my Bible ( 's Bible) to read, which he often asked me for, and I know he died a good Christian. Poor fellow! I shall long remember him, but he is happy now, and his wife and child must be my care now. In the meantime I know they are in good hands, and I will take care of them for the future. Please tell William if he has any money over from what I have sent him to let her have it, and I will send her some more shortly. Please let me know about her when you next write. As for myself, I remain still, thank God, in perfect health; but our poor fellows out here are suffering sadly, and our numbers are dwindling down fearfully: you have no idea of the hardships they undergo. I am not exaggerating when I say that for weeks together I believe they have worked and slept with w^et feet. However, the frost is come now, and bitter as the cold is, it is infinitely better than that interminable wet and slush we have been living in for two months. We are still perfectly inactive, although our duty is as hard and severe as if the siege were progressing. In fact, the work is much too hard for our small number, and the arm}'" is being decimated every week. However, we all manage to keep up our spirits, and if you were to judge by our laughing and good spirits you would not think us so badly off.... — Ever your affectionate brother,
Fred,
To Lady Stephenson
Before Sebastopol, January 21, 1855.
My dear Mother, — Since you last heard from me I have left the camp on the heights, and am now snugly ensconced in a cottage at Balaclava; for the Paymaster of our Brigade has gone home seriously ill, and until his successor arrives, his duty is to be performed by a committee of three officers, one from each battalion, and of whom I am constituted the working partner, a duty I most cheerfully accepted, for it takes me away for a time from the discomforts of camp, and gives me a roof over my head, the luxury of which is more enjoy-
able than I can tell you. I came down here the day before yesterday, where I shall remain a month or six weeks, so that I have at last taken my clothes off, and slept in a bed for the first time since the 1 4th of September, and the only time I have ever had my coat off my back has been for a general wash (a very rare occurrence) or to change my underclothing, so that I now feel clean, respectable, and very comfortable. My cottage consists of two little rooms, formerly the property of a fisherman: one, m}'- office where the clerk sleeps, about 12 feet square, and the other my bedroom, a little smaller, both excessively clean, with a good complement of chairs and tables. There is a little outhouse where my servant cooks and sleeps, and a small yard where my baggage ponies stand. The first thing I saw when I first saw this yard was a tub — what a refreshing sight it was, and what a delicious bath I have had in it each morning! The life I have been leading lately makes one appreciate to such an exquisite degree the ordinary comforts of life that I believe I should almost jump out of my skin with joy if I were to be told that (as far as a house is concerned) I were to spend the rest of my days here; so that, after all, severe as this campaign is (and I believe you will hardly find its equal in history), it has at all events taught one moderation in one's wishes and due appreciation of the good things of this life. Inaction is still the order of the day here, and with the exception of constant sorties of the garrisons upon the trenches, and almost invariably upon the French trenches, because they are nearer to the town than ours, we never come in contact with the enemy, nor could we just now while the winter lasts, for the country is impassable for guns and cavalry, and almost for infantry. Still, these sorties don't take place without loss of life on both sides, and with the exception of the annoyance they cause, never lead to any result. The enemy are invariably repulsed, and with the exception perhaps of now and then a trifling and only temporary advantage they lead to nothing; their object is evidently to
1855] A VANISHING ARMY 125