Those of my readers who are old enough will remember the pitch of excitement to which the blood of Old England was worked up: the eyes of the whole world were turned upon us; the deeds of our forefathers had not been forgotten--their exploits had astonished the civilised world; both by land and sea they had been the admiration of all, whether friend or foe, when led by such commanders as the immortal Nelson and the Iron Duke. We, their descendants, were about to face in deadly conflict the strongest and most subtle nation of the civilized world, that could bring into the field one million of bayonets, swayed by despotic power. But numbers were not taken into consideration, our only cry was "Let's get at them." The Fusiliers were quickly made up to about one thousand strong, and embarked at Southampton on the 5th of April, 1854, for the East, under command of an officer who afterwards proved himself one of the bravest of the brave, Col. Lacy Walter Yea, a soldier in every sense of the word, both in the field and out of it; just the right man in the right place to command such a corps as the Royal Fusiliers. In marching out of the Barracks at Manchester to the railway station, one could have walked over the heads of the people, who were wrought up to such a pitch of excitement as almost amounted to madness. Our inspiring band in front struck up "The British Grenadiers," "The Girl I left behind me," "We are going far away." Fathers shook hands with their sons, and bade them farewell, while mothers embraced them; and then the bands struck up "Cheer! boys, cheer!" which seemed to have a thrilling effect upon the multitude, and to give fresh animation to the men. The expressions from the vast crowd as our men marched along were, "Pur them, Bill," "Remember Old England depends upon you," "Give them plenty of cold steel and then pur them," "Keep up your pecker, old boy--never say die," "Leave your mark upon them if you get a chance." At last the noble old corps reached the railway station, and then there were deafening shouts. Some cried, "We'll meet again, and give you a warm reception when you come back;" then, after one hearty "God bless you" from a vast multitude, away they went behind the iron horse. We had a number of Manchester men in our ranks, and, although that town is noted for its peace principles, they let the enemy know at the Alma, Inkermann, and throughout the Campaign, that they knew how to fight.