Anniversaries

THE month of November would seem to have been ruled by some genius unfavourable to our arms. If it gave to us the glorious remembrance of a profitless and bloody victory, it also brought with it a day of disaster and gloom — the beginning of a long series of calamities. The first anniversary of that day passed away amid mutual congratulations and reminiscences, rendered all the more joyous by the contrast between the present and the past. We had beheld a spectacle of unusual splendour and grandeur, one indeed which no native of these isles has ever yet witnessed, so far as I am aware. On the 14th of November, 1855, the purity of the air — the health of the troops — the abundance of stores — the excellence of the roads — the quantity of hutting — the hospital accommodation — the fineness of the day — the beauty of the sky — the dryness of the soil — the prospects of the army — the bright-hued future: all these were contrasted by a myriad tongues in endless difference of phrase, coloured by many a recollection of personal suffering. There was no sorrow, no calamity could reach us now, and of all things which fate could grant us, most of all were we desirous of meeting that alone with which fate seemed to threaten us — an assault by the enemy. But, suddenly, up from the very centre of our camp, so that every ear should hear and every eye should see, rushed with such a crash as may forewarn the world of its doom, and with such a burst of flame and smoke as may never yet have been seen by man, except in the throes of some primeval eruption, a ghastly pillar of sulphureous vapour. It spread as it rose, bearing aloft for hundreds of yards men, horses, fragments of limbs, rocks, shells, and cannon-shot, and then extended its folds in writhing involutions, as though it were tortured by the fire within, raining them down over the astounded soldiery below! For a moment the boldest lost heart, and "the bravest held his breath." There{430} was no safety in flight — the wings of the wind could not have left that dreadful shower of iron behind; and as one of the most collected and cool soldiers in the army said to me, "I had only presence of mind to throw myself on the ground and ask the forgiveness of God, and I received his mercy!" In fact, the effect resembled some great convulsion of nature. Many thought it was an earthquake; others fancied it was the outburst of a volcano; others, that the Russians had got hold of Lord Dundonald's invention, and that they had just given it a first trial. Indeed, one officer said to another, as soon as he recovered breath and could speak, "I say, that's a nice sort of thing, is it not? The sooner we go after that the better." He was persuaded the Russians had thrown some new and unheard-of instrument of destruction into the camp.