I was with Capt. Vicars once more in the trenches before that miserable night, the 22nd March. We had a lot of sickness in the camp, and duty was very heavy for those who could do it. The Old Light Division had been strengthened by the 34th to the 1st Brigade, and the 90th and 97th to the 2nd Brigade; but, with sickness and hardships, they, like ourselves, were not very strong—except in the head.

THE NIGHT ATTACK IN THE TRENCHES, WHEN HEDLEY VICARS FELL,
22nd March, 1855.

A NIGHT ATTACK IN THE TRENCHES.

DEATH OF CAPTAIN VICARS.

That 22nd March was a terrible night to be out in. We were nearly up to our knees in mud and water. It came on to blow and rain as hard as it fairly could. It was as dark as pitch, and in the midst of all—our plight was, I suppose, not bad enough—the enemy came out and attacked us, in both flanks and front. They came on pretending that they were French, and in the dark we could not see them; so that they were right in the midst of us before we could fire a shot. Talk about hard knocks,—they were served out that night as freely as ever they were. It was foot and fist, butt and bayonet, as hard as we could go at it; in fact, they could have it any way they liked: the fighting was desperate. The enemy came on in overwhelming numbers,—there were enough to eat us,—but we stuck to them with a deathlike grip, until they were driven back. We lost both our Officers that night—Capt. the Hon. C. Brown, and a Mr. Henry, who was a fine specimen of a British soldier. The former was killed, and the latter dangerously wounded. The news flew that Captain Vicars had fallen, and the men rushed in the direction in which it was said he was, and literally lifted the enemy from the field with the bayonet. Some of our men’s bayonets were bent like reaping-hooks next morning, which was a clear proof of the vehemence with which we had been at it. My letter will more fully describe that attack. The 97th were wrought up to a state of madness, to think that so kind and good an officer should fall by the hands of such fiends. The enemy were at last sent reeling from the field with our bayonets uncomfortably close to them. It was one of the most desperate attacks the Russians had made since the commencement of the siege, and the slaughter was in proportion; the bayonet was the chief weapon used, and, after poor Capt. Vicars fell, it was used with a will and with a vengeance.

One Russian was caught trying to walk off with one of our small mortars; he was a huge monster, but some ten inches of cold steel, from a man named Pat Martin, stopped his career. Another, a Greek Priest, fired his revolver into our small-arm magazine, but luckily no harm was done. He was at once bayoneted; next morning he was seen to be a powerful fellow. Poor Capt. Vicars was brought into the trench and placed upon a stretcher. He seemed quite cheerful, said he did not think it was much, and hoped soon to be able to go at them again. These were not, perhaps, his exact words, but the substance of them as nearly as I can remember. He was then sent home to camp, but before he had reached it his spirit had fled to him who gave it. He was ready. A faithful soldier of the Cross, he had, from the day it had pleased the Lord to speak peace to him, been always ready to depart to be with Jesus. A noble and brave man, he did not know what fear was as far as the enemy was concerned, but he loved the Lord with all his heart and soul; and, like one of old, was not at all ashamed to stand forth and tell poor sinners what the Lord had done for him. But he is gone to be with Him whom he loved to speak of when on earth.

Her Most Gracious Majesty had lost by that fatal bullet one of Britain’s bravest sons; and all around the spot where poor Vicars had fallen it was evident the bayonet had done some terrible work.[3] The enemy let us alone for the remainder of the night, and next morning there was a flag of truce out. They had paid heavily for their intrusion, for in places they lay in heaps one on the top of the other. We were relieved next morning; and in the evening poor Capt. Vicars was laid in his cold grave, together with other officers. We committed his body to the earth,

And his pure soul unto his Captain, Christ,
Under whose colours he had fought so long.