THE HORRORS OF WAR.

The following incident occurred at the Campo Mayor affair, on the 25th of March, 1811. “A French captain of dragoons demanded permission, under a flag of truce, to search among the dead for his colonel. His regiment was a fine one, with bright brass helmets and black horsehair. It was truly a bloody scene, being almost all sabre wounds. It was long before he could find the French colonel, for he was lying on his face, his naked body weltering in blood; and as soon as he was turned up, the officer knew him: he gave a sort of scream and sprang off his horse, dashed his helmet on the ground, knelt by the body, took the bloody hand and kissed it many times in an agony of grief: it was an affecting and awful scene. There were about six hundred naked dead bodies lying on the ground at one view. The French colonel was killed by a corporal of the Thirteenth. This corporal had killed one of his men, and he was so enraged, that he sallied out himself and attacked the corporal, who was well mounted and a good swordsman, as was the colonel himself. Both defended for some time; the corporal cut him twice across the face; his helmet came off at the second, when the corporal slew him by a cut which nearly cleft his skull asunder, cutting in as deep as the nose through the brain.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS.

Private Stevenson, of Ligonier’s Horse, having had his horse shot under him shortly after the commencement of the battle of Fontenoy, on the 11th May, 1745, did not rejoin his regiment until the evening of the following day. A court-martial was demanded by the man, before which he produced Lieutenant Izard, of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers, who deposed that the prisoner acquainted him with the death of his horse, and requested permission to carry a firelock in the grenadier company under him. His request was granted; he behaved throughout the day with uncommon intrepidity, and was one of the nine grenadiers which he brought out of action. He was then promoted to a lieutenancy in the Royal Welsh Fusiliers.

WHAT HAVE YOU SEEN IN THE CRIMEA?

I have seen majestic nature in grandeur displayed,
With the hills and the valleys which the ocean hath made;
I’ve seen the eagle and vulture with pinions extended,
And battles so well fought that no hero could mend it.
I saw the Light Division leading the van
With their Allies, who also would die to a man
Before they would yield to an Autocrat’s rule,
Or turn back on their march to Sebastopol.
I saw the Heights of Alma, on the 20th September,
There the maiden British army first faced the foe,
There the Russian, bear, with all his ugly cubs,
Was taught to use his heels as fast as he could go.
I saw Inkermann’s Heights, on that memorable foggy morn,
A name now respected by Britons not then born;
The odds were seven to one, but no desponding cry—
Remember the Heights of Alma, boys, we conquer or we die!
I’ve seen Inkermann’s Heights and its Valleys of snow,
Where many a brave soldier a rooting did go,
In search of some fuel his breakfast to cook,
With a pick on his shoulder, and axe or bill-hook.
I’ve seen the Mamelon and the Malakoff tower,
When the grape shot and shell on our trenches did pour.
While Mars sat in triumph to test our renown,
And meet us with laurels as we stormed the great town.
I’ve seen the Quarantine Battery, Fort Paul, and the docks;
With the Bear and the Eagle contending for rocks,
And vultures in numbers near the Worrensoff road,
That once was the highway to the Russian’s abode.
I’ve seen sorties and struggles by the Russians, ’tis true,
But their banners were stained by the Red, White and Blue,
We sent them some pills their system to cool,
Which worked them in thousands from Sebastopol.
I’ve seen Lord Raglan, Pélissier, and their brilliant staff,
While the band of the 7th played “Larry O’Gaff;”
I’ve seen Lord Brown in the trenches, for war he was ripe,
Dressed as plain as a ploughman, with a little short pipe.
I’ve seen the great English battery upon the green hill,
Work with deadly precision the Russians to kill;
With terrific grandeur the balls they did fly,
Illuminating the heavens like stars in the sky.
I’ve seen Arabs, Frenchmen, and Bashi-Bazouks,
Russians made prisoners, and sad were their looks;
Their pitiful tales I’ve heard them unfold
Of the hardships they suffered from hunger and cold.
I’ve seen General Codrington on his charger so grey,
Riding out on the bills at the dawning of day,
With an eye like an eagle and a heart like a lion,
Inspecting the trenches where soldiers were dying.
On June the 7th I saw the Allies in action,
Their heroic deeds were the source of attraction;
They fought and fought bravely, their cause to maintain,
They took the great Mamelon, but thousands were slain.
On that 7th day of June I saw the English too.
Not far from their Allies, combat with the foe;
Their deeds were praiseworthy, they never did flinch,
They took the great Quarries and the Circular Trench.
On the 18th of June I saw that disastrous fight,
Led on by young Waller, Fitzclarence, and Wright;
When our Colonel got shot, the brave daring Yea,
And many were the victims of that bloody affray.
I’ve seen Kazatch Bay and the great combined fleet,
Where the French and the English each other did greet;
They mixed and they mingled, the ships and ship’s crew,
The Blue, White, and Red, and the Red, White, and Blue.
I’ve seen those interesting and gay Vivandiers
March with their soldiers with smiles and with cheers;
I’ve seen them on horseback astride like a man,
To describe their attractions is more than I can.
I’ve seen the explosion of a French magazine,
With great loss to the Emperor and our lady the Queen;
It knocked down our huts and our tents it turned o’er,
And numbers of men were never seen more.
Our troops were alarmed as the explosion it spread,
And for self-preservation from the camp they fled;
But Young Hope was active, and his part he played well,
As the missiles were flying, the round shot and shell.
Near the scene of excitement, on the top of the hill,
Stood the great magazine which they call the Windmill;
Had it once taken fire our loss had been great,
And Britain would have mourned her army’s sad fate.
I’ve seen the brave Turner and his friend Major Peck,
Who sailed from old England to make an attack;
Though Boreas did buffet our weather-beaten screw,
She skipped o’er the billows with her Crimean-bound crew.
I’ve seen Monsieur Français, his eyes beaming with pride,
Take our young lads on the spree to drink his cognac;
I’ve seen the triangles to which men were fast tied.
While the drummers served fifty upon their bare back.
I’ve seen Balaclava, a magnificent sight,
With its cloud-covered castle high up on the right,
Once embellished by art, and built on the great rock,
A shelter for shipping and Nature’s wild flock.
I’ve seen Balaclava by night and by day,
With its lofty rough mountains and foaming black sea—
The billows embracing the proud bosomed rock,
Where the porpoises sport and the seagulls do flock.
I’ve seen Balaclava all covered with snow,
On a cold winter’s night when on sentry I’d go;
The scene it was lovely, the stars glittered bright,
Fair Luna was shining, Nature’s mantle was white.
I saw the Valley of Death, where thousands lay low,
Not half of whom ever fell by the hands of the foe;
The causes are many, as well known to the State,
But I might give offence if the truth I relate.
I saw the Valley of Death, and going to the trenches,
I looked on the graves and thought of the wenches[14]
In silence lamenting some dear friend or brother,
I thought of the orphan and the heart-broken mother.
I’ve seen the Valley of Death, the cross and the tomb,
O’er the graves of those heroes—oh, sad was their doom;
Where the wild dogs are prowling—what a horrible sight!
Where the carrion-crows gather, and owls screech by night.
I’ve seen the Valley of Death—but here I will not dwell,
It would take me too long my sad story to tell;
’Tis like some pandemonium—cursed region below—
Sometimes hot like a furnace, then covered with snow.
I’ve seen Colonel Wellesley, who had lately come here,
A man much respected by each bold Fusilier;
His discipline was gentle, his mind was serene,
A friend to the 7th, his country, and Queen.
I’ve heard that our Colonel will open a school,
To teach art and science near Sebastopol;
The soldiers to cipher, to write, and to read,
Then march to the north side the Russians to bleed.
The arts and the sciences, what wonderful things,
They open up coal-beds and artesian springs;
We are going to Cronstadt in scientific tubs,
To take the old bear and all his young cubs.
I’ve seen one rare thing—the right man in his right place,
One Sergeant Silvester, who has charge of the peace;
He is cock of the walk, and a gander ’mong geese;
He keeps down bad morals with his rural police.
The brave sons of Britain, they never did flinch
From the bullet-swept plains, or the cold bloody trench;
They have planted their standard—who dares pull it down?
In conjunction with France, in Sebastopol town.
And now, to conclude my short but truthful tale,
I’ve seen those kind sisters, and the famed Nightingale,
Attending the wounded on beds that were gory,
And this is the end of my Crimean story.
By Sergt. T. Gowing,
And Private A. Crawford.

[CHAPTER VII.]

India, its extent and resources—Its Population—Its Invasion by Alexander—The beginning of the English Empire in India—The East India Company and its Officers—How the Empire was Extended—The Afghan Campaign of 1839-40-41—The Sikh War—Battle of Ferozeshah—The Norfolk Regiment amongst those who safeguarded England’s honour—Battle of Aliwal—The “Holy Boys” again leading the way—The Burmese War—Our Sepoy Army and how it was treated—The Mutiny Predicted—The Commencement of the Mutiny in 1857—Comparative Numbers of Native and British Troops—Mungul Pandy, the first Mutineer—Fatal Indecision of our Commanders—The Revolting Scenes at Delhi—List of the people killed by the Rebels—The Force that first encountered the Mutineers—Rapid spread of the Mutiny—Nana Sahib’s Proclamation—The Butchery of Women and Children—Delhi Captured and the Mutineers put to the sword, by a Norfolk man, Sir Archdale Wilson—The Delhi Field Force and its killed and wounded—Vengeance exacted—Disarming Mutinous Regiments—Description of the Scene—Blowing Rebels from the Guns—The 10th (Lincolnshire) Regiment at Benares.