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hospital, “How happy we should be if we could only get this hospital for our poor sick." | Rumour now said that General Storks, who had by this time succeeded Lord William Paulet in command, was obliged to give the Sardinians room, and he was thinking of giving them our General Hospital; at first we did not credit it, but the story strengthened. We knew the only Sardinian hospital on the Bosphorus was one of huts at Yenikoi, and that long ago when Lord William held the command he had offered them the one at Abydos, which they declined, as being at so great a distance from the camp; but thoughts and plans were suddenly interrupted by the real news that Sebastopol had fallen. There was no doubt: cannon and flags and information from the embassy confirmed this tale. Graphic accounts from our soldier-friends at camp soon arrived. We insert a letter from one of the sergeants, who had been Sister Anne's ward-master.



“Camp before Sebastopol, 16th Sept., 1855. “ Sister Anne,--Sebastopol has fallen ! The enemy is in full retreat!

is in full retreat! The town is in flames since the 8th. The 2nd and Light Divisions attacked the Malakoff and took it without losing a man; but in attacking the Redan, the 88th, 55th, and 71st, and other corps of these divisions, suffered severely in trying to take it. Next morning (9th) we were in full possession of this side of the town and part of the north side too. I send you a piece of Russian riband I found in the town (for the French and English were in it plundering by eight o'clock). I have some small oil paintings yet, but the larger articles I gave them to officers of the corps.

Such beautiful furniture I never saw before in any town, and it is a little dangerous to enter it as yet, for all the houses are filled with powder. Perhaps we would be ransacking a house and the next one to us would be blown up. Not many



hurt in the town after all. Hoping the fall of this terrible fortress will put an end to the war and enable the soldiers of the

army to go home to see their friends—the wish of every one of us here, officers, soldiers, and sailors--and hoping you will excuse this scribble, “I remain your most obedient servant,

“J. J., 28th Regt.” The news seemed to cheer our men's spirits, who had begun to think that in spite of all they had done and suffered the great object of it all would never be accomplished, and that Sebastopol never would be taken. They illuminated the hospital as well as they could by sticking innumerable pieces of tallow candles (which they either bought or asked the ladies to buy for them) in every pane of every window, and in all other imaginable places; they made candlesticks of common soap, a piece of ingenuity which much amused us.



There were of course grand illuminations all down the Bosphorus, and beautiful fireworks. The ships were all gaily decorated with flags, and the firing of cannon was tremendous.

In the evening the soldiers made a bonfire outside the hospital, into which they threw everything they could lay hands upon, old packing cases, boxes, chests, firewood, planks, and, lastly, a cart belonging to a Greek which happened to be near; they seized upon it, first threw it into the Bosphorus to see if it would swim, and then dragged it out amid shouts of laughter, and threw it on the blazing fire, round which they danced, and sang songs of battle and victory and “God save the Queen." The commandant and all the officers stood above both sanctioning and enjoying the festivities. We also looked on at a little distance, accompanied by the whole staff of nurses, who fully entered into the excitement of the




We could not help thinking, however, as we stood listening to the sounds of rejoicing at the glorious victory, of the many aching hearts the news of it would cause in England. Alas! with what sickening suspense would many and many a mother, sister, wife, and friend watch for the coming lists of killed and wounded, and sadly how to many of them would the fall of the great Sebastopol be the death-blow of their earthly happiness! True, their loved ones had died a glorious death in the flush of honour and victory, but death, whether on the battlefield or in the silent chamber, is still death, and, as we watched the brilliant illuminations that evening on the shores of the Bosphorus, and listened to the repeated hura rahs, we sorrowfully remembered those who would weep to-morrow in England.

The 20th of September was the anniversary of the Alma. The soldiers were anxious to keep the day with honour, and there was

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