^m^v^y t ^/tixmfi^^miM V I A = ^_ c A = ^^= -£i. m ._ - o m ^^ 31 o m = J3 3 g _ c~> 7 = 2" 4 = ^^™ rn _ jj 3> 8 S Z=i. u> 1 = = f flflflj . - l^B^^mfll ^^s ■< | " ■^^^■rr^fe^ ^^■(-Tb-MpT/ ■imi'Li m£ 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,