I am writing this on the floor, and in
the midst of the greatest dirt, noise, and confusion. Pray urge our
reinforcement to the Chief Commissioner.
"Yours,
"L. M. WIGGENS."
The employment of the French sentence is worthy of remark. During these
troubled times, every modern language was pressed into our service; and
more than one old field-officer mustered up his school reminiscences of
the Anabasis and the Iliad, to compose a bulletin, curiously blended
of Attic, Æolic, and Aldershot, which would have puzzled Grote or
Hermann at least as much as it could possibly perplex any mutineer or
highwayman who might chance to intercept the messenger.
Things had got to a terrible pass on our side of the wall. All the
present sweetness of existence was long since vanished, and the last
flicker of future hope had now died away. But, moved by a generous
despair and an invincible self-respect, our people still fought on. By
daring and vigilance, by countless shifts and unremitting labour, they
staved off ruin for another day, and yet another. At rare intervals
behind the earthwork they stood--gaunt and feeble likenesses of
men,--clutching with muffled fingers the barrels of their muskets,
which glowed with heat intolerable to the naked hand, so fierce was
the blaze of the summer sun. Straining their ears to catch any fancied
sounds of distant cannonading, they gazed across the plain to where the
horizon faded into a fantastic mirage, which mocked their fevered eyes
with fair scenes of forest, and mountain, and with infinite expanses
of glassy water broken by golden islets; while in the foreground the
jackals prowled about the debated space, and the pariah dogs snarled at
the grey crows, and slunk away from the spots where the great vultures
sat in obscene and sulky conclave. Dim must have been the thoughts,
confused the images, which flitted through their wearied intellect;
indistinct memories of home and youth; faint regrets, and fainter
resolutions; fitful yearnings for dear beings whom they would never
again behold. One would surmise how his mother in far-off England would
bear her sorrow, and who would be selected to break the news. Another
would calculate dates, and try to convince himself that his boy at
Rugby should have got the scholarship examination off his mind before
the receipt of the fatal tidings. But, whatever might be the subject of
contemplation, no smile relieved the stolid apathy of their careworn
features, save when dejection was for an instant charmed away by the
buoyant audacity of Moore. "He was a strong man. In the dark perils of
war, in the high places of the field, hope shone in him like a pillar
of fire, when it had gone out in all the others." Brave and vivacious
himself, he was the cause that bravery and vivacity were in other
men. It was not that he had less at stake than those around him: for
his wife and children were in the entrenchment. When the vicissitudes
of battle called her husband to the outposts, Mrs.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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