It Was But The Work Of A Few Minutes For Us To Jump Into A
Hack, And Drive At Full Speed To The Office Of The Globe Newspaper,
Where The Report Was Apparently Confirmed.
A great crowd in a state of
eager excitement besieged the doors, and presently a man mounted on a
lamp-post read the words, "Sebastopol is taken!
The Russian fleet burnt!
Eighteen thousand killed and wounded. Loss of the Allies, two thousand
five hundred." This news had been telegraphed from Boston, and surely the
trembling tongue of steel had never before told such a bloody tale. One
shout of "Hurrah for Old England" burst from the crowd, and hearty English
cheers were given, which were caught up and repeated down the crowded
streets of Toronto. The shout thrilled through my heart; it told that the
flag of England waved over the loyal, true-hearted, and brave; it told of
attachment to the constitution and the throne; it told that in our times
of difficulty and danger "St. George and merry England" would prove a
gathering cry even on the prosperous shores of Lake Ontario. Greater
enthusiasm could not have been exhibited on the receipt of this false but
glorious news in any city at home. The bells, which a few days before had
tolled for the catastrophe of the Arctic, now pealed forth in triumph
for the victory of the Alma. Toronto knew no rest on that night. Those who
rejoiced over a victory gained over the northern despot were those who had
successfully resisted the despotism of a band of rebels.
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