The Sun.
London, England, 1855-05-29 00:00:00

A BATTLEFIELD.

•
" The grouping of fallen men and horses ; the many heaped
up masses of dead moved strangely by the living maimed
among them, showing the points where the deadly strife had
been the most severe ; the commingling of uniforms of friends
and foes, as both lie scattered on the ground on which they
fell ; the groups surrounding this and that individual
sufferer, hearing his last words, giving to him the last drops
of water which will ever moisten his lips upon earth. The
stretchers borne from various points, each carrying some officer
or private soldier, who now has the startling feeling forced
upfin him—" it has come to this—and yet there may be
hope of life ;" his excited but overworu spirit, half
fainting as it is, yet dreaming a mixed feverish dream
of the charge in which ho met his wound, and the
thoughts of home that flashed upon the heart, as it
seemed to commit that heart to a moment's oblivion of all else.
Then comes the first dawn of the hope that life may be
spared ; the view of horrid objects passed, seen with a dim-
med eye—hope of life growing stronger, but with it now the
dread of some operation to be undergone—the sound of guns
still heard, begetting a feverish impatient desire to know the
result of the battle. Again, a partial waking up at the voice
of the surgeon; he and his attendants seen as through a mist;
the deafened feelings of utter weakness causing all to seem
as though they spoke in whispers ; the still further rousing of
the mind as the cordial administered begins to take effect ;
the voice of a comrade or friend lying close by, himself
wounded yet speaking to cheer ; the operation borne bravely
and felt the less, as it gives promise of a life just now seem-
ingly lost to hope ; through it all fresh news ever arriving
from amidst the din of the strife still raging —all this has a
life and motion and spirit in it, which mocks the real grave
horror of the scene."
here, again, we are tempted to give two exquisite
illustrations from the same hand of the deplorable
results "at home" of a scene of slaughter like the
foregoing. The one is descriptive of au actual in-
cident :

A BEREAVED MOTHER.
" On my return to England, amongst other commissions I
had undertaken, was that of carrying to his mother, the
sword, papers, &c. ; of a very young officer whom I had
visited when dying from a wound at Scutari. I ascertained
that she lived at the village of - ; getting out of a train
some miles from it, I hired a carriage and set off on my
melancholy errand. I was told Mrs. - lived on the village
common ; I stopped at a shop on this green or common, and
asked which was the house. My busine-s was at once guessed,
for I had the sword, &e., in my hand. They pointed out to me
the dwelling I sought ; leaving the carriage I walked across
the green. After I had rung the bell at a garden-gate, I
turned round and saw the people standing at their doors in
small groups, at many of the houses near the shop at which I
had first inquired, all looking towards the spot where I stood;
the nature of my mission had in some mysterious way spread
right and left.
" Having partly explained the cause of my visit to a ser-
vant, I was presently shown into a sitting-room, evidently

tat
abfl etsn andea
adi ntadl
tale
different
rheandt
wha
where our writer, after describing the .isgra,
way in which the wounded were carried up
the Just quitted itthteedrotym solme
oeulladdrieeasd; 8
oolini the
steep stony road from the pier to the Barrack Hos-
yet to complete—there were many silent but yet speaking
says—" I am told that a certain proofs that it was a house of mourning. I recognised one
riiiiietaml
lowfrSocfutpa
arhiament was so shocked at one of picture of the poor fellow as I had known him, and another
these cases that he actually carried the man him- done at a diffei ent age. There was something in the whole
self." Recollecting, indeed, all that was done at aspecat
nafnfdamatimi atmosphere of
iolifeitlhielardoosma
lately
sbeeemenedacttoedtelhl of the
t
Scutari by Mr. Osborne and Mr. Stafford, we may
sdeiednenot Wondeyrgrat the length of time Iyhad to wait;. tlecroeu.lcll
say of them as the former has here said, so beau- understand it well. When the door again opened Mrs.—,
tifolly at page 29, of Miss Nightingale and her his m ,ther, a widow, came towards me. Her grief, ndt yet
sister nurses-4, They will have their reward at three week's old, bad evidently written years upon her ;she
that day when the Great Preacher to the quick I soon od herself worthry to be
eatnhde
11,aadrendtieodf one who had been
and deed shall practically prove the weight antif ovenloved
e vienr hare ieng 1 these itozuresdh.e
was
'moments of s'evere
truth of the test—'l was sick, and ye visited me. ' s
trolg• to bear up under it, but nature from time to time
Of te lirous and ,gentle lady, who will hence- would break through all powers of
restraint * * * *
forthh be genremembered as the Heroine of Scutari, On my return to my carriage I found the news of what had
Mr. Osborne gives an animated description. None , bro ight me to the village was far spread—many were the
said one, ' an. a, hereabout so loved Lim '
will fail to read with peculiar interest the subjoined inquiries—much and deep the interest—' 11,e, was so young,'
sketch by the pencil of S. G. 0. of that cynosure
not only of neighbouring but of distant eyes—
" Mies Nightingalet3iS NIGHTINGALE.
-u appearance is just what you would The other incident we subjoin being one painfully
real, though purely imaginary :
A BEREAVED MAIDEN.
expect in any other well-bred woman, who may have seen 4, His ' foreign' news come to the ' Hall 'or the ' Castle,'
perhaps rather mere than thirty years of life ; her manne it is soon knwn in the village ; and now m iny an axious
session of positive beauty ; it is a
and countenance are prepossessing, and this without the pos-r face Inv be seen each day waiting at the shop and 'n post-
thee not easily forgotten, office,' whilst the clerk, who is postmaster, proceeds to unseal
pleasing in its smile, with an eye betokening great self- , the village mail-bag. All important as he is, as the rnesseu-
possession, and giving, when she wishes, a quiet look of firm I ger to deliver grief or joy to others, he has too his own
determination to every feature. Her general demeanour is ',anxiety; his own son is in the army of the East. Within