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 i* CAMP-FIRE
 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 t
 
 . : : - 
 
 THE CAMP-FIR , K. 
 
 By H. A. L., 
 
 (•THE OLD SHEKARRY,") 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE HUNTING GROUNDS OF THE OLD WORLD,'' ETC. 
 
 While many a merry lay and many a song 
 
 Cheer'd the rough road, we wish'd the rough road long. 
 
 Dr. JuJmstm, 
 
 L ON D O N 
 
 A. E. BAILY AND CO., CORNHILL. 
 
 1866.
 
 /5T 
 
 TO 
 
 LADY STRATFORD DE REDCLIFFE, 
 
 (ibis Volume is fitstribeb, 
 
 AS A TOKEN OF ESTEEM AND GRATITUDE 
 
 FROM 
 
 ONE OF THE MANY WOUNDED SOLDIERS 
 
 WHO EXPERIENCED 
 
 KINDNESS AND ATTENTION AT HER HANDS 
 
 WHEN LAID UP 
 IN THE MILITARY HOSPITAL AT SCUTARI.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The following songs were written at different periods 
 during the Russian War, when old friends and comrades 
 used to meet nightly in each other's tents, or round the 
 camp-fire, and every one was expected to sing when his 
 turn came round. The poem of Inkermann was written 
 whilst the Author was confined to his couch from severe 
 wounds received at that battle, when, having but few 
 books and no other means of amusement, time hung 
 heavily on his hands. The task served to pass away 
 many dull and weary hours ; and besides proving a 
 solace and recreation during a long and irksome con- 
 finement, it seemed to act as a sedative against con- 
 tinual pain, and prevented the mind from dwelling 
 upon those series of heart-rending death-scenes, that of 
 necessity were continually taking place in a crowded 
 military hospital. 
 
 This poem having been commenced iu a lady's album 
 was not intended for the public eye, but simply to give 
 personal friends some idea of a buttle, and to show the 
 
 868778
 
 VJ INTRODUCTION. 
 
 incomparable conduct of the British soldier in one of 
 the most sanguinary hand-to-hand fights in which our 
 arms were ever engaged ; but as many old companions 
 in arms (whose better judgment has perhaps been biassed 
 by their kindly feelings) have desired to have a copy of 
 the work as a memento of those spirit-stirring days, the 
 Author has laid it before the public, feeling convinced 
 that the subject in itself possesses a certain interest 
 which even the most unskilful hands cannot entirely 
 extinguish. 
 
 Alter a lapse of nearly ten years these waifs of the 
 hour have served a second time to divert the dull 
 moments of indisposition ; for the Author, (against whom 
 Fortune appears to bear a grudge), having lately been 
 again severely wounded whilst on duty upon the West 
 Coast of Africa, has availed himself of his vacant hours 
 to prepare the following pieces for the press. 
 
 " Consider this : He hath been bred i' the wars 
 Since lie could draw a sword, and is ill-sehool'd 
 In boulted language." 
 
 "Do not, take 
 lli^ rougher accents for malicious sounds, 
 But, as I eay, such as l» comi s a soldier." 
 
 COHIOLANl S
 
 C N T E N T S. 
 
 INKERMANN. 
 
 CANTO I. — THE EVE OF THE BATTLE . 
 
 „ II. — THE BATTLE . 
 
 „ III. — THE FIELD OF BATTLE 
 NOTES TO INKEBMANN 
 
 1 
 
 25 
 51 
 67 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 the bashi-bazouk 
 
 the voice of a flower . 
 
 the Highlander's farewell . 
 
 the song of the fusilier 
 
 the briton's song 
 
 homeward bound . 
 
 the bashi-bazouk to his horse 
 
 the wounded highlander 
 
 the old song 
 
 87 
 95 
 102 
 104 
 107 
 109 
 113 
 116 
 120
 
 VIM 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE WOUNDED TROOPER TO HIS SWORD 
 
 THREE TOASTS . 
 BALAKLAVA 
 THE HUNGARIAN PATRIOT'S DEATH-SONG 
 AN ALARM IN CAMP 
 THE KHABYLE EXILE 
 THK STANDARD 
 THE BURIAL OF CATHCART 
 SECOND SIGHT 
 \ LOVE-SONG 
 
 THE HIGHLANDERS BETROTHED . 
 THE DYIN<; GIRL TO HER BETROTHED 
 SHADOWS .... 
 YOUTHFUL DAYS 
 
 TO MY CHARGER, " DESERT BORN " 
 THE VETERAN'S SONG 
 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN 
 DEATH-SONG OF A CIRCASSIAN CHIEF 
 THE ALMA .... 
 THE OLD KUSKIE CZAR 
 
 I W AIM) HO! 
 I UK NEGLECTED SOLDIER . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 122 
 
 125 
 
 128 
 
 136 
 
 138 
 
 143 
 
 148 
 
 151 
 
 156 
 
 162 
 
 164 
 
 166 
 
 168 
 
 170 
 
 172 
 
 175 
 
 177 
 
 179 
 
 182 
 
 184 
 
 188 
 
 190
 
 INKEEMANN. 
 
 CANTO THE FIEST. 
 
 THE EVE OF THE BATTLE.
 
 INKEEMANN. 
 
 CANTO THE FIKST. 
 
 THE EVE OF THE BATTLE. 
 
 " Coming events cast their shadows before." 
 
 A wint'ry sun had sunk to rest 
 Amid the vapours of the west ; 
 And murky clouds of sombre grey 
 Seem'd to foretell a stormy day. 
 No gentle moon, or straggling star, 
 Shed light upon that field of war ; 
 But dense mists roll'd upon the ground 
 And dreary darkness gather'd round. 
 Before me lay the leaguer'd town ; 
 T mark'd its dusky bastions' frown,
 
 4 SEVASTOPOL FROM CATHCART's 111 1,1- 
 
 E'en heard at times the vesper bells, 
 And shrill cries from the sentinels. 1 • 
 MalakofFs tower loom'd on high, 
 In dark relief against the sky ; 
 Whilst the Redan amidst the gloom 
 Lay grim and threatening as the tomb. 
 Our lines were hush'd in calm repose, 
 And all seem'd still amid our foes' ; 
 No voice, no sound, the silence broke, 
 Save when the guard a patrol spoke, 
 But the wind, whistling o'er the plain. 
 Assumed methought a wizard strain, 2 
 As 'midst Tchernaya's hills it moan'd, 
 
 « 7 
 
 And like a dying mortal groan'd: 
 Now sweeping by, it struck the ear 
 Like something ominous and drear; 
 And, howling o'er dark Euxine's surge, 
 Murmur'd a low prophetic dirge.
 
 THE MOANING OF THE WIND. 
 
 What great events are on the gale ? 3 
 Why does the wind thus sigh and wail ? 
 Can it tell of coming sorrow ? 
 Does it warn us 'gainst the morrow? 
 Is it that, with prophetic tone, 
 Departed loved ones who are gone 
 Still hover round, though out of sight, 
 Like guardian angels of the night ? 
 Have spirits of the dead the power 
 To warn us, ere our parting hour ; 
 Can friends we ne'er may see again 
 Shield us from danger or from pain ? 
 
 Wild wind ! thy spell awoke a chord 
 Which for long years had slept unheard ; 
 For time had thrown a mist upon 
 The faded hopes of days bygone.
 
 6 THE EEVEPJE. 
 
 Yet in thy voice I heard a tone 
 
 That once was music all my own, 
 
 And o'er mv burdened heart once more 
 
 Memory brought back days of yore ; 
 
 Thy voice recalled the happy past, 
 
 A joyous time too bright to last, 
 
 And things which had been seem'd to rise 
 
 And flit before my spell-bound eyes ; 
 
 Methought that one I loved was nigh, 
 
 For whispers soft as zephyr's sigh, 
 
 Oft seem'd to say, " We'll meet again 
 
 Where tears are not, nor grief, nor pain." 
 
 But she is gone whose voice to me 
 
 Was ever pleasing melody, 
 
 That made the winged moments seem 
 
 Bui as a bright and happy dream. 
 
 Time has not weakened memory's power; 
 
 My soul is weary since that hour ;
 
 nature's music. 
 
 Borne down by fate's relentless blow 
 There's nothing left to live for now. 
 Then, gentle wind, recall no more 
 The dream thou canst not now restore, 
 But let thy music seem to me 
 A requiem to her memory. 
 
 At last the gale which long had raged 
 Was for an interval assuaged ; 
 But still a strange unearthly sound, 
 A low sad music, hovered round, 
 And on the night air seem'd to float 
 Like an ^Eolian harp's sweet note, 
 Whilst the ever murmuring sea 
 Accompanied the melody : 
 Receding now, it seem'd to glide 
 Far o'er the dark-blue heaving tide ;
 
 8 THE TOLLING BELL. 
 
 Again it rose, again it fell, 
 
 As if it breathed a last farewell. 
 
 Then lingering slowly o'er the bay, 
 
 Like an echo, it died away, 
 
 And the doom'd city seein'd to sleep 
 
 In death-like silence calm and deep. 
 
 Again was heard the convent's chime 
 Slowly pealing the hour of time, 
 Warning all " that a day had past, 
 That life will not for ever last." 
 It struck the ear of those who kept 
 The weary watch whilst comrades slept, 
 Like a solemn and well-known tone 
 They used to hear in years bygone, 
 When to the church they took their way. 
 With their friends on the Sabbath day,
 
 PRESENTIMENTS. 9 
 
 To offer up an humble prayer 
 
 Ere stormy days of war and care. 
 
 As it rang at decline of clay, 
 
 Who then dreamt of the coming fray ? 
 
 Did those who on the morrow fell 
 
 Think it then sounded like a knell ? 
 
 Though of a strange and wayward mood, 
 Inur'd to many a scene of blood, 
 I know not what came o'er my breast, 
 Or strange presentiment depressed ; 
 Methought some peril seem'd to lour 
 Over my soul in that dark hour, 
 Though of a shape so undefined, 
 I scarce can call it back to mind ; 
 Yet why dread evils that await, 
 Or heed foreshadowings of Fate ?
 
 10 MUSINGS ON THE PAST. 
 
 For future hopes, that seem most fair, 
 Oft prove but castles in the air ; 
 And if when brightest they deceive, 
 When they threaten shall we believe ? 
 And shall a soldier reck or pine 
 Because life is not all sunshine ? 
 Let him content him with the hour, 
 He must not heed though tempests lour. 
 
 Feeling alone and desolate, 
 Long thus I mused upon my fate. 
 In other lands mv thoughts were fixed, 
 On bygone times, ere sorrow mixed 
 Within my cup the bitter draught, 
 Which to the very dregs I've quaffed. 
 Such were my thoughts as I strolled round 
 The height now Cathcart's burial-ground.
 
 THE GATHERING. 11 
 
 'Tis still midnight, and the moon is shrouded, 
 
 Dense mists are gathering, and stars are clouded ; 
 
 Strange murmurs are heard on the freshening breeze — 
 
 Hark ! Is it the wind that sighs through the trees ? 
 
 Or is it the roll of the waves of ocean, 
 
 Lash'd by the storm-fiend in wild commotion ? 
 
 Or is it the sound of the billows' roar 
 
 As they break in foam 'gainst the iron shore ? 
 
 No ! 'tis not the wind, nor waves 'gainst the coast ; . 
 
 'Tis the heavy tramp of a mighty host ; 
 
 For the Muscovite hordes are pouring down 
 
 From the northern forts and the leaguer'd town, 4 
 
 And a rushing sound is heard in the night 
 
 As bands of fierce horsemen, array'd for fight, 
 
 Gather in haste in the camp of the Czar, 
 
 Squadron on squadron, prepared for war.
 
 12 THE MIDNIGHT MAECH. 
 
 No signal-trumpet blows, no clarion sings, 
 
 No sounding bugle through the night-air rings ; 
 
 Stilled and unbeaten is the martial drum, 
 
 A death-like silence reigns as on they come. 
 
 The night conceals their serried bayonets' gleam, 
 
 As cautiously they cross Tchernaya's stream ; 
 
 Yet stealthily they move as if afraid 
 
 Of entering some wily ambuscade. 
 
 Surprised to find no pickets hold the ground, 5 
 
 They often halt to reconnoitre round. 
 
 As they make their way through the winding dell 
 
 And the dwarf-oak copse on Inkermann's fell ; 
 
 But in the lonely valley all is still, 
 
 No hostile force seems stirring on the hill ; 
 
 Not a sound is heard save a heavy tramp, 
 
 Though their columns approach the British camp. 
 
 They halt on the crest of the beetling height, 
 
 And plant their guns under cover of night ;
 
 DAYBREAK. 13 
 
 Then form up their ranks in battle array, 
 And wait for the dawn to fall on their prey. 
 
 Night wanes, and slowly breaks the dreary morn ; 
 Portending clouds foretell a coming storm ; 
 Dense vapours swiftly drift, and dark clouds fly, 
 At times revealing a dull leaden sky. 
 A drizzling rain falls heavy on the hill, 6 
 The night's obscure, the distant camp is still ; 7 
 And in the east is seen no cheering ray 
 To mark the coming of the wished-for day. 
 Thus, when dark clouds of dread misfortune lour, ' 
 Slowly appears to move the passing hour : 
 The future, like a wild tempestuous sea, 
 Hopeless lies hidden in uncertainty.
 
 14 THE VAUNT. 
 
 The breaking morn discloses to their eyes 
 
 The distant camp of those they would surprise ; 
 
 Who unprepared, and wrapped in slumber, 
 
 Look but a handful 'gainst their number. 
 
 O'erfagged with toil, and by long watching worn, 
 
 Ta'en by surprise, they must be backwards borne. — 
 
 Such was their leader's aim : his plan was wise, 8 
 
 His troops o'er-confident already 'd gain'd the prize. 
 
 Blessed by their priests, did not the Czar decree 
 
 The fallen, Heaven — the rest, a victory ? 
 
 The royal princes, too, had joined the host, 
 
 To see fulfilled Menschikoff's proud boast, 
 
 <f That with a short day's work he'd end the war, 
 
 " And crown with bays the eagles of the Czar. 
 
 " That ere the night set in, his foes should be 
 
 " All slain or ta'en, or driven to the sea." 
 
 His countless legions by a single blow, 
 
 I le thought at one fell swoop, could crush — but no !
 
 THE OUTLYING PICKET. 15 
 
 The old adage has it, " Many a slip 
 Oft intervenes between the cup and lip." 
 That leader did not know, though he was wise, 
 The nature of the foe he would surprise ; 
 He did not know that not a man would yield, 
 Though the last there might fall upon the field : 
 That every brave defender must have died, 
 Ere any Russian force gain that hill-side. 
 
 Exposed on all sides to the weather's brunt, 9 
 Our worn-out pickets posted in the front 
 Of Inkermann's bleak crest, now shivering stood 
 O'erlooking Tchernaya's winding vale and wood. 
 They heed not the storm that threatening lours, 
 Nor the piercing blasts, nor the drizzling showers, 
 But pace their lone rounds on Inkermann's height, 
 And impatiently watch for morning's. light.
 
 10 THE WARNING. 
 
 Their haggard brows, and hollow cheeks so pale, 
 Of fearful hardships tell a dismal tale ; 
 Their manly forms are bent, their features wear 
 The deepen'd lines of suffering and of care. 
 Matted with mud, the tattered garments show 
 The weary toil those veterans undergo ; 
 Still their proud mien, by dangers unsubdued, 
 Showed daring courage, dauntless fortitude. 
 
 As in the front advanced the night patrol, 
 They heard a distant church-bell faintly toll, 10 
 Pealing throughout the night, its solemn swell 
 Came o'er the breeze — 'twas like a funeral knell.- 
 Some said they heard the sullen rumbling sounds 
 Of rolling wheels, whilst visiting their rounds ; 
 But all around was dark, and sable night 
 Concealed the valley from the watchers' sight.
 
 THE WARNING. 17 
 
 They listening stood, for, borne upon the wind. 
 
 Gathering in volume strange and undefined, 
 
 Mysterious murmurs rose upon the ear 
 
 Like noise of mighty waters rushing near. 
 
 A startled owl flew hooting through the air, 
 
 And wild dogs whining growled, couched in their lair; u 
 
 Strange noises too rode on the howling blast, 
 
 Though nought was seen but dense mist drifting past. 
 
 They grasped their arms, but neither breathed nor stirred, 
 
 And whisper'd low, " Was that the gale we heard ?" 
 
 They strain'd their eyes, but nought discerned below, 
 
 And all was still save but the streamlet's flow : 
 
 They could not understand those sounds of fear, 
 
 And little dream'd the subtle foe lurked near. 
 
 They said " 'Tis the roar of Tchernaya's tide, 
 
 Or the moaning wind on Inkermann's side." 
 
 Yet what could have scared the dusky owl, 
 
 And caused the wild dogs to turn and growl ?
 
 
 18 THE ALARM. 
 
 They did not fear the swelling tempest's roar ; 
 'Twas the approach of man they dreaded more. 
 
 What sounds are those that issue from the glen ? 
 Hush ! — Hark ! — They strike the ear again. 
 Methinks I hear a heavy measured tramp, 
 As if some mighty host approach'd the camp. 
 Do ye not hear a far-off bugle sound ? 
 List ! — Distant shots re-echo from the ground, 
 And shouts and cries seem rising on the ear ; 
 That rumbling noise is cannons' wheels, I fear. 
 What can it mean ? — It's surely not yet day, 
 let from our pickets come those sounds of fray : 
 Of a vast multitude that is the hum. 
 It is the enemy. They come ! they come ! 
 
 '
 
 THE ASSEMBLY. 1!) 
 
 Then sudden roll'd the drum its loud alarms, 
 And the shrill bugle rang its call " to arms ;" 
 Each soldier started from his lowly bed, 
 And grasped his arms laid ready by his head ; 
 Then o'er his cloak his pouch and belts he flung, 12 
 And from his tent on towards the front he sprung. 
 The " assembly " sounding, warned the little band 
 Whom dangers threaten, where to make a stand. 
 From every side men poured with utmost speed, 
 And never had Old England's sons more need, 
 For dropping shots were heard along the van, 
 Which told the work of carnage had began. 
 
 Beturn'd from the trenches at break of dawn, 
 I lay in my tent all tired and worn, 
 Stretched by the side of my horse on the ground, 
 When on our ears burst the ominous sound.
 
 20 THE REVEILLE. 
 
 First a strange buzz, like the noise of a crowd, 
 Was heard through the earnp; then cries long and loud 
 Arose from all sides, whilst a deafening shout 
 Was heard in the van — " The Russians are out !" 
 Then bugle blasts, and rollings of the drum, 
 The alarm spreads ; from all sides soldiers run. 
 Half-dressed but armed on towards the front they go, 
 And coolly form, prepared to meet the foe. 
 
 I grasped my sword, then for my pistols felt, 
 And thrust them hurriedly into my belt ; 
 Tighten'd the girths, sprung on my eager steed, 
 A gallant grey of Nedjed's sacred breed, 13 
 Who arched his neck, and seemed to smell afar 
 The tainted air, prognosticating War. 
 Then from his eyes flashed fire. He knew the sound 
 Impatient to be off, he pawed the ground.
 
 THE ARAB CHARGER. 21 
 
 Ah ! little thought I then, poor " Desert-born," 
 
 That I should lose thy services that morn : 
 
 I miss thee sadly, for such friends are few, 
 
 I ne'er had one who always proved so true. 
 
 In danger's hour ne'er would thy spirit quail, 
 
 And in my need I never found thee fail : 
 
 Many a time hast thou borne me through strife, 
 
 When a swerve or a check had cost me my life. 
 
 But thine eye never blenched, thine ear never cower'd, 
 
 Though cannon have boomed and bullets have shower'd. 
 
 In the " Valley of Death," when with wild huzza 
 
 " The Light Brigade " charged the troops of the Czar, 
 
 And six hundred troopers rode against hordes, 
 
 Thy whinney was heard 'mid the clashing of swords. 
 
 Well worthy wert thou of a pacha's gift, 
 In beauty unsurpass'd — as lightning swift —
 
 22 " DESERT-BORN." 
 
 Of noblest blood, enduring to the last, 
 An Arab desert-born, of highest caste. 
 Little reck'd we of tempests or weather, 
 Hardships were nought whilst we were together ; 
 Oft have we shared a last morsel of bread, 
 And slept side by side, the earth for our bed. 
 Thy wildest career I ever could check 
 By word or by sigh : my hand to thy neck 
 Had magical power ; and if there was need 
 A word in thine ear would urge thee to speed. 
 So gentle too with all, brought up by hand 
 'Midst tender maidens of that Eastern land, 
 Thou hadst no fear of man but wert his friend- 
 A better one the Gods did never send. 
 
 A comrade's parting gift thou wert from one 
 To whom I was e'en as a father's son ;
 
 MOUSSA PACHA. 23 
 
 Who, as he placed thy bridle in my hand, 
 Said, as we stood surrounded by his band, 
 " All men will know my brother by his steed, 
 My friends will aid, and serve him in his need." 
 He, too, is gone, who was indeed a Man — 
 A braver never fell in battle's van. 
 Silistria's breach for ages will attest 
 How the dark Moussa sunk unto his rest. 
 On the crumbling walls he'd sworn to defend 
 That brave Arab chief met a soldier's end ; 
 Scorning to yield, he died at his post, 
 When a handful of Turks resisted a host. 
 The Sons of the Desert revere his name, 
 And Araby's maidens sing of his fame ; 
 In the tents of Sahara tears are shed 
 When the Santons tell of the noble dead. 
 
 END OF TIIE FIRST CANTO.
 
 INKEEMANN, 
 
 CANTO THE SECOND. 
 
 THE BATTLE.
 
 27 
 
 INKEEMANN. 
 
 CANTO THE SECOND. 
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 By Heaven ! it is a splendid sight to see 
 
 For one who hath no friend, no hrother there." 
 
 Childe Harold. 
 
 The hour was dark, cold, bleak, and grey, 
 It was not night, it seem'cl not day ; 
 For dense mists rolling on the ground 
 Hid from the eye the scene around. 
 Still on we dashed — my gallant horse 
 Went bounding forward in his course, 
 And through the vapour made his way, 
 Guided by sounds of distant fray.
 
 28 SOUNDS OF FRAY. 
 
 Like a true charger bred to war, 
 He smelt the battle from afar, 
 And onward flew, swift as a bird, 
 Excited by the sounds he heard. 
 
 A heavy tramp fell on the ear, 
 Foreboding strife and danger near, 
 And sounding like the distant roar 
 Of ocean 'gainst a rocky shore. 
 At times we saw dark figures loom, 
 And rifles flash red through the gloom, 
 As on the foe an outpost fired, 14 
 And slowly on the camp retired ; 
 Whilst heavy masses of the foe 
 Pursued like rivers' ceaseless flow. 
 As misty vapours lighter grew, 
 Clouds of skirmishers came in view,
 
 THE OUTPOSTS DRIVEN IN. 29 
 
 Stealing like panthers on their prey, 
 
 All clad in cloaks of sombre grey. 
 
 A massive column too was seen 
 
 Creeping along the dark ravine, 
 
 Winding its way like serpent's trail 
 
 Towards the camp it would assail. 
 
 No drums were beat, no trumpets blown, 
 
 No sounds were heard but their tread alone, 
 
 Until their van our camp drew nigh, 
 
 When suddenly a fiendish cry 
 
 Burst from their ranks from front to rear, 
 
 Reverberating through the air, 
 
 And echo'd by the hills, they say, 
 
 It e'en reached Balaklava's bay. 
 
 The first-warned of Old England's band 
 By a low wall had made their stand, 15
 
 30 THE FIRST STAND. 
 
 And with their weapons levelled low 
 
 Waited the onset of the foe. 
 
 Cold drops were bursting then, I trow, 
 
 From the young soldier's anxious brow, 
 
 As in the mist he cast a glance, 
 
 And thought of battle's desperate chance, 
 
 Yet none a sign of fear betray'd, 
 
 All there were calm and undismayed ; 
 
 Though faces might be pale and wan, 
 
 The light of battle on them shone : 
 
 Right well those men their danger knew, ' 
 
 But all were stanch, each heart was true, 
 
 And not a cheek amongst them blenched, 
 
 But each his rifle firmly clenched. 
 
 " They come !" one whispered 'neath his breath, 
 Then reigned a silence still as death ;
 
 THE FIRST VOLLEY. 31 
 
 A minute sped, when midst the gloom 
 A column's head was seen to loom. 
 Nearer it came, — then passed the word, 
 The click of locks was only heard, 
 Each soldier then his rifle raised, 
 And the first dread volley blazed, 
 Rolling like thunder through the air, 
 And followed by a British cheer. 
 Then rose a wild despairing cry, 
 Then burst a shriek of agony, 
 It seemed as if the fiends from Hell 
 Had joined in that despairing yell. 
 
 That volley fearful havoc made, 
 And hundreds in the dust were laid ; 
 Still o'er their corses others tore, 
 To fall like those who went before :
 
 32 THE FIRST VOLLEY. 
 
 Our soldiers battling side by side, 
 Against the torrent stemm'd the tide ; 
 And oft was heard that ringing cheer 
 Which nerves the heart, and deadens fear. 
 Musketry rolled in volleys poured, 
 In heavy peals the cannon roared ; 
 Through murky fogs the missiles crashed, 
 On every side the red flame flashed ; 
 Huge shells were bursting all around, 
 And dead and dying strewed the ground ; 
 Whilst shrieks of pain, and wild despair, 
 With shouts of battle rent the air. 
 The mist assumed a sulphurous dun 
 Impervious to the rising sun, 
 Whilst clouds of smoke rose from the fray 
 And hid the field from face of day ; 
 Then floating overhead it grew 
 A canopy of purple hue.
 
 THE ONSET OF THE RUSSIANS. 33 
 
 As vultures swoop upon their prey, 
 So rushed the foe unto the fray, 
 And forward pressed, with the design 
 To seize our camp and break our line. 
 Their columns with tumultuous yell, 
 That rose above the battle's swell, 
 Charged 'gainst our line with heavy shock, 
 But broke like waves upon a rock ; 
 Leaving their dead upon the turf, 
 Like foaming spray when breaks the surf. 
 For we received them as they came, 
 With withering volleys thick as rain, 
 Which broke the order of assault, 
 And forced the wavering mass to halt. 
 Their foremost ranks were backwards bent, 
 Wide gaps were in their columns rent ; 
 Like torrent damm'd up in its course, 
 They stayed — 'twas but to gather force ; 
 
 D
 
 34 THE CHECK OF THE ATTACKING COLUMNS. 
 
 Then yelling rushed to the attack, 
 Again our volleys hurled them back. 
 Once more they formed, but all in vain ; 
 Their ranks, encumbered by the slain, 
 Advanced but slowly, for their tread 
 Was much impeded by the dead. 
 
 A bugle sounding in our rear 
 
 Told us support was drawing near ; 
 
 Then loudly rang our wild hurrah, 
 
 Which Tchernaya's hills re-echoed far, 
 
 Swords flashed, and glistening bayonets shone, 
 
 And to the charge the line moved on. 16 
 
 Then rose a heart-inspiring cheer 
 
 Which in itself had banished fear, 
 
 And full upon the foe we dashed, 
 
 And 'midst their ranks our bayonets clashed.
 
 THE FIKST CHAKGE OF THE SECOND DIVISION. 35 
 
 Hand to hand we showered our blows, 
 And loudly England's war-shout rose, 
 Until the foeman's fiendish cry- 
 Was drowned by groans of agony. 
 Long and furious was the strife ; 
 Our men fought recklessly for life ; 
 Loud volleys rang, and fast and hot, 
 On both sides flew the ceaseless shot. 
 Oft foot to foot, and hand to hand, 
 The hostile ranks fought band to band, 
 Exchanging sword and bayonet thrust, 
 And raising up dense clouds of dust. 
 Reckless of odds our soldiers fought, 
 And fearless deeds of valour wrought, 
 As 'midst the hostile ranks they tore, 
 And thrice their numbers backwards bore. 
 Hard-pressed by charges oft renewed, 
 A panic seized the multitude ;
 
 3(5 KUSSIAX OFFICERS. 
 
 Their wavering ranks could not sustain. 
 They broke and scattered o'er the plain. 
 
 Their offic ~ :en they beheld 
 Their host thus humbled and repell'd. 
 Of their own lives but little recked. 
 If that their fall our onset checked. 
 Striving the dire retreat to stay, 
 Thev forced their men to face the fray : 
 E'en struck the flying with the sword. 
 But nought could stop the routed horde. 
 Who fled in terror from our force. 
 Lons: lanes of dead markins: their course. 
 
 Whilst the foe were wildlv flvimr. 
 
 advanced o'er dead and dvimr. 
 
 -
 
 RUSSIAN ARTILLERY. 37 
 
 And in pursuit fast onward pressed 
 
 To the brow of Inkermann's crest ; 
 
 When suddeDly the air was rent 
 
 And darkened grew the firmament ; 
 
 Like thunder rolled artillery's war, 
 
 For ninety guns upon us bore. 
 
 Huge shells were hurtling all around, 
 
 Whilst shot and grape ploughed up the ground, 
 
 Covering well the foe's retreat, 
 
 And saving them from dire defeat : 
 
 For our few guns could scarce oppose 
 
 The heavier pieces of the foe's, 
 
 Until two siege-guns from the rear 
 
 Were brought upon their front to bear ; 
 
 And gained us respite to draw breath, 
 
 By their winged messengers of death.
 
 38 LORD RAGLAN. 
 
 Just then we heard a thrilling cheer, 
 Rolling along from front to rear, 
 And reining up his panting steed 
 Eeeking with foam, from reckless speed, 
 The leader of our host drew nigh, 
 And the whole line took up the cry. 
 " I thank ye all, my men," he said, 
 Uncovering his stately head, 
 And bowing to his charger's mane, 
 He cantered towards the front again. 
 Eight noble was Lord Raglan's mien ; 
 Many the red field he had seen, 
 For he had fought on Belgium's plain, 
 And in the bloody wars of Spain, 
 When the great Duke with iron hand 
 Raised his standard in that land, 
 And made the British soldier's name 
 Ring through the world for deeds of fame,
 
 LORD RAGLAN. 39 
 
 Graining for Britain and her crown 
 Unfading laurels and renown, 
 Such as no chief had ever won 
 Before the days of Wellington. 
 Inured to strife, our leader's eye 
 Betokened innate bravery, 
 Such as no peril e'er could shake 
 Or dire adversity e'er break. 
 In duty firm, his heart was kind, 
 His manly face portrayed his mind, 
 And all the feelings of his breast 
 Were in his countenance expressed. 
 He knew the Island-soldiers' worth, 
 The best and bravest on the earth ; 
 And loved by them, he had the power 
 To cheer their hearts in danger's hour.
 
 40 THE ROYAL GUARDS. 
 
 Still sullenly the cannon's boom 
 
 Was beard resounding through the gloom, 
 
 And now again the foe's array 
 
 Was seen advancing to the fray. 
 
 On the crest of Inkermann's height, 
 In an angle towards the right, 
 A sand-bag battery had been plann'd 
 Tchernaya's valley to command. 
 Unfinished still, no guns were laid n 
 That might a foe's advance have stayed ; 
 But the flower of Britain's host, 
 The Royal Guards, then held the post. 
 Their " thin red line " dare never yield 
 Though all might fall upon the field, 
 And George of Cambridge held command, 
 A worthy chief of such a band.
 
 THE SAND-BAG BATTERY. 41 
 
 A warning blast our bugles blew ; 
 From rank to rank a whisper flew 
 " That foes in force assailed the height, 
 Hidden by vapour from our sight." 
 A strange hum rising from the ground 
 Warned us of dangers gathering round, 
 Still the thick mist their force concealed, 
 Until a musket's flash revealed 
 A mighty horde, which, close at hand, 
 Seemed to surround our little band. 
 On every side their helmets glanced, 
 Wave upon wave of men advanced, 
 And with a wild exulting shout, 
 Assailed in thousands the redoubt. 
 Then long and loud our thunders roared, 
 Sharp volleys in the mass were poured ; 
 Their van fell lifeless on the plain, 
 Still others took the lead again,
 
 42 THE GUARDS AT BAY. 
 
 And clambering over corses piled, 
 Came on, with shrieks and yells as wild, 
 As if from hell the fiends had broke, 
 And hovered round us in the smoke. 
 
 Death stayed, but could not stop their course ; 
 They poured in overwhelming force, 18 
 And closing round upon our flanks 
 Bore down against our weakened ranks, 
 Who faint, and breathless, soil'd with blood, 
 For hours the fearful odds withstood. 
 Four times before our charge they broke, 
 Four times they rallied in the smoke ; 
 Though hundreds fell still hosts remained 
 Who rushing on the fight maintained. 
 As hungry wolves enclose their prey, 
 The Russians held the Guards at bay,
 
 THE DEATH-STKUGGLE. 43 
 
 Who unsubdued, fought back to back, 
 
 Exposed on all sides to attack. 
 
 There seemed no prospect of escape, 
 
 Death hovered round in every shape ; 
 
 No aid could come, their doom seemed sealed, 
 
 Still undismayed, they held the field, 
 
 And closing up, renewed the fight 
 
 For Honour and Old England's right. 
 
 From the dense horde was heard afar 
 A sullen howl, their cry of war, 
 To which our men with cheers replied, 
 And closing shoulder side by side, 
 With their bayonets levell'd low, 
 Burst like a whirlwind on the foe : 
 Then rose the steel's loud ringing clash, 
 Then gleamed the musket's deadly flash,
 
 44 THE CONTEST EENEWED. 
 
 Then burst strange cries of wild despair, 
 Then rang a cheer which rent the air. 
 Nought could the fearful onset stay, 
 On every side the foe gave way : 
 Their heavy force was backwards bent, 
 And the huge mass in twain was rent. 
 Right gallantly those Guardsmen fought, 
 And fearful deeds of valour wrought, 
 Holding their own against the mass, 
 Who strove in vain our line to pass. 
 
 Though oft repulsed, the Russians still 
 Strove to regain the blood-stained hill ; 
 And hordes advanced against our right 
 Up a ravine most hid from sight. 
 Cathcart, though with inferior force, 
 Attacked this column in its course,
 
 DAEK DEEDS. 45 
 
 Poured in its ranks a heavy fire, 
 And forced it broken to retire ; 
 When in his rear, crowning the height, 
 Other battalions came in sight ; 
 And on all sides, above, below, 
 Appeared dense masses of the foe. 
 
 Firm and unyielding, as a rock 
 Sustains the heaving billow's shock, 
 Our men maintained the fearful strife, 
 And neither gave nor asked for life. 
 Though in a narrow ring beset, 
 Each fresh attack was boldly met ; 
 As one man fell, his comrades closed, 
 And still a sturdy front opposed. 
 At last the ammunition failed, 
 And front and rear were both assailed ;
 
 46 SIR GEORGE CATHCART. 
 
 This was the crisis of the fray : 
 Our men like lions stood at bay, 
 Holding their own, oft back to back, 
 Exposed on all sides to attack. 
 None sued for quarter — it were vain. 
 We saw our helpless comrades slain, 
 Slain in cold blood, as on the ground 
 They fell disabled from a wound. 
 
 Conspicuous 'mid that dreadful scene, 
 By his cool air and dauntless mien, 
 The gallant Cathcart cheer'd his men, 
 And led them to the charge again. 
 Where the danger threatened worst, 
 There was our leader ever first ; 
 As if he bore a charmed life, 
 And revelled fearless 'mid the strife.
 
 THE DEATH OF CATHCART. 47 
 
 " Give them the steel, ray lads !" he cried, 
 The men with hearty cheers replied, 
 And ere the red-flam'd volley flashed, 
 Amid their ranks our bayonets crashed. 
 Half blinded by the blaze and smoke, 
 Through their serried ranks we broke ; 
 Then smothered shots and steel's loud clang, 
 'Mid groans and shrieks of anguish rang ; 
 On eveiy side was heard the cry 
 Of those who kill, of those who die ; 
 And hideous yells of wild despair, 
 With cheers of triumph rent the air. 
 As through the foe a path we hew'd, 
 Our course with lanes of dead lay strew'd, 
 And e'en the very ground we trod 
 Was slippery with human blood. 
 Then was the gallant Cathcart slain — 
 A musket bullet pierced his brain,
 
 48 THE ARRIVAL OF THE FRENCH. 
 
 And ere an eye could mark the wound 
 Both horse and man rolled on the ground. 
 There bravely fighting by Ins side, 
 The stalwart Seymour nobly died, 
 And Dowling, Wynn, and many more 
 With their chief lay stretched in gore. 
 Breathless and faint, our shattered ranks 
 At last regained the sloping banks, 
 And there re-formed their lessened front, 
 Prepared again for battle's brunt, 
 
 Stung with discomfiture and rage, 
 The foe pressed on to re-engage 
 Our little band, who pant for breath, 
 But still maintain the strife of death ; 
 When a fresh column from the right, 
 Moved quickly forward to the fight,
 
 THE FINAL REPULSE OF THE RUSSIANS. 49 
 
 And poured a volley in the foe, 
 Who writhed from this unlooked-for blow. 
 It was the French ! just come in time, 
 To aid our sadly-weaken'd line, 
 Which in the front, from early morn, 
 Had all the brunt of battle borne ; 
 And who though faint from constant fight, 
 Still held their own upon the height. 
 As they dashed up, we gave a cheer, 
 And joined them in their bold career : 
 " Vive l'Empereur !" was now the cry 
 As to the charge his children fly, 
 And British cheers as we advance 
 Mingle with shouts of " Vive la France !" 
 
 Again upon the foe we dash'd, 
 Again amid their ranks we crash'd,
 
 50 THE FINAL EEPULSE OF THE RUSSIANS. 
 
 Again our thunders loudly roar'd, 
 
 Again our deadly volleys pour'd, 
 
 Again we charged home through the smoke, 
 
 Again their massive columns broke, 
 
 Again their deafening cannon fired, 
 
 Again repulsed the foe retired ; 
 
 Again was heard Old England's cry, 
 
 As we dashed on to victory ; 
 
 Again was heard the Frenchman's shout, 
 
 As they rush'd forward in pursuit, 
 
 And, by the gallant Bosquet led, 
 
 Fast follow'd up the foe who fled. 
 
 Fearful the carnage that ensued, 
 
 As the Allies the foes pursued, 
 
 For thousands fell upon the plain, 
 
 Who never more arose again. 
 
 END OF THE SECOND CANTO.
 
 INKERMANK 
 
 CANTO THE THIRD. 
 
 THE FIELD OF BATTLE.
 
 53 
 
 INKERMANN. 
 
 CANTO THE THIRD. 
 
 THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 
 
 " There is something of pride in the perilous hour, 
 Whate'er be the shape in which death may lorn- ; 
 For Fame is there to say who bleeds, 
 And Honour's eye on daring deeds ! 
 But when all is past, it is humbling to tread 
 O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead, 
 And see worms of the earth, and fowls of the air, 
 Beasts of the forest, all gathering there ; 
 All regarding man as their prey, 
 
 All rejoicing in his decay." 
 
 The Siege of Corinth . 
 
 At last the bloody field was won, 
 The sword was sheathed, its task was done. 
 The foe repulsed, attacked no more, 
 Though still we heard their cannon roar. 
 Many a youth whose hopes beat high, 
 Scarce dreaming he could ever die,
 
 54 THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 
 
 In early morn brim -full of mirth, 
 
 At eve lay cold upon the earth. 
 
 A loathsome mass, Red, Blue, and Grey, 
 
 A ghastly pile of mangled clay, 
 
 Marks where our friends and foes pell-mell, 
 
 Heaped on each other fighting fell. 
 
 There British, French, and Russians sleep, 
 
 Stretched side by side in slumber deep, 
 
 Ne'er to wake till the trumpet's bray 
 
 Shall sound upon the Judgment-day : 
 
 When earth shall hear the summons dread, 
 
 And ocean from her rocky bed, 
 
 Shall yield up those whose unknown graves 
 
 Are on the shore or 'neath the waves. 
 
 Many a hard-fought day I've seenj 
 On battle's field I'd often been,
 
 THE WOUNDED. 55 
 
 But ne'er beheld so sad a sight 
 As that hill-side after the fight ; 
 For dead and wounded strewed the plain, 
 The living: oft beneath the slain. 
 Thousands, in their warm blood lying, 
 Parched by thirst were hopeless dying ; 
 Some in agony passed away, 
 Calling on friends, trying to pray ; 
 Some as they yielded up their life, 
 Breathed name of mother or of wife, 
 And gazed around with vacant stare, 
 Seeking for those they found not there. 
 Some mad with fever's thirst, and pain, 
 Wandered delirious o'er the plain, 
 Until they reached the streamlet's side, 
 There drank their fill, lay down and died. 
 Some rising from the cold damp ground 
 Made vain attempts to stanch their wound,
 
 56* THE DEAD. 
 
 Dabbling their bands in crimson stains, 
 As the life's stream ebb'd from their veins. 
 Some proudly smiled in their last breath, 
 Some scowled in anger e'en in death ; 
 Some seemed to die without a care, 
 Whilst others raving tore their hair ; 
 Some looked around in wild amaze, 
 And wandering talked of bygone days ; 
 Some called on God in their despair, 
 Or tried to recollect a prayer. 
 
 In groups along the rugged crest 
 Grim marksmen lay with lips comprest, 
 Stern-knitted brows, and rifle clenched, 
 Although the face in death was blenched. 
 Some there were still upon their knees, 
 Couching behind the stunted trees,
 
 THE DEAD. 57 
 
 As if they still maintain'd the strife, 
 And that their limbs were full of life. 
 One held a foe within his grasp, 
 And still maintained his dying clasp, 
 Whilst firmly clenched in his right hand 
 And raised to strike, was the red brand ; 
 But death-shots rang, ere the blow sped, 
 And both antagonists were dead, 
 Though save a strange, cold, vacant stare, 
 No sign announced the spoiler there. 
 
 Crushed underneath a lifeless horse 
 Lay in the dust a mangled corse, 
 Which still instinctively retained 
 A broken rein and sword blood-stained. 
 Whilst by its side a wounded hound 
 Couched whimpering upon the ground,
 
 58 FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 
 
 As if he could not understand 
 
 Why aid came not from that cold hand : 
 
 As if to claim one last caress, 
 
 He licked the cheek, and pulled the dress , 
 
 But finding all his efforts vain, 
 
 With whining cry and look of pain, 
 
 He gazed, as if he seemed to trace 
 
 The change upon his master's face, 
 
 And then, as if all hope had fled, 
 
 Gave one long howl, and fell back dead. 
 
 The ground bore marks of bloody fray, 
 And broken swords and helmets lay 
 Strewed o'er the field with shot and grape, 
 And arms of every kind and sliape. 
 Where corses piled marked fiercest strife, 
 Though wounded, one gave signs of life,
 
 THE DYING SOLDIEK. 59 
 
 In whose pale features I could trace 
 The semblance of an old friend's face, 
 Whom I had known in days gone by, 
 When life was new, and hopes were high. 
 Could it be he ? — I breathed his name, 
 A wild start shook his troubled frame ; 
 He knew my voice, and shook his head, 
 " The game is up," he faintly said. 
 Then rising with convulsive throe, 
 He cast a last look towards the foe, 
 Wiped from his brow death's clammy dew, 
 Which rolling down obscured his view, 
 And strained his eyes to watch the fray, 
 E'en though his life's blood ebbed away. 
 Long thus he gazed, but did not speak, 
 Though transient glows diffused his cheek ; 
 His kindling eyes flashed wildly bright, 
 Shining with strange, unearthly light,
 
 60 CONSOLING THOUGHTS. 
 
 And a proud melancholy smile 
 Played o'er bis features for a while, 
 Then from his lips burst forth a cry, 
 " Hurrah ! We've won the victory !" 
 
 His lip then quivered, and his breast 
 Heaved with convulsive pangs oppress'd ; 
 His fading eyes were upwards cast, 
 The shades of death were gathering fast ; 
 He felt his youthful strength fast sink, 
 He felt the sod his life-blood drink ; 
 He saw it welling from his wound, 
 And streaming down upon the ground. 
 He laid him down without a sigh, 
 He knew his horn' had come to die ; 
 He reck'd not of the life he gave, 
 He reck'd not of his early grave,
 
 CONSOLING THOUGHTS. 61 
 
 He reck'd not that his hour was come, 
 
 He knew the bloody field was won : 
 
 He knew that he had bravely fought, 
 
 And with his blood success was bought ; 
 
 E'en though he felt his end was nigh, 
 
 He strove to check a rising sigh, 
 
 For thoughts, " What friends at home would say," 
 
 Flash'd o'er his mind like a bright ray 
 
 Through gloomy skies, when dark clouds lour, 
 
 Cheering his soul in that sad hour. 
 
 Yet grief for loved ones left behind 
 Oppress'd that gallant soldier's mind ; 
 When he thought of home, far away, 
 And of his mother, old and grey ; 
 Of the dear girl he'd see no more, 
 'Twas then his sinking heart felt sore.
 
 62 THE ONE EEGKET. 
 
 Who now shall comfort, dry their tears ? 
 Who now support her failing years ? 
 Now she is friendless, childless, lone, 
 He was her first, her only one. 
 He turned away and heaved a sigh, 
 A tear was bursting from his eye ; 
 " Tell them — you know," he feebly said, 
 To hide his grief he turned his head, 
 And flung his arms around my neck, 
 Sobbing as if his heart would break. 
 His pallid cheek my shoulder pressed, 
 His head drooped low upon my breast, 
 Fierce spasms wrung his clammy brow, 
 He gasped for breath, then murmuring low, 
 " Tell her," he said, with half-drawn sigh, 
 " 'Twas ever thus I wished to die."
 
 A DEATH SCENE. 63 
 
 He closed his eyes, and gently sighed, 
 
 To breathe a prayer at times he tried ; 
 
 But now his voice began to fail, 
 
 His look was fixed, his lips were pale ; 
 
 From loss of blood he grew more weak 
 
 Until at last he scarce could speak ; 
 
 Yet, reckless of his dying pain, 
 
 He took my hand iu his again, 
 
 And as it lay within his clasped, 
 
 I felt it gently once more grasped, 
 
 Whilst smothering a broken sigh, 
 
 He whispered, " Hal, old friend, good-bye !" 
 
 Then came the heavy hand of death, 
 
 He drew convulsively his breath ; 
 
 And gasping from his mouth black gore, 
 
 Drew one long sigh, and all was o'er.
 
 64 
 
 NIGHT AFTEE THE BATTLE. 
 
 The night now gathers, all around is still, 
 
 Save a low murmur from Tchernaya's rill, 
 
 Whose rippling waves bright in the moonlight gleam, 
 
 As towards the sea onwards flows the stream ; 
 
 At times is heard the wild-dog's doleful howl, 
 
 Or the loud hooting of the horned night owl 
 
 Above the weird moan of dark Euxine's surge, 
 
 Which strikes on the ear like a slow sad dirge. 
 
 The silvery moon her watch is keeping 
 
 O'er the battle-field, where calmly sleeping 
 
 Beneath the pale rays of her gentle light, 
 
 Now rest side by side the fallen in light;
 
 THE COST OF THE VICTORY. 65 
 
 The locks of the dead are stirred by the breeze 
 That sweeps o'er the plain and sighs through the trees. 
 There mangled they Lie on the cold damp earth, 
 Far, far awav from the land of their birth. 
 
 Go, Zephyr, and breathe this sad tale of death 
 In our English homes with thy softest breath ; 
 Break to our kindred the friends they have lost, 
 And tell them the price that Inkermann cost. 
 Tell the aged sire, who has lost his son, 
 " That the foe have fled, that the fight was won, 
 " That his noble boy in the van was slain," 
 'Twill comfort his heart and deaden the pain: 
 And to the mother whose sole earthly pride 
 Was he who lies still on that bleak hill-side ; 
 Console with thoughts that he's but gone before, 
 To a laud where they'll meet to part no more.
 
 ()6 THE COST OF THE VICTORY. 
 
 But to she who kneels with hands up clasped, 
 Breathing a prayer for him who passed 
 Like a flower away, cut off in his prime, 
 Ye cannot console, 'tis the work of time. 
 Break the news gently, or sorrow may kill, 
 And life pass away in cry wild and shrill ; 
 Keen anguish may burst the chords of the heart : 
 The tale must be told, may God ease the smart ! 
 Go breathe in the ear of the Island's Queen 
 Of victory won, of sights thou hast seen. 
 Tell her, " Her children have conquered again, 
 That Honours are won, though few now remain ;" 
 Say " That the remnant would gladly lay down 
 Their lives in her service, to gain her renown." 
 That duty but points the path they would go. 
 Honour to Britain, and death to her foe. 
 
 Scutari Uuspital. 
 END OF THE THIRD AND LAST CANTO.
 
 NOTES TO INKEEMANK
 
 69 
 
 INKEEMANN. 
 
 Note 1. Page 4. 
 
 Sevastopol from Cathcart's Hill. 
 
 The chain of Russian sentries who were posted along the most 
 advanced front of the ramparts were in the habit of uttering loud 
 cries every quarter of an hour, winch passed along the whole line, each 
 sentry taking it up in his turn. Thus the men on out-post duty were 
 always kept on the alert, and if any of them slept on their post, or 
 deserted to the enemy, it was soon discovered. 
 
 Note 2. Page 4. 
 
 No one who bore a part in this campaign cau forget the peculiarly 
 mournful sounds of the wind as it rushed howling through the steep 
 ravines and gorges amid the bleak hills and cliffs of that iron-bound 
 coast. Over and over again, especially whilst on duty in the still 
 night, do I remember it appearing to sound, like far-off music, slow, 
 sad, and melancholy. 
 
 Note 3. Page 5. 
 
 Tlie Moaning of the Wind. 
 
 In Circassia, when the inhabitants hear the wind moaning among 
 the mountains of the Caucasus, they say that " it is the voices of the
 
 70 NOTES. 
 
 dead, in the land of spirits," and some who profess the occult science 
 pretend to interpret its meaning. This strange weird-like music has 
 a peculiar effect even upon animals. I remember, whilst travelling 
 below the spurs of Mount Elburz, coming across a pack of seven 
 wolves who were sitting on their haunches in a semicircle, making 
 the most extraordinary noises, as if they were trying to imitate the 
 sound of the wind, which at the time was moaning wildly amongst 
 the mountains. They were so much absorbed in their demon-like 
 chorus, that they did not notice our approach, and we watched them 
 for some time. My companions said that " the wolves were talking to 
 the spirits of their ancestors, whose voices issued from their abode 
 above the endless snow wastes on the mountain." 
 
 Note 4. Page 1 1 . 
 Tlie Gathering. 
 
 The Russian advance was made in the greatest silence, and every 
 precaution taken to insure success. 
 
 One of their columns crossed the river Tchernaya at the head of 
 the harbour by the bridge, marching along the road above the ravine 
 of the quarries. A second issued from the town, which was intended 
 to cut off our force from the assistance of the French. A third crossed 
 the Tchernaya by the bridge on the Inkermann road, and gaining the 
 heights, attacked the camp of our second division. A fourth attack 
 was intended to have been made by Liprandi"s force (which con- 
 sisted of thirty-two squadrons of regular cavalry and Cossacks, with 
 several batteries of artillery and some infantry) in order to threaten 
 Balaklava, and hold in check both General Bosquet's and Sir Colin 
 Campbell's force; but he only made a slight demonstration, and 
 General Bosquet's division came to our assistance about four hours 
 and a half after the battle had begun. A fifth attacking column fell
 
 NOTES. 71 
 
 upon the extreme left of the French trenches by the Quarantine Fort, 
 but was repulsed with great loss by General Lourmelle, who was 
 killed close to the enemy's works. 
 
 A telegraph had been erected on the heights of Inkermann, to 
 signalise to the garrison of Sevastopol the moment of the attack of the 
 Russian army on our camp, so that at the same time they might make 
 two sorties on different parts of our trenches. — My Log. 
 
 Note 5. Page 12. 
 
 Tlie Midnight March. 
 
 The enemy were much surprised, when they advanced to attack 
 our position, to find that we had no outposts in the valley of the 
 Tchernaya, for they imagined we should have had heavy batteries 
 on the heights commanding the bridge and valley below. Sir 
 De Lacy Evans, with the experience of an old soldier, had frequently 
 pointed out the insecurity of the undefended flanks of our position, 
 but his wise warnings were not attended to. Under cover of the 
 darkness of the morning, the enemy dragged up several pieces of heavy 
 artillery, and placed them in position ready to open fire on our camp 
 at daybreak. 
 
 Note G. Page 13. 
 
 Daybreak. 
 
 The morning of the battle was extremely dark ; several drizzling 
 showers had fallen during the night, and just before dawn a heavy 
 mist hung on the ground, and settled on the heights, and in the 
 valley of Inkermann.
 
 72 NOTES. 
 
 Note 7. Page 13. 
 
 In the British camp all appeared quiet. There all was security 
 and repose ; and little did our slumbering troops imagine that a 
 subtle and indefatigable enemy had advanced huge masses of men 
 under cover of powerful artillery to a very formidable position, and 
 were only waiting for the first glimpse of daylight, and the dispersion 
 of the fogs, to fall upon their unsuspecting prey. 
 
 Note 8. Page 14. 
 
 The Vaunt. 
 
 " The Eussian general knew the immense advantages under 
 which he fought. In the first place, he had a very great superiority 
 in numbers ; had an overpowering artillery of much larger calibre than 
 ours ; his men were well fed, sheltered from the weather, and full of 
 confidence. Besides which, they were incited by their priests, and 
 promised success, fighting under the eyes of the sons of the Czar, 
 whom they are taught to consider the delegate of God. On the 
 other hand, he knew that our army was far too small to operate with 
 any chance of success ; that our men were worn out by constant 
 exposure, and continual hard work ; that they sustained the most 
 unheard-of hardships, often wanting even a bare sufficiency of food. 
 When all the advantages the enemy possessed over the Allies are 
 considered, the Eussian general's boast cannot be wondered at, for 
 victory must have appeared but as a natural consequence to a leader 
 who did not know the indomitable, sterling courage of the British 
 soldier, and who had not then experienced the bitter defeat of an 
 Inkermann."— My Log.
 
 NOTES. 7M 
 
 Note 9. Page 15. 
 The Outlying Picket. 
 
 " The pickets and outlying posts were thoroughly saturated, and 
 their arms wet, despite their precautions ; and it is scarcely to be 
 wondered at if there were some of them not quite so alert as sentries 
 should be in face of an enemy, for it must be remembered that our 
 small army was almost worn out by incessant labour, and that even 
 the sentries on picket were frequently men who had had but a short 
 respite from work in the trenches or regimental duty. Besides, on the 
 morn of Inkermann the fog and vapours of drifting rain were so thick 
 that one could hardly see two yards before him." — Press. 
 
 Note 10. Page 16. 
 
 The Warning, 
 
 " At four o'clock the bells of the churches of Sevastopol were 
 heard ringing drearily through the cold night-air ; but the occurrence 
 had been so usual that it excited no particular attention. During the 
 night, however, a sharp-eared sergeant on an outlying picket of the 
 Light Division heard the sound of wheels in the valley below as 
 though they were approaching the position up the hill. He reported 
 the circumstance to Major Bunbury ; but it was supposed that the 
 sound arose from ammunition waggons or arabas going into Sevastopol 
 by the Inkermann road. No one suspected for a moment that 
 enormous masses of Russians were creeping up the rugged sides of 
 the heights over the valley of Inkermann on the undefended flank of 
 the Second Division." — Russell.
 
 74 NOTES. 
 
 Note 11. Page 17. 
 
 " A very large kind of sheep-dog is common in this part of the 
 Crimea, and the inhabitants having fled, these guardians of the fold 
 keep together in troops, living in holes and caves, and feeding on the 
 carcasses of the horses and other dead bodies. Some have become 
 perfectly wild, and, from their gaunt appearance and habits, have 
 been mistaken for wolves. A large troop of upwards of twenty held 
 possession of the hardly-contested ground between our advanced 
 trenches and the fortifications of the town, notwithstanding the 
 fearful cross-fire of shot, shell, grape, and musketry that continually 
 swept over it. These dogs were often hunted by the mounted officers 
 of the allied armies. I have seen upwards of two hundred at a meet 
 near Karani, from grave generals to jolly subalterns." — My Log. 
 
 Note 12. Page 19. 
 
 Tlie Assembly. 
 
 The battle of Inkermann was fought by the British army in their 
 cloaks, which is a very unusual costume for them in action, full dress 
 being generally worn. The French are in the habit of dressing 
 unusually smart when they expect a general action. My friend, the 
 late Lieut.-Col. Magnan, of the Etat Major-General, had reserved a 
 new tunic and epaulettes, with a pair of Piver's white kid gloves ex- 
 pressly for the assault of Sevastopol, where he fell mortally wounded 
 inside the Malakoff. How does this contrast with the Eussian habit 
 of officers of the highest rank wearing the same costume as that of 
 the private soldier ? It certainly has one good effect, as it prevents 
 the officers from being picked off.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Note 13. Page 20. 
 The Arab Charger. 
 
 The bones of my poor horse, "Desert-bom," whitened on the hill- 
 side of Inkermann, where he was killed by a shell, and his master 
 severely wounded. He was a parting present from the celebrated 
 Arab chief, Moussa Pacha, who was killed on the ramparts of Silistria, 
 and was a perfect specimen of the pure Nedjed Arab. In the be- 
 ginning of the campaign, I always turned in dressed, so as to be ready 
 for service at a moment's notice. One side of my tent I had dug 
 out to the depth of nearly three feet, and this part was occupied by 
 my favourite charger. The nights were often bitterly cold ; we were 
 not overburdened with clothes; fuel was scarce, and not to be had 
 without much trouble, so I found keeping my horse in my tent 
 answered a double purpose — it preserved him from the weather, and 
 served to keep me warm. Two other companions also shared my tent, 
 for in a beautiful deserted villa on the Balbec I found a brace of 
 Russian pointers, chained up and nearly famished, which I ap- 
 propriated, and they used to sleep coiled up at my feet, and served as 
 an extra blanket. Often in the morning, when I awoke, I have 
 found my horse wiih his head stretched as far as he could reach over 
 the heap of dry leaves that formed my bed, and his beautiful gazelle- 
 like eyes fixed on my face ; and sometimes in the night I would feel 
 him " mouthing " my hand in the most gentle manner, as if to make 
 sure that I was near him. He had been my constant companion 
 during several months' active service on the Danube, and we fully 
 understood each other. His affectionate disposition and extraordinary 
 sagacity had quite endeared him to me, and when he was killed I felt 
 as if I had lost a well-loved friend. 
 
 The Arabian horse, the sire and progenitor of the English race- 
 horse, has been the subject of many lengthy papers ; but I have not 
 read one account that tallies with that of the Bedouins, who say that
 
 76 NOTES. 
 
 there are five breeds among the " ussal khomsee," or horses of true 
 family, i.e., thorough -breds, and that they are descended from the five 
 sacred mares of Mahomet, named Eabdha, Noama, Wajza, Sabha, 
 and Heyma, giving names to the following distinct breeds — the 
 Taueyse, Manekye, Keheyl, Saklawye, and Dujlfe. Nedjed signifies, 
 in Arabic, high or table-land, in contradistinction to Telema, or the 
 plains, and horses of this caste are considered the best blood of Arabia. 
 In the desert a pedigree is never given or asked for, every Arab 
 knowing the genealogy of another's mare, without the aid of a stud 
 book ; but for mercantile purposes, and especially in the case of colts, 
 a properly-attested pedigree is enclosed in a piece of leather and 
 fastened round the horse's neck. 
 
 The Mussulman does everything in a different way to a European : 
 on entering the house, he takes off his shoes, we our hats ; he shaves 
 his head, we our beards ; he values a mare, we a horse ; with him the 
 produce takes rank from the dam, with us the sire gives nobility. An 
 Arab might sell a horse of the best breed, but a mare — never ; she 
 must be taken from him by force ; and, in consequence of this, most 
 famous mares are the property of three or four persons : as by this 
 means the thief will have to evade three or four pairs of eyes, or the 
 spoiler vanquish three or four individuals before the prize can be 
 gained. 
 
 The love the Arabs bear to their mares is exemplified by an 
 anecdote which was told me by the celebrated chieftain, Mahomet 
 Ben Abdullah, better known as Bou Maza (the son of the Goat), 
 whose daring exploits and hair-breadth escapes, in his predatory 
 expeditions against the French, have caused his name to become 
 famous in song among the santons of the desert. One of the tribes of 
 the Djdjliura mountains possessed a coal-black mare of the pure 
 Nedjed breed, which in the desert was of untold value, for her fame 
 had gone forth far and wide, and the tribes were wont to swear by her 
 fleetness and endurance. Bou Maza, then a young man, determined 
 to possess her either by fair or foul means, and offered the whole of his
 
 NOTES. 77 
 
 wealth in exchange— viz., several tents and slaves, forty camels, 
 sixteen other horses, and even his two wives ; but nothing would 
 induce Ben Alii the Sheik (who was the principal owner) to part with 
 her. Bou Maza, who was on friendly terms with the Djdjhura tribes, 
 then determined to obtain her by stealth ; but this was a difficult 
 operation, as there were always people watching night and day. 
 After many days' consideration, and (as he told me) severe praying 
 to Allah to sharpen his wits, he fixed upon a plan, and forthwith pro- 
 ceeded to execute it. He cut himself with a knife about the face 
 and chest, and wounded his horse ; and one day about noon claimed 
 the protection of Ben Alii the Sheik, stating that he had been at- 
 tacked by some Arabs of a neighbouring tribe, with whom there was 
 a blood feud, who were lurking about in the vicinity. In the desert, 
 " the friends of our friends are our friends, and the enemies of our 
 friends are also our enemies," so the Sheik sent out his young men to 
 retaliate, and follow up the supposed agressors, whilst he and the 
 Hakeem of the tribe bound up the wounds and attended on Bou 
 Maza, who pretending to be in a dying state, begged that they would 
 cany him out to a sward where the cattle of the tribe were grazing, 
 so that he might turn his face towards the sacred city, and perform 
 his devotions. His wish was complied with, and he soon had the 
 gratification of beholding this famous mare, cropping the stunted 
 herbage a short distance from the clump of date-trees, under the shade 
 of which he was lying. She was strictly watched by two of the tribe, 
 who for two hours hardly ever seemed to take their eyes off her, and 
 Bou Maza began to think that the young men would return before 
 his undertaking could be accomplished ; he therefore uttered a loud 
 cry as if in agony, which brought the watchers to his side, and 
 selecting his opportunity, he plunged a knife, which he had concealed 
 under his haic (dress), in their breasts, killing them ere they could 
 utter a cry ; and flinging his burnouse over their bodies, unfastened the 
 tether which hobbled the mare's fore feet, and springing on her back, 
 was far away in the desert before the theft was discovered. When it
 
 78 NOTES. 
 
 was found out, the Sheik, Ben Alii, whose son was one of the slain, 
 and all the men of the tribe set off in pursuit, and after a chase of 
 three days almost surprised him, near one of those immense salt 
 marshes which are so numerous in Algeria, in a place where there 
 was no means of escape, but across this dangerous ground ; and 
 Bou Maza was about to attempt it when the Sheik, Ben Alii, seeing 
 the ignominious fate which awaited his beloved mare, forgot his re- 
 venge for the loss of his son, and begged him to forbear, giving his 
 sacred pledge that his tribe should not molest him, or continue the 
 pursuit for three days should he do so, preferring to run the chance 
 of regaining her another time to seeing her perish before his eyes. 
 Bou Maza accepted the pledge and got away. Another time he was 
 hard run by the same tribe, and the Sheik, who headed the pursuing 
 party, being mounted upon the own brother of the mare, finding he 
 was not gaining ground, desisted from the chase, and cried out for 
 him to stop and not fatigue the mare to save his wretched life, and 
 bidding him drink the water with which her feet was washed, in 
 token of his being indebted to her for his preservation. The ab- 
 duction of this celebrated mare gave rise to a feud between the tribes 
 in which several hundred Arabs lost their lives ; and she participated 
 in most of Bou Maza's daring exploits which made his name so 
 terrible to those tribes who had submitted to the French. 
 
 In breeding, the Arabs pay much more attention to the caste and 
 blood of the dam than to the sire, whereas we are too prone to expect 
 good produce from any kind of a mare provided the horse is a thorough- 
 bred, which is a great mistake. I believe the finest breed of horses in 
 the world would be produced by coupling our thorough-bred English 
 mares with Arab stallions of pure blood, as what we might lose in 
 size we should <rain in endurance.
 
 NOTES. 79 
 
 Note 14. Page 28. 
 The Outposts driven in. 
 
 The pickets of the second division were the first with whom the 
 enemy came in contact ; and they had hardly made out the grey coats 
 of the attacking force through the dense fog that hung on the ground, 
 when tliey were obliged to retire from a sharp close fire of musketry, 
 and were driven up the brow of the hill, contesting every step, and 
 keeping up a brisk fire on the assailants as long as they had a round 
 of ammunition in their pouches. 
 
 "It soon became evident that the enemy, under cover of a vast 
 cloud of skirmishers, supported by dense columns of infantry, and 
 numerous batteries of artillery, having gained the heights during the 
 night, was advancing in force against our position ; and had during 
 the foggy morning placed several heavy guns in position on the high 
 ground to the left and front of the second division." — Lord Raglan b 
 Despatch. 
 
 Note 15. Page 29. 
 
 Tlie First Staiid. 
 
 A low stone wall about four feet high runs along the outside of 
 the camp of the second division, about fifty paces from the tents of the 
 30th and 55th regiments. It was here that the first stand was made ; 
 and the numerous marks (still to be seen) of shot, shell, grape, and 
 musketry, show how fearful was the struggle between the first warned 
 and the Russian van The firing of the retreating pickets had spread 
 an alarm through the camp of the second division, and both men and 
 officers of the different regiments rushed up, many half-dressed, with 
 their arms in their hands. It was an anxious moment, and men 
 looked askingly at each other, as if they wondered what the distant
 
 80 NOTES. 
 
 hum and sounds of strife might portend. In the front, towards the 
 slope of the hill every now and again sharp cracks of the rifle were 
 heard, followed by the roll of musketry. Then red flashes were seen 
 through the dense fog which hung on the ground, and the heavy 
 measured tramp of masses of men was now distinctly heard approach- 
 ing. I cantered forward to reconnoitre, and met two wounded men 
 coming towards the camp, who said that the whole Russian army was 
 close at hand. Almost immediately afterwards our retreating pickets 
 came in view, still keeping up a straggling fire on the advancing foe, 
 who replied by heavy volleys. At this moment Sir William 
 Oodrington (then commanding a brigade of the Light Division) 
 rode hurriedly by, and as bullets were whistling about rather sharply, 
 and I did not see any object to be gained by remaining witli the 
 retiring pickets, I returned towards the camp, and found that about 
 two thousand men of different regiments of the second division, chiefly 
 the 30th, 55th, 41st, 47th, 49th, and 95th, were formed in line behind 
 the stone wall previously alluded to, which number was increased by 
 small parties who ran up from all directions in companies, tens, and 
 even single men. Regiments had but little time to form, for the 
 heavy tread of the enemy was heard as they approached nearer and 
 nearer, driving back our outposts, who Ml in with our line. Then a 
 rattling of arms was heard, and almost immediately clouds of dusky 
 figures appeared looming largely through the fog, whose long grey 
 coats and flat caps left us no doubt as to whom they were. Through 
 breaks in the drifting vapour, behind these swarms of skirmishers we 
 could perceive the head of an immense column closely following in 
 steady and compact order. A deadly silence reigned; men peered 
 , through the gloom at the advancing foe, then looked at each other. 
 Bloodless lips and pale faces might have been seen, for the men were 
 worn with toil, constant exposure, and hardships dreadful even to 
 relate, and their haggard, meagre, and pinched-up features showed 
 that they were suffering from an insufficiency of food ; still there was 
 an ail- of cool determination and unflinching fearless bravery portrayed
 
 NOTES. 81 
 
 on every countenance, that betokened the high bearing of the British 
 soldier ; and notwithstanding the fearful array against us, no fears 
 were entertained for a moment as to the ultimate success of the day. 
 Our men had a confidence and reliance in each other that was not to 
 be shaken or daunted even by the overpowering odds displayed 
 against them. Not a word was spoken nor a sound heard except the 
 clicking of locks as the men raised the hammers of their rifles, no 
 unsteadiness or wavering was to be seen along 'that thin red line.' 
 " Aim low " was some old soldier's caution ; and simultaneously a long 
 withering volley was poured into the adverse ranks, and a fearful 
 yell, an agonising shriek of despair followed the report. Some tew of 
 the Russian skirmishers, hidden by the smoke, managed to get into 
 our line, but they were almost immediately bayoneted or shot dowu. 
 
 The loud yell of the enemy was taken up by the whole depth of 
 the column, and they returned an ill-directed volley which did not do 
 us much damage. Our Minie rifles kept up a long rolling fire on 
 their dense masses, sweeping down the head of their column, and 
 preventing the possibility of any formation. Then was seen the 
 great superiority of the Minie rifle, for our murderous fire cleft huge 
 gaps to the very centre of their leading battalions, sweeping down 
 whole files and ranks entire, and many a soldier blessed the Minister 
 of War (the Duke of Newcastle) for his wise policy in arming the 
 troops with this weapon. The carnage was fearful; the enemy's 
 immense masses of men were obb'ged to halt and move away the 
 heaps of corpses that impeded their advance, and they could not 
 deploy, as the whole front was encumbered by the dead. 
 
 The column appeared to reel and waver about like a huge snake 
 writhing in its death agony; still our men steadily kept up their 
 fearful fire, which was but ill returned. Our loss was trifling com- 
 pared to theirs, for the effect of our concentrated fire can hardly 
 be imagined. The enemy's artillery played unceasingly on our 
 position ; shot, shell, grape, and canister flew about in all directions, 
 but luckily for us, the same fog which had obscured the advance of 
 
 G
 
 82 NOTES. 
 
 the enemy also prevented them from getting our range accurately, 
 though we afterwards suffered much during the intervals between 
 their successive attacks. — My Log. 
 
 Note 16. Page 34. 
 
 TJie First Charge of the Second Division. 
 
 It is not possible to imagine a more exciting scene than a charge 
 of British troops, when with a loud shrill ringing cheer, which almost 
 drowns the rolling of drums and blasts of bugles, each man feeling 
 confident of success lowers his bayonet and throws himself upon the 
 foe. At such a moment all thoughts of personal danger vanish, and 
 even the raw unfledged recruit just taken from his mother's hearth 
 proves himself a hero, and feels and acts as if the turning-point of the 
 day depended upon his own individual exertions. Then it is that the 
 British soldier shows himself to be of sterling metal, and shines in a 
 light incontestably superior to that of any other nation. His extreme 
 coolness, combined with his sturdy bull-dog courage, his superior 
 strength, weight, and size, and his knowledge of his own power, give 
 him great advantages in the mele'e, whilst his unflinching loyalty to 
 his Queen, his innate love of country, and a patriotism in him more 
 instinct than inculcated animates him to deeds of daring in the field, 
 and in the horn of need enables him to sustain the fearful privations 
 and hardships which at times it is his lot to undergo. Inkermann, 
 besides adding another glorious name to the annals of Old England, 
 has shown that British soldiers have not degenerated ; and the day 
 will come when the merits of those who fought that day will be 
 better appreciated, and their services more liberally rewarded. The 
 old race of gallant veterans who fought and conquered under the 
 great Duke are passing away; another generation has succeeded 
 them, and in time to come, when ours shall be as the days of old, the 
 few survivors of that desperate fight will be held of much account ;
 
 NOTES. 83 
 
 and when future wars shall threaten, his counsel will be taken, and 
 they will say " Hear the old man ; he fought at Inkermann." — My Log. 
 
 Note 17. Page 40. 
 
 The Sand-bag Battery. 
 
 The work was a simple epaulement, with embrasures for guns made 
 of fascines and sandbags ; but it was not armed, as from its exposed and 
 isolated position cannon left in it would only have invited capture. 
 It was here that the brigade of Guards suffered so severely. 
 
 Note 18. Page 42. 
 
 Tlie Guards at Bay. 
 
 " The enemy, though they frequently advanced to the charge with 
 great determination, uttering loud yells and shouts, could not success- 
 fully stand against us when it came to a struggle with the bayonet. 
 The British soldier is unequalled when the contest comes to such 
 close quarters that he can feel his adversary's breath, and cold steel 
 has to decide the affair ; for over and over again that day were large 
 masses of the enemy driven back and repulsed by very inferior 
 numbers of our men with the bayonet alone, and hand-to-hand 
 combats were to be seen in breaks of the fog on every side." — My Log. 
 
 THE END OF NOTES.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND SONGS.
 
 THE BASHI-BAZOUK 
 
 " Simple are thy ways, Numidia ! 
 Many years have fail'd to change 
 The free customs of thy people, 
 Tameless, resolute, and strange ! 
 Thus it was that Ishmael wander'd 
 O'er Arabia's sandy lea ; 
 Thus it was when Islam triumph'd, 
 And in after days shall be." — Viscount Maidstone. 
 
 The Bashi-Bazouks have come from afar, 
 Lured by the prospect of plunder and war 
 From Anadol's hills to the Danube's banks, 
 All the wild spirits have joined the ranks, 
 
 To wage war 'gainst the Giaour.
 
 88 THE BASHI-BAZOUK. 
 
 To aid the Sultan in his hour of need, 
 The Santon has mounted his Nedjed steed ; 
 Throughout all Islam a whisper has pass'd, 
 And rous'd up her sons, like a trumpet's blast, 
 At night when the foe is nigh. 
 
 Bands of fierce horsemen, from regions afar, 
 Come, guiding their course by the Northern star ; 
 And the clanging cymbal and Tartar drum 
 Are heard in the plain as the horde moves on 
 To join the Sultan's host 
 
 Swarthy Arabs have left their desert home 
 With, the wily Kurd and Turk to roam ; 
 Whilst Arnauts and Greeks, from Albania's land, 
 With Croats, Poles, and Cossacks, have joined the 
 band, 
 
 And a score of tribes besides.
 
 THE BASHI-BAZOUK. 89 
 
 There were chiefs from the far-off Daghistan, 
 And Scythian bows from the Caspian ; 
 With warriors from Ethiopian lands, 
 And Bedouins dark from Arabia's sands, 
 
 Who bend no cringing knee. 
 
 E'en the mail'd Circassian from El Burz * height 
 Has left his mountain to join in the fight, 
 With the sturdy Sikh, and the brave Affghan, 
 And men from the confines of Hindostan, 
 To die in Islam's cause. 
 
 There were subtle Persians from Iran's shore, 
 With Kuzzilbash, Tartar, and many more, 
 Of every clime, and of every place, 
 Whatever their creed, whatever their race, 
 Who spurned a tyrant's yoke. 
 
 * El Burz — the highest mountain of the Caucasus.
 
 90 THE BASHI-BAZOUK. 
 
 Though of different tongues, and of varied hue, 
 Each to each other prove kind and true ; 
 They own but one law, acknowledge no sway 
 But the will of a chief, whom all obey, 
 
 At a sign from his flashing eyes. 
 
 A thousand bright swords are at his command, 
 A thousand steeds tether'd around him stand, 
 A thousand bold spirits obey his will, 
 To save and defend, or destroy and kill, 
 As his mandate may decree. 
 
 By his black hair tent reclined the Bey, 
 Inhaling the fumes of a narguilhey ;* 
 And round their leader, with fragrant chibouks, 
 Lay the other chiefs of Bashi-Bazouks, 
 Eeposing at fall of day. 
 
 * Narguilhey — A water-pipe, or hookab.
 
 THE BASHI-BAZOUK. 91 
 
 His sunburnt brow a low green turban bore, 
 Wreath'd lightly round the crimson fez he wore ; 
 O'er silken haik and gold-embroider'd vest 
 His jet-black beard fell flowing down his breast, 
 A symbol of his rank. 
 
 Over his robe the white burnoose was hung, 
 Down from his side a heavy sabre swuDg ; 
 A Cashmere shawl was twisted round his waist, 
 Where keen knife glitter'd amid pistols brac'd, 
 On which his fingers played. 
 
 On the richest carpet of Iran's loom 
 Keclined a figure in earliest bloom, 
 Whose sylph-like form, and merry sparkling eyes, 
 Was the Bey's loved and far most valued prize, 
 For she was passing fair.
 
 92 THE BASHI-BAZOUK. 
 
 No yashmac * now her lovely face conceals, 
 The close antena t her budding form reveals ; 
 And time can never from my mind erase 
 Her wondrous beauty and her form of grace, 
 Which words cannot express. 
 
 So seeming gentle, and with mien so fair, 
 She brav'd clangers others would not dare ; 
 And more than once her fond devotion prov'd, 
 When hidden peril threaten'd him she lov'd, 
 
 And dangers round them lurked. 
 
 How came that flower amid so wild a horde ? 
 (That none knew in the camp, save but her lord.) 
 Him she awaits, prepared is Ins repast, 
 With Eamzan's setting sun he'll break his fast, 
 As the Prophet Chief decrees. 
 
 * Yashruac — The veil worn over the face by the Mussulmannee 
 women. 
 
 t Antena — A close-fitting boddice.
 
 THE BASHI-BAZOUK. 93 
 
 As she lay counting o'er her amber beads, 
 Dreaming of scenes of Avar and manly deeds, 
 The tent door open'd, and a Nubian slave 
 Unto her gentle mistress warning gave 
 
 Of her lord's footsteps nigh. 
 
 The blood now mantled to her blushing cheek, 
 Telling a tale that love alone could speak ; 
 She rose, look'd up, then sprang to his embrace, 
 And in his bosom hid her glowing face, 
 
 Beaming with mutual flame. 
 
 Her raven hair, in loose, dishevell'd charms, 
 Fell flowing, in thick tresses, o'er her arms, 
 Veiling her yielding form, as he caress'd, 
 And she sank lovingly upon his breast, 
 
 And kissed Ins swarthy brow.
 
 94 THE BASHI-BAZOUK. 
 
 Oh ! lengthened days of inglorious ease 
 Are well resigned for such joys as these ; 
 Pleasure flies quickly, too quickly away — 
 To-morrow mayn't come — be happy to-day, 
 For who can read his fate ? 
 
 Some men find pleasure in riches and halls ; 
 And women, they tell me, " in toilette and balls." 
 Some say, " they are happy over their books," 
 But I love the life of the Bashi-Bazouks, 
 
 And the land of the sunny East. 
 
 H.M.S. " Spiteful," on voyage from Varna to the Crimea.
 
 95 
 
 THE VOICE OF A FLOWER. 
 
 Lines written in a lady's album, below a lily of the valley which 
 the author picked up the eve after the battle of Alma, close by 
 Lieut.-Colonel Chester's grave. 
 
 " Let us 
 
 Find out the prettiest dasied spot we can, 
 
 And make hiru, with our pikes and partizans, 
 
 A grave." 
 
 Cvmbeline. 
 
 Lady ! I come from distant lands, 
 
 Belonging to the Czar, 
 And there I saw thy country's bands 
 
 Victorious in the war. 
 
 For I beheld a fearful sight 
 One bright September day, 
 
 When the Allies storm'd the height, 
 And Russia's hosts gave way.
 
 96 THE VOICE OF A FLOWER. 
 
 The Alma's banks with bright steel shone, 
 And cannon frown'd on high : 
 
 Still the Allies came pressing on, 
 To conquer or to die. 
 
 I saw the Zouaves, brave sons of France, 
 Climbing the beetling height : 
 
 I saw their Eagles fast advance, 
 Impatient for the fight. 
 
 I heard the Britons' shrill, wild cheer, 
 
 I saw their bayonets gleam, 
 As " the red line," devoid of fear, 
 
 Dash'd through the Alma's stream. 
 
 I heard the cannon open then 
 
 'Gainst their devoted force : 
 The plain was strew'd with fallen men, 
 
 Still they maintain'd their course,
 
 THE VOICE OF A FLOWER. 97 
 
 'Mid clouds of smoke, through shot and grape, 
 
 They forced the deadly way ; 
 Though grim death lour'd in ev'ry shape, 
 
 Nought could their progress stay. 
 
 I heard, amid the cannon's roar, 
 
 Their heart-inspiring cry ; 
 And up the height the Guardsmen tore, 
 
 And charg'd the battery. 
 
 I saw the gallant Scotch Brigade, 
 
 With music at their head, 
 March steadily, as on parade, 
 
 Though scores of men fell dead. 
 
 '&' 
 
 Then loud uprose the Russian yell 
 
 Above the battle's roar, 
 And hundreds round the earthwork fell, 
 
 Welt'ring in their gore. 
 
 n
 
 98 THE VOICE OF A FLOWER. 
 
 No danger stay'd those fearless men, 
 Or check'd their bold career ; 
 
 They closed their ranks and charged again- 
 Those Isles-men knew no fear. 
 
 The Kussians broke — they could not stand 
 
 The Allies' fearful fire ; 
 And in dismay their shatter'd band 
 
 'Gan slowly to retire. 
 
 I saw the Czar's dense legions fly 
 
 And the Allies advance ; 
 Then loud uprose the Britons' cry, 
 
 With shouts of "Vive la France !" 
 
 The sun had sunk low in the west, 
 
 Ere the red fight was won ; 
 Many a soldier lay at rest, 
 
 Whose earthly course was run.
 
 THE VOICE OF A FLOWER. 99 
 
 Many a warrior, grim and bold, 
 
 Smiled in his latest breath ; 
 Many a youth lay stiff and cold, 
 
 Still lovely e'en in death. 
 
 Strange sounds were borne upon the breeze, 
 
 From the dark rolling surge ; 
 The wind was sighing 'mid the trees, 
 
 Like melancholy dirge. 
 
 I grew upon the Alma's height, 
 
 Above dark Euxine's waves, 
 And I was cull'd after the fight 
 
 From 'midst the new-made graves. 
 
 And he who pluck'd me from the plain, 
 
 Did so with deep-drawn sigh ; 
 For 'mid the foremost of the slain, 
 
 He'd seen a dear friend die.
 
 100 THE VOICE OF A FLOWER. 
 
 Comrades stood round the soldier's grave, 
 And breath'd a heartfelt prayer, 
 
 When one who mourn'd the fallen brave 
 Pluck'd me as I grew there. 
 
 And thrust me to his throbbing heart, 
 
 A souvenir of woe, 
 And of his friend's last earthly rest, 
 
 Who perish'd 'mid the foe. 
 
 Lady ! though dead, I once was fair, 
 
 As aught of mortal birth : 
 Thou, too, fleeting charms may'st share — 
 
 Listen ! child of earth ! 
 
 Like thee, once bloomed this faded flower, 
 
 An emblem of mankind : 
 Hear, then, its voice, " The passing hour 
 
 Is fleeting as the wind."
 
 THE VOICE OF A FLOWER. 101 
 
 Thy beauty, too, will pass away, 
 And wither like a leaf, 
 , Or slowly fade to rank decay, 
 When death will bring relief. 
 
 The longest life is but a breath, 
 
 And like a valley's flower : 
 Thou too must pass the vale of death — 
 
 Prepare to meet that hour. 
 
 Scutari Hospital.
 
 102 
 
 THE HIGHLANDERS EAEEWELL. 
 
 " Farewell ! God knows when we shall meet again. 
 I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, 
 That almost freezes up the heat of life." 
 
 Eomeo and Juliet. 
 
 Fare-ye-weel, my Jeanie dear ! 
 
 The hour is come to part. 
 Hark ! the touns-folk, how they cheer ! 
 
 Ye maunna' cry, sweetheart. 
 List, our Hielancl music plays, 
 
 " The girls we left behind." 
 Oft that air, in future days, 
 
 Will bring auld friens to mind. 
 
 Fare-ye-weel, my Jeanie dear ! 
 
 The hour is come to part. 
 Hark ! the touns-folk, how they cheer ! 
 
 Ye maunna' cry, sweetheart.
 
 the Highlander's farewell, 103 
 
 Dry your tears, my only love, 
 
 And dinna, dinna weep : 
 Ken ye no' there's Ane above, 
 
 Wha's gudeness ne'er will sleep ? 
 Duty calls, I maun obey, 
 
 And to my Queen pruve true. 
 Fare-ye-weel ! I daurna stay — 
 
 Sweetheart, ance mair, adieu. 
 
 Fare-ye-weel, my Jeanie dear ! 
 
 The hour is come to part. 
 Hark ! the touns-folk, how they cheer ! 
 
 Ye maunna' cry, sweetheart. ' 
 
 Camp of Highland Brigade, Heights above Balaklava.
 
 104 
 
 THE SONG OF THE FUSILIER. 
 
 " Cowards die many times before their deaths ; 
 The valiant never taste of death but once. 
 Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, 
 It seems to me most strange that men should fear ; 
 Seeing that death, a necessary end, 
 Will come when it will come." 
 
 Julius Cesar. 
 
 You have ask'd for my song, and your call I obey, 
 For perhaps it may serve to drive dull care away ; 
 Join loud in the chorus, let the enemy hear, 
 That the eve before action our hearts knew no fear. 
 
 Fill the goblet again, fill it up to the brink, 
 For to some it may be the last cup they may drink ; 
 Let our last night be gay, and drive away sorrow, 
 For why should a soldier think of to-morrow ?
 
 THE SONG OF THE FUSILIEE. 105 
 
 Now the sun is gone down, and no moon's gentle light 
 Sheds her silvery gleam through the dark murky night ; 
 Bright flashes of cannon blaze red 'gainst the sky, 
 And rockets are hissing through the air as they fly. 
 
 Fill the goblet again, fill it up to the brink, 
 For to some it may be the last cup they may drink ; 
 Let our last night be gay, and drive away sorrow, 
 For why should a soldier think of to-morrow ? 
 
 By the Alma's fam'd stream we have humbled the foe, 
 
 And at Balaklava their horsemen laid low ; 
 
 In Tchernaya's valley their battalions have fled, 
 
 And bleak Inkermann's height lay heaped with their dead. 
 
 Fill the goblet again, fill it up to the brink, 
 For to some it may be the last cup they may drink ; 
 Let our last night be gay, and drive away sorrow, 
 For why should a soldier think of to-morrow ?
 
 106 THE SONG OF THE FUSILIER. 
 
 We fought for Old England, for our Queen, and her crown, 
 No stain shall dishonour our ancient renown. 
 We may die ! — who will not ? yet what soldier will shrink 
 To pledge me " The morrow," the last toast he may drink ? 
 
 Fill the goblet again, fill it up to the brink, 
 For to some it may be the last cup they may drink ; 
 Let our last night be gay, and drive away sorrow, 
 For why should a soldier think of to-morrow ? 
 
 Now the time's near at hand for bold deeds to be done, 
 The walls are now shaken, and the town must be won, 
 The morn is approaching, the assault now draws nigh ; 
 I pledge ye " The morrow — may we conquer or die !" 
 
 Fill the goblet again, fill it up to the brink, 
 For to some it may be the last cup they may drink ; 
 Let our last night be gay, and drive away sorrow, 
 For why should a soldier think of to-morrow ? 
 
 Gordon's Battery before Sevastopol.
 
 107 
 
 THE BKITON'S SONG. 
 
 " England, with all thy faults, I love thee still." 
 
 There's a magical charm in the land of our birth, 
 Which, seek where you will, is not found else on earth ; 
 You may search till you tire, from the pole to the zone, 
 But where will you find any land like our own ? 
 Her daughters are fairest, and what nation dare brave 
 The Isles-men of Britain, the queen of the wave ; 
 I have roam'd through the world, but I cannot compare 
 Any men with her sons, any maids with her fair. 
 
 Then fill up your bumpers, and drink to my toast, 
 I pledge ye " The Island " we all love the most : 
 The gem of the ocean, the pride of the earth, 
 The bulwark of freedom, the land of our birth.
 
 108 THE BRITON'S SONG. 
 
 The red cross of Britain is the pride of the main, 
 An emblem of freedom, a flag without stain ; 
 Go search through creation, on the land o'er the wave, 
 That standard ne'er floats o'er the head of a slave. 
 Like a meteor it shines, for 'tis borne to the field 
 By those who may die, but who never will yield ; 
 Go search in Fame's volume, you'll find there its story, 
 And Britain's fair name, midst a halo of Glory. 
 
 Then fill up your bumpers, and drink to my toast, 
 I pledge ye " The Island " we all love the most : 
 The gem of the ocean, the pride of the earth, 
 The bulwark of freedom, the land of our birth. 
 
 Camp of the Xaval Brigade, lefore Sevastopol.
 
 109 
 
 HOMEWAED BOUND. 
 
 The following lines were written upon an incident of the late war, 
 an account of which appeared in one of the English newspapers. 
 A transport, conveying the wounded soldiers from the Crimea, had 
 been telegraphed as having arrived at Spithead. No sooner was the 
 anchor down than the vessel was crowded by the friends and relatives 
 of the invalids, and among them came an old gentleman to look after 
 the disembarkation of his only son, a youth of eighteen, who had been 
 reported among the severely wounded. On arrival on board, the 
 afflicted father was told that his son had breathed bis last the even- 
 ing before, within sight of land. The shock was too great for the old 
 man to bear, and he died suddenly on hearing the news. 
 
 " Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, 
 
 Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ; 
 Dream of battled fields no more, 
 Days of danger, nights of waking." 
 
 Scott. 
 
 The sun was sinking in the west 
 
 Below the deep-blue sea ; 
 His rays still gilt the billows' crest, 
 
 And land lay on our lee. 
 Darkly it looni'd above the wave, 
 
 As twilight gather'd round ; 
 Each heart was sad, each soldier grave, 
 
 Though we were homeward bound.
 
 110 HOMEWARD BOUND. 
 
 For one all loved lay on the deck 
 
 Who never would rise more ; 
 His eyes were fix'd on that dark speck 
 
 They said was England's shore. 
 His brow was chill — all pain was past — 
 
 Tears stood in every eye ; 
 The shades of death were gathering fast- 
 
 His time was come to die. 
 
 His heart was in his father's hall, 
 
 He fancied friends were nigh ; 
 At times he'd on his mother call, 
 
 And bid her not to sigh. 
 We heard him try to breathe the prayer 
 
 Which she perchance had taught : 
 Veterans wept, as they stood there, 
 
 With whom that boy had fought.
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. Ill 
 
 The night closed round — a mournful wail 
 
 Was heard along the deep ; 
 To all on board it told the tale — 
 
 Our friend had sunk to sleep. 
 Bright morning broke — the fresh' ning breeze 
 
 Our good ship onward bore ; 
 We saw the cliffs and stately trees 
 
 Of dear Old England's shore. 
 
 The anchor fell with grating sound ; 
 
 Our perils now were o'er, 
 And dear ones greet the homeward-bound 
 
 They'd thought to see no more. 
 Friends crowded round : one hale old man 
 
 Gazed on with troubled air ; 
 Each soldier's face he seemed to scan, 
 
 But no one knew him there.
 
 112 HOMEWAED BOUND. 
 
 At last he breathed the lost one's name — 
 
 Each soldier turned away. 
 Again he ask'd — the captain came, 
 
 But knew not what to say. 
 A tear rolled from the sailor's eye — 
 
 He pointed o'er his head, 
 Where Britain's banner, half-mast high, 
 
 Proclaimed that one was dead. 
 
 He took the mourner by the hand, 
 
 And led him to the corse ; 
 Surrounded by our weeping band, 
 
 He told him of his loss. 
 The old man kissed the pallid cheek, 
 
 And knelt down by the dead, 
 As if in prayer : he did not speak. 
 
 He rose not — life had fled. 
 
 Scutari Hospital.
 
 113 
 
 THE BASHI-BAZOUK TO HIS HOESE, 
 "DESERT-BORN." 
 
 " He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength ; he goeth 
 on to meet the armed men. 
 
 " He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted ; neither turneth he back 
 from the sword." — Job. 
 
 Come, rouse thee, my charger, prepare for the fray, 
 For trumpets are braying, and we must away ! 
 The booming of cannon sounds loud on the wind ; 
 When fame's to be won, we must ne'er be behind. 
 Let those who prefer it dwell in a fix'd home, 
 But we, my heart's treasure, together will roam ! 
 For Islam is threaten'd — the Sultan has need 
 Of the Bashi-bazouk and his brave Arab steed. 
 
 I'm mounted ! I'm mounted ! I'm away like the wind ; 
 
 No steed in the desert can leave me behind. 
 
 Al-ham-du-lillah !* — I fear not a foe ; 
 
 I'm free as the breezes that o'er the sands blow ! 
 
 * " Thanks be to God !" a common Arabic expression.
 
 114 THE BASHI-BAZOUK TO HLS 
 
 My own " Desert-born," dost remember the day, 
 
 When Cossack hordes hovered around us at bay, 
 
 And we charg'd through the mass like a whirlwind's blast, 
 
 And gained the vast steppe when the danger was past ? 
 
 How the foes howled with rage as they watched our flight, 
 
 And followed our course till the fall of the night ? 
 
 I laughed at then- efforts — for, unmatched in speed, 
 
 I knew none could reach us, my brave Arab steed ! 
 
 I'm mounted! I'm mounted ! I'm away like the wind ; 
 
 No steed in the desert can leave me behind. 
 
 Al-ham-du-lillah ! — I fear not a foe ; 
 
 I'm free as the breezes that o'er the sands blow ! 
 
 We've traversed the land, and we've sailed o'er the main — 
 Now the hour's near at hand to set forth again. 
 Fearless of danger, we roam in all weather ; 
 No peril can daunt us while we are together
 
 HORSE, "DESERT-BORN." 115 
 
 No maiden so fair but she causes remorse : 
 
 I have known none with thee, my own gallant horse ! 
 
 I never found friend in the hour of my need 
 
 True as thee, " Desert-born," my brave Arab steed ! 
 
 I'm mounted ! I'm mounted ! I'm away like the wind ; 
 
 No steed in the desert can leave me behind. 
 
 Al-ham-du-lillah ! — I fear not a foe ; 
 
 I'm free as the breezes that o'er the sands blow ! 
 
 Camp Alah-dcen, near Varna.
 
 116 
 
 THE WOUNDED HIGHLANDER. 
 
 " I am a soldier, and unapt to weep, 
 Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness." 
 
 Henry VI. 
 
 RECITATIVE. 
 
 The eve the Alma's heights were won, 
 
 As o'er the field I trod, 
 I marked a wounded Highlander 
 
 Lie bleeding on the sod. 
 His brother strove to stanch the wound ; 
 
 Alas ! it was in vain : 
 Dark crimson streams flow'd on the ground ; 
 
 And he sang this sad strain : —
 
 THE WOUNDED HIGHLANDEE. 117 
 
 " Ye mamma weep for me, Willie ! 
 
 dinna greet sae sair : 
 Ye '11 follow me ere lang, laddie, 
 
 When we shall part nae mair ! 
 Like yonder setting sun, Willie, 
 
 E'en sae my course is run ; 
 But he will rise again, laddie, 
 
 And I shall then be gone ! 
 
 " Maybe when ye'll gae back, Willie, 
 
 To our hame by the burn, 
 Ye'll tell them a' the tale, laddie, 
 
 O' him wha'll no return. 
 Ye'll tell them how I foucht, Willie, 
 
 Like sodger, true and brave ! 
 'Twill ease my mither's heart, laddie, 
 
 When I am in the grave.
 
 118 THE WOUNDED HIGHLANDER. 
 
 " There's ane wha sair will greet, Willie- 
 
 The news, oil ! gently break, 
 For she was a' in a' to me ; 
 
 Yell lo'e her for my sake ! 
 Oh but it's hard to dee, Willie, 
 
 And leave her a' alane ! 
 It's but for her I greet, laddie — 
 
 For her when I am gane. 
 
 " Oh dinna mind my words, Willie, 
 
 And dinna, dinna sigh ; 
 I wadna ca' life back again — 
 
 "lis for my Queen I die ! 
 And 'tis a glorious day, Willie, 
 
 As e'er yon sun set on. 
 Ye'll comfort a' at name, laddie, 
 
 When I am deid an' gone !
 
 THE WOUNDED HIGHLANDER. 119 
 
 ! Now fauld rue to your heart, Willie, 
 
 The nicht air's fearfu' keen ! 
 And kiss me ere I gae, laddie ! 
 
 There's darkness o'er my een. 
 I ken I'm sinking fast, Willie, 
 
 The cauld strikes to the bane ! 
 Ye '11 comfort a' at hame, laddie, 
 
 When I am deid an' gane !" 
 
 Close in his brother's arms, 
 Locked in Iris fast embrace, 
 
 He passed away as if in sleep, 
 
 A smile upon his face. 
 We cut a lock of curling hair 
 
 That o'er his brow did wave ; 
 Then by the Alma's rippling stream 
 
 We dug the soldier's grave. 
 
 Camp, Valley of Balbec.
 
 120 
 
 THE OLD SONG. 
 
 " That old and antique song we heard last night ; 
 Methought it did relieve my passion much : 
 More than light airs and recollected terms, 
 Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times." 
 
 Twelfth Night. 
 
 There's something in the well-known tone 
 
 Of ancient ballad lays, 
 That calls to mind, though years have flown, 
 
 The friends of early days. 
 I've seen them cause the tears to start 
 
 From sternest soldier's eye ; 
 No modern strains could touch his heart 
 Like those of days gone by. 
 Then sing to me the songs of yore, 
 For though they make me sigh, 
 They bring to mind dear friends once more, 
 And happy days gone by.
 
 THE OLD SONG. 121 
 
 I love to hear the ancient lays 
 
 My mother used to sing ; 
 They tell me of my childhood's days, 
 
 And fond thoughts backwards bring. 
 I dream of days of hope and joy 
 Whene'er I hear that strain ; 
 I think that I am still a boy, 
 And hear her voice again. 
 
 Then sing to me the songs of yore, 
 For though they make me sigh, 
 They bring to mind dear friends once more, 
 And happy days gone by. 
 
 Camp of the Guards, Balaclava.
 
 122 
 
 THE WOUNDED TROOPER TO HIS 
 SWORD. 
 
 " Behold, I have a weapon ; 
 A better never did itself sustain 
 Upon a soldier's thigh : I have seen the day, 
 That, with this little arm and this good sword, 
 I have made my way through more impediments 
 Than twenty times your stop : — But, vain boast ! 
 Who can control his fate ? 'tis not so now." 
 
 Othello. 
 
 Adieu, old friend, my work is o'er, 
 
 I'm fading like a leaf ; 
 I ne'er may dare the combat more, 
 
 So slumber in thy sheath. 
 No more I'll hear the trumpet bray, 
 
 Or rollings of the drum ; 
 I hear my charger fondly neigh ; 
 
 Alas ! I cannot come.
 
 THE WOUNDED TROOPER TO HIS SWORD. 123 
 
 Hast thou forgot, my well-tried brand, 
 
 That morn, when full of pride, 
 I took thee from my father's hand, % 
 
 And girt thee to my side — 
 How the old man his blessing poured, 
 
 As I bade him adieu ? 
 Since then thou'st flashed when battles roared, 
 
 No friend e'er proved more true. 
 
 On India's plain thou'st often shone 
 
 In many a sturdy fight ; 
 When the fierce Khalsa's lands were won, 
 
 And Britain showed her might. 
 Thou glisten'd by the Alma's rill, 
 
 In Balaklava's vale ; 
 Of Inkermann's bleak blood-stain'd hill, 
 
 Thou too couldst tell the tale.
 
 124 THE WOUNDED TROOPER TO HIS SWORD. 
 
 I hear a voice in every breeze 
 
 That steals along the sea, 
 ^.mid the murinurings of the trees, 
 
 There's something speaks to me. 
 It seems to say, " Thy last field's fought, 
 
 The summoner is nigh ;" 
 The brightest days are ever short, 
 
 I have no cause to sigh. 
 
 My eyes grow dim — the time's at hand 
 
 When e'en thine aid is vain ; 
 Yet thanks to thee, my trusty brand, 
 
 My honour knows no stain. 
 Why should I reck my hour is come, 
 
 Old friends have gone before, 
 My duty done — fair fame is won, 
 
 What would a soldier more ? 
 
 Scutari Hospital.
 
 125 
 
 THE THREE TOASTS: 
 
 AN OUTPOST SONG. 
 
 '* I looked upon her with a soldier's eye, 
 That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand 
 Than to drive liking to the name of love." 
 
 Much Ado about Nothing. 
 
 Send the grog-can round to-night, 
 
 The wind blows bitter cold ; 
 Stir the watch-fire, let the light 
 Shine bright across the wold. 
 Let us sing a jovial song 
 
 To pass the time away ; 
 Soldiers' lives may not be long, 
 Why should they not be gay ? 
 Let us sing a jovial song 
 To pass the time away ; 
 Soldiers' lives may not be long, 
 Why should they not be gay ?
 
 126 THE THREE TOASTS. 
 
 Soldiers, wheresoe'er ye roam, 
 H A name thrills in your breast ; 
 Each has some one left at home 
 
 He loves above the rest. 
 Who among us does not think, 
 At times, of one most dear ? 
 Fill your cans, and let us drink 
 
 " Her health," friends, with a cheer. 
 Let us sing a jovial song 
 
 To pass the time away ; 
 Soldiers' lives may not be long, 
 Why should they not be gay ? 
 
 Are there none at home to-night, 
 Who breathe a heart-felt prayer, 
 
 To Him who rules the sternest fight, 
 To keep us in his care ?
 
 THE THREE TOASTS. 127 
 
 Here's, then, to those we left at home, 
 
 Our sweethearts and our Avives — 
 Fathers, mothers, ev'ry one 
 For whom we risk our lives. 
 Let us sing a jovial song 
 
 To pass the time away ; 
 Soldiers' lives may not be long, 
 "Why should they not be gay ? 
 
 Still another verse I'll sing, 
 
 Comrades, you'll own I'm right ; 
 Who knows what the morrow '11 bring, 
 
 So fill your cups this night. 
 Drink the health of her most dear, 
 
 With me your voices blend, 
 In a shout the foe shall hear, 
 
 " The Queen," the soldier's friend. 
 Let us sing a jovial song 
 
 To pass the time away ; 
 Soldiers' lives may not be long, 
 Why should they not be gay ? 
 
 Balal.lava Col .
 
 128 
 
 BALAKLAVA. 
 
 : The paths of glory lead but to the grave.*' 
 
 Loudly the trumpets bray'd, 
 Each drew his battle-blade, 
 And England's Light Brigade 
 
 Moved on to die. 
 
 " Forward !" cried Cardigan. 
 Onward rode ev'ry man ; 
 Shot and shell then bep-an 
 
 On them to play.
 
 BALAKLAVA. 129 
 
 " Forward !" their leaders cried, 
 " Huzza !" the men replied, 
 As they rode side by side 
 
 Onwards to death. 
 
 No soldier fear'd to die, u 
 No trooper made reply, 
 No craven turn'd to fly — 
 
 Onwards all rode. 
 
 Onwards ! the Squadrons dash'd ; 
 Onwards ! though cannon flash'd ; 
 Onwards ! like whirlwinds crash'd 
 
 Old England's horse. 
 
 Onwards ! in England's name ; 
 Onwards ! through smoke and flame ; 
 Onwards ! to deathless fame, 
 
 Led Cardigan.
 
 130 BALAKLAVA. 
 
 On ! though death lay in wait ; 
 On ! spite of odds and fate ; 
 On ! still at desperate rate, 
 
 Tore the Brigade. 
 
 On ! with a British cheer ; 
 On ! without sign of fear ; 
 On ! in their bold career, 
 
 Our troopers rode. 
 
 On ! for our Old Renown ; 
 
 On ! for our Queen and Crown ! 
 
 On ! e'en though scores go down 
 
 Stricken to earth. 
 
 On ! as the tiger leaps, 
 On ! as the typhoon sweeps, 
 On ! o'er the dead in heaps, 
 
 Our squadrons flew.
 
 BALAKLAVA. 131 
 
 On ! tore the Light Brigade, 
 Fearless, and undisinay'd 
 O'er heads their sabres play'd 
 
 As they advanced. 
 
 Though Death's jaws open'd wide, 
 Boot to boot, side by side, 
 Reckless, though many died, 
 
 Onwards they tore. 
 
 They fear'd no Eussian yell, 
 Heeded not shot or shell, 
 On through " a fire of hell," 
 
 Those brave hearts rode. 
 
 Brightly their sabres flash'd, 
 As mid the foe they dash'd, 
 Cheering as on they crash'd, 
 
 Cutting tbeir way.
 
 132 BALAKLAVA. 
 
 Through Cossack hordes they tore, 
 Through Russian ranks they bore, 
 Through guns that loudly roar, 
 
 Belching forth death. 
 
 No foe could stand their force, 
 No foe could stay their course, 
 No foe could face those horse 
 
 In their career. 
 
 Though many leaders bled, 
 Though men and horse fell dead, 
 Though their best blood was shed, 
 
 Still they fought on. 
 
 Chargers were breath'd and lain'd, 
 Troopers were tired and maim'd, 
 Nothing more could be gain'd, 
 
 So they return'd.
 
 BALAKLAVA. 133 
 
 Back came the Light Brigade, 
 Cannon upon them play'd, 
 Still firm and undismay'd 
 
 The remnant rode. 
 
 Riderless o'er the plain, 
 Chargers with tossing mane, 
 Crimson with gory stain, 
 
 Gallop'd about. 
 
 Troopers, whose steeds were slain, 
 Rush'd wildly o'er the plain, 
 Striving to catch the rein, 
 
 As they tore by. 
 
 As lions force their way 
 Through hunters when at bay, 
 So our men broke that day 
 
 Back through the foe.
 
 134 BALAKLAVA. 
 
 Volleys were on them pour'd, 
 Cannon against them roar'd, 
 As they rode through the horde, 
 
 Hewing a path. 
 
 Clouds of horse lined the way, 
 Cossacks yell'd round their prey, 
 But, stricken with dismay, 
 
 They dar'd not stand. 
 
 When ours are " times of old," 
 And we sleep in the mould, 
 Still will the tale be told 
 
 Of that day's charge. 
 
 Nobly our troopers fought, 
 Dearly was Honour bought ; 
 A lesson that day was taught 
 
 To Britain's foes.
 
 BALAKLAVA. 135 
 
 Cheeks will blanch, lips will pale, 
 When our friends hear the tale ; 
 For Balaklava's vale 
 
 Was heap'd with dead. 
 
 Thirty score British horse 
 Started upon that course, 
 Of that devoted force 
 
 A third return'd. 
 
 Light Cavalry Camp, Karani.
 
 136 
 
 THE HUNGARIAN PATRIOT'S DEATH-SONG. 
 
 The following lines were written from an account given me by the 
 late General Guyon (Korschid Pacha), as we sat one evening round a 
 watch-fire on Kislar Dagh, a low hill overlooking Kars. A young 
 Hungarian officer, who had been wounded in a skirmish, was taken 
 prisoner by the Austrians, tried by a drum-head court-martial, con- 
 demned, and executed at an hour's notice. He died like a hero, with- 
 out a single murmur at his untimely fate escaping from his lips. 
 
 " Come vedi — ancor non m'abbandona." — Dante. 
 
 My fate is seal'd, the sentence past, 
 
 The hour is come for me to die. 
 Still, oh, my soul ! be not o'ercast ; 
 
 The tyrants must not hear a sigh. 
 Comrades, adieu ! Mourn not, my friend, 
 
 A soldier ne'er should be cast down ; 
 The darkest day must have an end, 
 
 E'en Fortune cannot always frown.
 
 THE HUNGARIAN PATRIOT'S DEATH-SONG. 137 
 
 i 
 
 Though I may die a felon's doom, 
 
 Dishonour ne'er shall taint my name ; 
 Laurels will gild the patriot's tomb, 
 
 'Tis crime that makes a death of shame. 
 Forsake not, Lord, my Fatherland ! 
 
 E'en though we fall on stormy days, 
 " Who shall presume to understand 
 
 The mighty wisdom of Thy ways ?" 
 
 Oh, my country ! Heaven aid thee, 
 
 My latest thoughts, my dying prayer. 
 Death, though near, has not dismayed me, 
 
 Hope still is left — I'll not despair. 
 I bless thee with my dying breath, 
 
 For thee alone my heart now bleeds : 
 I'm ready now — I fear not death ; 
 
 It has no pang when Honour leads. 
 
 General Guyon's Head-quarters, Kan.
 
 AN ALAEM IN CAMP. 
 
 One murky night in October, 1854, a rushing sound was heard like 
 the galloping of cavalry in the valley of Balaklava, and the whole 
 British camp got under arms, as also did our Allies. We remained in 
 suspense for some few moments, not knowing which was the point of 
 the enemy's attack, when suddenly two squadrous of riderless Kussian 
 horse charged along the road, and burst into our lines, in spite of a 
 volley from the outposts, which killed several. They were soon caught, 
 and proved to be the horses of two squadrons of Liprandi's cavalry, 
 who had been panic-struck with stampedo, and rushed wildly towards 
 our camp, where they had been previously quartered. 
 
 " Tis the soldier's life 
 To have their balmy slumbers wak'd with strife !" 
 
 Othello. 
 
 'Twas eve. Within a comrade's tent 
 Arose loud bursts of merriment. 
 The wine-cups chink'd as round they went, 
 
 And toasts were drunk.
 
 AN ALARM IN CAMP. 139 
 
 Old England's lays were sung that night : 
 
 Strange stories told of recent fight ; 
 
 All there were gay, each heart was light, 
 
 And mirth reign'd round. 
 
 The night came on. A silence deep 
 Over the camp then seem'd to creep, 
 And round the fires all lay asleep, 
 
 Without a care. 
 
 Time pass'd. The day began to dawn ; 
 When sullen sound of distant horn, 
 Upon the wind at times was borne. 
 
 What can it mean ? 
 
 The mists dispersed. With morning's grey 
 A strange wild cry, a charger's neigh ; 
 And distant sounds, like trumpets' bray, 
 
 Came down the vale.
 
 140 AN ALARM IN CAMP. 
 
 I noticed then my Arab steed, 
 A gallant grey of Nedjed's breed, 
 Turn away from his morning feed 
 
 And snuff the air. 
 
 He understood the dubious sound, 
 And arch'd his neck and gaz'd around, 
 Then shook his mane, and paw'd the ground 
 
 Impatiently. 
 
 Fire flash'd from out his sparkling eye, 
 
 He answer'd the defiant cry, 
 
 And shriek'd with joy as I drew nigh 
 
 To loose his bonds. 
 
 Again the horn, a tramp, a hum ; 
 
 Our videttes cry, " Turn out ! they come !" 
 
 Then rang the bugle and the drum 
 
 Through the valley.
 
 AN ALAKM IN CAMP. 141 
 
 At the first blast of that warning sound 
 Each soldier rose from off the ground, 
 Kubb'd his eyes and look'd around 
 
 Wonderingly. 
 
 Throughout the camp " the alarm " rang, 
 On ev'ry side shrill trumpets sang, 
 Each trooper to his saddle sprang, 
 
 Eeady, aye ready. 
 
 The squadrons form'd without a word, 
 Each trooper drew his battle-sword, 
 And long'd to charge the Eussian horde ; 
 
 But none were seen. 
 
 Sir Colin, with the Scotch brigade, 
 Drew up in line, and thus array'd, 
 Fear'd no foe's onset — undismayed, 
 
 He watched events.
 
 142 AN ALARM IN CAMP. 
 
 We inann'd our lines, nor watch'd in vain, 
 A cloud of dust swept o'er the plain, 
 And chargers tore with loosen'd rein, 
 
 All riderless. 
 
 Amid our lines a way they sought, 
 Two hundred steeds were quickly caught ; 
 They did not like the side they fought, 
 
 And came to us. 
 
 Ottoman Camp, Balalrtava Col.
 
 143 
 
 THE KHABYLE EXILE. 
 
 During a skirmish on the Danube, near Turtakoi, in which the 
 Bashi-bazouks successfully repulsed a superior number of Cossacks, 
 one of them, who had been most conspicuous for his daring reckless 
 bravery during the contest, was carried off the field on a litter, having 
 received several sabre cuts. As he was borne along, I heard him 
 lamenting that his wounds were not mortal ; regretting that he had 
 not been left to die, as he had nothing to live for. Having been par- 
 ticularly struck with his gallant conduct in the affair, I had him taken 
 care of, and when he was recovered from his wounds, attached him to 
 my person. One day he told me his story, which is the subject of the 
 following lines. He was a Khabylo by birth, and had suffered from 
 the mi warrantable barbarities committed by the French. He had 
 seen his village sacked and burnt, and his family and friends murdered 
 before his eyes ; himself being severely wounded, and left on the field 
 for dead. Having recovered from his wounds, he vowed eternal venge- 
 ance against the French, and joining the Emir Ab-d'hul-Kadir, was 
 one of the most active in the war of retabation in 1 845, being present 
 when Colonel Montagnac and 450 men were cut up (with the excep- 
 tion of fourteen who were taken prisoners) at the Marabout of Sidi 
 Brahim. On the submission of the Emir, he fled from Algiers, and 
 rinding his way to Turkey, joined the Bashi-bazouks. He became 
 very much attached to me, proving a devoted follower, " ever faith- 
 ful to his salt." He did not, however, meet the death he desired in 
 the field, but perished miserably of putrid fever in the Crimea, when 
 starvation and pestilence reduced a force of nearly 7,000 men to little 
 more than 1,800.
 
 144 THE KHABYLE EXILE. 
 
 It is upon the battle-plain 
 
 That I would wish to die ; 
 In stubborn contest I would yield 
 
 My life without a sigh. 
 I would not die from length of years, 
 
 And linger on in pain, 
 I'd rather fall where soldiers' tears 
 
 Bedew a comrade slain. 
 
 I ne'er shall see my native land, 
 
 I can no more return ; 
 My home is now a heap of sand ; 
 
 I saw the hamlet burn. 
 I saw two brothers breathless lie, 
 
 E'en though I strove to save ; 
 I saw my aged mother die 
 
 Upon my father's grave.
 
 THE KHABYLE EXILE. 145 
 
 I saw my comrades slaughtered fall, 
 
 I heard the women cry ; 
 My blood that night was turn'd to gall — 
 
 I've seen the grim foe die. 
 Go ! listen to the Santon's tale, 
 
 Ask how my vengeance fell, 
 When in Sidi Brahim's vale 
 
 Was heard the Giaours' yell. 
 
 Revenge some time gave me relief ; 
 
 There's blood upon that brand ; 
 But now my heart is bowed in grief 
 
 To see my native land. 
 For traitor hearts have taken gold, 
 
 And own the Giaour as lord ; 
 Ishmael's birthright they have sold, 
 
 And with it 's gone the sword.
 
 146 THE KHABYLE EXILE. 
 
 A curse upon the traitor knaves 
 
 Who wrought this deed of shame ; 
 Defiled be their fathers' graves, 
 
 Detested be their name. 
 " May their tribe's mares be slow of speed, 
 
 Their daughters swift to fly ; 
 A curse upon the dastard breed, 
 
 That knew not how to die !" 
 
 There is a wound which never heals, 
 
 That time can never cure, 
 It is the woe that " El Garb "* feels 
 
 The Frank yoke to endure. 
 I am an exile all alone, 
 
 And seek for rest in vain, 
 No friend will reck when I am gone, 
 
 Why linger on in pain ? 
 
 * " El Garb," the West. The Arab name for Algiers, Morocco, and 
 l>.irhary.
 
 THE KHABYLE EXILE. 147 
 
 Bright youthful hopes have vanish'd all ; 
 
 And, like a faded leaf, 
 The time draws near when I should fall, 
 
 The grave may bring relief. 
 Let Azrael* come, I care not when, 
 
 I laugh at Fate's decree, 
 I've brav'd it over and again ; 
 
 Death always flies from me. 
 
 Now ask me why thus, face to face, 
 
 I seek to meet my fate ? 
 I am the last of all my race, 
 
 And death e'en comes too late. 
 It is not that I crave the wreath 
 
 A soldier strives to gain — 
 It is that I would rest in death, 
 
 And leave this scene of pain. 
 
 * Azrael, the Angel of Death.
 
 14S 
 
 THE STAND AED. 
 
 " The flag that's braved a thousand years 
 The battle and the breeze." 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 The standard of Old England, 
 
 The emblem of the free, 
 Is waving on the castle keep 
 
 For a great victory. 
 The nation holds a festival 
 
 To "welcome back the band, 
 Who 'gainst the foe have well maintained 
 
 The honour of the land. 
 
 Then cheer for merrie England, 
 The country of the free ; 
 
 And may her might defend the right 
 To all posterity.
 
 THE STANDARD. 149 
 
 The standard of Old England 
 
 Is waving half-mast high, 
 And crowds have gathered in the streets 
 
 To see the pageantry. 
 Beneath that flag our comrades fought 
 
 And died, but not in vain ; 
 What tho' its folds are soiled and torn, 
 
 Its honour knows no stain. 
 
 Then cheer for merrie England, 
 
 The country of the free ; 
 And may her might defend the right 
 
 To all posterity. 
 
 The standard of Old England, 
 In every clime unfurled, 
 
 Has floated now a thousand years, 
 And still defies the world.
 
 150 THE STANDARD. 
 
 In every sea that banner floats, 
 
 An honour to the wave ; 
 Where'er it flutters in the breeze 
 
 Its shadow frees the slave. 
 
 Then cheer for merrie England, 
 
 The country of the free ; 
 And may her might defend the right 
 
 To all posterity. 
 
 Camp of the Rifle Brigade, lefore Sevastopol.
 
 151 
 
 THE BUKIAL OF CATHCAET. 
 
 KILLED ON THE FIFTH OP NOVEMBER, 1854, AT THE 
 BATTLE OP rNKERMANN. 
 
 O'er better knight, on death-bier laid, 
 Torch never gleamed, nor mass was said. 
 
 In England's camp soft music peals 
 
 A requiem sad and slow ; 
 Soldiers, gathering mournfully, 
 
 In long procession go. 
 And minute-guns are booming, 
 
 Standards wave half-mast high, 
 Their silken folds droop heavily 
 
 Against the azure sky.
 
 152 THE BURIAL OF CATHCART. 
 
 With arms reversed, and muffled drums, 
 
 And martial music's strain, 
 A mourning band, with measur'd tread, 
 
 Escort the noble slain. 
 Stern warriors' grief at last bursts forth, 
 
 And bitter tears are shed ; 
 Each soldier feels his heart is full, 
 
 He knows a friend is dead. 
 
 Upon the carriage of a gun 
 
 Is borne the warrior's corse, 
 And with a proud and stately gait 
 
 Is led his battle-horse. 
 On the bier lie cap and sabre, 
 
 A standard is the pall ; 
 And slowly moves the cortege on 
 
 To the Dead March in Saul.
 
 THE BUKIAL OF CATHCART. ]53 
 
 Now the priests have said the prayer 
 
 For a departed soul ; 
 Volleys flash red through the air, 
 
 And muffled drums loud roll ; 
 Still mourners linger on the hill, 
 
 And speak in undergone ; 
 For who shall fill the place of him, 
 
 The Chieftain who is gone ? 
 
 His hour came — he pass'd away, 
 
 The dauntless and the brave ; 
 In victory's proud moment 
 
 He found a soldier's grave. 
 Many a red field had he seen, 
 
 Many a battle won ; 
 But now his last fight's over, 
 
 The hero's course is run.
 
 154 THE BUKTAL OF CATHCART. 
 
 He died as a soldier should, 
 
 In harness, sword in hand, 
 Surrounded by the enemy, 
 
 And cheering on his band. 
 What a glorious fate was his ! 
 
 Why reck ? His work was done- 
 He'd past the autumn of his life ; 
 
 He fell — as sets the sun. 
 
 In after years when we shall meet, 
 
 Survivors of the fray, 
 Memory will bring back to us 
 
 The friends we lost that clay ; 
 And when the wine-cup passes round, 
 
 As long as two remain, 
 Again we'll fight the battle o'er, 
 
 And think upon the slain.
 
 THE BURIAL OF CATHCART. 155 
 
 Then to our sons we'll tell the tale, 
 
 How Inkermann was won ; 
 And of the gallant feats that day 
 
 By British soldiers done. 
 We'll think upon that low bleak hill, 
 
 Where many comrades lie, 
 The burial-place of Britain's dead, 
 
 The pride of chivalry. 
 
 Scutari Hofpital.
 
 15(3 
 
 SECOND SIGHT : 
 
 A TALE OF THE WAR. 
 
 These lines were written on an incident which appeared in one of 
 the Scotch papers. A young girl, who was sinking from rapid decline, 
 on the eve of Inkermann had a presentiment that her lover was slain, 
 and she died, assuring her mother that she heard his voice calling to 
 her on the gale. When the news of the victory arrived, his name was 
 found in the Gazette amongst the slain. 
 
 " Can this be death ? there's bloom upon her cheek ; 
 But now I see it is no living hue, 
 But a strange hectic — like the unnatural red 
 Which autumn plants upon the perish'd leaf." 
 
 Manfred. 
 
 CHILD. 
 The night is closing round, mother ; 
 
 The wind howls sadly deep ; 
 I dread that moaning sound, mother — 
 
 I cannot, dare not, sleep.
 
 SECOND SIGHT. 157 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 Night winds are whisp'ring deep, my child, 
 
 And round us strangely wail ; 
 But calm thy mind to sleep, my child, 
 
 They cannot thee assail. 
 
 CHILD. 
 
 Strange dreams are coming on, mother ; 
 
 Hark ! listen to the breeze ! 
 Oh ! heard ye not a voice, mother, 
 
 Sighing amid the trees ? 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 'Tis but November's gale, my child ; 
 
 You have no cause to fear. 
 Why heed the tempest's wail, my child ?- 
 
 It cannot reach you here.
 
 158 SECOND SIGHT. 
 
 CHILD. 
 
 'Tis his voice in the breeze, mother ; 
 
 I heard it as I lay. 
 Oh ! help me to my knees, mother — 
 
 I feel I ought to pray. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 Pray in thy mother's arms, my child — 
 
 Eepose upon this breast ; 
 I'll sing to you " his song," my child — 
 
 'Twill lull you into rest. 
 
 CHILD. 
 
 He's fallen in the fight, mother, 
 Mid comrades true and brave ; 
 
 Upon a cold, bleak height, mother, 
 Is dug my Willie's grave.
 
 SECOND SIGHT. 159 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 "lis but a fearful dream, my child — 
 
 A fantasy of mind ; 
 God watches over him, my child — 
 
 Fear not the howling wind. 
 
 CHILD. 
 
 No ! he himself was here, mother ; 
 
 He kiss'd me as I lay ; 
 I feel I'm going too, mother — 
 
 You would not wish me stay. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 Oh ! cease this fearful tale, my child — 
 It smites me to the brain ; 
 
 Heed not a wild wind's wail, my child- 
 Let it not cause thee pain.
 
 ^60 SECOND SIGHT. 
 
 CHILD. 
 
 Death has no pangs to me, mother- 
 It comes like gentle sleep ; 
 
 Your face I cannot see, mother — 
 All round is darkness deep. 
 
 I feel that thou art near, mother — 
 I hear thee sob and cry ; 
 
 I have not any fear, mother — 
 I know my Willie 's nigh. 
 
 Oli ! do not, do not weep, mother — 
 Cease those heartrending sighs ; 
 
 'Tis but a gentle sleep, mother, 
 That's stealing o'er my eyes.
 
 SECOND SIGHT. 161 
 
 Kiss me, kiss me again, mother, 
 
 Once more before 1 die ; 
 I have not any pain, mother — 
 
 Good-bye, mother ! good-bye ! 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 Oh ! art thou really gone, my child ? — 
 
 I do not feel thy breath ; 
 I cannot live alone, my child — - 
 
 Take me too — O grim Death ! 
 
 Thou'rt gone to join thy love, my child, 
 
 And I must not repine ; 
 We yet shall meet above, my child — 
 
 " God's will be done — not mine." 
 
 Scutari Hospital. 
 
 M
 
 162 
 
 LOVE-SONG. 
 
 A TRANSLATION FROM THE ARABIC. 
 
 Do not swear at all ; 
 
 Or if tliou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, 
 
 Which is the god of my idolatry, 
 
 And I'll believe thee." 
 
 Komeo and Juliet. 
 
 Dost thou ask me if I love thee? 
 
 Maiden with the flowing hair ; 
 By Great Allah now above me, 
 
 Thee alone I love, I swear. 
 
 If I e'er do aught to grieve thee, 
 
 Maiden with the laughing eyes, 
 May my right hand's cunning leave me, 
 
 Valueless be all I prize.
 
 LOVE-SONG. 103 
 
 May my Nedjed charger fail me, 
 
 Maid with locks of sable hue ; 
 May my comrades coward hail me, 
 
 If I ever prove less true. 
 
 May hieries* die and lose their speed, 
 
 Maiden, fairest of the west ; 
 May friends forsake in time of need, 
 
 If I love not thee the best. 
 
 May my banner down be riven, 
 
 Like a craven let me die, 
 Curs'd alike by man and Heaven, 
 
 If I give thee cause to sigh. 
 
 Camp of the Second Division, 
 
 Heights of Inkermann. 
 
 * Camels of high caste, celebrated for their speed and great en- 
 durance.
 
 164 
 
 THE HIGHLANDER'S BETROTHED. 
 
 " But she so loves the token, 
 (For be conjur'd her she would ever keep it,) 
 That she reserves it ever more about her 
 To kiss and talk to." 
 
 Othello. 
 
 My heart is sair, I carina rest, 
 
 I'm no inysei' at a' at a' ; 
 The sodger lad I lo'e the best 
 
 Is o'er the seas far far awa\ 
 Thinking a' nicht o' him I love, 
 
 I canna close my aching e'e ; 
 But pray to Him wha rules above 
 
 To guard the absent o'er the sea.
 
 the Highlander's beteothed. 1G5 
 
 They tell me that I ance was fair, 
 
 But noo my cheeks are growing wan ; 
 I dinna heed — why should I care ? 
 
 For joy has fled noo Willie's gane. 
 My mither bids me no' to weep, 
 
 And fayther aye speaks kind to me ; 
 Still frae my hame I aften creep, 
 
 And greet for ane far o'er the sea. 
 
 A gowden coin in twa we brak 
 
 The eve afore he left the burn ; 
 He kissed my broo, nae word he spak — 
 
 God grant that he may safe return ! 
 I canna sleep, my heart is sair, 
 
 And gin he come no' I shall dee ; 
 Baith morn an' eve I breathe a prayer 
 
 For my brave Willie o'er the sea. 
 
 Camp of Highland Brigade, 
 
 Heights above Balalclava.
 
 1(56 
 
 THE DYING GIRL TO HER BETROTHED. 
 
 " The angels, not half so happy in heaven, 
 Went envying her and nie ; 
 Yes ! that was the reason (as all men know, 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea) 
 That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 
 Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee." 
 
 Edgar Allan Poe. 
 
 Let me sit on your knee, laddie. 
 
 My heart is fu' o' care, 
 And gaze upon your face, laddie, 
 
 I soon shall see nae mair. 
 Oh ! lay your cheek to mine, laddie, 
 
 And tell me I'm your ain ; 
 Ye'll think betimes o' me, laddie, 
 
 When I am deid and gane.
 
 THE DYING GIRL TO HER BETROTHED. 167 
 
 I wadna hae ye greet, laddie, 
 
 Nor let your grief be sair ; 
 Ye ken ere lang we'll meet, laddie, 
 
 To part again nae mair. 
 Noo, clasp me in your arms, laddie, 
 
 Ance mair ere we twa part ; 
 Ye'll think betimes o' me, laddie, 
 
 Your ain puir fond sweetheart. 
 
 R. A. it. S. Macgregur Laird, 
 Off Madeira.
 
 168 
 
 SHADOWS. 
 
 1 There was but one beloved face on eartb, 
 And that was shining on him ; he had lookd 
 Upon it till it could not pass away 
 He had no breath, no being, but in hers : 
 She was his voice ; he did not speak to her, 
 But trembled on her words : she was his sight, 
 For his eye followed hers, and saw with hers, 
 Which colour'd all his objects :— he had ceased 
 To live within himself; she was his life." 
 
 As racked with pain I sleepless lie, 
 
 My soul recalls the past, 
 And conjures up with magic power 
 
 Those days too bright to last. 
 In vain time spreads its misty veil 
 
 O'er scenes of bygone years ; 
 Memory drives away the clouds, 
 
 And all that was appears.
 
 SHADOWS. 169 
 
 Oft at weird midnight's silent hour 
 
 Shadowy hosts I see, 
 And one who dwells in Spirit Land 
 
 Comes here to comfort me. 
 Like a star that has drifted earthward, 
 
 She leaves the spheres on high, 
 To guide my soul to that blessed land 
 
 Where love can never die. 
 
 The hum and din of earthly sounds 
 
 Ring loudly on thine ear ; 
 Thou canst not hear the whisperings 
 
 That summon me from here. 
 A dreamless sleep is stealing on, 
 
 I feel the end is nigh ; 
 The chain has snapped — my soul is free — 
 
 The hour has come — Good-bye ! 
 
 Scutari Hospital.
 
 170 
 
 YOUTHFUL DAYS. 
 
 " We were, fair queen, 
 Two lads that thought there was no more behind, 
 But such a day to-morrow as to-day, 
 And to be boy eternal." 
 
 "Winter's Tale. 
 
 Autumn leaves are falling fast, 
 
 And winter now draws nigh — 
 Brightest days are soonest past, 
 
 So seize them as they fly. 
 Youth is like a limpid stream 
 
 Fast flowing to the main ; 
 Passing like a fleeting dream 
 
 That never comes again.
 
 YOUTHFUL DAYS. 171 
 
 Youth is like the bright sunshine 
 
 Upon a summer's day ; 
 Childhood is a happy time 
 
 That flies too soon away. 
 Years roll on and bring alloy, 
 
 And life is overcast, 
 Then we find our hopes of joy 
 
 With youthful days are past. 
 
 Cavalry Camp, Eupatoria.
 
 172 
 
 TO MY CHARGER, "DESERT-BORN." 
 
 KILLED AT THE BATTLE OF INKERMANN, 5TH NOVEMBER, 1854. 
 
 " Day glimmers on the dying and the dead, 
 The cloven cuirass, and the helmless head ; 
 The war-horse masterless is on the earth, 
 And that last gasp hath burst his bloody girth ; 
 And near, yet quivering with what life remain'd, 
 
 The heel that urged him and the hand that rein'd." 
 
 Lara. 
 
 " Deseet-born " was an Arab steed, 
 
 A noble grey, of sacred breed ; 
 
 Rear'd on the plains of Nedjed's lands, 
 
 Of race far-famed through El-Garb's sands ; 
 
 Enduring in the longest chase, 
 
 His speed ne'er knew a second place ; 
 
 He was all that a steed should be, 
 
 And I lov'd him and he lov'd me.
 
 TO MY CHAKGER, " DESERT-BORN." 173 
 
 With pedigree unsoil'd by stains, 
 
 The purest blood ran through his veins ; 
 
 And he could boast of lineage higher 
 
 Than royalty can e'er aspire. 
 
 The dam whence sprang his royal line 
 
 Mahomed bore, that chief divine, 
 
 AVho in Medina taught to pray, 
 
 And in bless'd Mecca pass'd away. 
 
 In danger's hour, in longest ride, 
 No rowels touch'd my charger's side. 
 He knew my voice — a single word 
 Could urge him on, swift as a bird. 
 Oft when, at eve, our toil was done, 
 And we repos'd at set of sun, 
 My steed would whine to be caress'd, 
 Then by my side lay down to rest.
 
 174 TO MY CHARGER, "DESERT-BORN." 
 
 At Inkermann my charger fell, 
 Stricken to earth by bursting shell. 
 No truer comrade fell that day 
 Than " Desert-born," my gallant grey. 
 He lov'd his master, ne'er deceived — 
 O'er dearer friend man never griev'd ; 
 For, in the hour of utmost need, 
 Xone prov'd so true as my poor steed. 
 
 Scutari Hospital.
 
 175 
 
 THE VETERAN'S SONG. 
 
 " The few whom war and time have spared 
 Are feeble, old, and grey ; 
 And for myself, why let it pass, 
 For I have had my day." 
 
 The Storming of San Sebastian. 
 
 We were boys thegether, 
 Like birdies in a nest ; 
 Ance mair in native heather, 
 We'll lay us doun to rest. 
 The gude auld man, the cheersome dame, 
 
 In the cauld kirkyard lie, 
 An' youthfu' friens are a' gane hame — 
 Still, frien, we maunna sigh.
 
 176 the veteran's song. 
 
 We grew up bairns thegether, 
 
 Like birdies on the wing ; 
 Your heart was like a feather, 
 And still, auld frien, we sing. 
 We baith hae pass'd our manhood's prime, 
 
 And gane through cares and joys ; 
 Yet a's noo chang'd since that gay time 
 When you and I were boys. 
 
 We twa hae foucht thegether, 
 
 In battle side by side ; 
 We've brav'd baith wind and weather, 
 When comrades round have died. 
 Though noo we poor and frienless stand, 
 
 Nae care our peace destroys ; 
 We've foucht and conquer'd for the land 
 We lov'd when we were boys. 
 
 Camp, ICamara.
 
 17' 
 
 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN SOLDIER'S SONG. 
 
 " Every wight Las his weird, and we maun a' dee when our day 
 conies." — Eon Roy. 
 
 Death ! and dost thou come at last 
 In strange and ghastly form ? 
 
 Oft by my head thy dart hast past 
 Amid the battle's storm. 
 
 I've seen it strike my comrades brave, 
 As they fought by my side ; 
 
 1 envy them their soldier's grave — 
 
 Ah ! would I so had died !
 
 178 THE PLAGUE-STKICKEN SOLDIER. 
 
 I never fear'd thy glancing shaft, 
 E'en though it graz'd my brow ; 
 
 In direst peril I have laugh'd — 
 Think not to scare me now. 
 
 Though I had hoped upon the field 
 
 To meet a soldier's death, 
 'Twas riot my fate, and I must yield, 
 
 In sickness, my last breath. 
 
 Strange darkness now obscures my sight, 
 
 A chill creeps o'er my frame ; 
 Adieu to all my visions bright ! 
 
 Farewell, all hopes of fame ! 
 
 Scutari Hospital.
 
 179 
 
 DEATH-SONG OF A CIRCASSIAN CHIEF. 
 
 Written whilst in camp at Tshamshira to a wild air chanted by 
 the retainers of Prince Michael, the Suzerain of Abassia. 
 
 " O, farewell ! 
 Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, 
 The spirit-stirring drain, the ear-piercing fife, 
 The royal banner ; and all quality, 
 Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war !" 
 
 Othello. 
 
 Faeewell ! my comrades true ; 
 
 My work is done : 
 
 My race is won — 
 Adieu, my friends, adieu !
 
 180 DEATH-SONG OF A CIRCASSIAN CHIEF, 
 
 Farewell ! my gallant horse. 
 No more we'll dash 
 Where sabres flash — 
 
 No more we'll run a course. 
 
 Farewell ! my faithful hound. 
 
 You'll whine in vain, 
 
 To hear again 
 Your master's footsteps sound. 
 
 Farewell ! my trusty sword. 
 
 No more thy steel 
 
 Will cause to reel 
 The faithless Giaour's horde. 
 
 Farewell ! my trumpet's blast. 
 
 My hour is come ; 
 
 The goal is won ; 
 My bright career is past.
 
 DEATH-SONG OF A CIRCASSIAN CHIEF. 181 
 
 Farewell ! my only son. 
 For thy sire's sake 
 Thou'lt vengeance take : 
 Remember it be done. 
 
 Farewell, Amina's love ! 
 
 You'll think of me, 
 
 Where'er you be, 
 And join me — there — above. 
 
 Farewell, my tribe, farewell ! 
 
 No more my steed 
 
 Thy ranks shall lead — 
 Revenge my death. Farewell ! 
 
 Omar Facha's Camp, 
 
 Tshamshira.
 
 132 
 
 THE ALMA. 
 
 A DIEGE. 
 
 " Why, then, God's soldier be he ! 
 Had I as many sons as I have hairs, 
 I would not wish them to a fairer death : 
 And so his knell is knoll'd." 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 There is a spot far o'er the waves, 
 
 O'er Euxine's dark and murky shore, 
 Where, sleeping in their unknown graves, 
 
 Lie friends whom we shall meet no more. 
 The place is hallow'd where they lie, 
 
 Fame will ever tell their story ; 
 In England's cause they dared to die 
 
 By the Alma — Europe's glory.
 
 THE ALMA. 183 
 
 Mourn for the brave who that day fell ; 
 
 Lament, Old Albion's daughters ; 
 For many sleep, who loved yon well 
 
 By the Alma's bloody waters. 
 A vacant seat by some fire-side 
 
 Oft recalls a soldier's story, 
 Who for his Queen and country died 
 
 By the Alma — Europe's glory. 
 
 Spread the tidings far and wide, 
 
 How gallantly our Allies fought. 
 When they scaled that steep hill-side, 
 
 And with their life-blood honour bought. 
 Say how Zouave and Arab dying, 
 
 On that field so red and gory, 
 With our own brave sons are lying 
 
 By the Alma — Europe's glory. 
 
 Camp, Kamara.
 
 184 
 
 THE AULD RUSKIE CZAR. 
 
 An impromptu song, written to the air of " The Laird o' Cockpen," 
 which song had just been sung by a Scotch engineer, who was in the 
 only vessel that escaped at Sinope. 
 
 The auld Ruskie Czar, he's proud an' he's great, 
 But his mind's gane daft wi' the things o' the state ; 
 He wanted a' Turkey, wi' Russia to keep, 
 And he thought 't was an easy matter to take. 
 
 JJoun, doun by Odessa twa auld chiels did dwell, 
 Wha he thought could just do the thing vera well, 
 Men-chi-koff by land, Nan-in-koff by sea, 
 Twa comical coves wi' as queer pedigree.
 
 THE AULD EUSKIE CZAR. 185 
 
 His fleet was well pouther'd, and inaist guid as when new, 
 He'd plenty o' Cossacks a' clad in grey hue ; 
 A' the priests said their prayers at a terrible bat, 
 And wha dare gainsay the auld Czar wi' a' that ? 
 
 The ships they weigh'd anchor, and rode cannily 
 Till they came to the bay of old Sinope, 
 Where the Moslem fleet lay, as snug as could be, 
 Just counting one gun to the Muscovites' three. 
 
 The auld Capitan Pacha was sipping his wine, 
 Half his crew were ashore on the spree at the time, 
 When a seaman sang out, in a voice vera gruff, 
 " By holy Mahomed ! here comes the Moskoff." 
 
 Then the fiery Pacha pu'ed hard his chibouk, 
 " God is great !" he exclaim'd, his coffee then took, 
 He counted his beads, then twice scratch'd his head, 
 " Beat the tambour to quarters," he quietly said.
 
 186 THE AULD EUSKIE CZAR. 
 
 No fuss did he make, nor excited got he, 
 Quite firmly convinced in his own destiny ; 
 Death had no terrors, for this gallant auld Turk 
 Was not of a breed war's dangers to shirk. 
 
 He order'd a broadside as the Ruskies came on, 
 Which was promptly return'd, wi' interest thereon ; 
 Though the Moskoffs were threefold in vessels and guns, 
 No thoughts of surrender had Islam's brave sons. 
 
 They fought lang and weel, they fought to the last, 
 Their vessels went doun, wi' then- flags on the mast ; 
 No craven among " Amaum " * that day cried, 
 " Allah e Allah," t their war-cry, and wi' it they died. 
 
 * Amaum — The Turkish cry for quarter. 
 
 f Allah e Allah — The Mussulman's general war cry.
 
 THE ATJLD EUSKIE CZAtt. 187 
 
 The Ottoman flag-ship at last was blown up, 
 And the auld Pacha's gane wi' his Hoories* to sup. 
 O' himself and his crew but small pieces remain, 
 For the foe show'd no mercy, eternal their shame. 
 
 The massacre o'er they dared no' remain, 
 
 But set sail at once their harbours to gain ; 
 
 For had Britain or France their bull-dogs let loose, 
 
 It had soon been all up with the fleet of the Kuss. 
 
 Retribution though tardy will certainly come, 
 
 And vengeance has follow'd the ill deeds they hae done ; 
 
 Sevastopol's taken, their fortress laid low, 
 
 Their fleet was all sunk without striking a blow. 
 
 The Oronoco transport, homeward bound. 
 
 * The Hoories are the seventy celestial virgins, ever young and 
 beautiful, who will contribute to the happiness of the Faithful that 
 reach the paradise of Mahomed.
 
 188 
 
 EASTWARD-HO ! 
 
 " King Henry. — On, on, ye noble English — 
 For there is none of you so mean and base, 
 That bath not noble lustre in your eyes. 
 I see you stand like greyhounds on the slip, 
 Straining upon the start — the game's afoot : 
 Follow your spirit. 
 
 " Pistol. — Touch her soft mouth, and march." 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 Farewell, old friends ! adieu once more ; 
 
 Ships are heaving on the main, 
 To bear us from the well-lov'd shore 
 
 None of us may see again. 
 To Eastern lands, far o'er the deep, 
 
 Again we sail to meet the foe ; 
 Cheer up, my darling — do not weep ; 
 
 Duty calls, and we must go.
 
 EASTWARD-HO ! 189 
 
 The hour of parting now is nigh, 
 
 Blanch'd is ev'ry soldier's cheek ; 
 Friends shake hands with many a sigh, 
 
 Veterans even cannot speak. 
 Cheer up, cheer up, my comrades bold, 
 
 This is not a time to sigh ; 
 The bloody wolf is in the fold — 
 
 Vengeance now must be the cry. 
 
 Hark ! hear you not the signal guns 
 
 Booming o'er the rolling deep ; 
 Old England calls her gallant sons — 
 
 Cheer up, comrades ! do not weep. 
 Soldiers must not be heartbroken, 
 
 Ours is not a life to mourn ; 
 Farewell words are best soon spoken, 
 
 One fond kiss, and we are gone.
 
 100 
 
 THE NEGLECTED SOLDIER. 
 
 " Go to the wars, would you ? where a man may serve seven years 
 for the loss of a leg, and have not money enough at the end to buy 
 him a wooden one ?" — Pebicles. 
 
 " There's but three of my hundred-and-fifty left alive ; and they 
 are, for the town's end, to beg during life."— King Henry IV. 
 
 Fame is but a fleeting shadow, 
 Glory but an empty name ; 
 
 Spite of all that I have gone through, 
 'Tis, I find, a losing game. 
 
 Without interest, without money, 
 Nothing can a soldier gain ; 
 
 Though he be the sole survivor 
 Of a host of comrades slain.
 
 THE NEGLECTED SOLDIER. J 91 
 
 What avail these glitt'ring honours, 
 
 Which a Queen laid on my breast ; 
 Though I've sought them from my childhood, 
 
 Would I'd fallen with the rest. 
 
 Then my heart had not been broken, 
 
 Life had fled without a sigh ; 
 Hunger presses — I am fainting — 
 
 Ought a soldier thus to die ? 
 
 THE END.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 FEINTED BY W. CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET 
 AND CHARFNG CROSS.
 
 Now in the Press, the Tliird Edition of 
 THE FIRST SERIES OF 
 
 THE HUNTING-GROUNDS OF THE OLD WORLD. 
 
 (With numerous Illustrations.) 
 
 By H. A. L. (The Old Shekarry.) 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE " CAMP-FIRE," ETC. 
 
 LONGMAN, GREEN, LONGMAN, ROBARTS, & GREEN, 
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 The Third Edition of this Work contains several additional chapters 
 upon large-gaine hunting in the Anamulai Forest, and round the 
 Neilgherri Mountains ; also a Shooting Expedition in the Himalaya, and 
 the Terai, including a description of the Source of the Ganges, and 
 the great glaciers of Rudru Himaleh ; with observations upon the 
 most recent improvements in breech-loading guns and rifles. 
 
 Also Preparing for the Press, 
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR, 
 
 THE SECOND SERIES OF 
 
 THE HUNTING-GROUNDS OF THE OLD WORLD. 
 
 ( With numerous Illustrations from Drawings and Photographs.') 
 
 The Second Series will comprise the Hunting Adventures and Explora- 
 tions of the " Old Shekarry " during^ue expeditions to different parts of 
 Africa ; he having shot over the Great Hunting-Grounds between the 
 Limpopo and Zambesi Rivers on the East coast, in Algeria, on the con- 
 fines of Tunis, Morocco, and lately on the West Coast of Equatorial 
 Africa.
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 " The Times," 26th December, 1860. 
 
 THE HUNTING-GEOUNDS OF THE OLD WOELD. 
 
 Sporting adventures depend for their interest entirely upon the nar- 
 rator. If he adds to professional enthusiasm the qualities of a good 
 companion, the public ear is soon gained. The spirit of our Teutonic 
 forefathers is still strong within us, and the charms of a wild life are 
 heightened by the consciousness of interests to which they were 
 strangers. But the " Old Shekarry " is more than a mere executioner 
 of wild beasts. If but half of his stories are true — and we believe 
 every word of them — he is a sportsman of a very rare order. To first- 
 rate marksmanship, undaunted resolution and endurance, he appears 
 to unite great powers of organization, and the faculty of attaching 
 men and even animals to bimself. Such characters in rougher times 
 have become " hunters of men," and it is a great pity that even now 
 they are not oftener employed on the " special services " of war. 
 Meanwhile, the feats of our countrymen in far-off jungles and on un- 
 trodden mountains are not without their influence in supporting that 
 prestige which forms the outworks of national power, 
 
 These reminiscences range over the Deccan, Southern India, 
 and Circassia, and conclude with some "Practical hints on Fire- 
 amis and their use." A greater variety of sporting experiences has 
 probably never fallen to the lot of any one, and the invariable good 
 fortune of the author seems to be of a piece with the "fortuna populi 
 Bomani" — that success which attends on the old Koman virtues. 
 His first lessons were taken under one " Walter," of whose memory
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PKESS. 
 
 (" for my friend sleeps his last under the shade of a giant forest-tree " 
 the " Old Shekarry " always speaks with the deepest reverence. He 
 was " well known as the most fearless hunter and unerring shot in a 
 country pre-eminent for the excellence of its sportsmen." The first 
 chapter contains the account of a day's deer-stalking under his 
 guidance ; the second, an admirable description of a bog-chase, in 
 which, after all the rest of the field were tailed off, the author con- 
 tends for the honour of the spear with N , a celebrated hog-hunter. 
 
 " Another moment and the point of my spear was among his bristles ; 
 a touch of the heel, a lift of the bridle, a Chifmey rush, and the 
 victory was won.'' The boar, however, charges, and, missing his 
 
 mark, rolls over N and his horse. After hurrying to the rescue 
 
 and despatching the "tusker," our hero returns to his friend. The 
 scene which follows deserves to be quoted :— 
 
 "I found him sitting on the ground, with his face buried in his 
 hands, in great distress, for his horse was struggling in the agonies of 
 death a few paces from him. The boar, in charging, had ripped up 
 his belly, his tushes cutting like a knife, and the intestines, also much 
 injured, were protruding from the wound. I saw at a glance that it 
 was a hopeless case, and, tapping N- — on the shoulder, I gave a 
 significant look to a small pistol that I always carried loaded in my 
 belt on such occasions, in case of accidents. 
 
 " He understood what was passing in my mind, walked up to his 
 dying serviteur, and patted his neck. The poor animal, in spite of his 
 agony, recognized las master, for he raised himself up partly from the 
 ground, and rubbed his nose against his shoulder in a most affectionate 
 
 manner. N kissed his forehead, and, passing his hand across his 
 
 eyes rushed into the jungle, saying, 'Do not let him linger.' When 
 his back was turned I placed the muzzle of my pistol to the suffering 
 animal's temple, and pulled the trigger— a slight quiver of the body 
 
 followed the report, and ' Bidgeley ' was dead. N cut off sonn- of 
 
 the hair of his forelock and tail for a souvenir, I slung his saddle and 
 bridle over Lall Babba's back, and we slowly retraced our way 
 towards the tents." 
 
 Omitting the sketches of the "Old Shekarry's gang" of trackers 
 and beaters, and the exploits of a Scotch doctor, who plays the part 
 of Wilson in Lord Dufferin's amusing "Letters," the next campaign is 
 against a formidable man-eating tiger. After following the trail over 
 most difficult ground, the party come upon a hideous lair, fresh with 
 traces of his last victim, before surprising whom " he seemed to have 
 made the circuit of the village two or three times '" : —
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 " This was evidently the hecatomb of the man-eater, for I counted, 
 from skulls and remains of half-eaten bodies, about 23 victims of both 
 sexes, as we could see from their hair, clothes, broken bangles, (arm- 
 lets), and gold and silver ornaments belonging to native women." 
 
 Meanwhile, the population of the whole neighbourhood had been 
 mustered to a grand battue. Whatever may be said against a battue 
 as a murderous and a mechanical process of destruction, demanding 
 no strength, resource, or instinct on the part of any one but the game- 
 keeper, it is a totally different proceeding where wild beasts are the 
 game. A vast quantity of these, including several tigers, are driven 
 into isolated jungles, and the surrounding grass is fired, when a 
 tigress suddenly breaks cover and tears a borsekeeper to pieces. 
 
 " W was much affected at the death of his horsekeeper, for he had 
 
 been in bis service for some years, and had always proved himself a 
 faithful servant. How. ver, as nothing could be done, we retook our 
 station in the line, and the battue was continued." The complete 
 list of that day's bag was " two tigers and two cubs, three cheetahs 
 and one cub, three bears and two cubs (one taken alive), five elk, 
 four spoiled deer, four pigs (four small squeakers taken alive), one 
 porcupine, and one bull uoilghau — total, 32 head of game. 
 
 " When we came near our camp the procession was reformed ; my 
 gang and some of the Sepoys amused themselves by dancing in front 
 of the dead tigers, before which our guns were carried decked out 
 with flowers, and singing an extemporary song, the burden of which 
 was something to this effect:— 'That great and gallant deeds had 
 been performed that day ; that four tigers of burnt fathers having 
 eaten dirt, and the brave and generous gentlemen being satisfied with 
 then- day's sport, plenty of bucksheesh and inam (rewards and 
 presents) would, as a matter of course, fall to the lot of their well- 
 wishing followers, whose mouths were watering and stomachs pant- 
 ing with the thoughts of how they would be filled by the sheep 
 which the well-known charitable and generously-minded gentlemen 
 would certainly distribute.' The chorus being taken up by the whole 
 party, was something deafening." 
 
 Still the man-eater remained at large, and the glory of vanquishing 
 him in single combat was reserved for the " Old Shekarry " himself. 
 Knowing that several post-runners had been carried off by the 
 monster near a particular bend of the road, the author, disregarding 
 the protestations of his gang, provides himself with the jingling 
 rattle of a post-runner and proceeds slowly down the road : — 
 
 "While ascending the opposite side of the ravine I heard a slight 
 noise like the crackling of a dry leaf ; I paused, and, turning to the
 
 OPINIONS OF THE TRESS. 
 
 left, fronted the spot from -whence I thought tlie noise proceeded. I 
 distinctly saw a movement or waving in the high grass, as if some- 
 thing was making its way towards me; then I heard a loud purring 
 sound, and saw something twitching backwards and forwards behind 
 a clump of low bush and long grass, about eight or ten paces from me, 
 and a little in the rear. It was a ticklish moment, but I felt pre- 
 pared. I stepped back a couple of paces, in order to £>et a better 
 view, which action probably saved my life, for immediately the brute 
 sprang into tlie middle of the road, alighting about six feet from the 
 place where I was standing. I fired a hurried shot ere he could 
 gather himself up for another spring, and when the smoke cleared 
 away I saw him rolling over and over in the dusty road, writhing in 
 his death agony, for my shot had entered the neck and gone down- 
 wards into his chest. I stepped on one side and gave him my second 
 barrel behind the ear, when dark blood rushed from his nostrils, a 
 slight tremor passed over all his limbs, and all was still. The man- 
 eater was dead, and his victims avenged." 
 
 These personal encounters with wild animals are really the charac- 
 teristic feature of the volume, and the reader at last takes it as a 
 matter of course that the narrator should " suddenly come face to face 
 upon an immense tiger;" or, after firing at one from an ambuscade 
 dug in tlie ground, should see the beast leap clean over his head and 
 fall crashing into the bushes behind him. We extract two specimens 
 of hair-breadth escapes such as Van Amburgh might have envied. 
 The first was a rencontre with a " huge female bear," rushing down a 
 nullah :— 
 
 " I was directly in her path, and, with a roar, she made right at me ; 
 I let drive at her head with my only barrel that had not been dis- 
 charged, but it failed to stop her, and she had knocked me down and 
 was on me in the twinkling of an eye. 
 
 " The slope of the hill was steep, and we both of us rolled over and 
 over several times. I was almost breathless, when Googooloo rushed 
 on her with his billhook and endeavoured to attract her attention. 
 Luckily she could not bite at all, as my shot had smashed her snout 
 and lower jaw to pieces ; but she kept me locked in her embrace, and 
 squeezed me more roughly than affectionately. 
 
 " My head was well protected with a bison -skin cap ; and getting a 
 tight grasp of her fur on each side, with my arms underneath hers, so 
 that she could not do me much injury with her claws, I regularly 
 wrestled with her for some time ; and, although I brought my science 
 to play, and threw her on her back several times ' by giving her the 
 leg,' she never let go her hug, and I was almost suffocated with the 
 quantity of blood and froth that came from her wound and covered my 
 face, beard, and chest.
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PEESS. 
 
 " Googooloo made frantic bits at her from time to time with his bill- 
 hook (the only weapon he hud, having lent D his knife), but I 
 
 ordered him to desist, as his blows did not appear to do the bear much 
 harm, and I was afraid of catching one. At last Bruin appeared to 
 be getting weaker, and I saw her wounds and loss of blood were 
 telling ; and after a little trouble I managed to chaw my knife, and 
 drove it up to the hilt in her body under the armpits. She gave me 
 an ugly hug, and fell over on her side, pulling me with her. It was 
 her last effort, and I picked myself up quite out of puff, but not much 
 injured, having only received a slight claw on the loins and another 
 rather more severe on the instep. I drew my pistol, which I could 
 not manage to get at before, to give her a settler, but it was not re- 
 quired — the game was over, my antagonist was dead." 
 
 The other was in a similar situation, but the antagonist was an ele- 
 phant which was struck by a " shot four inches too low. It failed to stop 
 him, and before I could get out of the way, the huge brute was on me ; I 
 saw something dark pass over me, felt a severe blow, and found myself 
 whizzing through the air ; then all was oblivion." While the author 
 was lying stunned and bleeding, the elephant turned upon Googooloo, 
 who escaped by swinging himself up Jby the hanging branch of a 
 tree : — 
 
 " The elephant, balked of his victim, rushed wildly backwards and 
 forwards two or three tunes, as if searching for him, and then, with a 
 hoarse screarn of disappointmen, came tearing down the bed of the 
 nullah. I was directly in his path, and powerless to get out of the 
 way. A moment more and I saw that I was perceived, for down he 
 charged on me with a fiendish roar of vengeance. With difficulty I 
 raised my rifle, and, taking a steady aim between his eyes, pulled the 
 trigger — it was my oidy chance. When the smoke cleared away, I 
 perceived a mighty mass lying close to me. At last I had conquered. 
 Soon after this I must have sunk in a swoon, for I hardly remember 
 
 anything untd I found myself lying in my hut, and B leaning 
 
 over me." 
 
 One cannot help admiring the adroitness with which this accom- 
 plished strategist siiifts his tactics. Once he creeps up behind an ele- 
 phant and disables him from charging by firing two barrels up his 
 raised leg ; at another time he shoots an enormous fish with a ramrod, 
 having a log-line attached to it. Now he awaits and drops, at six 
 paces' distance, a bull-bison, much larger than the one which now 
 stands in the Strand as a trophy of Mr. Berkeley's prowess, being 19 
 hands high at the shoulder; now he stabs to death a wild bull, 
 16 hands high, which had just capsized himself and his horse. A
 
 OPINIONS OF THE TRESS. 
 
 tigress strikes down "poor Ali, who, notwithstanding my orders, had 
 separated himself from the rest. Although I felt I was too late to 
 save him, I determined he shoidd be amply revenged," and accord- 
 ingly the infuriated animal is despatched with a single shot. K 
 
 is chased by an elephant, and " would have had no chance if he had 
 not been able to dodge him by running round trees. I coidd not, for 
 the moment, get a fair shot at any vulnerable part ; but, seeing that 
 the elephant had got so near that he could almost have reached him 
 with his trunk, I let drive a double shot at his ear, and brought him 
 
 to bis knees, which gave K time to clamber up into a tree. It 
 
 was a very near touch, for he was breathless, and another few seconds 
 would have seen him tran^led under foot ; as it was, I was able to 
 despatch the tusker with my second gun, which Googooloo handed 
 me just as be began to recover himself and was getting on his knees." 
 
 "We have no space for the death-scenes of the Neilgherry tiger and 
 the Circassian bear, though among the most spirited descriptions in 
 the volume, or for the ruse by which he turns the superstitions of his 
 followers to account in overcoming the dread of the malaria on the 
 Ananiulai Mountains. Nothing seems to come amiss to him. If 
 he loses his game over a precipice, he submits to be dangled down by 
 a rope till he reaches the ledge on which it is lying. If his baggage- 
 pony is carried off by Circassian banditti, he overtakes them while 
 then- trail is yet fresh, recovers the stolen goods by a coup de main, 
 brands his prisoners with a heated horse-shoe, and turns them adrift 
 into the forest. The ascent of the El-Bruz, which follows, deserves 
 the attention of the Alpine Club, especially as the higher summit was 
 after all left unsealed, being cutoff, like thepeak of Chimborazo, from 
 the accessible side by an impassable chasm. 
 
 Most pursuits, ardently followed out, contain in themselves the ele- 
 ments of an education. The " Old Shekarry " writes like a man whose 
 character owes much to forest-life. A sincere devotion to his art ele- 
 vates him into a kind of troubadour of hunting crusades ; gives true 
 eloquence to his pictures of forest-scenery, and no mean grace to the 
 improvisoed songs with which he was wont to beguile the evenings 
 after a day's sport. The associations of the tournament predominate 
 over those of the shambles. We can forgive a little egotism, a little 
 unnecessary dialogue, and a little Byronic affectation for the sake of 
 the great literary merits of the works. It shows us what the life of 
 Mr. Assheton Smith confirms, that a consummate sportsman is made 
 of no ordinary stuff. But it presumes, as a condition of success, a
 
 OPINIONS OF THE TRESS. 
 
 degree of labour and patience amounting almost to self-sacrifice. 
 " M. Jules Gerard spent upwards of six hundred niyhls in the forest 
 before he killed his twenty-sixth lion." The " Old Shekarry " him- 
 self was engaged for days together under an Indian sun in following 
 some one quarry, resolutely abstaining from all inferior game. In the 
 valuable hints on rifle-shooting which close the volume he betrays no 
 leaning to short cuts and empirical expedients. " Constant practice," 
 " intense study," and close attention to the regulation system of in- 
 struction, are the only secrets of his method. At the same time he 
 declares for the breech-loading principle, and the reasons by which 
 he justifies this preference in the case of fowling-pieces (pp. 488-96) 
 deem to us unanswerable. The man who can knock over an ibex at 
 400 yards, and meets the fiercest animals single-handed and on foot, 
 has a right to speak on these points. 
 
 Tho "Old Shekarry" represents a class of men with which a 
 country that owns a hundred colonies cannot afford to dispense. The 
 race of "mighty hunters" is not extinct; their descendants are the 
 pioneers of many an enterprise of commercial or scientific discovery. 
 Nor is the mosl ancient of human occupations robbed of its dignity 
 when it is associated with the tastes of a scholar and the feelings of 
 a gentleman. 
 
 " Bell's Life," 3rd June, 1860. 
 
 There is a general impression among the reading public that a work 
 almost entirely devoted to snorting, more especially to the actual nar- 
 ration of sporting events which have occurred in the experience of 
 one individual, must be, to a certain extent, a monotonous chronicle of 
 carnage ; and this impression is justified by the majority of works on 
 the subject. But, as there is no rule without exception, the minority 
 do from time to time vindicate, and most pleasantly so, the perfeel 
 feasibility of this material, in itself at the time so interesting to 
 everybody taking part in it, being made almost equally interesting to 
 those who have not ; and our author in his present work has assur< dly 
 well entitled himself to be ranked high among that, glorious minority. 
 His qualifications being, however, first, true sportsmanship, with its 
 indispensable attribute, great powers of observation, combined with,
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PEESS. 
 
 secondly, an easy, graceful, and gentlemanlike faculty of expressing 
 his ideas, must have gone far towards making his task feasible (we 
 will not detract from his merits, looking, moreover, at the numbers 
 who have tried and failed in the same line, by saying an easy one) ; 
 but when we add to the other qualifications, thirdly, the power of 
 illustrating by his own spirited pencil the most stirring incidents 
 which he has met with in flood and field, possessed by " The Old 
 Shekarry," we may fairly wonder the less at his success. As in true 
 sportsmanship must be included, as the principal ingredient, humanity, 
 the charge of chronicling butchery page after page is disposed of at 
 once ; and as an easy and graceful style of writing presupposes a con- 
 siderable degree of humour and pleasantry, we find matter of fact in 
 this volume quite free from monotony ; and as in the sporting events 
 marked by the finger-post of plates, of which the only complaint can 
 be that they are not more numerous, the interest of every reader must 
 be well supported, especially when the softer feelings are appealed to 
 by such descriptions as that of the death of the hog-hunter's horse, 
 Bidgeley ; so in the intermediate spaces — such as the stories of the 
 Scotch Indian, who paves the way to getting the Begum to treat our 
 sportsman with a nautch by dosing her well beforehand with stiff gin- 
 and-water, with all the attendant incidents of this Caledonian 
 Machiavelli's interview with her highness — the readers, whether 
 sportsmen or not, will be difficult to amuse if they fail to be tickled 
 by such passages as that just referred to. 
 
 Modesty, also another attribute of the real sportsman, shows itself 
 throughout, in the grateful manner in which " H. A. L." acknowledges 
 the services and assistance rendered him by his native attendants, 
 whose attachment to him speaks volumes, both for the kindness which 
 conciliated them and the good management which kept them up to 
 their ardour and discipline, without his having otherwise to boast of 
 his own deeds to secure these most necessary points for a successful 
 foray against the wild animals of the jungles. 
 
 Another very pleasing feature in this book is the circumstanoe that, 
 wherever much game was killed at once, it seems to have been, not 
 for the mere purpose of collecting trophies, except in the case of 
 ivory, but for the support of his followers and the native tribes who 
 accompanied them, or for the absolute preservation of human life ; as 
 also the fact that the most noble of beasts — the elephant — can be, by
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 good shooting, and a proper knowledge of the point at which to aim, put 
 to death without the awful cannonading, and consequently protracted 
 misery to the majestic victim, which less skilful hunters have had to 
 employ, and thus given their readers the painful, though we are 
 heartily glad to find false, impression that it was unavoidable to in- 
 flict an awful amount of suffering before bringing to bay the grandest 
 quarry that the animal kingdom affords to the hunter. 
 
 With these hurried remarks, which want of space alone prevents 
 our adding largely to, we leave the work with the greatest confidence 
 to the reading world in general, and in particular to that portion of it 
 who are smitten with the ardor venaticus, as the most interesting, as 
 well as instructive, production of the kind which has appeared since 
 the days of the immortal Nimrod. 
 
 " Satckdat Eeview," June 16th, 18G0. 
 
 " H. A. L.'s " book is exceedingly amusing, and its blemishes are very 
 few and very pardonable. 
 
 " The Athen^um," September 1, 1860. 
 
 The " Old Shekarry " not only leads us through the great forests of 
 the south of India, and over the plains of the Deccan, but presents 
 us with other multiform experiences ; wandering now into the moun- 
 tains of Circassia, and now to the African plains. The " Old She- 
 karry" has many things to tell us which have no smack of the 
 shambles in them. In one of his forest rambles he encountered 
 specimens of the wild races who live in trees, deep in the recesses of 
 the mighty Indian jungles, and who seem to have nothing human 
 but the name of man. 
 
 After a life of adventure in the far East, it is no wonder that our 
 Author sought in the Crimea a renewal of excitement. When pale 
 peace again made its unwelcome appearance, he betook himself once 
 more to the hunting-grounds ; and wandering into Circassia, adven- 
 tured the ascent of the giant mountain El-Bruz.
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 The reader will pass with satisfaction to a very sensible chapter on 
 breech-loaders and rifle practice, with which the work concludes. 
 On such a subject, the authority of such a writer is great ; and we 
 are glad to have our own opinion confirmed as to the superiority of 
 the new weapons, and the breech-loading improvement generally. 
 For the rest, the volunteer may glean some useful hints from a writer 
 who speaks of Hythe with more than Hythe experience. 
 
 " The Obsebveb," May 28, 18G0. 
 
 TnE Author of this work describes himself as "a wanderer over 
 many lands ;" and, it may be added, that he is also a " mighty 
 hunter." The volume is a pleasing record of feats of daring and 
 dexterity in the pursuit of wild animals, and wdl well repay perusal 
 on the part of all lovers of field-sports on a large scale. 
 
 " The New Sporting Magaztxe," August, 1SG0. 
 
 We should recommend our modern Nimrods, if they wish for real 
 excitement, to pack up their traps, take the overland route and try 
 their hands at drawing the noble game inhabiting the jungles of 
 India. There they will have hunting worthy of then- great proto- 
 type, Ximrod the First, and to which hare or fox hunting is chdd's- 
 play, and a steeplechase a senseless pursuit of a broken neck. 
 
 First of all, however, let him get the " Old Shekarrvs " work, and 
 read it carefully, weighing well the dangers of the enterprise, or they 
 may find their courage fail them when the pinch comes. 
 
 This most interesting work is full of such incidents ; changing the 
 game from tigers to elephants, bears, bisons, deer, elks, wild boars, 
 panthers, and other smaller game, with a variety of anecdotes, illus- 
 trative both of high and low life in India, Circassia, and Algeria, for 
 our Nimrod has also paid these countries a sporting visit. We cannot 
 go into particulars, but can honestly recommend the book to all true 
 lovers of field-sports, as a genuine and interesting work.on a subject 
 that has hitherto only been touched on by travellers in the countries 
 to which it refers.
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 " The Eea." 
 
 No sportsman can read this work without considerable profit ; and 
 every one will be struck with the Bound truthfulness of this mighty 
 hunter's descriptions of the wild denizens of the forest, and the piquant 
 pictures he draws of - ' the pleasures of the pathless woods." 
 
 'The Review," June 9, 1860. 
 
 Ax agreeable surprise will await the reader, who, not being addicted 
 to field- sports, may chance to open the volume of which we now pro- 
 pose to enter upon a critical notice, and which, though faithful to the 
 promise implied in its title, abounds in stirring adventures of the 
 chase; appeals largely, also, to a wide range of tastes; and embraces 
 within its contents, a varied fund of interest and information. 
 
 Thus in the three fields of sporting activity to which the Author 
 introduces us — India. Circassia, and Algeria — not content with a bare 
 narrative of his marvellous exploits with gun or spear, he often 
 expatiates on striking descriptions of the beauties of nature, or 
 sketches the manners and habits of wild races of men. which he 
 diversifies again with descriptions of towns, and of the softer plea- 
 sures there in vogue ; paints the voluptuous allurements of oriental 
 life ; delineates the grandeur and the grace of the ancient archi- 
 tecture in those interesting regions; and interweaves all that can 
 captivate tin- fancy or instruct the mind, into his discursive story. 
 There are traits of humour, also, for the reader intent on amuse- 
 ment : tragic incident and tale for more serious dispositions: and 
 poetry both gay and pathetic for the refined admirer of the muse. 
 
 It is among the mountain heights, however, and the immemorial 
 forests that our author, though nothing comes amiss to him, is most 
 at home ; and he communicates his experience of the sublimities and 
 beauties of landscape scenery with a freshness and vigour that speak 
 his keen sense of enjoyment and ardent sympathies with the glories 
 of creation. Imagination, taste, and sentiment largely pervade the 
 whole composition. As for the sporting performances related in the 
 work, they are truly astonishing, and till the mind with horror by the 
 perilous character that they assume. Who does not feel an uneasy 
 sensation as he accompanies our author to the tiger's lair, strewed
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PBE 
 
 thick with the remains of mutilated victims, with human bones, and 
 
 the trink e native women devoured by the wild beast ? 'What 
 
 not turned in its beat, as the same fearless sportsman is 
 
 hugged by a hear; or, as he dangles by a silken rope, in Lis de- 
 of the yawning precipice, to recover from a ledge of rock the ibex 
 that he has killed with his unerring rifle. These and the like 
 exciti re powerfully told, and will arrest the attention of 
 
 the least inquisitive. 
 
 The chase is, indeed, the image of war, when the most ferocious of 
 the animal tribes constitute the game, and the perpendicular height 
 i be scaled, or the foaming torrent crossed, in quest of the noble 
 '. There is need for circumspection at every step, when the 
 slightest error or oversight may be irremediable and fatal ; and the 
 discipline of rnind and body cannot but be of the most salutary 
 r, when vigilance, caution, fertility of resource, coolness, and 
 cour;; !1 required to circumvent and conquer the wary and for- 
 
 midable : . against whom the brute strength of man is wholly 
 
 unavailing. It is a real war that is to be waged with an enemy 
 worthy of human prowess, and taxing some of the finest qualitii 
 the utmost. What better school can be found for the soldier to 
 during peace; — the stratagems and arts of war ? And what 
 is more likely to sharpen his courage and confidence, on which at 
 such a time must be his main reliance- ? Add to these exciting pur- 
 suits a practical knowledge of military evolutions and tactics, and a 
 proper sense of subordination to authority, and the elements most 
 indispensable to a soldier will be complete. 
 
 The practical part of the work which gives rise to these comments 
 is also calculated to be extremely useful, and must not pass without 
 notice-. Here the sportsman will find rules as to dress and baggage, 
 and vehicles and beasts of burden, and general accoutrements and 
 utensils, as to provisions and ammunition, and, above all, as to wea- 
 . which will be eminently serviceable to him in taking the field 
 amidst the primaeval forests and pathless mountains, where auxiliary 
 or extraneous assistance is out of the question, and a man must 
 depend upon his own forethought and ingenuity to avoid or to extri- 
 himself from the numerous accidents that beset him in his ad- 
 venturous course. The volume is concluded by a clear, vigorous, 
 and interesting treatise of a theoretical and practical nature, on
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 muzzle-loading and breech-loading arms, and rifle-shooting, with 
 remarks on uniform, the whole of which deserves the earnest atten- 
 tion, not only of the sportsman hut of the professional soldier and the 
 volunteer. 
 
 As our author is of a very observing turn of mind, he frequently 
 describes the appearance and dimensions, and likewise the habits of 
 the animals that he kills, and indulges in graphic sketches of the 
 trees and vegetation of the tropics, so that the lover of natural history 
 will be gratified, not, indeed, with a profound, but a popular and 
 pleasing account of animal and vegetable life. In general, it is in 
 quest of game that our author explores the picturesque grandeur or 
 beauty of primitive nature ; but sometimes the thirst of daring enter- 
 prise, and the admiration of towering mountains, leads him far above 
 the haunts of bird or beast, to regions in which the awful glacier, 
 resplendent with rainbow colours, opens its treacherous chasms, and 
 the thunder of the avalanche makes sublime and appalling music, 
 amidst the toppling crags and the precipitous rocks. The Caucasus 
 is the scene of this exploit, and El-Bruz the mountain which, at 
 imminent risk, and with the actual loss, in returning, of one of his 
 attendants, our author ascends. 
 
 It is a book of sports and a book of travels in one — of sports the 
 most noble and usefid, because they are directed chiefly against the 
 most destructive of animals ; and of travels the most interesting, be- 
 cause the delineation of the objects of nature and art is interspersed 
 with "hair-breadth escapes" and the most alarming personal dangers. 
 
 At a future day we purpose to return to the volume before us, which, 
 let us not omit to add, is in point of paper and topography well worthy 
 of its agreeable contents, and is illustrated by a series of tinted litho- 
 graphs that bring before the eye our daring sportsman's encounters 
 with wild beasts. The frontispiece (from a photograph), and its dupli- 
 cate representation in gilt on the binding of the book, are very appro- 
 priate, as the open jaws of the tiger symbolize a principal topic of the 
 work; ami interior and exterior are calculated to render it an orna- 
 ment to any library.
 
 •4
 
 
 1 
 
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