The stubborn infantry still made good Their dark, impenetrable hill; Each stepping where his comrade stood, The instant that he fell.
At the Alma and Balaclava, when the enemy had gained a temporary success, they behaved in a most barbarous manner to our wounded; sometimes their officers set them the example by plunging their swords into the helpless. At Inkermann, they outstripped all their former deeds of assassination. Mercy they did not seem to understand when once our poor fellows were in their clutches. But yet our men, I am happy to record, would not retaliate, except in so far as that, after the battle was over, their wounded were left to lie, while ours were removed from the field; but those who were alive next morning were then attended to, and taken to our hospital tents. Such are the horrors of war. Our loss had been heavy: there were killed 4 Generals, 50 Officers, 42 Sergeants; total killed, wounded, and missing, 2700, exclusive of the French loss, and that was heavy for the numbers engaged. The whole French army were loud in their expressions of admiration of the British, their exultation seemed to be beyond all bounds, for our deeds had put Alma and Balaclava in the shade, and cast a fresh lustre upon our glorious old Standard. They looked at us in wonderment, for they knew well the odds we had fought against, hour after hour. And, I have not the slightest doubt, some of their old officers thought of our forefathers who had so often fought them, and never once met them but to give them a good sound thrashing. As Napoleon said, we had often been beaten, but would not give in; we would stick to them like a good bull-dog, and worry them out. Reader, such was Inkermann.
Night closed around that conquering band, The lightning showed the distant field, Where they who won that bloody day, Though few and faint, were fearless still.
The aspect of the field was awful--dead and dying mutilated bodies in all directions. Many of our men had been wounded frequently with shot and bayonet; others were cut limb from limb, and yet a spark of life remained. Many had perished by the bayonet and it was noticed that but few had fallen with one thrust. In and around the 2-gun battery the sights were sickening. Our Guardsmen, and 41st, 47th, and 49th, lay locked in the arms of the foe with their bayonets through each other--dead. Some of our officers and men were found dead, with no fewer than twelve or fifteen bayonet wounds; the appearance of the poor fellows who had been thus tortured was painful. To describe the scene would be impossible--the result of eight hours' hand-to-hand conflict--it was horrible to look upon. Scarcely did any field in the whole Peninsula war present, as the result of conflict, such a murderous spectacle as the terrible sights that now lay before us. There were literally piles of dead, lying in every posture that one could imagine; I may say that there were acres of defaced humanity--ghastly wounds from sword, bayonet, grape, and round shot; poor fellows literally shattered--and yet with life still in them. Others lay as if they had been asleep--friend and foe mixed together. In some parts of the field our men lay in ranks as they had stood; and the enemy in columns, one on the top of the other. The Russian Guardsmen lay thick all over the field. Upwards of 2000 dead were found belonging to the enemy. Just outside the 2-gun Battery the wounded were numerous, and their groans were pitiful; while cries of despair burst from the lips of some as they lay, thinking perhaps of wives and helpless little ones far away. The Russian dead were buried in large pits by themselves; and our people and our gallant allies, the French, were laid side by side. For hours during that dreadful night of woe and victory, the wailing of a poor dog--which had followed his master--could be distinctly heard. The faithful creature had found his master's body, and he pierced the night air with his lamentations. Such was the field of Inkermann. That was keeping up Gunpowder Plot with a vengeance.