Willie, fold your little hands;[1]
Let it drop—that "soldier" toy;
Look where father's picture stands—
Father, that here kissed his boy
Not a month since—father kind,
Who this night may—(never mind
Mother's sob, my Willie dear)
Cry out loud that He may hear
Who is God of battles—cry,
"God keep father safe this day
By the Alma River!"
Ask no more, child. Never heed
Either Russ, or Frank, or Turk;
Right of nations, trampled creed,
Chance-poised victory's bloody work;
Any flag i' the wind may roll
On thy heights, Sevastopol!
Willie, all to you and me
Is that spot, whate'er it be,
Where he stands—no other word—
Stands—God sure the child's prayers heard—
Near the Alma River.
Willie, listen to the bells
Ringing in the town to-day;
That's for victory. No knell swells
For the many swept away—
Hundreds, thousands. Let us weep,
We, who need not—just to keep
Reason clear in thought and brain
Till the morning comes again;
Till the third dread morning tell
Who they were that fought and—fell
By the Alma River.
Come, we'll lay us down, my child;
Poor the bed is—poor and hard;
But thy father, far exiled,
Sleeps upon the open sward,
Dreaming of us two at home;
Or, beneath the starry dome,
Digs out trenches in the dark,
Where he buries—Willie, mark!
Where he buries those who died
Fighting—fighting at his side—
By the Alma River.
Willie, Willie, go to sleep;
God will help us, O my boy!
He will make the dull hours creep
Faster, and send news of joy;
When I need not shrink to meet
Those great placards in the street,
That for weeks will ghastly stare
In some eyes—child, say that prayer
Once again—a different one—
Say "O God! Thy will be done,
By the Alma River."
Open your atlas at the map of Russia. Look down toward the bottom, at that part of the great empire which borders on the Euxine or Black Sea; there you will find a small peninsula—it is really almost an island, being surrounded on three sides by water—labeled "Crimea." It is only a part of one of the smallest of Russia's forty-odd provinces, the province of Taurida; yet it is one of the famous places of history, for here, in the years 1854 and 1855, was fought the Crimean War, one of the greatest wars of modern times.
Russia and Turkey have never been good neighbors. They have always been jealous of each other, always quarreling about this or that, the fact being that each is afraid of the other's getting too much land and too much power. In these disputes the other countries of Europe have generally sympathized with Turkey, feeling that Russia had quite enough power, and that if she had more it might be dangerous for all of them. Some day you will read in history about the Eastern Question and the Balance of Power, and will find out just what these meant in the Fifties; but this is all that you need know now, in order to understand what I am going to tell you.
In 1854 Turkey, feeling that Russia was pressing too hard upon her, called upon the other European powers to help her. The result was that England, France, Sardinia (now a part of Italy, but then a separate kingdom), and Turkey made an agreement with one another, and all together declared war upon Russia.
England had been at peace with all the world for forty years, ever since the wars of Napoleon, which were closed by the great victory of Waterloo. The English are a brave race; they had forgotten the horrors of war, and remembered only its glories and its victories; and they sprang to arms as joyously as boys run to a football game. "Sharpen your cutlasses, and the day is ours!" said Sir Charles Napier to his men, just before the British fleet sailed; and this was the feeling all through the country.