I was now well able to take my walks abroad and have a good look at all the sights and scenes of Malta, and there are some grand sights to be seen—the Church of St. John, I suppose, is one of the grandest in the world. Then I used to wander around the vast fortifications day after day. Accounts kept coming in from the seat of war. We heard that our poor fellows were dying fast of starvation and cold; death was, in fact, raging through the camp at a fearful pace, and yet our men stuck to it. From letters I received from the front, it appeared the storm that had struck the Crimea had swept away nearly all our poor fellows’ tents, and they had to get into caves in the rocks, and do the best they could on that terrible 14th November, 1854. The ship “Prince,” with winter clothing for the whole army, had gone down just outside the harbour of Balaclava—all hands perished; and a number of other ships shared the same fate. The cold was something terrible, men were frost-bitten, daily losing fingers and toes, and undergoing such sufferings as no tongue or pen can describe. In December, 1854, and January and February, 1855, our poor fellows were dying like rotten sheep for want of the common necessaries of life—they had little or no food, hardly sufficient clothing to cover their nakedness, the tents were full of holes, and they had nothing but mud to lay their weary bones in, with the thermometer far below freezing point. Then, too, they often had to fight with desperation to hold their own. So, upon the whole, there was not a very bright prospect before me.
Regiments and drafts kept passing on for the front, and I was longing to have a slap at them once more, just by way of getting out of debt; so, towards the end of February, 1855, after I had made some splendid purchases in the way of good blankets, 2 dozen good flannel shirts, 2 dozen ditto drawers, 2 dozen warm gloves for my comrades, a good supply of flannels for myself, and a brace of revolvers, off I went once more to fight for Old England, home, and glory. These facts were communicated to my parents, in the following letter:—
Malta, Feb. 11th, 1855.
My Dear Parents,
I do not think I shall be here much longer. A number of us are ready for them again, and I have a debt to pay off, but at your request will not run my head into danger more than I can avoid; but I hope the Lord will give me strength of mind and of body to do my duty; for, father, I do believe I am a true-born Suffolk man, for I could not bear the thought of skulking. If ever I fall, I hope it will be with my face to the foe, and that after I have got out of debt—for I should not like to owe them anything. I never yet told you that two of them came at me at Inkermann, and that was not fair, taking into consideration they could see that I was engaged at the time with a huge monster. Never mind; thank God I have got over that, and am ready for them again. I hope my next letter will be from the interior of Sebastopol. The French appear to mean business; hardly a day passes but ships laden with them put in here for coal. A number of their Imperial Guards landed here a few days ago. There were four or five of us out for a walk; and when it was explained to them that we had all been at the Alma, and were wounded at Inkermann, you would have thought they had gone mad; they embraced and kissed us over and over again, and shouted ‘Bon Anglais, Bon Anglais!’ and ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ until further orders. I thought it was a great pity we did not understand each other—we had two interpreters—and I can tell you that they had quite enough of it; but as far as I could see, the very name of Inkermann was enough for three or four cuddles; and although I did not like to be kissed by a man, I had to put up with it. They are fine looking men; a great many of them are much taller than I am (six feet), and, if they get a chance, will most likely leave their mark upon the Russians. At all events, they will soon have a peep at them, and will find them ugly customers to deal with. Well, we parted with our friends on the best of terms, but we had to put up with another good squeeze. I must tell you I have been marketing. I have bought all sorts of warm clothing for my comrades, for I find it is needed: they found the cash. I have got a good revolver for myself, and am off to-morrow. I do not wish to boast; but, come what will, I will never bring disgrace upon our old county—dear old Suffolk, that gave me birth—or upon Norfolk, that brought me up. Remember, dear father, Norfolk can boast of Nelson.[2] Keep up your spirits, dear parents; all’s well that ends well. Will write as soon as I can. Good bye, and God bless you.
Believe me, as ever,
Your affectionate son,
T. GOWING, Sergeant,
Royal Fusiliers.
We had a jolly time of it all the way up, plenty of the good things of this life on board. What a difference! what a contrast to the voyage down! We had forgotten all our pains and sorrows, and were once more on the way to assist our comrades in subduing the haughty Muscovites. We knew well that in all probability few of us would ever see our dear old home again, or those who were near and dear to us. But we had to look stern necessity in the face. It was a call to duty that we were obeying, and for “England’s home and beauty” we would go forward, let the consequences be what they might. Many an aching mother’s heart was following our every movement. The scenes that we had already passed through were enough to melt more than one Absolom’s heart, and set him thinking, first, of an endless eternity, and then of a fond and almost broken-hearted mother at home. But duty, stern duty, must be done, and done well, “for England expects that every man will in the hour of need do his duty.” It was still very cold, but we had plenty of clothing and wanted for nothing. We had some splendid sights going through the Dardanelles. Constantinople looked grand; but we were not allowed to disembark, though we stayed there for a time to take in coal; then away we went. We met some of our poor fellows coming from the front. We found the Black Sea very rough, in fact, rolling mountains high, but our gallant old ship dashed on; we had another in tow, but lost her—the cable broke in the night, and she had to look out for herself. We reached the snug little harbour of Balaclava on the morning of the 8th March, 1855, and, as usual, found it crammed with shipping. We had to remain outside, until our Captain obtained permission to enter, then in we went and landed; at once marching to the front to the old Light Division, and I again found myself in the midst of old chums—but what an alteration! Poor half-starved miserable-looking creatures, mere wrecks of humanity, but still with that unconquerable look about them, so that it was a pleasure to do anything for them. I had a treat in store for my company. I asked and obtained leave to go to Balaclava the following day, telling the Captain what I had brought for the men. I took six men with me and loaded them with some of the good things I had purchased, and away we went back again. We had to plough through mud nearly all the way up to our ankles; and when I came to open the packages and distribute the goods, I got many a “God bless you, Sergeant.” A flannel shirt and drawers were worth their weight in gold. I did not lose a man out of my tent after I rejoined, except from the enemy’s fire; the flannel kept the cold out; the men were always cheerful and I could do anything I liked with them—they were a brave set of fellows. Let our men have but fair treatment, and I have not the slightest hesitation in saying, that they would, if well officered, shake the biggest bullies on the Continent out of their boots, and chase them off any field.
The loss of the Prince, on the evening of the 14th November, 1854, just outside the harbour of Balaclava, was the cause of thousands of poor fellows coming to an untimely end; for, in addition to an enormous supply of everything that could be thought of to combat the foe with, such as small-arm ammunition, shot and shell of all sizes, &c., she had on board for the army the following:—