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!