Gallipolis journal. [volume] (Gallipolis, Ohio) 1837-1919, 1855-01-11

CRrMEA-THK GRAVE DIGeERs.-The
following thrilling paragraphs are from
the Crimea correspondent of the Lon,
don Times:
In every bush-on every yard ol
blood-stained ground-lay a dead OF
dying Russian. The well known bear
skins of our Guards, the red coats oi
our Infantry, and the bright blue of the
French Chasseurs, revealing each a
silent horror in the glades, and marking
the spot where stark and stiff corpse
lay contorted on the grass. pointed out
the scenes of the bloodiest contest
The dead were happy-the dull, cold
eye-the tranquil brow-the gently
opening lips, which had given escape to
the parting spirit as it fed from its
bleeding shell, showed how peacefully
a man may die in battle, pierced by the
rife ball.
Some implored, in an unknown tongue,
but in accents not to be mistaken, water,
or succor; holding out their mutilated
and shattered limbs, or pointing to the
track of the lacerating ball. The sui:
len, angry scowl of some of these men
was fearful. Fanaticism and immortal
hate spake through their angry eye
balls, and he who gazed upon them in
pity and compassion could at least (un-
willingly understand why these men, in
their savage passion, kill the wounded,
and fire on the conqueror who in his
generous humanity, had aided them as
he passed. 1t was relief to see that
their arms were broken-that their cat
ridges were lying open in heaps on the
ground. Litter-bearers, French and
English, clothed the hillside, now toiling
painfully up with heavy burden for
the grave, or with some subject for the
Doctors care; now hunting through the
bushes for the dead or dying.
The British and French, many of
whom had been murdered by the Rus
slams as they lay wounded, wore terrible
frowns on their faces, with which the
agonies of death had clad them. Some,
in their last throes had torn up the earth
in their hands, and held the grass in
their fingers, up toward heaven. All
the men, who exhibited such signs of
pain, had been bayoneted. The dead
men who lay with an eternal smile on
their lips had been shot. But the
wounded. For two days they had lain
where the hand and the ball had felled
them. There were very few, it is true,
but all our searchings had not discov-
cred the secrets of that blood stained
hillside, and it was toward noon to-day
ere the last of our soldiers had been
found in his lair and carried to the hos
pital. But the Russians, groaning and
palpitating as they lay around, were far
more numerous. Some of these were
placed together in heaps, that they
might be more readily removed
Others glared on you from the bushes
with the ferocity of wild beasts, as they
hugged their wounds.
Our men have acquired shocking
facility in their diagnosis. A body is
before you, there is a shout, "Come
here, boys; 1 see a Russian" or "a
Frenchman," or "one of our fellows"
One of the party comes forward, raises
the eyelid if it be closed, peers into the
eye, shrugs his shoulders, says quietly,
"He's dead, he'll wait" and moves
back to the litter; others pull the feet,
and arrive at equally correct conclusions
by that process. The dead are gener-
ally stripped of all but their coats
The camp followers and blackguards
from Balaklava, and seamen from the
ships anxious for trophies, carry off all
they can take from the field.
At particular spots you see party of
men busily at work. Groups of them
are digging away all along the hillside,
at the distance of 40 or SO yards apart.
90 over and you find them around a
yawning trench, 80 feet in length by 90
feet in bredth and feet in depth, at the
bottom of which, in every conceivable
attitude, lie packed together with ex-
ceeding art some 80 or 40 corpses. The
gravediggers stand chatting on the
mounds BY the sides, waiting for the ar
rival of some bearers to complete the
number of the dead. They speculate
on the appearance of the body which is
being borne towards them. alt is
Corporal -, of the -th, 1 think"
says one. "Nc! it's my rear rank man,
l can see his red hair plain enough"
and so on. They discuss the merits or
dement's of dead sergeants or comrades.
"Well, he was hard man; many's the
time 1 was drilled through him, but it's
all over nowP' or "Poor Micki he had
fifteen years service-s better fellow
never stepped"
This scene is going on all about the
hillside. Frenchmen, with litters, are
also busy looking out for their dead and
wounded, and in sharing the sad labors
of the day. At last the number in the
trench is completed. The bodies lie as
closely as they can be packed. Some of
them have appraised arms, in the atti-
tude of taking aim; their legs stick up
through the mould as it is thrown upon
them; others are bent and twisted into
shapes like fantoccini. Inch after inch
the earth rises upon them, and they are
left ''alone in their glory" No, not
alone, for the hopes, and fears, and af-
fections of hundred Of human hearts lie
buried with them.
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