Читать книгу A Soldier's Experience; or, A Voice from the Ranks - T. Gowing - Страница 10

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 diarrhœa; 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.

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!

PLAN OF THE HEAVY CAVALRY CHARGE.

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 Minié 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:—

Naught 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