jump up and see what is going on, and so compel my thoughts to travel with wonderful rapidity from your drawing-room at Versailles to the enemy's army in the Crimea. We have had one or two brilliant affairs with the enemy since Alma, besides our sharp-shooters being in daily contact with the enemy under their walls, or performing deeds of daring gallantry which makes one proud indeed of om* noble army. Officers and men have all been severely worked at the siege since the 7th of this month, constantly under heavy fire in the trenches, which is by no means an agreeable occupation, and altogether we are nearly worked off our legs, but no one complains. There is a spirit in this army such as I am sure was never surpassed, and I think our labours are near their close. However, whether we take Sebastopol or not, one great point has been gained. We have learnt that Russia is one gigantic humbug, one vast bubble, which we have helped to burst, and in the words of our mutual friend, Sam Weller, if the Emperor wishes to blow another next year we will come and burst that too. After what we have seen of Russian pluck, no one need ever fear Russia again, except Turks, Poles, and such small fry; as for the idea of fearing Russian influence in India, there is no more to fear from them than from the Chinese, except their artillery, which is very formidable and most excellent. Their troops are perfectly contemptible.... — Ever your affectionate brother,
Fred.
To Lady Stephenson
Before Sebastopol, November 7, 1854.
My dear Mother, — We have fought another general action, much more severe than even the one at Alma, in which, thanks be to God, I have again escaped unhurt, as also Mitchell,28 Frederick,** and Robin Hamilton.*" Large reinforcements of the enemy have been arriving from the south of Russia so rapidly and so entirely unknown to us that Lord Raglan was not acquainted
[fragment illegible in the scan of the first edition]
with the fact till informed of it by the prisoners taken in the action. The troops were brought in carts and carriages of all descriptions with one, some say two, of the royal archdukes. On Sunday morning, the 5th, these fresh troops, made up by the enemy already in our rear to between forty and fifty thousand, with some very heavy field pieces, attacked our right, the weakest part of our position, and for three hours this immense force was opposed by our 2nd Division, about 2000 strong, supported by the Brigade of Guards, about 1000 strong. These 3000 men were reinforced during the morning by about 3000 more, until about half-past eleven, when the French came up, a regiment at a time, till our united force amounted to about 15,000 at the most; firing did not cease till dark, and a more fearful day was probably never witnessed. The enemy were at length driven back and completely routed. Their loss is estimated at about 12,000 killed, wounded, and prisoners. Our loss is about 90 officers killed and wounded, and 2000 men ditto. Our Brigade had the brunt of it again, and their loss (included in the above) is 13 officers killed, 17 wounded, and about 560 men killed and wounded. It is impossible to exaggerate the noble manner in which our troops behaved — the numbers engaged will speak more eloquently than I can. The battle itself was so confused that any description in this short note would be next to impossible. I have chiefly written this to let you know that I am safe and well, although I was twice struck, and my escape was most merciful. One ball struck the star clasp that fastened my cloak, smashed it, and likewise broke a brass button on my red coat, which luckily was directly beneath the clasp, which last was bent so as to tear my coat and slightly bruise my chest. The other ball struck my steel scabbard and dented it in, making a bruise on the outside of my thigh, which it otherwise must have entered. The siege in the meanwhile is not going on altogether as well as one could wish. This reinforcement of the enemy will tell immensely in his
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favour and will hamper our movements very much. I hope, however, my next accounts will be more cheering, for though I am now giving you an account of a most glorious victory, it has been a most sad one, and anything but a cause for rejoicing.... — Ever your affectionate son,
Fredk. Stephenson.
To his Niece, Catherine Wilson [afterwards Baronne de Moidrey)
Before Sebastopol, November 12, 1854.