CAPTAIN HEDLEY VICARS.

There are few thinking men throughout the length and breadth of Britain who have not heard of Captain Hedley Vicars, the Christian soldier. And what makes his name so dear to thousands who have a heart about them was his unflinching faithfulness, first, to the God of Israel, and, secondly, to his queen and country; and also his loving, noble, and manly nature, which compelled him, even when death was raging all around him, to cling to his love for his darling mother. A man who could forget or neglect his mother, the being who brought him, with agonizing pain, into this world, is not worthy the name of man, he is worse than the beasts of the field, and deserves to be ostracised from the society of his fellows. Let a man once get into danger, either by sea or land, and it will set him thinking of the fact that he has an immortal soul that must live for ever, either in happiness or woe—for our God is a just God. The love of an affectionate mother is stronger than anything on earth; but the boundless love of God is beyond all measure. He did not withhold His only begotten Son, but freely gave him up, that He might save His people from their sins. Oh, what love—what matchless love! But remember, reader, this same holy God hath said, “The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the people that forget God.”

He whose career I am now about to trace was to the last a loving son of his mother and a faithful servant of his Lord. Hedley Vicars was born in the Mauritius, 7th December, 1826, and at the time of his departure from this life on the field of battle, 22nd March, 1855, was but a little over twenty-eight years of age. There was but little to distinguish him in early life from others. He was active and fearless, upright and honourable, open-hearted and generous, but quick to resent an injury. He was another example of the noble blood that has sprung from our sister isle, Ireland. He obtained his commission in December, 1843, at the age of seventeen, and at once entered, heart and soul, into his profession; his whole zeal was for the honour of his country; as he said afterwards—“It’s no use doing things by halves.”

He had been five years in our army before it pleased the Lord to open his spiritual eyes, to see that he had an immortal soul that must live for ever. As I have said, he was an ardent lover of his darling mother. His fond, affectionate letters to that parent are truly inspiring—they bring out in bold relief his noble manliness, and lay bare his manly heart. The following is one of his beautiful letters to his mother, after his eyes were partly opened:—

He now began to be awakened to the sinfulness of his heart (this was some six years before he left this earthly tabernacle). He was no coward; but the thought of death was solemn, and it set him considering seriously whether he was in a fit state to meet a just and holy God; and when it pleased the Lord to speak peace to his soul, he had then no fear of death before his eyes; consequently he proved himself one of the bravest of the brave.

His whole life and soul was now that of a Christian. His eyes had been opened, and he could see that it was impossible to serve two masters, and, like thousands that had gone before him, he chose rather to suffer affliction with the people of God than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season.

Reader, the world may scoff and scorn, but ask yourself the question, Who is the best off in the end? Mind, formalities will not do; they have no foundation. To be safe you must have your foundation on the Rock of Ages.

Vicars asked himself the question:—

After many prayers the answer he received was, “Be ye also faithful, and I will not leave thee nor forsake thee.”

His regiment, the 97th, went out to the Crimea, in November, 1854, landed just after the battle of Inkermann; and during that cold, bleak winter, he proved himself a soldier of no mean sort. But amid all the trials and hardships of that terrible camp and trench life he was never heard to murmur: he performed his duty with a cheerful heart, and had always a kind word for every one. He was always as true as steel to his country; he was ever a loving, affectionate son; and, above all, he was faithful to his fathers’ God. He was loved and respected by all ranks for his manly conduct, and, as one of the old Light Division, I can say that his name was engraved on the hearts of all, and throughout the division there was not a man who would not have laid down his life to have saved his. After he fell in that night attack in the trenches one would have thought that the men, particularly those of the 97th, would have eaten the enemy. He fell for England’s home and glory, his last words being, “97th, follow me.” He fell—one of Britain’s bravest sons—in the hour of victory. He fell to rise triumphant, to meet his Lord and Master, whom he had not been ashamed to extol through flood and field. I cannot do better than copy some of this noble young hero’s letters, and then my readers will be able to see what was his character, and the state of his mind, which was cheerful under all circumstances. He would say he did not like to hear a man grumble. As for himself he would sing with all his manly heart—

Where is the man who has any spirit in him that would not follow at the call of such a leader? His last words for his Queen and Country were “Come on, Fusiliers! This way, 97th! Come on!” and thus he fell, shot by the advancing Russians. By that fatal bullet, Her Most Gracious Majesty and the nation at large lost a faithful, honest, and devoted subject; while his poor widowed mother lost a fond and affectionate son; but that bereaved mother had the consolation of knowing that he was “not lost, but gone before.” He who searches the inmost recesses of the heart and conscience knew well that Hedley Vicars had attained a meetness for the heavenly inheritance, and that it would have been wrong to delay his removal out of harm’s way and from the evil to come. He who holds the keys of the unseen world and of death, and whose eyes are as a flame of fire, had guided Vicars by His counsel, and could see that the time for this exemplary soldier to die had really arrived. His mother’s loss, Her Majesty’s loss, the nation’s loss, was to be his gain—his eternal gain. It was, indeed, a crushing blow to his bereaved mother, but He who raised the widow’s son was able to comfort and support her. She knew that her son had “fought a good fight” for his Lord and Master, and had “finished his course,” and henceforth there was laid up for him a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, would give him. Reader, sooner or later your turn will come, whether on a battle-field or on a bed of down. The all-important question for consideration is—Are you ready? Have you been faithful? Remember, it will be a personal matter when your time comes. Boast not thyself of health, wealth, youth, or attainments. “Prepare to meet thy God.” Captain Vicars had always in his mind this truth. Man proposes, but God in His mercy disposes; and who shall say that He doeth wrong? He holds the whole earth in the hollow of His hands, but He remembereth in His mercy that we are dust.

Captain Vicars did not like outward forms of religion. He would say, “Away with all formality,—give me Christ or else I die.” In writing to his mother, his darling mother, he said, “How lonely I feel when Jesus withdraws Himself from me and leaves me for a time to myself, but those blessed words in Isaiah have restored happiness to my soul, “For a small moment I have forsaken thee, but with great mercies will I gather thee.” He had only been in the Crimea a little over a month, when he was providentially saved from an untimely end. A number of Officers, in order to keep their tents a little warm, had charcoal burnt in them; three Officers had been found dead in their tents from the effects of the fumes, and another was hanging between life and death; that other was Captain Hedley Vicars, who had returned to his cold tent chilled and weary, after a wild and snowy night in the trenches. Before throwing himself on his bed of leaves and stones, he told his servant, as it was intensely cold, to make a small fire of charcoal in a dish, and to leave the door of the tent partly open, but it nearly cost him his life. He was for duty that night again, and his faithful servant several times vainly endeavoured to awaken him, and at last became alarmed and went for the surgeon. He found him returning from the tent of another of the 97th, for whom, alas, his aid had come too late. Our hero was carried into the open and laid upon the snow; his men stood around, wringing their hands, but, at length, after blistering and bleeding, he was restored to consciousness; he was spared for a nobler end, to fulfil his own choice, “As a soldier I will die.” In one of his letters is the following:—“In the trenches, the other day, one of our men amused us much. At the first shell which passed close to him he dropped down on his back screaming aloud for a doctor, for he was ‘Kilt entirely;’ the doctor ran up to him and asked him where he had been hit, when he exclaimed, ‘Och, och, doctor; clean through the blanket.’” In another, “This afternoon, whilst speaking to our poor fellows in the Cholera Hospital, who were lying cold and comfortless on the bare ground, rays of sunshine seemed to illumine that charnel tent as I brought the crucified Saviour before those men, for tears glistened in many an eye, and the smile of hope and peace was on many a lip. I feel it to be indeed a pleasure and a privilege to talk to my sick comrades and fellow-sinners of Jesus, and I am sure that they who never visit the suffering and dying deprive themselves of the deepest happiness this life affords. It is painful, often heart-rending, to witness agony we cannot alleviate; to see the distorted face and hear the cry of anguish of friends and comrades.” Again, “We are expecting every day to meet the enemy in open field, or to storm this fortress. I wish they would let us go at it at once. Be not anxious about me, I am safe in the arms of my Saviour; I feel it, I know it, in life or in death.” He might often be heard singing—

Also the following—

And again he would burst forth—

On the 16th and 17th December he writes “I have only returned about half an hour from the trenches, the rain poured in torrents all night; we turned out in the midst of it, 3 officers and 200 men, and started for the rendezvous, previous to marching off to the trenches; we had to ford two mountain torrents, which damped our feet and legs, if not our ardour; we moved on, tumbling in the mud at every step; we found the trenches in parts knee-deep in mud, through which we plodded; a spent bullet struck me in the left side, but did no harm, thank God. I offered up a short prayer of gratitude and praise to my Heavenly Father, who had thus preserved me; we lined the trench without any casualties, but the weather was so bleak and cold, that we were obliged to walk about to keep ourselves warm, regardless of the bullets which kept flying about our ears like bees. A Marine was mortally hit in the breast soon after, he died in less than half an hour. One of my men was walking up and down close to the rampart, when a ball hit him behind the ear; he fell on his side and died without a groan. What and where were thy last thoughts, as death met thee in that short walk? The miseries of the winter before Sebastopol will not easily be forgotten. The men who stormed the heights of Alma, who in the dreadful fight of Inkermann conquered again amidst fogs and darkness; of whom a mere handful at Balaclava were seen charging an army, while all the world wondered; such men had proved their steel, yet there is a limit to human endurance, and men of this mould have been seen to weep. As on night after night, succeeding days of starvation and toil, they were ordered to their work in the freezing trenches, who can estimate the exhausting misery?” But here again he breaks forth “Shame on those officers who are resigning their commissions, and deserting their country now in her hour of peril; a thousand deaths before dishonour; let us not hesitate to bear the cross daily. Think of Him who bore the cross for us. He was tempted in all points like as we are, although without sin; the glory of our religion is salvation through the blood of Jesus.” In another “Yesterday I read with great comfort the third of Colossians. In the advanced work (that’s next the enemy) I find Jesus more and more precious to my soul.” Another “My own darling Mother, the long expected box has at length arrived, and its contents are now safely stowed away in my tent; and as the various proofs of loving remembrances from you, dearest Mother, and from darling Clara, Mary, Georgie, and the children, met my eyes, I was so much affected that I nearly cried; may the Lord give me courage to speak faithfully and earnestly.” In writing to one of his sisters, our hero penned the following:—“Oh! dearest Mary, it is well to have the love of Jesus Christ in its reality in our hearts; what solid peace and rich enjoyment we obtain in ‘looking unto Jesus.’ Where else should we behold the boundless love of our Heavenly Father? What else could have led me to the side of men dying of pestilence, for how could I have spoken to these poor suffering creatures, of the love of God, but by ‘looking unto Jesus’; and to whom could I implore them to look, but to that precious Lamb? Baptismal regeneration, Church Privileges, the Sacramental system, Confession, and Priestly Absolution, may do for some people when in health, but no smile of joy from the sick man, I believe, would ever be the fruit of such miserable comforters in the last hour. When a dying man can say or feel ‘I know that my Redeemer liveth,’ he wants no more; he can then sing with all his heart—

We now come to the closing scene. He wrote in his last letter “The greater part of another month is past, and here I am, still kept by the protecting arm of the Almighty from all harm. I have been in many a danger by night and day, since I last wrote to you my own beloved, but the Lord has delivered me from them all, but not only so, but he has likewise kept me in perfect peace, and made me glad with the light of His countenance. In Jesus I find all I want of happiness or enjoyment, and as week after week, and month after month roll by, I believe He is becoming more and more lovely in my eyes, and precious to my soul.” He also said “I read Isaiah xli, and Cay[36] prayed; we walked together during the day, and exchanged our thoughts about Jesus.”

Thus, the last word he ever wrote was the name he loved best. Twenty-four hours later, and his eyes had seen “the King in his beauty.”

In Memoriam.

The following was the letter informing his friends of what had happened:—

A dear friend of Captain Vicars wrote of his death as follows:—

In six months, Douglas Macgregor and Hedley Vicars had met again—they were not long divided. On the fatal 8th September, Macgregor twice fought his way into the Redan, the second time to come out no more. He was found far in advance, on that blood-stained ground, lying beside a cannon, in the sleep of death.

I knew Captain Vicars, and was near him the night that he fell, and can say truly that the 97th and detachments of other Regiments, the 7th Royal Fusiliers, 23rd Royal Welsh, 33rd, 34th, 2nd Rifles, 19th, 77th, 88th, 90th, and all Regiments of the Light Division, took a terrible revenge for the life of this noble Christian, for he was loved by all who knew him. I have referred at length to this event in an earlier chapter of this little book. I hope to meet Captain Vicars again some day, in that bright land above, where many who fought desperately in that campaign will be found clad in robes prepared for all them that are faithful to the end.

The following will, perhaps, be interesting:—

Extract from a letter of a Private Soldier of the 77th.

The next extract is from a letter by one of the soldiers of the 97th, who fought their way through the ranks of the Russians, as they closed round Vicars when he fell. The writer was a Roman Catholic.

The following letter will be read with melancholy interest, as it is from the pen of one who fell foremost in the Redan, whilst gallantly leading the forlorn hope, on the 8th September, and who was followed to a soldier’s grave with no common regret—let us hope to meet with his noble Captain.

The night of the 22nd March, 1855, was as dark as pitch; when the noble Captain was brought into the trench a stretcher was procured, he was placed upon it, and then he asked for a little water. To each one’s inquiry he answered cheerfully, and said that he believed his wound was slight. But a main artery had been severed, and the life blood flowed fast. He was quickly sent home to camp, but the bearers had only proceeded a few paces onward when he faintly said, “Cover my face, cover my face.” What need for covering under the shadow of that dark night? Was it not a sudden consciousness that he was entering into the presence of the Holy God, before whom even the Angels veil their faces? As the men laid him down at the door of his tent, a welcome from the armies of the sky sounded in his hearing; he had fallen asleep.

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In writing the foregoing narrative, I have had a single eye to the glory of Him who said, “If any man serve Me, let him follow Me, and where I am, there shall My servant be. If any man serve Me, him will my Father honour.”—St. John 12th.

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