My Dear Parents,
Long before this can reach you, you will have learnt by the papers the results of the terrible battle of the 16th. In the Valley of the Tchernaya the enemy made a most determined attempt for victory, but the Allies met them at all points, and drove them back with terrific slaughter. I find that the Sardinians fought with desperation, well supported by the French, and backed up by some of our people. The attacking force has been estimated at from 60,000 to 70,000 men of all arms, and 160 guns. The fight lasted all day, and the struggle in various parts of the field has been severe; in fact it has been, on the part of the Russian commander, a grand throw for victory, to try and raise the siege; but as an officer, who saw the whole, told me this morning, they from 9 a.m. had not the slightest chance, that their defeat was inevitable, and that a crushing one. Our cavalry were formed up ready for them, under General Scarlett, but did not go at them; we were under arms all day, or nearly so, but did not advance. The enemy’s loss has been fearful in killed, wounded, and prisoners. I saw some of them, they are fine-looking men, but very dirty; I hear the prisoners amount to about 3,600, exclusive of officers, that is, including wounded and unwounded. The field presents a horrible spectacle; a few of us went down to have a look at it, and it was not the enemy’s fault that some of us did not stop there, for they pitched shot and threw shell right in the midst of us; we were doing all we could to relieve the poor wounded, both friend and foe. The sights all over the field were sickening, and I hope never to see the like again; there lay the ghastly fruits of war, in some places heaps upon heaps; the sight at the Tractor Bridge I shall not forget as long as I live; we spent some two hours on the field, did all we could to relieve the poor wounded, then walked home to camp. I have got two Russian medals I found upon the dead. I found that our friends, the Zouaves, had in some parts of the field handled the enemy very roughly, they had crossed bayonets with them, and they lay locked in each other’s arms dead. I do not think Prince Gortschakoff, with all his boasting, will try his hand against us in the open field, for some time to come; the enemy have not got enough go in them, except they are half maddened with rackie, to face us manfully. What the enemy have lost we do not know exactly, but not much under 10,000 or 12,000, and the result has slightly damped their spirits. Our loss, that is, the French and Sardinians is acknowledged by them to be between 2,000 and 3,000 men, but I believe it must be much more, by the aspect of the field. I believe you will now soon hear something that will set your ears tingling; this town cannot hold out much longer, and we are all ready at our commander’s call to advance shoulder to shoulder with our gallant Allies, and plant our glorious old Standard by the side of the Red, White, and Blue, on the blood-stained walls of this famed fortress. Trusting this will find you all well, pray for me, and
Believe me, my Dear Parents,
Ever your affectionate son,
T. GOWING,
Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers.
P.S.—Thanks for the papers. I see that the eyes of the whole of Europe are upon us; we will give them something to talk about some of these fine mornings, but who will live to tell the tale, only One above knows. Try and keep up your spirits, all’s well that ends well.—T. G.
RUSSIAN ATTACK IN THE TRENCHES.
On the evening of the 30th August, I went into the trenches with a party (and a good strong party it was) of our men—about 200, and a proportion of non-commissioned officers. We were under the command of the late Sir W. W. Turner, then Captain and Brevet-Major. The second in command was Captain Lord Richard Brown. We had, therefore, some capital officers with us, and men will go anywhere with officers upon whom they can rely. We had a good sprinkling of the right sort of stuff with us, old soldiers, or men that had been well tried upon field after field—from the Alma—and we had a few that had smelt powder on many a hard-contested field in India, such as Ferozeshah, Moodkee, Sobraon, and Goojerat—men that well knew how to do their duty, and were no strangers to a musket-ball whistling past their heads, who understood well a live shell in the air, and knew within a little where it was going to drop. One feels much more comfortable with such men than with three times their number who have never smelt powder. The honour of our glorious little isle has been safe in the hands of such men upon many a field. Well, we marched off smoking, as comfortably as if we were going to a pic-nic or garden party, as we had often done before. The only thing that seemed to trouble some was, “Where’s the grog party?” As for the enemy, we knew well that we should most likely make their acquaintance before morning. We found that we were told off, with detachments of the 19th, 23rd, 33rd, 34th, 88th, and 97th, to hold the fourth parallel. There was another trench in front of us, full of men from various regiments. The firing was very heavy all night, or up to about 2 a.m., when all at once the word was given “Stand to! look out!” The enemy with an overwhelming force had attacked our front trench, and had either destroyed or routed our people out of it with the bayonet. I must say that the greater portion of the men in this front trench were recruits, men who had not learnt how to die, but who knew how to run. So much for placing the honour of our flag in the hands of a lot of boys, without mixing them with a good sprinkling of seasoned men. As soon as our poor frightened lads came rushing over the top of our trench our front was clear. Then the 19th, 88th, and 97th, let out an unearthly yell of “Faugh-a-Ballagh,” and at them we went. Not a shot was fired, but the “piece of cold steel” came into play. The enemy fought well; but in the end, with a tremendous cheer for Old England, and another for Ould Ireland, they were fairly pitchforked out of the trench; the open space between that and our front trench, or fifth parallel, being in places well covered with the dead and dying. Captain Vicars had now been dead upwards of five long months, which, under the trying scenes we had passed through, seemed a lifetime. But the 97th had not forgotten that Christian hero, for, above all the din of war and the booming of heavy guns, they could be distinctly heard shouting, “Remember Vicars, boys;” and men could be heard responding with “Yea, boys; give it them.” The enemy was chased back into the town, with a fearful slaughter, by comparatively a handful of Britons. Our loss was trifling, taking into consideration how we had punished the enemy. They went back much quicker than they had advanced, with their spirits slightly damped. Even before they reached the Russian works, their heavy guns opened with grape, thus killing and wounding a number of their own men; for the fire had to pass through their ranks before it reached us. We were not such fools as to stand still and let them mow us down; but, not being able to get at their guns, we got back as quickly as we could under cover. Next morning we found the dead lying in ghastly piles—friend and foe mixed together—but our people were a long way in the minority, as the greater portion of the enemy had got the bayonet in the back. We had a flag of truce out to bury the dead, and after that the enemy’s fire was terrible. We lost a number of men; but our sailors, manning our heavy guns, did not let them have it all their own way, and we had some rough music nearly all the day. We knew the town could not hold out much longer. It must have been something like a hell upon earth, each side trying which could pound the longest or hit the hardest. Everything around us indicated that the grand finale was fast approaching. All our batteries now assumed an awful magnitude. New batteries, both for guns and mortars of the largest calibre, had sprung into existence all around the south side of the doomed city since the last bombardment, and everything now indicated that one of the bloodiest struggles that ever men undertook was about to ensue. We had been pummelling at each other for near twelve long months; but we all knew that many a fine fellow then in camp, in all the pride of manhood, would not, in all probability, see the first anniversary of the Alma. We who had been present at the former bombardments knew well, by the preparations, that the coming struggle would eclipse them all; and, with the number and size of the armaments opposed to each other, it would be the most terrible the world had ever seen since powder had been invented; for, in addition to all our vast batteries, our magnificent and united fleets were prepared to join in with us. Our men did not put themselves out in the least; they knew well the end must come. No man out of camp could hardly credit the amount of life and activity that existed there. Some regiments even got up theatrical performances, and some of the actors, a few hours after, were pounding away at the enemy as hard as they could load and fire; and, as the reader may be certain, our Jack Tars were well to the fore wherever there was any sport going on.
THE FINAL BOMBARDMENT OF SEBASTOPOL.
On the morning of the 5th September, 1855, the last bombardment opened with a terrific shock; close upon 1,500 guns and mortars were now blazing away at each other, the earth trembling the while—and so it continued all day. I went into the trenches on the night of the 6th—right into the front trench—and a warm corner it was. I remained there all night. Next morning we were ordered to remove to one of our rear trenches, where we had good cover, and, in spite of the tremendous firing, lay down and had a good sleep for two or three hours. We had a very narrow escape from a huge shell that came hopping right into the midst of us; we had just time to throw ourselves down, when it exploded, and sent our breakfast flying in all directions. One of our officers inquired if anyone was hurt, and a nice boy of ours answered that he was, “for, by dad, he had nothing to eat.” Reader, try and imagine, if you can, some hundreds of guns and mortars firing in salvoes. For a time the guns would stop, to allow them to get a little cool; then they would burst forth again, the thunder being enough to shake the very earth to its centre; and this lasted for hours. We were completely enveloped in flames, and covered with smoke, dust, and stones. An old adage says “Familiarity breeds contempt.” That it is true I can bear witness, for a number of our men were in groups playing cards in the midst of the firing, our own shot flying close above their heads. Thus far I had witnessed five bombardments, but this was frightful. Some of our old hands said it was too good to last long. The Russian fire was very heavy; they had yet more guns in position than we, and made some of our batteries rather hot corners, while we came in for a fair share of shell, so that death was raining fast around. But during all that terrible day I never heard a desponding voice. We knew well we were in for it, and speculation ran high as to whether we should attack that night, but some thought that the bombardment would continue for two or three days more. We remained under this awful fire all day, and just as we were on the tiptoe of expectation, looking out for our relief, an officer belonging to the staff came up and got into talk with me in reference to our strength, and when I had told him I was directed to furnish 100 men to repair the Quarry Battery. I was left in temporary charge, as my officers had gone off on some duty. Shortly after, I was directed to take the remainder of my party to the leading trench, and remain there for orders. I then began to smell a rat; something was in the wind, although everything was kept very quiet. In walking through the trenches one might notice a change in the men’s faces. Savage they looked, but determined to do or die. We had now a great many very young men with us that had been sent out to fill up the gaps. They were brave enough for almost anything, but we had a job in front of us that was enough to shake the strongest nerves, and we wanted the men that had been sacrificed during the winter for want of management—they would have done it as neatly as they had turned the Russians back at the Alma and Inkermann. The work that was about to be carried out was a heavy piece of business, and required at least 20,000 men who had been well tried. We had them, but they were not let loose; had they been let go, we should have had a star for Sebastopol, and should have had an equal share of the glory—that’s if there is any in it—as we had up to then had, with our noble Allies.
Well, to the front trench I went with my men; it was about 200 yards from the Redan. I had not been there long, when an officer came up and wanted one officer, one sergeant, and thirty men, to go to the front as scouts or sentries; I told him my strength, I had no officer. He at once went and got sufficient men from the 31st Regiment, then came back and had a long chat with me until it got quite dark, which is what we were waiting for. He found out that I well knew the ground, and was no stranger to the work. I requested that the men we were going to take should be all picked men and not lads, as it was rather an important piece of business. We had to creep on hands and knees nearly up to the Redan, and it required men with all their wits about them; so a number of the men were changed, and I would have staked my life that 10,000 such as I then got would have hoisted the glorious old Standard on the blood-stained walls of Sebastopol, and then stood beside it triumphant.
Well, to my story, which is an awkward one. We crept over the top of the trench in the dark, and cautiously advanced about eighty yards, then commenced throwing or planting sentinels at about five or six yards apart; we had done the job, the officer lay down beside me and gave me further orders, and then crept back to the trench, leaving me in command. My orders were not to attempt to hold my ground should the enemy attack me, but to retire and give the alarm. After lying for some time we were attacked by an overwhelming force and retired. The enemy tried to cut us off and take us prisoners, but they found it was no easy matter.[6] But, to make things worse, during our absence from the trench it had been filled with men of various Regiments; and, not knowing there was any one in front but the enemy, they opened a regular file fire, and we were in a pretty mess between two fires; our poor fellows dropped fast—some of them were shot dead, close to the trench, by our own people. We called as loudly as possible to cease firing, but with the noise they could not hear us. On collecting my party afterwards in the trench, I had to take all their names, as most of them were strangers to me, and found that we had lost nineteen men and two corporals out of thirty. Yet it lasted only two or three minutes. The General Officer inquired what regiment I belonged to, and, when I had told him, he expressed surprise, told me I had no business there, but ought to be in camp and at rest, as there was some sharp work cut out for the Fusiliers in the morning. That was the very first hint I got of the storming of the town. The General Officer directed me to go with an officer and another party, as I knew the ground, and show the officer where to place his men; I went again, posted all sentries and then returned to the trench, in doing which I stumbled across a poor fellow lying wounded and brought him in the best way I could. The men in the trench were this time told that there was a party in front; had that been done before the greater portion of my men would not have died, as they were nearly all shot by our own people. These are some of the “blunders” of war. On returning to the trench the second time I reported myself to the General Commanding, and he directed me to take my party home to camp at once. I reached the camp about 1·30 a.m., and afterwards found that, true enough, there was a warm job cut out for us. We had led the way repeatedly—at the Alma, at the Quarries, and at the Redan on the murderous 18th June, and now we were told off to support the stormers, moving immediately behind them. I knew well that thousands must die—and a still small voice told me that I should fall. I know I tried to pray, begged the Lord to forgive my sins for His great name’s sake, and asked for His protecting arm around me, and strength of mind and body to do my duty to my Queen and Country. I then retired for a little rest, until about 5 a.m., when our men were up, and then no more sleep. I wrote a number of letters that morning for poor fellows—some of whom were laid low before mid-day, and others struck down maimed, some to rise no more, long before sunset.