were drowned in the Alma. The
two Fusilier Regiments seemed to vie with each other in performing deeds
of valor. General Codrington waved his hat, then rode straight at one of
the embrasures, and leaped his grey Arab into the breastwork; others,
breathless, were soon beside him. Up we went, step by step, but with a
horrid carnage. When one gets into such a "hot corner" as this was, one
has not much time to mind his neighbours. I could see that we were
leading; the French were on our right, and the 23rd Fusiliers on our
left. This was Albuera repeated--the two Fusilier regiments shoulder to
shoulder--only the French were on our right as Allies, whereas in the
former battle they were in front as bitter foes.
The fighting was now of a desperate kind. My comrade said to me "We
shall have to shift those fellows with the bayonet, old boy," pointing
to the Russians. We still kept moving on, and at last General Sir G.
Brown, Brigadier Codrington, and our noble old Colonel, called upon us
for one more grand push, and a cheer and a charge brought us to the top
of the hill. Into the battery we jumped, spiked the guns, and bayoneted
or shot down the gunners; but, alas, we were not strong enough, and we
were in our turn hurled, by an overwhelming force, out of the battery,
and down the hill again. The old 7th halted, fronted, and lay down, and
kept up a withering fire upon the enemy at point-blank range, which must
have told heavily upon their crowded ranks. Help was now close at hand.
Up came the Guards and Highlanders. His Royal Highness the Duke of
Cambridge was with them, and he nobly faced the foe. He had a good tutor
in that hero of a hundred fights, Sir Colin Campbell. They got a warm
reception, but still pressed on up that fatal hill. Some will tell you
that the Guards retired, or wanted to retire; but no, up they went
manfully, step by step, both Guards and Highlanders, and a number of
other regiments of the 2nd Division, and with deafening shouts the
heights of Alma were ours. The enemy were sent reeling from them in hot
haste, with Artillery and a few Cavalry in pursuit. If we had only had
three or four thousand Cavalry with us, they would not have got off
quite so cheaply; as it was, they got a nasty mauling, such an one as
they did not seem to appreciate.
After gaining the heights--a victory that set the church bells of Old
England ringing and gave schoolboys a holiday, we had time to count our
loss. Alas, we had paid the penalty for leading the way. We had left
more than half our number upon the field, dead or wounded, and one of
our colours was gone, but, thank God, the enemy had not got it; it was
found upon the field, cut into pieces, and with a heap of dead and
wounded all around it. Kinglake, the author of "The Crimean Campaign,"
says in the boldest language that "Yea and his Fusiliers won the Alma."
As one of them, I can confirm that statement--we had to fight against
tremendous odds. The brunt of the fighting fell upon the first Brigade
of the Light Division, as their loss will testify. At one time the 7th
Fusiliers confronted a whole Russian Brigade and kept them at bay until
assistance came up. Our poor old Colonel exclaimed, at the top of the
hill, when he sounded the assembly, "A colour gone, and where's my poor
old Fusiliers, my God, my God!" and he cried like a child, wringing his
hands. After the enemy had been fairly routed, I obtained leave to go
down the hill. I had lost my comrade and I was determined to find him if
possible. I had no difficulty in tracing the way we had advanced, for
the ground was covered with our poor fellows--in some places sixes and
sevens, at others tens and twelves, and at other places whole ranks were
lying. "For these are deeds which shall not pass away, and names that
must not, shall not wither."
The Russian wounded behaved in a most barbarous manner; they made signs
for a drink, and then shot the man who gave it them. My attention was
drawn to one nasty case. A young officer of the 95th gave a wounded
Russian a little brandy out of his flask, and was turning to walk away,
when the fellow shot him mortally; I would have settled with him for
his brutish conduct, but one of our men, who happened to be close to
him, at once gave him his bayonet, and despatched him. I went up to the
young officer, and finding he was still alive, placed him in as
comfortable a position as I could, and then left him, to look for my
comrade. I found him close to the river, dead; he had been shot in the
mouth and left breast, and death must have been instantaneous. He was
now in the presence of his glorified Captain. He was as brave as a lion,
but a faithful disciple. He could not have gone 100 yards from the spot
where he told me we should "have to shift those fellows with the
bayonet." I sat down beside him, and thought my heart would break as I
recalled some of his sayings, particularly his talk to me at midnight of
the 19th; this was about six p.m., on the 20th. I have every reason to
believe that he was prepared for the change. I buried him, with the
assistance of two or three of our men. We laid him in his grave, with
nothing but an overcoat wrapped around him, and then left him with a
heavy heart.
In passing up the hill I had provided myself with all the water bottles
I could, from the dead, in order to help to revive the wounded as much
as possible. I visited the young officer whom I saw shot by the wounded
Russian, and found he was out of all pain: he had passed into the
presence of a just and holy God. The sights all the way were sickening.
The sailors were taking off the wounded as fast as possible, but many
lay there all night, just as they had fallen. Dear reader, such is war.
I rejoined my regiment on the top of the hill, and was made Sergeant
that night. We remained on the hill until the 23rd, and lost a number of
men from cholera.
The 21st and 22nd were spent in collecting the wounded--both friend and
foe. Ours were at once put on board ship and sent to Scutari; some
hundreds of the enemy were collected in a vineyard on the slopes, the
dead were buried in large pits--and a very mournful and ghastly sight it
was, for many had been literally cut to pieces. It was a difficult
matter really to find out what had killed some of them. Here men were
found in positions as if in the act of firing; there, as if they had
fallen asleep; and all over the field the dead were lying in every
position it was possible for men to assume. Some of those who had met
death at the point of the bayonet, presented a picture painful to look
upon; others were actually smiling. Such was the field of the Alma.
The first battle was now over, and as I wrote to my parents from the
heights, I thanked God I was still in the land of the living, and what's
more with a whole skin (except an abrasion on the head caused by a
stone), which a few hours before had appeared impossible. The three
regiments that led the way suffered fearfully, the 7th Royal Fusiliers
on the right, the 23rd Royal Welsh Fusiliers in the centre, and the 33rd
on the left. Any one of these three Regiments suffered more than the
whole brigade of Guards or Highlanders combined; not that I wish to
speak disparagingly of the gallant Guards or the noble Highlanders, I
only wish to show on whom the brunt of the fighting fell.
I saw the Heights of Alma on the 20th September,
Then the maiden British army first faced the foe,
Then the Russian bear, with all his ugly cubs,
Was taught to use his heels, as fast as he could go.
Volumes could be written upon the Alma--the battle that opened the guns
of France and England in unison, but I must confine my narrative to what
actually passed under my own eyes, or in my own regiment. Canrobert, a
French Marshal, might well in the excitement exclaim, "I should like to
command an English Division for a campaign, and it would be the
d----take the hindmost; I feel that I could then attain my highest
ambition!" A Russian wounded General, in giving up his sword, as
prisoner of war, stated that they were confident of holding their
position for some days no matter what force the Allies could bring
against them, adding that they came to fight men and not devils. Prince
Menschikoff quitted the field in a hurry, for he left his carriage
behind and all his state papers. He, poor man, had to eat a lot of
humble pie, and we are told that he was furiously mad. He had been over
confident that he could hold us in check for three weeks, and then put
us all into the sea; he just held the heights for three hours after the
attack commenced. Ladies even came out of Sebastopol to witness the
destruction of the Allies; but I fancy their flight must have been most
distressing, while their feelings were not to be envied.
The Russian officers were gentlemen, but their men were perfect fiends.
The night after the battle and the following morning, this was proved in
a number of cases, by their shooting down our men just after they had
done all they could for them. Our comrades at once paid them for it
either by shooting or bayoneting them on the spot; this was rough
justice, but it was justice, nevertheless; none of them lived to boast
of what they had done.
Poor Captain Monk of ours was the talk of the whole regiment that
evening. It appears that a Russian presented his rifle at him, close to
his head. The Captain at once parried it and cut the man down. A Russian
officer then tackled him in single combat, and he quietly knocked him
down with his _fist_, with others right and left of him, until he had a
heap all round him, and at last fell dead in the midst of them. Sir G.
Brown's horse was shot from under him just in front of us, but that
fire-eating old warrior soon collected himself, jumped up waving his
sword and shouting, "Fusiliers, I am all right, follow me, and I'll
remember you for it!" and then, as Marshal Ney did at Waterloo, led the
way up that fatal hill on foot, animating the men to the performance of
deeds of valour. Britons, where is the man who would not respond to
such a call? The eyes of the civilized world were upon us. Up the hill
we went, for our blood was up, and the strength of all the Russians
could not stop us; they might call us red devils if they liked, we were
determined to do our duty for Queen and country. We remained on the
heights until the 23rd. The 57th joined us there, just too late for the
battle; but the old "die-hards" left their marks upon the enemy at
Inkermann and throughout the siege of Sebastopol.
The following letter, written immediately after the battle, will,
perhaps, prove interesting here:--
Heights of Alma,
September 20-21, 1854.
My Dear Parents,
I wrote you from Turkey that I would most likely tell you a
little about the enemy before long. Well, we have met them
and given them a good sound drubbing at the above-named
place; and thank God, I am still in the land of the living,
and, what's more, with a whole skin, which a few hours ago
appeared impossible. To describe my feelings in going into
action, I could not; and I hope you will excuse my feeble
attempt at describing the terrible fight we have just passed
through. As soon as the enemy's round shot came hopping
along, we simply did the polite--opened out and allowed them
to pass on--there is nothing lost by politeness, even on a
battle field. As we kept advancing, we had to move our pins
to get out of their way; and presently they began to pitch
their shot and shell right amongst us, and our men began to
fall. I know that I felt horribly sick--a cold shivering
running through my veins--and I must acknowledge that I felt
very uncomfortable; but I am happy to say that feeling
passed off as soon as I began to get warm to it. It was very
exciting work, and the sights were sickening; I hope I shall
never witness such another scene. We were now fairly under
the enemy's fire--our poor fellows began to fall fast all
around me. We had deployed into line, and lay down, in order
to avoid the hurricane of shot and shell that was being
poured into us. We still kept advancing and then lying down
again; then we made a rush up to the river, and in we went.
I was nearly up to my arm-pits; a number of our poor fellows
were drowned, or shot down with grape and canister (that
came amongst us like hail) while attempting to cross. How I
got out I cannot say, as the banks were very steep and
slippery. We were now enveloped in smoke, and could not see
much. Up the hill we went, step by step, but with a fearful
carnage. The fighting now became very exciting, our
Artillery playing over our heads, and we firing and
advancing all the time. The smoke was now so great that we
could hardly see what we were doing, and our poor fellows
were falling all around. It was a dirty, rugged hill. We got
mixed up with the 95th. Some one called out, "Come on young
95th, the old 7th are in front." The fighting was now
desperate.[1] General Sir George Brown, Brigadier
Codrington, our noble Colonel Yea, and, in fact, all our
mounted officers, were encouraging us to move on; and, at
last, with a ringing cheer we topped the heights, and into
the enemy's battery we jumped. Here we lost a great number
of our men; and, by overwhelming numbers, we, the 23rd,
33rd, 95th, and Rifles, were mobbed out of the battery, and
a part of the way down the hill again; and then we had some
more desperate fighting. We lay down and blazed into their
huge columns as hard as we could load and fire; and in about
twenty minutes, up came the Guards and Highlanders and a
number of other regiments; and, with another ringing cheer
for Old England, at them we went again and re-topped the
heights, routing them from their batteries. Here I got a
crack on the head with a piece of stone, which unmanned me
for a time. When I came round I found the enemy had all
bolted.
Do not let anyone see this, as they would only laugh at my
poor description of our first battle. The poor old Fusiliers
have suffered very heavily. My poor comrade was killed just
after getting out of the river. He is the one whom I have
often spoken about. I am confident that he is gone to a far
better home than this. Dear parents, what a sight the whole
field presents! I would again thank God with a sincere heart
for protecting me, I hope, for some good purpose. I hope
that you will be able to make out this scrawl, as the only
table I have is a dead Russian. I went down the hill
yesterday evening and found my poor comrade dead. The
wounded Russians behaved worse than the brute beasts of the
field; they shot some of our officers and men just after
they had done all they could for them, but they did not live
long to talk of what they had done, for they were at once
shot or bayoneted. On some parts of the field the killed of
the poor old 7th, 23rd, 33rd, and 95th, lay thick. You will
notice that I could not finish this letter yesterday. I hope
you will excuse the paper (it's the best I have) and
likewise my poor description of our maiden fight. You may
tell them in Norwich, or anywhere else, that your poor boy
led the way up this fatal hill--for it was the 7th
Fusiliers, 23rd Fusiliers, and 33rd Duke of Wellington's,
95th, and Rifles, that led the van. The Guards and
Highlanders, and the entire 2nd Division, backed us up well.
We have still that horrible disease--Cholera--amongst us.
One of my company died with it last night, after storming
the heights. Please send a paper. Direct, Sergeant T.
Gowing, Royal Fusiliers.
Good bye, dear parents, and God bless you all.
From your rough, but affectionate son,
T. GOWING, Royal Fusiliers.
ON THE WAY TO SEBASTOPOL.
The morning of the 23rd saw us early on our feet, and _en route_ for the
fortress known by the worldwide name of Sebastopol. We marched all day,
our men fast dropping out from sickness. Our first halting place was at
Katcha, where we had a splendid view. Our friends the Cossacks kept a
little in front of us. On the 24th away we went again; nothing
particular occurring, except that our Unseen Enemy--cholera--was still
in the midst of us, picking off his victims. The Commander-in-Chief of
the French, the gallant and gay Marshal St. Arnaud, succumbed to it. But
we pressed on; the honour of three nations being at stake.
Nothing worthy of notice transpired until the 28th, when we thought we
were going to have another Alma job. We began to get ready; Artillery
and Cavalry were ordered to the front. The enemy got a slight taste of
the Scots Greys; a few prisoners being captured. The Rifles got a few
pop-shots at them; but it turned out afterwards that it was the
rear-guard of the enemy. A number of things were picked up by our
people, but the affair ended in smoke; they evidently did not mean to
try to oppose our advance--they had once attempted it, and wanted no
more of it; so the following day we marched on without interruption to
the nice little village of Balaclava. We had little or no trouble in
taking it; the Russians, however, made a slight show of resistance, for
the sake of honour. The Rifles advanced, we supporting them. A few shots
were fired; but as soon as one or two of our ships entered the harbour,
and gave the old castle a few shots, they gave in, and our people at
once took possession. The harbour was speedily filled with our shipping.
Our men managed to pick up a few old hens and a pig or two, which came
in very handy for a stew; and we got some splendid grapes and apples.
Next day we moved up to the front of Sebastopol, whither other divisions
had gone on before us. The siege guns were soon brought up, manned by
Marines and Jack Tars, and we quickly found out that we had a nice
little job cut out for us.
THE SIEGE OF SEBASTOPOL AND BATTLE
OF BALACLAVA.
We must acknowledge that the enemy proved themselves worthy defenders of
a fortress; they worked night and day to strengthen the lines of forts,
huge batteries springing into existence like mushrooms, and stung us
more than mosquitoes. It was evident to all that if the Allies wanted
Sebastopol they would find it a hard nut to crack; that it would be a
rough pic-nic for us. Sir George Brown might well say, that the longer
we looked at it the uglier it got. The white tower was knocked all to
pieces very quickly, but huge works were erected all around it, and
called the Malakoff. We found it no child's play dragging heavy siege
guns up from Balaclava, but it was a long pull and a strong pull, up to
our ankles in mud which stuck like glue. Often on arrival in camp we
found but little to eat, hardly sufficient to keep body and soul
together; then off again to help to get the guns and mortars into their
respective batteries, exposed all the time to the enemy's fire, and they
were noways sparing with shot and shell. We would have strong bodies in
front of us, as covering parties and working parties; often the pick and
shovel would have to be thrown down, and the rifle brought to the front.
Sometimes we would dig and guard in turn; we could keep ourselves warm,
digging and making the trenches and batteries, although often up to our
ankles in muddy water. All our approaches had to be done at night, and
the darker the better for us. As for the covering party, it was killing
work laying down for hours in the cold mud, returning to camp at
daylight, wearied completely out with cold--sleepy and hungry; many a
poor fellow suffering with ague or fever, to find nothing but a cold
bleak mud tent, without fire, to rest their weary bones in; and often
not even a piece of mouldy biscuit to eat, nothing served out yet. But
often, as soon as we reached camp, the orderly would call out, "Is
Sergeant G in?" "Yes; what's up?" "You are for fatigue at once." Off to
Balaclava, perhaps to bring up supplies, in the shape of salt beef, salt
pork, biscuits, blankets, shot or shell. Return at night completely done
up; down you go in the mud for a few hours' rest--that is, if there was
not an alarm. And thus it continued, week in and week out, month in and
month out. So much for honour and glory! The enemy were not idle; they
were continually constructing new works, and peppering us from morning
until night. Sometimes they would treat us to a few long-rangers,
sending their shot right through our camp. And we found often that the
besiegers were the attacked party, and not the attacking. Our numbers
began to get very scanty--cholera was daily finding its victims. It
never left us from the time we were in Turkey. It was piteous to see
poor fellows struck down in two or three hours, and carried off to
their last abode. Nearly all of us were suffering more or less from
ague, fever, or colds, but it was no use complaining. The doctors had
little or no medicine to give. Our poor fellows were dropping off fast
with dysentery and diarrhoea; but all that could stand stuck to it
manfully. We had several brushes with the foe, who always came off
second best. The Poles deserted by wholesale from the enemy, some of
them would turn round at once and let drive at the Russians, then give
up their arms to us, shouting "Pole, Pole!" We knew well that the enemy
were almost daily receiving reinforcements, we had, as yet, received
none. We were almost longing to go at the town, take it or die in the
attempt to hoist our glorious old flag on its walls. Then the nights
began to get very cold, and we found the endless trench work very
trying, often having to stand up to our ankles and sometimes knees in
muddy water, with the enemy pounding at us all the time with heavy
ordnance, both direct and vertical, guns often dismounted and platforms
sent flying in all directions. Our sailors generally paid the enemy out
for it. The Russians often fought with desperation but moral strength in
war is to physical as three to one. Our men had handled the enemy very
roughly more than once since the Alma, and they were shy at coming to
close quarters, unless they could take us by surprise. Thus things went
on day after day, until the morning of the 25th October, 1854, when we
awoke to find that the enemy were trying to cut off our communications
at Balaclava, which brought on the battle. I was not engaged, but had
started from camp in charge of twenty-five men on fatigue to Balaclava,
to bring up blankets for the sick and wounded. It was a cold bleak
morning as we left our tents. Our clothing was getting very thin, with
as many patches as Joseph's coat. More than one smart Fusilier's back or
shoulder was indebted to a piece of black blanket, with hay bound round
his legs to cover his rags and keep the biting wind out a little; and
boots were nearly worn out, with none to replace them. There was nothing
about our outward appearance lady-killing; we were looking stern duty in
the face. There was no murmuring, however; all went jogging along,
cracking all kinds of jokes. We could hear the firing at Balaclava, but
thought it was the Turks and Russians playing at long bowls, which
generally ended in smoke. We noticed, too, mounted orderlies and staff
officers riding as if they were going in for the Derby. As we reached
the hills overlooking the plains of Balaclava, we could see our cavalry
formed up, but none of us thought what a sight we were about to witness.
The enemy's cavalry in massive columns were moving up the valley; the
firing was at times heavy. Several volleys of musketry were heard.
[Illustration: CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT BALACLAVA]
"The redoubts with shell they are plying; by heaven the Turks are
flying!
Under Cossack lance and sabre, in scores like cowards dying;
Curse the slaves and never mind them, there are English hearts
behind them,
With British bayonets sharp and sure, and so the foe shall find
them.
Two deep, the gallant 93rd are formed to bear the brunt,
And the Russian horse came thundering on their unshaken front:
They're at six hundred paces; wait till you see their faces:
Down go the rifles with a fire that empties scores of places!
But on their line still dashes, when a second volley flashes,
And as lightning clears a cloud, through the Russian squadrons
crashes.
Down, rear and van, go horse and man, the wounded with the slain!
That mounted host shall count the cost ere it charge our Scots
again."
My party was an unarmed party, hence my keeping them out of harm's way.
One column of the enemy's cavalry advanced as far as we could see to
within half-a-mile of our people, who were a handful compared with the
host in front of them. It was soon evident our generals were not going
to stop to count them, but go at them at once. It was a most thrilling
and exciting moment. As our trumpets sounded the advance, the Greys and
Inniskillings moved forward at a sharp pace, and as they began to ascend
the hill they broke into a charge. The pace was terrific, and with a
ringing cheer and continued shouts they dashed right into the centre of
the enemy's column. It was an awful crash as the glittering helmets of
the boys of the Green Isle and the bearskins of the Greys dashed into
the midst of levelled lances with sabres raised. The earth seemed to
shake with a sound like thunder; hundreds of the enemy went down in that
terrible rush. It was heavy men mounted on heavy horses, and it told a
fearful tale. A number of the spectators, as our men dashed into that
column, exclaimed, "They are lost! They are lost!" It was lance against
sword, and at times our men became entirely lost in the midst of a
forest of lances. But they cut their way right through, as if they had
been riding over a lot of donkeys. A shout of joy burst from us and the
French, who were spectators, as our men came out of the column. It was
an uphill fight of three hundred Britons against five thousand
Muscovites. Fresh columns of squadrons closed around this noble band,
with a view of crushing them; but help was now close at hand. With
another terrible crash, and with a shout truly English, in went the
Royal Dragoons on one flank of the column; and with thrilling shouts of
"Faugh-a-Ballagh," the Royal Irish buried themselves in a forest of
lances on the other. Then came thundering on the Green Horse (5th
Dragoon Guards), and rode straight at the centre of the enemy's column.
The Russians must have had a bad time of it. At a distance, it was
impossible to see the many hand-to-hand encounters; the thick overcoats
of the enemy, we knew well, would ward off many a blow. Our men, we
found afterwards, went in with point or with the fifth, sixth, or
seventh cuts about the head; the consequence was, the field was covered
pretty thickly with the enemy, but hundreds of their wounded were
carried away. We found that they were all strongly buckled to their
horses, so that it was only when the horse fell that the rider was
likely to fall. But if ever a body of cavalry were handled roughly,
that column of Muscovites were. They bolted--that is, all that
could--like a flock of sheep with a dog at their tails. Their officers
tried to bring them up, but it was no go; they had had enough, and left
the field to Gen. Scarlett's band of heroes. How ever that gallant
officer escaped was a miracle, for he led some thirty yards right into
the jaws of death, and came off without a scratch. The victorious
brigade triumphantly rejoined their comrades, and were received with a
wild burst of enthusiasm. It would be well if we could now draw the
curtain and claim a glorious victory. The French officers were loud in
their admiration of the daring feat of arms they had just witnessed.
Many of them said it was most glorious. Sir Colin Campbell might well
get a little excited, and express his admiration of the Scots Greys.
This old hero rode up to the front of the Greys with hat in hand, and
exclaimed with pride: "Greys, gallant Greys! I am past sixty-one years;
if I were young again, I should be proud to be in your ranks; you are
worthy of your forefathers." But, reader, they were not alone. It was
the Union Brigade, as at Waterloo, that had just rode through and
through the enemy, and drew the words from Lord Raglan, who had
witnessed both charges: "Well done, Scarlett!" The loss of this noble
brigade was comparatively trifling taking into consideration the heavy
loss they inflicted upon the foe. My readers must know that the Union
Brigade was composed of one English, one Irish, and one Scotch regiment;
so that it was old England, ould Ireland, and Scotland for ever!
THE GALLANT UNION BRIGADE.
"In spurs and out sabres, now bend to your labours, Inniskilling and
gallant Scots Greys,
Full oft, too, in the light you aforetime stood neighbours, but
ne'er in more desperate fray;
The Fourth Royal Irish are hard on your track, with the Fifth
Dragoon Guards by their side,
And the gallant First Royals that never showed back, nor found foe
that their onset defied.
On they dash, boot to boot, bend to bend, and blade to blade;
What care they for the numbers against them arrayed.
In pell-mell on the foe, like a bolt from a bow,
With a cheer loud and clear as a trumpet they go;
Through a line twice their length, and ten deep for their one,
They have passed like a blast; but their work is not done:
Fresh squadrons close round them--'tis one man to three,
Out-flanked and out-numbered, what rescue may be?
Hurrah! the Dragoons and the Royals so true,
They'll finish what work you have left them to do:
Soon they clear all the rear with the swathes of their blades,
And that shout tells the rout of the Russian Brigade!"
THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.
But we now come to where someone had blundered. The light cavalry had
stood and witnessed the heroic deeds of their comrades, the heavies. Had
we had an Uxbridge, a Cotton, or a Le Marchant at the head of our
cavalry, not many of the enemy's heavy column, which had just received
such a mauling from the heavy brigade, would have rejoined their
comrades. The light cavalry would have been let go at the right time and
place, and the enemy would have paid a much heavier price for a peep at
Balaclava. The noble Six Hundred had not to wait much longer. They were
all on the look-out for something. It comes at last. A most dashing
soldier, the late Captain Nolan, rode at full speed from Lord Raglan
with a written order to the commander of our cavalry, the late Lord
Lucan. The order ran thus:--
"Lord Raglan wishes the cavalry to advance to the front, and
try to prevent the enemy carrying away the guns. Troop of
horse artillery may accompany. French cavalry is on your
left. Immediate.
(Signed) "R. AIREY."
Anyone without a military eye will be able to see at a glance that it
was _our guns_ (from which the Turks had run away), our commander wished
the cavalry to re-take from the enemy. It could have been done without
much loss, as Gen. Sir G. Cathcart was close at hand with his division.
The honest facts are these: The intrepid Nolan delivered the order to
Lord Lucan for the cavalry to attack "immediately." Mind this was not
the first order our commander had sent to the commander of our cavalry.
The former order ran thus:
"Cavalry to advance and take advantage of any opportunity to recover the
heights; they will be supported by the infantry, which have been ordered
to advance on two fronts."
What heights? Why, the heights on which our spiked guns are, that the
Turks had bolted from. It must have been very amazing to our commander
that his orders had not been obeyed, although some thirty-five precious
minutes had elapsed. From the high ground he could see that the enemy
were about to take our seven guns away in triumph, hence the order
"immediately." The commander of our cavalry evidently lost his balance
with the gallant Nolan, as we find from authentic works upon the war.
Lord Lucan, who was irritable, to say the least of it, said to Nolan,
"Attack, sir, attack what? What guns, sir?" "Lord Raglan's orders," he
replied, "are that the cavalry should attack immediately." Nolan, a
hot-blooded son of the Green Isle, could not stand to be snapped at any
longer, and he added, "There, my Lord, is your enemy and there are your
guns." The order was misconstrued, and the noble Six Hundred were
launched into the valley of death. Poor Captain Nolan was the first that
fell. But they and he shall live renowned in story.
Thus far I had been an eye-witness of one of the noblest feats of arms
that ever was seen upon a battle-field. It spoke volumes to the rising
generation. Go and do likewise. Never say die. A brave man can die but
once, but a cowardly sneak all his life long. It told the enemy plainly
the metal our cavalry were made of. They said that we were red devils at
the Alma; it must be acknowledged that they got well lathered then, and
now the Union Brigade of heavy horse had shaved them very roughly. As
for the Light Brigade, with sickness, disease, a strong escort for our
commander-in-chief, and mounted orderlies for the different generals, it
hardly mustered the strength of one regiment on an Indian footing. There
was a lot of excitement on the hill-side when we found the Light Brigade
was advancing, first at a steady trot, then they broke into a gallop.
Their noble leader, the Earl of Cardigan, might well say, "Here goes the
last of the Cardigans!" Some one (an officer) said, "What on earth are
they going to do? Surely they are not going to charge the whole Russian
army? It's madness." But, madness or not, they were simply obeying an
order. And this noble band pressed on towards the enemy, sweeping down
the valley at a terrific pace in all the pride of manhood. Every man's
heart on that hill-side beat high. "They are lost! they are lost!" burst
from more than one spectator. The enemy's guns, right, left, and front,
opened upon this devoted band. A heavy musketry fire was likewise
opened; but still they pressed on. The field was soon strewn with the
dead and wounded. It was a terrible sight to have to stand and witness,
without the power of helping them. The excitement was beyond my pen to
express. Big briny tears gushed down more than one man's face that had
resolutely stormed the Alma. To stand and see their countrymen rushing
at a fearful pace right into the jaws of death was a most exciting scene
to stand and witness. The field was now covered with the wreck of men
and horses. They at last reached the smoke. Now and then we could hear
the distant cheer and see their swords gleaming above the smoke, as they
plunged into one of the terrible batteries that had swept their comrades
down. An officer very kindly lent me his field glass for a short time.
The field presented a ghastly sight, with the unnatural enemy hacking at
the wounded; some trying to drag their mangled bodies from the awful
cross-fires, but a few escaped the bloodthirsty Cossack's lance. We
could see the enemy formed up to cut off all retreat; but it was now do
or die. In our fellows went, with a ringing cheer, and cut a road
through them; and now to our horror, the brutish enemy opened their guns
with grape upon friend and foe, thus involving all in one common ruin,
and the guns again opened on their flanks. It was almost miraculous how
any of that noble band escaped. Our gallant allies, the French, had
witnessed the heroic deeds of the Light Brigade, and now the Chasseurs
went at the enemy in a most dashing manner to help to rescue the remains
of such a noble band. The chivalrous conduct of our allies, the French,
on this field will always be remembered with gratitude; they had ten
killed and twenty-eight wounded. The loss sustained by the Light Brigade
will be found in the table of losses. This was the only field on which
our cavalry were engaged during the campaign. At the Alma, a few
squadrons were on the field, but not engaged. At Inkermann a portion of
the cavalry were formed up; they then would have had a chance if the
enemy had broken through the infantry. As far as the siege was
concerned, they only did the looking-on part. Our gallant allies, the
French, admired much the conduct of our cavalry, both heavy and light.
General Bosquet said that the charge of the heavies was sublime; that of
the Light Brigade was splendid; "but it was not war." We have not the
slightest hesitation in asserting that the Light Brigade was sacrificed
by a blunder. It is but little use trying to lay the blame on the
shoulders of poor Captain Nolan; had he lived the cavalry would have
gone at our guns and re-captured them, or had a good try for it. It was
Lord Lucan, and no one else, that ordered the charge. To say the least
of it, it was a misconception of an order. But I am confident that Old
England will long honour the memory of the noble Six Hundred.
THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league, onward,
All in the Valley of Death,
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the Valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not though the soldiers knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Their's not to make reply;
Their's not to reason why;
Their's but to do and die:
Into the Valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode, and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell,
Rode the six hundred.
Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd;
Plung'd in the battery-smoke,
Right through the line they broke,
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke,
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not--
Not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well,
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them--
Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
Oh, the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made,
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
_Alfred, Lord Tennyson._
My readers will please remember that my party was unarmed, hence my
keeping out of harm's way. Had we been armed, I should most likely have
gone down the hill at the double, and formed up on the left of the thin
red line--the 93rd Highlanders. Shortly after the sanguinary charge of
the Light Brigade I moved forward as fast as I could. On arriving at
Balaclava I found the stores closed up, and the Assistant
Quartermaster-General ordered me to take my party on to the field, to
assist in removing the wounded, as far as it lay in my power. Off I went
at once. I found the cavalry still formed up. The Light Brigade were but
a clump of men! Noble fellows, they were few, but fearless still. I was
not allowed to proceed further for some time, and I had the unspeakable
pleasure of grasping more than one hand of that noble brigade. There was
no mistaking their proud look as they gave me the right hand of
fellowship. A sergeant of the old Cherry Pickers, who knew me well, gave
me a warm shake of the hand, remarking, "Ah! my old Fusilier, I told you
a week ago we would have something to talk about before long." "But," I
replied, "has there not been some mistake?" He said, "It cannot be
helped now; we have tried to do our part. It will all cone out some
day." My men carried a number of the Heavies from the field to the
hospitals; then I got my store of priceless blankets, and off we plodded
through the mud back to camp. We had something to talk about on our way
home. Our gallant allies, the French, were in high glee, they could
hardly control themselves. As soon as they caught sight of us, they
commenced to shout "_Bon Anglais, Bon Anglais!_" and so it continued
until I reached our camp. But exciting and startling events now rapidly
succeeded each other: the victorious cavalry had hardly sheathed their
swords, after their conflict with the enemy, when about ten thousand,
almost maddened with drink and religious enthusiasm, took another peep
at our camp next day, supported by some thirty guns. They were driven
back into the town quicker than they came out. This was afterwards
called Little Inkermann, and was a stiff fight while it lasted.
But it was such desperate deeds as we are recounting that brought out
the material that has built up this vast and glorious old Empire, the
home of the undefeated race of happy men; this "beautiful isle of the
sea," which is, so to speak, the citadel of an empire such as the world
has never before seen. It is five times as large as that under Darius,
four times the size of that which owned the sway of ancient Rome,
sixteen times greater than France, forty times greater than united
Germany, three times larger than the United States. Australia alone is
nearly as large as the States. India has 1,250,000 square miles, Canada
600,000 square miles. Our empire has nearly 9,500,000 sq. miles, with a
population of 310,000,000. And this has been built up by such
indomitable pluck as that displayed at Albuera, Assaye, Balaclava,
Delhi, Ferozeshah, Inkermann, Plassey, Pyrenees, Salamanca, Trafalgar,
Vittoria, Waterloo, and scores of other fields, by the sons of Albion,
side by side the undaunted sons of the Green Isle. I have not the
slightest hesitation in asserting that the English-speaking nation will
be the universal nation. We have for many years past been compelled to
send our children away to make room in this tight little isle. The vast
continent of North America is peopled from the stout old loins of this
God-defended isle. Our language is already spoken in more than half the
civilised world. All we want is unity with the English-speaking race,
and we have nothing to fear.
THE NOBLE SIX HUNDRED.
The wind of dawn is breathing, the mists of night are wreathing
Up from the valley in white swathes, the mountain range is sheathing;
Watch-fires are burning dimly, hill batteries frowning grimly.
Troop horses in the plain below at their pickets tethered trimly.
When in with hot haste riding, our out-pickets bring tidings
That the Russians within the eastern gorge were hiding:
"Boot and saddle" and _reveillé_ in the cool clear air, ring gaily,
And horse and foot are forming, all eager for the melée.
Would to God that gallant charge had closed the bloody day,
Then clear of blame had shown the fame of Balaclava's fray;
But who is there with patient tongue the sorry tale to tell?
How our Light Brigade, true martyrs, to the point of honour fell.
'Twas "sublime," but 'twas not warfare, that charge of woe and wrack,
That led six hundred to the guns and brought two hundred back.
Enough, the order came to charge, and charge they did like men,
Whilst shot and shell and rifle-ball played on them down the glen.
Though thirty guns were ranged in front, not one e'en bated breath,
Unfaltering, unflinching, they rode upon their death;
Nor by five times their numbers of all arms could they be stayed,
And with two lines for one of ours, e'en then the Russians paid.
Till torn with shot and rent with shell, a spent and bleeding few,
Life worn against those fearful odds from the grapple they withdrew;
But still like wounded lions their faces to the foe,
More conquerors than conquered, they fall back stern and slow.
With dinted arms and wearied steeds, all bruised and soiled and torn,
Is this the wreck of all that rode so bravely out that morn?
Where thirty answered muster at dawn now answered ten,
Ah! woe's me for such officers, woe's me for such men.
Whose was the blame? name not his name, but rather seek to hide.
If he live leave him to conscience, to God if he have died.
But for you, brave band of heroes, your country knows you well;
It asks not to what purpose, it knows but how you fell.
MILITARY HEROISM.
To overcome in battle, and subdue
Nations, and bring home spoils with infinite
Manslaughter, shall be held the highest pitch
Of human glory, and for glory done
Of triumph, to be styled great conquerors,
Patrons of mankind, gods, and sons of gods!
Destroyers rightlier call'd, and plagues of men!
_Milton._
Well, reader, the charge of our Light Brigade at Balaclava, backed up by
that of the Heavies, will not die; it will be remembered when the bones
of those who there sustained the honour of our Island lie rotting in the
tomb!
LITTLE INKERMANN.
But I have something else in store. Our turn came next day, 26th
October--Little Inkermann, as our men named it. About mid-day the enemy
came out of the town in very strong columns, and attacked us just to the
right of the Victoria Redoubt; the fighting was of a very severe nature.
The 2nd Division, under Sir De Lacy Evans, received them first; and a
part of the Light Division had a hand in it. The enemy made cock-sure of
beating us and brought trenching tools with them, but were again doomed
to be disappointed. We were hardly prepared for them; but soon collected
ourselves, and closed upon them with the bayonet, when, after some hard
fighting, they were hurled from the field. They paid dearly for a peep
at our camp, leaving close upon 1000 dead and wounded. They retired much
quicker than they came, with our heavy guns sweeping them down by
scores, and cutting lanes through their columns. Our Artillery on this
occasion did great execution, whilst a continuous rain of Minie rifle
balls mowed their ranks like grass, and for the finishing stroke they
got that nasty "piece of cold steel;" our huge Lancaster guns simply
killed the enemy by wholesale. General Bosquet kindly offered
assistance, but the reply of our commander was, "Thank you, General, the
enemy are already defeated, and too happy to leave the field to me."
The attack of the 26th was nothing more nor less than a reconnaissance
in force, preparatory to the memorable battle of Inkermann; but it cost
them heavily, while we also lost a large number of men. On this field
the brutal enemy distinguished themselves by bayoneting all our wounded
that the picquets were compelled to leave behind in falling back for a
short distance. The stand made by the picquets of the 30th, 55th, and
95th on our right was grand, for they retired disputing every stone and
bush that lay in their way. The following morning our commander, under a
flag of truce, reminded the Russian chief that he was at war with
Christian nations, and requested him to take steps to respect the
wounded, in accordance with humanity and the laws of civilized nations.
Nevertheless, the remonstrance did not stop their brutality. A few days
later, on the memorable field of Inkermann, the Russians murdered almost
every wounded man who had the misfortune to fall into their hands.
Whilst the picquets were holding on with desperation, the Royal
Fusiliers and portions of the Royal Welsh, 33rd Duke's Own, and 2nd
battalion Rifle Brigade, went with all speed to the five-gun battery, to
reinforce our picquets there, and a portion of us were directed to the
slopes of the White-house ravine. We had just got into position when we
observed one of the enemy retiring towards Sebastopol with a tunic on
the muzzle of his rifle belonging to one of the Fusiliers, who was on
fatigue in the ravine cutting wood when the attack commenced. Having
nothing to defend himself with, he had to show his heels. One of the
Rifle Brigade at once dashed off shouting that the tunic should not go
into the town. As the Rifleman neared the Russian he turned and brought
his rifle to the present. John Bull immediately did the same. As luck
would have it, neither of them were capped. They closed to box, the
Briton proving the Russian's superior at this game, and knocked him
down, jumping on the top of his antagonist: but the Russian proved the
strongest in this position, and soon had the Rifleman under. We watched
them, but dared not fire. A corporal of the Rifles ran as fast as he
could to assist his comrade, but the Russian drew a short sword and
plunged at our man, and had his hand raised for a second. The corporal
at once dropped on his knee and shot the Russian dead. Our men cheered
them heartily from the heights. They were both made prisoners of by an
officer, and in due course brought before the commander of our forces,
who made all enquiries into the case, and marked his displeasure with
the young officer by presenting £5 to the gallant Rifleman for his
courage in not allowing the red coat to be carried into Sebastopol as a
trophy, and promoted the corporal to sergeant for his presence of mind
in saving the life of his comrade. No end of dare-devil acts like the
above could be quoted, for the enemy always got good interest for
anything which they attempted.
Our numbers were now fast diminishing from sickness and hardship; our
clothing began to get very thin; we had none too much to eat, and plenty
of work, both by night and by day, but there was no murmuring. We had as
yet received no reinforcements; though the enemy had evidently been
strongly reinforced. Day after day passed without anything particular
being done except trench work. Our men went at it with a will--without a
whimper--wet through from morn till night; then lay down in mud with an
empty belly--to get up next morning, perhaps, to go into the trenches
and be peppered at all day; to return to camp like drowned rats, and to
stand to arms half the night.
ACROSTIC ON NAPOLEON.
The following acrostic on Napoleon, told in "Literary
Eccentricities and Curiosities," was composed by a professor
at Dijon, as soon as the entrance of the Allies into that
town had enabled its loyal population to declare in favour
of its legitimate sovereign:--
N ihil fuit;
A ugustus evenit;
P opulos reduxit;
O rbem disturbavit;
L ibertatem oppressit;
E cclesiam distraxit;
O mnia esse voluit;
N ihil erit.
It would be difficult to give a more concise and more
faithful history of Napoleon's whole career. The following
is a translation of the lines--a rough one, it is true; but
it still retains the acrostic characteristic of the
original:--
N aught he was;
A monarch he became;
P eoples he reduced;
O verturned the world;
L iberty he cursed;
E cclesiastics he worried;
O mnipotent he wished to be;
N aught he shall be.
The following letter was written from the
Camp before Sebastopol,
October 27th, 1854.
My Dear Parents,
Long before this reaches you, you will have heard that our
bombardment has proved a total failure; if anything, we got
the worst of it. The French guns were nearly all silenced,
but our Allies stuck to us well. But you will have heard
that we have thrashed the enemy again, on two different
fields. On the 25th inst., they attacked our position at
Balaclava, and the people that we are fighting for (the
Turks,) bolted, and let them take our guns. Our cavalry got
at them--it was a grand sight, in particular the charge of
the Heavy Brigade, for they went at them more like madmen
than anything that I can explain; the Greys and Enniskillens
(one a Scotch and the other an Irish regiment) went at them
first, and they did it manfully. They rode right through
them, as if they'd been a lot of old women, it was a most
exciting scene. I hear that the Light cavalry have been cut
to pieces, particularly the 11th Hussars and the 17th
Lancers. The rumour in camp is that someone has been
blundering, and that the Light Cavalry charge was all a
mistake; the truth will come out some day. The mauling that
our Heavy Cavalry gave the enemy they will not forget for a
day or two. I was not engaged in fighting, but simply going
down to Balaclava on fatigue. You will most likely see a
full account of the fight in the papers, and I feel that you
will be more interested in our fight, which we had yesterday
(the 26th.) What name they are going to give it, I do not
know. It lasted about an hour-and-a-half, but it was very
sharp. The 2nd and Light Divisions had the honour of giving
them a good thrashing, and I do not think they will try
their hands at it again for a little while. We had not much
to do with it; it was the 30th, 41st, 49th, and 95th that
were particularly engaged, and they gave it them properly.
We supported them; the field was covered with their dead and
wounded--our Artillery simply mowed them down by wholesale.
The Guards came up to our assistance, but they were not
engaged more than they were at Balaclava. We charged them
right to the town. I heard some of our officers say they
believed we could have gone into the town with them; but our
noble old commander knew well what he was about. I mean Sir
De Lacy Evans, for he commanded the field. You must excuse
this scrawl, as I must be off; I am for the trenches to
night. It is raining in torrents, so we are not likely to be
short of water; but I am as hungry as a hunter. Don't be
uneasy; thank God I am quite well, and we must make the best
of a bad job. As long as we manage to thrash them every time
we meet them, the people at home must not grumble--while
they can sit by their firesides and smoke their pipes, and
say we've beat them again. We begin to get old hands at this
work now. It is getting very cold, and the sooner we get at
the town and take it, the better. It is immensely strong,
and looks an ugly place to take, but we will manage it some
day. The enemy fight well behind stone walls, but let us get
at them, and I will be bound to say, that we will do the
fighting as well as our forefathers did under Nelson and
Wellington. Bye-the-bye, our sailors who man our heavy guns,
are a tough and jolly set of fellows. I shall not finish
this letter until I come off duty.
October 29th.
Well, I've got back to camp again. We have had a rough
twenty-four hours of it; it rained nearly the whole time.
The enemy kept pitching shell into us nearly all night, and
it took us all our time to dodge their Whistling Dicks
(huge shell), as our men have named them. We were standing
nearly up to our knees in mud and water, like a lot of
drowned rats, nearly all night; the cold bleak wind cutting
through our thin clothing (that is now getting very thin and
full of holes, and nothing to mend it with.) This is ten
times worse than all the fighting. We have not one ounce too
much to eat, and, altogether, there is a dull prospect
before us. But our men keep their spirits up well, although
we are nearly worked to death night and day. We cannot move
without sinking nearly to our ankles in mud. The tents we
have to sleep in are full of holes; and there is nothing but
mud to lie down in, or scrape it away with our hands the
best we can--and soaked to the skin from morning to night
(so much for honour and glory). I suppose we shall have
leather medals for this one day--I mean those who have the
good fortune to escape the shot and shell of the enemy, and
the pestilence that surrounds us. I will write as often as I
can; and if I do not meet you any more in this world, I hope
to meet you in a far brighter one. Dear mother, now that I
am face to face with death, almost every day, I think of
some of my wild boyish tricks, and hope you will forgive me;
and if the Lord protects me through this, I will try and be
a comfort to you in your declining days. Good bye, kind and
best of mothers. I must conclude now. Try and keep up your
spirits--
And believe me ever
Your affectionate son,
T. GOWING,
Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
A mother's love--how sweet the name,
What is a mother's love?
A noble, pure, and tender flame
Enkindled from above,
To bless a heart of earthly mould;
The warmest love that can grow cold,--
This is a mother's love.
_James Montgomery._
* * * * *
"The gates of mercy shall be all shut up:
And the fleshed soldier,--rough and hard of heart,--
In liberty of bloody hand, shall range
With conscience wide as hell: mowing like grass
Your fresh fair virgins and your flowering infants."
_Shakespeare._
THE BATTLE OF INKERMANN.
On the morning of the 5th November the enemy attacked us in our trenches
in broad daylight. Our heavy guns gave it them prettily, and mowed down
their dense columns by wholesale; but still they came on, until they
felt the bayonet. Then, after some stiff fighting, which lasted more
than an hour, they were compelled to beat a hasty retreat, our heavy
guns sweeping lanes through them, and we plying them with musketry both
in front and flank. We found they could run well, only too glad to get
under cover. A sortie has no chance of success unless the besieging army
can be taken by surprise; but no doubt this attack was made in order to
distract our commander's attention from the vital point.
The ever-memorable battle was then raging on our right rear, and by the
shouts of the combatants and the tremendous firing, we knew that
something very serious was going on, so as many of us as the General
could spare were ordered to march as fast as our legs could carry us to
the assistance of our comrades, then at the dreadful fight raging at
Inkermann. As we had just drubbed the enemy terribly, our blood was up,
but we were hungry: many of us had had nothing to eat for twenty-four
hours, and were wet through to the skin. They say an Englishman will not
fight unless his belly is full; that's all bosh: let him once be roused,
and you will soon see whether he will or not. Well, to the field we
went, and the sights were something horrible, but there was not a
desponding voice; the fog was so dense that at times we could not see
twenty yards. Our men were falling very fast, for the enemy were in
overwhelming strength, particularly in guns. But it is impossible to
disguise the fact that the crafty Muscovites in the darkness and fog had
stolen a march upon our commanders; that the Allies were taken
completely by surprise; and that only the intrepidity of the picquets
of the Light and Second Divisions saved the entire Allied Armies from an
overwhelming disaster. We can now say without boasting that the heroic
conduct of a mere handful of Britons were, and are to this day, the
admiration of all. The determined rushes of the Muscovites were hurled
back time after time. Their princes boasted that they would drive us all
into the sea. So they would, perhaps, if weight of numbers could have
done it; but that nasty piece of cold steel stood in the way. At this
critical moment the startling intrepidity of the sons of Albion, side by
side with the heroic boys of the green isle, came out in all its native
splendour, to shine by the side with that displayed at Trafalgar,
Albuera, and Waterloo. Their deeds are to-day stimulating their
descendants on the banks of the Nile, and will do till the end of time,
or as long as we have an enemy to face, whether they are to be found on
the burning plains of Egypt or the frontiers of Afghanistan. The queen
of weapons was used with deadly effect, the drunken massive columns of
the enemy were pitched over the rocks by men who might die but never
surrender, and who had a strong objection to a watery grave. Our highest
martial interest, honour, was at stake; but, reader, it was safe withal,
from our much-respected Commander-in-Chief to the drummer-boy. They had
all made up their minds to conquer or to die. Children yet unborn will
exclaim "all honour to that band of heroes." The odds were heavy, but
from the brutes we had to face we had no mercy to expect. Our Fourth
Division--composed of the following regiments, the 20th, 21st, 57th,
63rd, 68th, and 1st Batt. Rifle Brigade, under Cathcart--fought at a
disadvantage, having been armed with the old Brown Bess musket, against
the Needle-Rifle which the enemy were armed with. Our weapons were
almost as much use as a broomstick. Yet with all these disadvantages we
smote the enemy with a terrible slaughter, and there was seen again with
what majesty the British soldier fights. Our loss was heavy: three
generals fell and every mounted officer, but our men fought to the
bitter end, and stood triumphant on the rocky ridge, cheering for
victory--the unconquerable heroism of the handful of men we knew would
set the church-bells of old England ringing and clashing for victory,
and give schoolboys a holiday. All regiments vied with each other, as
the following will prove:--At the Alma and Balaclava we had fought for
victory; but at the fight that was now raging, a mere handful of Britons
were contending for very existence, for to be beaten here meant an
ignominious death at the hands of a lot of fierce brutes, mad with
drink--Dutch courage had to be poured into them to make them face our
ranks. The drunken yells of their massive columns were answered by
volley after volley at point-blank range, and then, with a clear and
distinct cheer for old England, we closed upon them with the bayonet,
and stuck to them like wax until they were hurled from the field. We had
no supports or reserves, but every man, as fast as he could reach the
field, went straight at them, with a shout that seemed to strike terror
into them; and so the fight went on, hour after hour. In many parts of
the field it was a horde of half-drunken madmen attacking cool and
collected Britons, determined to conquer or die. Our Guards were the
admiration of the whole army; their deeds at Inkermann will never fade.
Led by His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge, they repeatedly buried
themselves in the Russian columns, as cheer after cheer went up in
defiance to the enemy's unnatural yell. The Guards, all must admit, set
a glorious example, for if they had to die, they acted upon the old 57th
motto, "Let us die hard." The daring, courage, and obstinacy of our
Guards was grand; the terrible odds that they faced on this field puts
Hougoumont in the shade, and ranks beside the unconquerable heroes of
Albuera, fully justifying their high prestige in the army.
[Illustration: THE BATTLE OF INKERMANN.
_The memorable foggy morning, 5th November, 1854._]
Some who read this may think that I am an old Guardsman--so I am; I had
the pleasure of guarding the honour of our beloved Isle, in the 7th
Royal Fusiliers. But, I wish to give honour where honour is due. The
7th, however, were not behind when hard fighting had to be done. One of
our Majors--a Norfolk hero--Sir Thomas Troubridge, although he had both
his feet shot away, would not give in, neither would he allow himself to
be carried off the field, but continued fighting to the end. When he was
lying apparently bleeding to death, with both his stumps resting upon a
gun-carriage, he called upon us to "shift those fellows with the
bayonet," animating us by voice and gesture. Although the poor man could
not lead us, he could cheer us on. And on we went with an irresistible
rush, and routed them then and there. On one occasion after he was
wounded, he called upon us not to forget our bayonets, adding, "They
don't like cold steel, men." Neither did I. It was here that I received
two bayonet wounds, one in each thigh, and would most likely have been
despatched, but that help was close at hand, and the fellows who wounded
me fell at once by the same description of weapon, but not to rise again
and write or talk about it. Revolvers and bayonets told heavily that
foggy morn, and when our men were short of ammunition, they pitched
stones at the enemy. My legs were quickly bandaged, and after giving the
enemy a few parting shots at close quarters, which must have told upon
their crowded ranks, I managed to hobble off the field, using my rifle
and another I picked up as crutches. We could spare none to look after
the wounded; it was every man for himself. After hobbling some distance
out of the range of fire, I lay down, for I could get no further without
a little rest. Our allies, the French, were then coming up to our
assistance in a right mood for fighting. The Zouaves passed me with a
ringing cheer of "Bon Anglais" and "Vive l'Empereur," repeated over and
over again. A mounted officer of rank, who was with them, stopped and
asked me a number of questions in good English. He turned and spoke to
his men, and they cheered me in a most lusty manner. The officer kindly
gave me a drink out of his flask, which revived me considerably, and
then, with a hearty shake of the hand, bade me good-bye, and passed on
into action, shouting out something about the enemy walking over his
body before he would surrender. Thus was Waterloo and Trafalgar avenged,
by the descendants of the vanquished advancing with rapid strides and a
light heart, but with a strong arm, to assist the sons of Albion in one
of the most unequal and bloody contests ever waged. Let us hope that the
blood then spilt may have cemented for ever the friendship between the
two nations who are so near neighbours. The French fought in a most
dashing manner, side by side with us, till the enemy were driven from
the field. The Russian officers fought with desperation, though their
men hung back unless almost driven to it. But the reader must remember
our men and the Zouaves plied the queen of weapons with terrible effect,
and all met the enemy with an unconquerable energy, while we often
stimulated each other by asking--what would they say of us in England?
But I could do no more; I had done all I could, and now had to remain
and take my chance of being killed by a stray shot. It was hard work to
lie there for upwards of an hour-and-a-half in suspense. I felt as if I
should like to be at them, for a little satisfaction; but I had to lie
passive.
I am proud to record that no regiment on that memorable field could take
the shine out of the gallant old 7th Fusiliers. I lay on the field
bleeding, when I heard the welcome shout of victory; I was shortly
afterwards attended to, and carried to hospital, there remained for a
day or two, and was then sent on to Malta, to be patched up ready for
another go in at them.
I saw Inkermann's Heights on that memorable foggy morn,
A name now respected by Britons not then born;
The odds were seven to one, there was no desponding cry,
But, remember the Heights of Alma, we conquer or we die.
The enemy's loss was exceedingly heavy; twenty thousand men is the
estimated loss of the Russians, in their endeavours to take the Heights
of Inkermann on that memorable Sunday, 5th November, 1854. The carnage
was something frightful, as our close point-blank fire had told heavily
upon the enemy's columns. Our total strength on the field was about nine
thousand, upwards of one third of whom fell killed or wounded; while of
the six thousand French who came to help us, they lost seventeen
hundred. But the enemy were completely routed, and England confessed
that every man that foggy morn had done his duty. We had been fighting
against heavy odds, and men armed with as good weapons as ourselves,
while they were wrought up to a state of madness or desperation with
drink.
Inkermann will not admit of much description, particularly from one who
was in the thick of it. The fighting all day on that awful Sabbath was
of a furious character. The bayonet was the chief weapon, and the Minie
rifle balls told heavily upon the crowded ranks. To sum it up in a few
words, every man had to, and did fight, as Britons ought to do when the
honour of the nation is at stake. The best of Generals might have lost
such a fight as Inkermann,--none could direct, for the fog was so dense
that one could not see, at times, twenty yards. On came the Russian
columns, but they had to go back time after time much quicker than they
came.
The bayonet was used with terrible effect by all regiments. The enemy,
driven on by their brave officers, had to and did literally climb over
the heaps of their slain countrymen and ours, to renew this
bloodthirsty contest, but they were met by British cold steel, and were
hurled or pitchforked from the field. We might appropriately say of a
number of the brave men who fell on that field in the hour of victory--
That nothing in their life
Became 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. The 41st 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 a slaughter-house 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 to speak,
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 good
Their 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 taken to 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 was horrible to look upon. Scarcely did any field in the
whole Peninsula 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 the
field 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 la
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