The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1856-01-22 00:00:00

THE

KING.

THE eagle had folded his golden wing
On the height of a mountain lone,
And proud was the eye of the feathered king,
As he gazed from his lofty throne.

For in many a nook, and by many a brook,
He saw his subjects rest,
Entwined in dream, while love's sweet stream
Stole softly through every breast.

The owlet did wail, and the nightingale
Poured forth its tuneful numbers;
The linnet and thrush, 'mid the myrtle bush,
Were hushed in breathless slumbers.
The timid dove, with her mated love,
Was mingling chastest sighs ;
The grey seamew to his wild bride flew,
Seeking love in her mirror'd eyes.
And the humblest of all, when it uttered its call,
Was repaid with a glad caress;
But his high state had no fond mate
To soothe with her gentleness.

As the rain by the cloud, as the corpse by the shroud,
He was bound by the pride of place ;
As a noble mind soars above mankind,
So he soared above his race.

And the monarch wept o'er the humble who slept,
And envied their low degree ;
For he knew that Power could boast no dower
Like the love known by Poverty.

The Monarch proud his haughty crest bowed,
On the height of the mountain lone ;
For he could not bny one tender sigh
With the wealth of his lofty throne !

LITERATURE.

Recollections of a Zonate before Sebastopol: Col-
lected by Dr. Felix Maynard, Ex-Sanitary Doctor.
Paris : Libraire Nouvelle. London : Triibner & Co.

The volume, containing these recollections, is a
lively repertory of personal adventure, spiced, in no
trivial degree, with that peculiar spirit of egotism,
which, while giving zest to the recital of stirring
exploits, enters also largely into the composition of
that singular compound denominated, ironically, " a
traveller's license." The recollections of the Zouave,
of which this volume is composed, were picked up by
Dr. Maynard, on board the steam-transport Nile, as
she steamed her way homeward from the Crimea
with a complement of wounded heroes. The narrator,
from whose lips the recollections have been gathered,
was one who, from the peculiar garrulity of his taste,
and the lively and picturesque style of his stories, had
contrived to make himself an object of great interest
to all ranks of his fellow invalids. His popularity as
the reciter of incidents in which he himself principally
performed a leading part, attracted the attention of
the Doctor, who, from a casual listener, was converted
into a deeply interested inquirer, and ultimately into
the transcriber of the Zouave's narrative. The book,
which consists entirely of sketches, makes no preten-
sion to an intimate knowledge of the strategy which
guided or ought to have guided the various operations
of the siege. It pretends to nothing more than being
a recapitulation of adventure, in which the narrator
participated, and a sensible, lively, and light-hearted
recapitulation it is. In the fulness of their narrative
enthusiasm, these sketches make the reader familiar
with many of the moral peculiarities of the Zouave,
which render them more valuable soldiers than de-
sirable neighbours ; and prove them to participate
largely in those mental adaptations and moral obliqui-
ties which are reckoned among the natural peculiari-
ties of those wandering tribes, also of African origin,
who, under the names of Bohemians, Gitanas, and
Gipsies, have from time immemorial formed objects of
interest and fear, and also of persecution, to the
nations of Europe. Fertile in personal resources,
and unscrupulous in their application for individual
benefit, they are, nevertheless, animated by a deeply
rooted esprit du corps—actuated by great personal and
collective bravery—and conspicuous for a coolness of
intrepidity and a hardihood of daring savouringstrongly
of temerity. These sketches abound with incidents
illustrative of the varied peculiarities referred to, and
are in every page and scene redolent of the brave,
self-possessed, and cunning Zouave.
The annexed sketch, though somewhat long, is far
from tedious, and is moreover so full in its delineative
traits of character, that it may almost stand for an
epitome of the book. It may be called

THE ZOITIVE IN A NIGHT ATTACK.

General Bosquet, who was to support the night attack with
several brigades, had, as he passed us, recommended that we
should march to the Russians silently till we came close, when,
raising a wild cry equal to the voices of a hundred thousand
men, we should fall suddenly upon them. Then, addressing
me and my comrade Fritcher, he added, " Play a polka, a
gavotte, the pastorale, a waltz—anything you please, save
the retreat."—" All right, General."—And he went away
content, for he knew us both well : we had already sounded
the charge for him more than once in Africa. At the
appointed time a fire-swallow—as the Turks call our fusees
gave the signal, and we advanced from our parallel. The
night was as dark as the bottom of a cave. We advanced
silently, in obedience to orders. If the Russians hear us
approaching, they cannot count us, at any rate. In the dark,
a handful of men is as large as a battalion—a battalion as a
regiment—a regiment as a brigade. As soon as we had
traversed two-thirds of the distance, at a wolf's pace, the cap-
tain cried, " Halt !" and divided us into two sections. One,
under his own command, was to attack on the left; the other,
under the lieutenant, on the right. There was nothing apparent
—nothing stirring yet on the Russian side; and we could not
have believed ourselves close to an enemy's post had the
" enfants perdus" not surprised it the night before, and its
whereabouts been traced by daylight. The " Meals"
(Zouaves) were about to throw themselves upon the ambus-
cade, howling like demons, and I had my lips to my instrument
ready to sound a charge—the joint composition of myself and
my comrade Fritcher—when suddenly an infernal discharge
of musketry from the Russian side, and only a few steps off,
sent balls whistling about our ears, while the flash of the dis-
charge disclosed a long line of Russian riflemen. It was too
late to begin with a war-whoop. We must fire against the
Caucasian sharpshooters. The captain's troop opened fire ;
while that of the lieutenant made a flank movement to try an
assault. The captain then gave me the order to advance, and
seek shelter. I obeyed ; and our men distributed, and pro-
tected themselves according to the rise and fall of the ground;
while the enemy, first advancing, then retiring, wasted their
balls in the air. If we could see them by the light of their
discharges, it was impossible for them to discover us, as we
had not yet fired a musket. But, when I sounded the com-
mand to fire, the affair became at once sharp and bloody. For
more than a quarter of an hour we returned the Muscovites
shot for shot; and our balls, unlike theirs, were not lost in the
darkness, for I could see the fellows in their white coats fall-
ing on all sides. Oar men, skilful and cunning, could see the
enemy as in broad daylight. The night was no impediment
to them. They never left it to chance to turn their cartridges
to account; and always ready, their hand upon the triggers,
they marked out instantly the Caucasian who discovered him-
self by the flame of his discharge. It was thus I saw these
white phantoms fall, as they aimed at us. All was going on
well, and we were gaining ground foot by foot, as the Russians
fell back towards their ambuscade, when a sergeant, of the
lieutenant's company, arrived from the right, and whispered
something to our captain. "To the right flank !" the captain
exclaims; "to the aid of the 7th !" and he ordered me to
sound the pas gymnastique ! Our men massed in column,
rallied the 7th company,that was giving way. Soon afterwards,
to the sound of the charge, blown by myself and my comrade
Fritcher, the invincible " jackals" fell like a hurricane upon
the enemy's ambuscade, and passed right over it. Only two
sword-bayonets on this occasion kept free from Russian hides
—mine and that of my comrade Fritcher. We could not do
everything at once, for two hands are wanted to hold a gun,
and one to sound a charge. The Russians had retreated, and
we were already engaged destroying the ambuscade, so as to
get back quickly within our parallel, when a dense and enor-
mous black mass appeared to be descending the steeps from
the town. It advanced rapidly, swelling every moment, and
making a heavy, continuous noise, like that a multitude of
men would make upon hollow ground. The besieged were
evidently making a formidable sortie, and were at that moment
passing over a mine. What was to be done ? Try to defend
the position we had just won so valiantly? Why, they were
five, six, ten thousand strong perhaps, and we hardly numbered
one hundred and fifty! I have since heard that this Russian
column was twelve thousand strong. We were compelled to
evacuate the post, and retire to the battalion remaining within
the trenches. We executed this manoeuvre, but without
taking flight, step by step, firing always upon this living wall,
which continued to advance. We took care not to sound the
retreat. Had not General Bosquet told me and my comrade
Fritcher, " Sound anything you please, except the retreat ?"
The battalion that had remained in the trenches supported
us, then advanced beyond the parallel, followed by a battalion
of infantry, then by another, then by a French brigade, then
by an English brigade. A great fight was about to take
place. Two or three bounds brought us up with the Russians,
who still advanced The shock is imminent; and the 6th and
7th companies, which have kept their position at the head of
the column, will fall upon the enemy at the point of the
bayonet when I and my comrade Fritcher sound the charge.
Our elbows touching one another, and the lips ready, we wait
the order, drawing a long breath in advance. At last the
order is given; I sound the charge, and my comrade Fritcher
continues it. I want to go on, when, suddenly, I receive a
violent blow upon my left shoulder, that makes me spin round 1
and fall. It must be a ball, by the sharpness and depth of the
pain. The companies pass—the battalions pass—the brigades
pass—and I remain there, upon the ground, stunned for the
moment. Presently I rise furiously, forget my pain, and
listen. I can hear, amid the rattle of musketry and the clamour
of battle, the notes of my comrade Fritcher. My first idea
is to reply to him, by sounding another charge for those who
remain behind. Impossible. In my fall I have choked up ray
instrument. I look for my pin—it is gone ! I have left it in
the camp. Well, my knife ! It is lost. "Comrades, com-
rades !" I cried to the soldiers still pressing forward, ,
knife !" But they all ran past, without noticing me, in their
impatience to join the combatants. Still a longing to sound
the charge once more possessed me, and I tried to suck the
earth away. At last, however, when I saw myself quite
alone, I began to think that I should be very stupid to trum-
pet when all our people were engaged, for it would draw upon
me the fire of the Russian scouts who were prowling about
the neighbourhood, and make me lose my life to no purpose.
A minute or two afterwards I felt something that was warm
at first, and then cold, trickling down my breast. I slipped
my hand under my waistcoat, and withdrew it wet all over.
The darkness prevented me from seeing; but I knew by the
smell that it was blood. This struck my legs from under me
and I sank to the earth. " Help, comrades !" I cried, in a
faint voice ;
" help, Zouaves 1" But already there was
nobody within hearing. The brigades were marching further
and further away, repulsing the sortie of the Russians ; and I
could hope for help only at the end of the combat, or, perhaps,
of the night, I suppose my blood ceased soon to flow, for I