The Last of an ArmyThe whole of the Cabul army but one man, Dr. Brydon, was destroyed.
The Last of an ArmyThe whole of the Cabul army but one man, Dr. Brydon, was destroyed.
The Last of an Army
The whole of the Cabul army but one man, Dr. Brydon, was destroyed.
After thinking this over in silence for a minute or two, they went outside and saw Sale and his staff at the Cabulgate hoisting up the colours, a sign to any poor fugitive who might have escaped. A hearty cheer went up as they looked on their country’s glorious colours. Their spirits were still high.
Instantly the cavalry rode out. About four miles from Jellalabad they found the bodies of three of Brydon’s companions—Lieutenant Harper, Collyer, and Hopkins—all terribly mangled.
At night lights were hung out over the Cabul gate, and two buglers were put on duty in the south-west bastion to sound the advance every quarter of an hour, in hope that some poor fugitive might hear it and be saved.
“The terrible wailing sound of those bugles I shall never forget,” says Seaton. “It was a dirge for our slaughtered soldiers, and had a most mournful and depressing effect.” Dr. Brydon’s tale struck horror into the hearts of all who heard it, but mingled with the sorrow and pity came a fierce desire for vengeance. Little was said, but the stern looks of the soldiers, the set teeth, and the clenched hands, showed how deep was the feeling that had been stirred, and how stern the vow registered in each man’s heart.
On the 19th a servant of Captain Bazette came in, and on the 30th a Goorkah. On the 31st they had the pleasure of welcoming another white face—a sergeant-major. From the accounts of the sergeant they gathered many particulars of this tragedy—how, after the murder of our Envoy, General Elphinstone agreed to evacuate the country and retire with the whole of his force, Akbar, on his part, undertaking to escort the Cabul force and guarantee it from attack; how the Afghans rushed into our cantonments, even before the rear of the British force had got outside the walls, and began their plundering; how our men were shot down in the Khoord Cabul Pass; how Akbar pretended he could not control his men, andadvised the English officers to surrender to him; how the native soldiers, chilled to death in the snow, went over to the enemy in hundreds.
The sergeant said in their excuse: “I can’t blame the natives. I myself was born in a cold climate. I was well clad, yet my sufferings from the cold were terrible: my fingers were frost-bitten, and all my joints were sore. Why, sir, in the next pass the Afghans, after slaughtering our men till they were tired, stripped hundreds of poor Hindoos stark naked and left them there to die in the cold.”
Stories such as these only spurred on the garrison of Jellalabad to greater exertion, for, as they would have now to face Akbar Khan and all his warriors, on them devolved the task of redeeming our country’s fame.
On the 30th of January our cavalry brought in 175 head of cattle that had been grazing at some distance off, and on the next day they shepherded in 734 sheep.
Now, work on Sunday was remitted. Men came to morning service with sword and pistol, or musket and bayonet, and sixty rounds in pouch, ready at a moment’s notice to march to battle.
“To me,” says Seaton, “it was always an affecting sight to see these great rough fellows with their heads bowed, humbly confessing their sins before God, and acknowledging their dependence on His goodness and mercy; and I am sure that afterwards, when we were surrounded by greater perils, there were many who felt the comfort there was in having One to whom they could appeal in all their troubles.”
In February they knew that Akbar was collecting his forces for an attack. On our side the General ordered that all able-bodied camp-followers who were willing should be armed and receive the pay of native soldiers.
Those for whom there were no muskets were armed with pikes, which were made for them.
On the 16th rain came down in torrents; on the 18th heavy rain again. On the morning of the 19th Seaton was at work outside when he felt a smart shock of earthquake, with a rumbling noise. At first he did not take much notice, but when the rumbling increased and swelled to the loudest thunder, as if a thousand heavy waggons were being driven at speed over a rough pavement, he turned quite sick. An awful fear came over him. The ground heaved and set like the sea, and the whole plain seemed to be rolling in waves towards them. The motion was so violent that some were nearly thrown down, and expected every moment to see the whole town swallowed up.
The houses, the walls, and the bastions were rocking and reeling in a most terrific manner, and falling into complete ruin, while all along the south and west faces the parapets, which had cost us so much labour to erect, were crumbling away like sand. The whole was enveloped in one immense cloud of dust, out of which came cries of terror from the hundreds within.
When the dreadful noise and quaking ceased, a dead silence succeeded, all being so deeply impressed by the terror of the scene that they dared not utter a sound. The men were absolutely green with fear. Presently a gentle breeze sprang up. Officers encouraged the men to go on with their work, but, looking round the valley, they saw every fort and village wrapped in dense clouds of dust. From some the dust was streaming away like smoke, from others it rose high in the air in dense columns.
When the breeze had cleared away the dust from Jellalabad an awful scene of destruction appeared. The upper stories of the houses were all gone, and beams, posts, doors, windows, bits of wall, ends of roof, earth and dust, all were mingled in one confused heap. Itwas as if some gigantic hand had taken up the houses and thrown them down in one rubbish-heap.
The parapets all round had fallen from the walls. The walls were split in many places. In the eastern wall a breach had been made large enough for two companies abreast to walk through.
Sale’s bugle sounded the assembly, and they went in at once. On muster being taken, it was found that the loss of life was happily only three men crushed in the cavalry hospital.
On looking round, it was found that a month’s cannonading with a hundred pieces of heavy artillery could not have produced the damage that the earthquake had effected in a few seconds. “The hand of the Almighty had indeed humbled our pride, and taught us the wholesome lesson that He alone is a sure defence.”
The Colonel narrowly escaped with his life. He had been standing on the wall, which, he said after he was taken up from the ruins, wriggled like a snake.
In one place, as an officer was passing along the ramparts, the ground opened beneath him, and he fell in, but only to be thrown out again—an operation which was twice repeated. At a spot near the river the wall had opened so wide that a man could have slipped through. All the barracks and sheds were in ruins; all shelter for the men was destroyed.
This, however, was not the time for idle wonder or for despair. Without delay every man in garrison was set to work, and though there were frequent shocks of earthquake during the day, the ruins had been cleared away by dusk, and a temporary parapet of clods of earth and clay made all round the walls.
Towards sunset a small body of horsemen from Akbar’s camp came to reconnoitre. Abbott, who was looking out, sent a shot right into the party, making them scamper off,probably to report to their chiefs that the fortifications were uninjured, and that our “magic” had caused the earthquake.
But we were in a critical state, with all defences levelled, a huge breach in the works, and the destroyer of our Cabul force within a few miles of us, with the whole power of the country at his back.
They had now daily fights for their forage. The grass-cutters went out at early dawn under a strong escort. The grass in India is a creeping grass: the shoots run along under ground, or it would perish in the droughts of summer.
The grass-cutter, armed with a small hoe, sits down on his heels, and with a sweeping motion cuts the grass half an inch below the surface of the ground. He then collects it, beats off the earth, and brings it home on his head. This grass is very sweet and nutritious. As the hot weather advanced they had to go further afield for grass. On the 2nd of March Akbar sent a large force round to the east, and they were invested.
“I find this in my journal for the 2nd of March: ‘All our comforts are vanishing. Tea has long been gone; coffee goes to-day; sugar on its last legs; butter gone; no grass for the cows; candles not to be had. Akbar is trying to starve us out.’”
Lead for the rifles was in great request. Some officers of the 13th hit upon a very comical method of procuring it. They dressed up a figure—cocked hat, red coat, painted face—and put it on a short pole. Hoisted up above the ramparts and managed adroitly, it created no end of fun.
Eagerly the Afghans fired at it. Thousands of bullets went over their heads or battered against the wall below. Whenever they thought the General was hit or saw him bob down, they yelled and shouted like madmen.
How many Generals must they not have killed! Generals running short! The figure was hit sometimes. In the evening or early morning they used to go outside and pick up the bullets, of which immense numbers were found. In the course of half an hour one morning Seaton picked up 121, but several officers picked up more.
From the 2nd of March, the day on which the enemy established a camp east of the city, they all slept at their posts on the walls. No one took off his clothes. None of them wore uniform, but clothes made of camel-hair cloth. Too much digging for fine uniforms! On the 10th of March, as the Afghans had been thronging the ravines for many days, Sale thought it wise to see to it, so a sortie with 800 men was ordered. They thoroughly examined the ravines at night and destroyed the enemy’s shelters. As they were retiring into the town the enemy came on, pursuing with loud yells and screams. Their horse came boldly down towards the town, offering a splendid mark for Abbott, whose guns plied them with shot and shell with deadly effect.
Not a single horseman could stand before Abbott’s gun within 1,200 yards, his aim was so unerring. Ever since the siege of Bhurtpoor he had been celebrated for his skill as an artilleryman, and they had daily proof of his prowess.
So the month progressed, fighting or working by day, watching on the walls by night, and all the time on half rations.
They knew that Government was assembling a force at Peshawar under Pollock in order to relieve them, for they got a stray letter now and then.
Hard work, poor food, anxiety, were making all thin and pale; and some of them were angry with Sale that he would not go out and fight, for they felt perfectly capable of squaring accounts with Akbar and hislegions; but “Fighting Bob,” as he was called, would not come up to his name.
Night after night they were roused from their short sleep by earthquakes. A sharper shock, a violent heave, a short cracking sound, and all would start up, listen, grumble, try to get to sleep again.
Some messengers came in from Peshawar on the 25th. They heard the men of the 13th in fits of laughter at some absurd game they were playing, and all the native soldiers singing in chorus their festival songs. They were astounded.
“Why,” they said, “you are besieged, and ought to be sad and dispirited; but you are all as merry as possible.”
When they saw the ease with which a party of Akbar’s men were beaten in a fight for some grass they were utterly confounded. When they returned to Peshawar all this went down the road to the Khyber, with wonderful additions. It was just the sort of tale that in the mouths of such men would not lose in the telling.
All this time the greatest cordiality and good feeling prevailed between the European and native soldiers.
“I remember one case of disagreement,” says Seaton. “A sepoy of my company met a soldier of the 13th on a narrow path in the town. The soldier overbalanced himself, and stepped into the mud.
“Being very hot-tempered, he struck the sepoy a violent blow. The latter came to me to make his complaint. The matter was referred to Sale, who was furious, blew up the English soldier fearfully, and ordered him to confinement.
“As the Adjutant was marching the soldier off the sepoy took the soldier by the hand and said: ‘General Sahib, forgive him. There has not been one quarrel between any of us ever since the regiments have beentogether. You have scolded with him, so I ask you please forgive him.’
“The General granted the sepoy’s request. The soldier said he was sorry he had given way to temper and struck a man who could behave so generously.
“Many of our soldiers had friends among the sepoys, and I have known more than once a soldier, when dying, send for his sepoy friend to be with him in his last moments.”
Akbar had a new idea: he caused large flocks of sheep to be driven over the distant forage grounds. On the 30th they saw these flocks going within range of the guns. They looked at them with hungry eyes.
On the morning of the 1st of April a flock of sheep was driven by the enemy’s shepherds close to the old ruined fort. Several officers got round Sale and fairly badgered him into making an attempt to carry them off. Four hundred men, all the cavalry, and some pikemen, were ordered out. As they sallied forth Seaton heard a man on the walls say to a friend, “I say, Bill, what a lark if we can get in all them sheep!”
The cavalry rode out and got round them. The sheep were given to the pikemen. The infantry extended in skirmishing order to check the enemy, who were running up. The sheep were got in, the last one dropping a lamb on the very threshold.
They had one man killed and eight wounded, but were all in the highest spirits, and when the Afghans, dancing with rage, showed themselves on the hills, they were saluted with shouts of laughter and a thousand cries of “B-a-a! b-a-a!”
The garrison got 481 sheep and a few goats. The General gave forty sheep to the men of Seaton’s regiment (natives); but they, with great good-feeling, desired that the sheep should be given to the English soldiers, forwhom, they said, such food was necessary, while they could do very well on their rations. Bravo, 35th Native Infantry! A grateful letter came in return from the non-commissioned officers and privates of the 13th L.I. to Colonel Dennie, ending with, “Believe me, sir, that feeling is more gratifying to us than the value of the gift, and we shall ever feel the obligation our old comrades and brother campaigners have placed us under.”
On the 3rd a spy came in and told them that when Akbar learnt that they had captured his sheep, he burst into such a transport of fury that his people were afraid to go near him.
On the 6th of April they heard that Pollock had been repulsed in the Khyber Pass, and at noon Akbar fired a royal salute in honour of his victory.
All the officers now went to Sale and urged on him the absolute necessity of going out and fighting Akbar.
Sale saw that the time for action had arrived.
On the morning of the 7th strong guards were posted at the gates, a picket in the centre of the town, and all pikemen, sick and wounded soldiers, etc., were sent to man the walls, and a very respectable show they made.
With the first peep of dawn the gates were quietly opened, and the three columns, under Dennie, Monteath, and Havelock, sallied out.
The plan was to march direct on Akbar’s camp, burn it, drive him into the river, and bring off his guns.
They wasted some time in attacking a ruinous fort, and Colonel Dennie was mortally wounded. Then Sale called off the troops, and they went straight for Akbar.
The sound of the guns had roused all the enemy’s force, and they were turning out in thousands. It was a grand sight to see their large masses of horse coming down from the hills. They charged boldly on Havelock’s column, which, rapidly thrown into square, receivedthem with the greatest coolness, and repulsed them with heavy loss.
They then made an attack on Seaton’s regiment, but at this moment two guns of Abbott’s battery came up and sent shot and shell crashing into the enemy’s ranks, making them recoil faster than they had advanced.
The English soon came within sight of the Afghan camp, from whence the enemy opened fire on them, which caused some loss. But they made a rush and carried the camp without a check, while the enemy fled through the groves of trees beyond. They tried to carry off one of the guns, but a shot by Abbott killed the two horses attached to the limber, and the artillerymen fled. Numbers of the fugitives threw themselves into the river, which, swollen and rapid, destroyed the greatest part of them.
The whole of Akbar’s camp fell into our hands. His guns, ammunition, standards, plunder—everything he had with him. The bugle soon recalled the skirmishers, and Seaton was detached with a party to fire the tents and the huts, made of boughs and reeds. The smoke of the burning proclaimed our victory to the whole valley. Numbers of camels and mounds of grain fell into our hands.
“I secured three noble camels for myself, and right good service they did me afterwards.”
Sale was anxious to get back to Jellalabad, so the men returned in triumph, each man carrying off what he pleased, and were received with loud cheers from the walls. A little after dark the news was brought in by some Hindoos living in the valley that every fort and village within eight miles had been deserted.
This night they slept in bed, perfectly undisturbed. After passing the last thirty-six nights on the ramparts, armed and accoutred, constantly roused by the enemy, by their own rounds, by the relief of sentries, by thoseterrible earthquakes, many nights drenched by rain without shelter, quiet rest in a real bed for the whole night was an unspeakable luxury; “but coupled with the thought that, unaided, we had broken the toils cast round us by Akbar Khan; that we had beaten in fair fight the chief who had destroyed our Cabul army; that months of toil, watching, anxiety, and peril had been crowned with glorious success; that our country’s honour was safe in our hands, it was positive bliss, such as few have had the happiness to taste.”
On this night even the earthquakes spared them—no sudden roar, no sharp electric shock, no far-off rumbling sound, no sharp crack of doom to startle them from their well-earned repose. It was bliss!
It was observed that earthquakes usually followed much rain, thus raising the question whether steam may not often be the origin of the phenomenon.
Next day they found 580 rounds of ammunition for the captured guns. Now food began to pour in from the country, and they lived on the fat of the land.
News came in that Pollock had forced the Khyber, and would arrive about the 15th.
At length, on the morning of the 14th, they could see with their glasses Pollock’s force coming near. They had not arrived in time to help the garrison in their imminent peril. They had lost the grand opportunity of joining with them to crush the man whose treachery had destroyed their brothers-in-arms, whose bones lay scattered in the icy passes of Cabul. A fifth part of Pollock’s cavalry would have enabled them to annihilate Akbar and all his troops.
So when next morning Pollock’s force did arrive, there was a hearty welcome, but a sly bit of sarcasm in the tune to which the band of the 13th played them in, “Ye’re ower lang o’ comin’.”
It was not Pollock’s fault, however. He had to wait for the troops to join him at Peshawar.
“Let me relate one incident,” writes Colonel Seaton, “that will tend to illustrate the character of my old commander, General Sir R. Sale.
“Shortly after Akbar’s camp appeared in sight it was whispered about in garrison that Akbar intended to bring Lady Sale, then a prisoner in his hands, before the walls, and put her to torture within sight, and so compel Sale to surrender.
“Every day when the men were at dinner Sale used to take a turn on the ramparts, ostensibly to have a quiet look round at the progress of our works, but in reality, I believe, to ponder on the desperate situation of his wife and daughter, and debate with himself the means of effecting their rescue.
“We knew that they were well, had hitherto been kindly treated, and were in Akbar’s fort, not many miles off.
“One day Sale, in going his rounds, came and stood over the south gate, where I was on duty; so, as I had enjoyed the privilege of great intimacy with him and Lady Sale at Cabul, I went out and joined him. I ventured to mention this report, and asked him what he would do if it should prove true, and if Akbar should put his threat into execution.
“Turning towards me, his face pale and stern, but quivering with deep emotion, he replied:
“‘I—I will have every gun turned on her. My old bones shall be buried beneath the ruins of the fort here, but I will never surrender!’”
Could Lady Sale have heard it, her heart would have bounded with pride, for the heroine was worthy of her hero.
The reception of the garrison by Lord Ellenborough at Ferozepoor was a noble and ample return for all their toil and suffering. His lordship had taken carethat each officer and man of the “illustrious garrison,” as he termed them, should have a medal, and they were sent out to them before they reached Ferozepoor.
Not an English officer in India at this time had such a mark of distinction. They were the first to be so honoured, and were highly gratified by it.
On the morning on which they marched in, the bridge of boats over the Sutlej was gaily ornamented with flags and streamers. His lordship met them at the bridge head, and was the first to welcome them as they stepped on the soil of our own provinces. All the troops in camp were drawn up in line at open order, and received them as they passed with presented arms. Lord Ellenborough also ordered that at each station they marched through on their way to their destination the same military honours should be rendered to them. The garrison were received with similar marks of distinction at Kurnaul, at Delhi, and at Agra.
“We may forget everything else, but we shall never forget Lord Ellenborough’s noble and ever-ready kindness and the many honours he caused to be shown us. One word more: After the Mutiny, it is not to be wondered at that the sepoy was written down as a demon and a coward; but we had known him as an excellent soldier, generally mild and humane and temperate as a man, sometimes even generous and forgiving, as the best of Christians.”
When will it become the English custom to recite before our young of both sexes some of the deeds which have saved the Empire, “lest we forget”? If not in church, at least in school, we should make this effort to save our children from ignorance, which is ingratitude.
From Major-General Sir Thomas Seaton’s record, “From Cadet to Colonel.” By kind permission of Messrs. G. Routledge and Sons.
The English land without tents—Mr. Kinglake shows off before Lord Raglan—The Alma—Strange escapes—Looted houses—Fair plunder—Balaklava Bay—Horses lost at sea—A derelict worth having—Jack very helpful—The Heavy and Light Brigades—Spies—Fraternizing.
The Crimean War, fought between Russia on the one hand and England, France, Turkey, and Sardinia on the other, consisted mainly in the Siege of Sebastopol, a strong fortified port in the South of Russia. They fought ostensibly about the guardianship of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, but really because Turkey was thought to be decaying, and Russia wished to protect the Slavonic races in her own interest, and to extend her power to the Dardanelles. The war was characterized by the great sufferings of the troops during the winter, intensified by storms in the Black Sea, where so many transports laden with warm clothing went to the bottom that our men were left unprotected.
Even at the first landing, on the 14th of September, 1854, these sufferings commenced. Imagine a bare and desolate beach, the home of seagull and wild-fowl, suddenly turned into a barrack-yard. From one end to the other bayonets glistened, red coats and brass-mounted shakos gleamed in solid masses. The transports weretossing yonder out in the offing, and as gig or cutter grounded on the sand the officers of each company first landed, each in full dress, and carried his greatcoat, fastened by a strap round his body. After the officers came the men, bearing rations for three days in their wallets. Before they were all well on shore the rain began, and the wind was sending a little surf on the beach. The horses were not yet landed, so Generals and staff-officers might be seen sitting on powder-barrels on the shore, retiring gloomily within the folds of cape and mackintosh. Disconsolate doctors were groaning after hospital panniers which had not yet arrived; for, strange to say, more than one man died on that beach.
The country people, though at first full of fear of the invaders, soon brought food to sell, and retired with twinkling eyes. They were of Tartar race, with small eyes set wide apart and high cheek-bones.
That first night in the Crimea! Twenty thousand Englishmen, and not one tent amongst them! The wind rose and the rain fell in sheets, piercing through the greatcoats and blankets of the soldiers. Their only bed was the reeking puddles. They had no fire to cheer them, no hot grog. They were just miserable, while the French and the Turks were lying snug under canvas.
No wonder that there was a great increase in illness among the troops. Next day the surf was so heavy that many boats were stove in, and the work of landing horses and guns was difficult.
On the morning of the 20th, as Lord Raglan, the Commander-in-Chief, was waiting, surrounded by his staff, for the troops to get into position, a gentleman joined them on a handsome grey pony.
The pony began neighing and screaming so loudly that no one could hear a word that was said. Lord Raglan turned and asked:
“Does anyone know who that gentleman is?”
One of the staff replied: “I think it is one of the newspaper reporters, my lord. Shall I ask him to go away?”
Lord Raglan laughed, and said: “If you do, he will show you up, you may depend upon it.”
“It is Mr. Kinglake, the author of ‘Eōthen,’” said another.
“Oh,” said my lord, “a most charming man,” and was going to speak to him, when the French Marshal St. Arnaud rode up and prevented it.
About an hour after, as Lord Raglan was nearing the Russian position, a pony dashed past at a furious pace, and who should it be but Mr. Kinglake, the future historian of the Crimean War? On he went right through the skirmishers, with his horse’s head between his legs. Fortunately for the rider, the saddle got forward, and soon went over the horse’s ears. Of course the author of “Eōthen” went with the saddle, which was better than riding into the enemy’s lines.
It struck the staff as rather an absurd thing just before a battle, and they all laughed; but Lord Raglan rode up and offered him another pony. Mr. Kinglake has not mentioned this personal adventure in his history.
Then came the Battle of the Alma, a river at that time of year only knee-deep. It cost us nearly 3,000 men killed or wounded. They say the individual escape of officers and men was miraculous. Chin-straps were shot off, buttons carried away, belts torn, coats ripped—all without further injury to the wearer. Many hundred Russians threw away their arms and accoutrements in their flight. On the further heights, about a mile and a half from the Alma, the British troops ceased their pursuit; and then arose such a cheer—a cheer from20,000 victorious men. Even some of the wounded fellows joined in it.
“I shall never forget that cheer as long as I live,” writes an officer. “It was indeed thrilling. I almost pitied the fallen enemy; it must have been so galling to them. I heard a man of the Guards say to a comrade: ‘I say, Bill, pleasant for them poor devils’ (pointing to some wounded Russians), ‘hearing our chaps cheer like that.’
“Lord Raglan rode up and down the line, the men cheering him heartily. There was such a shaking of hands. One felt very choky about the throat and very much inclined to cry as one wrung the hand of a friend. ‘God bless you, old fellow! So glad to see you all right!’ and so on. It was a touching sight to see the meeting between Lord Raglan and Sir Colin Campbell. The latter was on foot, as his horse had been killed under him. He went up to his lordship and, with tears in his eyes, shook hands, saying it was not the first battle-field they had won together. The battle was over at twenty minutes to four p.m.”
Next morning the poor wounded were far more quiet. Many had died during the night. Numbers of our men were going about among the wounded before it was light, giving them drinks of water. All those shot through the head died with a smile on their faces. “Some looked so happy, poor fellows! that one felt comforted.” On the 23rd of September order was given to prepare for marching, and the army left the heights of the Alma.
But what is that grey mass on the plain, almost lying without life or motion? Now and then, indeed, an arm may be seen waved aloft, or a man raises himself for a moment, looks around, and then lies down again.
Alas! that plain is covered with the wounded Russians still.
Nearly sixty long hours have they passed in agony on the wet ground, and now the English must leave them as they lie. Seven hundred and fifty wounded men are still on the ground, and we can do nothing for them. Their wounds have been bound and dressed by us, and Lord Raglan has told the head-man of a Tartar village to do what he can for them.
At first the country was hilly and barren, but on coming to the valley of the Katcha there were beautiful verdure, shrubs, white villas and snug cottages, vineyards and gardens.
A guide-post showed they were ten miles from Sebastopol. The road now looked like a byway in Devon or Hampshire. Low walls were surmounted by fruit-trees, laden with apples, pears, peaches, and apricots, all ripe and fit for use.
The first villa they came to was the residence of a country surgeon. It had been ruthlessly destroyed by the Cossacks. A veranda, laden with clematis, roses, and honeysuckle, was filled with broken chairs and tables. All the glass of the windows was smashed. There lay on the grass outside the hall-door two side-saddles, a parasol, and a big whip. The wine-casks were broken and spilt; the barley and corn of the granary were tossed about; broken china and glass were scattered over the floors; and amid all the desolation and ruin of the place a cat sat blandly on the threshold, winking her eyes in the sunshine at the new-comers. The scene within was awful. The beds had been ripped open, and the feathers littered the rooms a foot deep; chairs, sofas, bookcases, pictures, images of saints, needlework, bottles, physic-jars, all smashed or torn, lay in heaps in every room. Even the walls and doors were hacked with swords. It was as if the very genius of destruction had been at work and had revelled in mischief. Every other house andvilla that they passed was a similar scene to this. Grand pianos and handsome pieces of furniture covered with silk and velvet, rent to pieces with brutal violence, were found in the larger houses.
The houses consist of one story only, size being gained by lateral extension. Each house has a large patch of vineyard round it. A porch covered with vines protects the entrance. They learnt from a deserter that the natives were hiding because they expected to be shot; also, that the Russians in their retreat had been seized with panic in the night, and had rushed off pell-mell; indeed, the state of the roads favoured this, for they were littered with linstocks, cartridges, and caps all the way. Our soldiers now fared on the richest of grapes and the choicest pears, but they were not allowed to waste or plunder.
September 25.—On the march to Balaklava they got near the enemy. They proved to be the baggage-guard of a large detachment. A few rounds, a cavalry charge, the Rifles in skirmishing order, and they broke, leaving baggage of every description strewed over the ground for two miles.
This was fair and lawful plunder, and the troops were halted and allowed to take what they liked and what they could carry. The officers presided over it to see that there was no quarrelling. Immense quantities of wearing apparel, dressing-cases, valuable ornaments, and jewellery were found in the carts.
A Russian artillery officer, found in one of the carriages, was in a very jovial mood, beside an empty champagne bottle. Fine winter cloaks, lined with fur, were found in abundance. This plunder put our soldiers in great good-humour, and they marched on the whole day in excellent spirits.
As the baggage was some miles behind, Lord Raglanhad to put up in a miserable little lodge, while his staff slept on the ground in a ditch outside.
Not the smallest attempt was made by the enemy to annoy the English during this march to Balaklava; but we could have been greatly harassed by the smallest activity on their part. The march lay through woods, along bad and often precipitous roads, and a few trees felled at intervals could have stopped our army for hours. We had, it seems, taken the Russians by surprise, and they showed themselves quite destitute of resources.
“Balaklava, September 24.—I never was more astonished in my life,” writes Sir W. Russell, “than when I halted on the top of one of the numerous hills of which this part of the Crimea is composed, and looking far down, saw under my feet a little pond, closely shut in by the sides of high, rocky mountains. On this pond floated six or seven English ships, for which exit seemed quite hopeless. The bay is like a highland tarn. It is long ere the eye admits that it is some half-mile in length from the sea, and varies from 250 to 120 yards in breadth. The shores are so steep and precipitous that they shut out the expanse of the harbour, and make it appear much smaller than it really is.
“Towards the sea the cliffs close up and completely overlap the narrow channel which leads to the haven, so that it is quite invisible.
“On the south-east of the poor village which straggles between the base of the rocky hills and the margin of the sea there are extensive ruins of a Genoese fort, built some 200 feet above the level of the sea, all crumbling in decay—bastion and tower and wall. A narrow defile leads to the town. A few resolute men posted here might have given great trouble to a large army.”
The staff advanced first on the town, and were proceeding to enter it, when, to their surprise, from someold forts above came four spirts of smoke, and down came four shells close to them. The dose of shell was repeated; but by this time theAgamemnonoutside the rocks was heard busily sending her shot against the fort. After a few rounds the fort was summoned, hung out a flag of truce, and surrendered. There were only sixty men—all made prisoners.
As Lord Raglan entered at noon the principal street, the inhabitants came out to meet him, bearing trays laden with fruit and flowers. Others bore loaves of bread cut up in pieces and placed on dishes covered with salt, in token of goodwill and submission. The fleet and army were once more united. Lord Raglan had secured his base of operations. Towards evening the huge bulk of theAgamemnonglided in between the rocks of the entrance, to the joy and delight of all on shore.
“October 3.—Sebastopol is not yet invested. It is only threatened on the south and south-east side by the army, while the fleet attacks it from the east. There is an enormous boom across the entrance, and many ships have been sunk close to shore. The Russians can throw shot further from their batteries than we can from our decks. Their shot went over us the other day when ours were falling 500 yards short.
“Since we landed in the Crimea as many have died of cholera as perished at the Alma. The deserters say that thirty Russian ladies went out of Sebastopol to see the Alma battle, as though they were going to a picnic. They were quite assured of the success of the Russian troops, and great was their dismay when they had to fly for their lives.
“Bad news to-day about the Dragoons’ horses. Some 200 horses coming from Varna have perisheden route. The sea ran high: fittings and horse-boxes gave way, and the horses got loose upon the deck, and were killed or washed overboard.
“October 9.—An amusing incident has happened. Towards noon a large ship, under Austrian colours, was seen standing in towards Sebastopol. The Russian Fort Constantine opened fire on her at 2,500 yards, but the ship paid no attention to the shot and shell which flew over her. The other Russian batteries followed suit; still the Austrian cared not. Not a sheet did she slack, while the shot struck her hull and rigging. She came right past the batteries, and passed them unscathed, nearing the shore as she came. TheFirebrandwent to her assistance, and received several shot in her hull while doing so, but Captain Stuart persevered and brought her off. What do you think? Why, she had been deserted by her crew when the wind failed and she was getting too near Sebastopol. But she was laden with 600 tons of hay for the English army. Her escape is almost miraculous, but it is a proof of the bad gunnery of the Russians.
“October 13.—It is now eighteen days since our army, by a brilliant march on Balaklava, obtained its magnificent position on the south side of Sebastopol. Up to this moment not a British or French gun has replied to the fire of the enemy. The Russians have employed the interval in throwing up earthworks, trenches, and batteries, to cover the south side of the town.
“The delay had been quite unavoidable. We had to send all our guns and material round by sea, and land it as best we could. All these enormous masses of metal were to be dragged by men or a few horses over a steep and hilly country a distance of eight miles. You have some idea of the severity of the work in the fact that on the 10th no less than thirty-three ammunition horses were found dead. We had now opened out about 1,500 yards of trench fit for the reception of heavy guns.
“‘Jack’ made himself very useful to us. The onlything against him was that he is too strong. He pulls strong carts to pieces as if they were toys; he piles up shot-cases in the waggons till the horses fall under the weight, for he cannot understand ‘the ship starting till the hold is full.’ But it is most cheering to meet a lot of these jolly fellows working up a gun to the camp: from a distance you can hear a hearty English chorus borne on the breeze. The astonishment of the stupid, fur-capped Crim Tartars, as they stare at the wondrous apparition of our hairy Hercules, is ludicrous to a degree; but ‘Jack’ salutes every foreigner who goes by with the same cry, ‘Bono, Johnny!’ and still the song proceeds.
“October 22.—Lord Dunkellin, Captain Coldstream Guards, was taken prisoner this morning. He was out with a working party of his regiment, which had got a little out of their way, when a number of men were observed through the dawning light in front of them. ‘They are the Russians!’ exclaimed one of his men. ‘Nonsense! they’re our fellows,’ said his lordship, and went off towards them, asking in a high tone as he got near: ‘Who is in command of this party?’ His men saw him no more. The Russians fired no shot, but merely closed round and seized him before he could get away.
“October 25.—At half-past seven this morning an orderly came galloping in to the head-quarters camp from Balaklava with the news that at dawn a strong corps of Russian horse, supported by guns and battalions of infantry, had marched into the valley, and had already nearly dispersed the Turks of the redoubt No. 1, and that they were opening fire on the other redoubts, which would soon be in their hands unless the Turks offered a stouter resistance. Sir George Cathcart and H.R.H. the Duke of Cambridge were ordered to put their divisions, the fourth and the first, in motion for the scene of action. Sir Colin Campbell, who was in command of Balaklava,had drawn up the 93rd Highlanders in front of the road to the town. The French artillerymen and Zouaves prepared for action along their lines.
“Lord Lucan’s little camp was full of excitement. The men had not had time to water their horses; they had not broken their fast yet, and had barely saddled at the first blast of the trumpet, when they were drawn up on the slope behind the redoubts. Soon after eight o’clock Lord Raglan and his staff cantered up towards our rear; a French General, Bosquet, with his staff and an escort of Hussars, followed at a gallop.
“Never did the painter’s eye rest on a more beautiful scene than I beheld from the ridge. The fleecy vapours still hung around the mountain-tops, and mingled with the ascending volumes of smoke from the cannonade; the patch of sea sparkled freshly in the rays of the morning sun, but its light was eclipsed by the flashes which gleamed from the masses of armed men below.
“To our disgust, we saw the Turks fly at the approach of the Russians; but the horse-hoof of the Cossack was too quick for them, and sword and lance were busily plied among the retreating herd. The yells of the pursuers and pursued were plainly audible. The Turks betake themselves to the Highlanders, where they check their flight, and form into companies on the Scotsmens’ flanks.
“The Russian cavalry, seeing the Highlanders, halt till they have about 1,500 men along the ridge—Lancers, Dragoons, and Hussars. They drew breath for a moment, and then in one grand line dashed at the Highlanders, who were drawn up two deep. The ground flies beneath their horses’ feet; gathering speed at every stride, they dash on towards that thin red streak topped with a line of steel.
“The Turks fire a volley at 800 yards and run. Asthe Russians come within 600 yards, down goes that line of steel in front, and out rings a rolling volley of minié musketry. The distance is too great; the Russians come on. With breathless suspense every one awaits the bursting of the wave upon the line of Gaelic rock; but ere they come within 150 yards, another deadly volley flashes from the levelled rifle, carrying death and terror into the Russians. They wheel about, open files right and left, and fly back faster than they came. ‘Bravo, Highlanders! well done!’ shout the excited spectators.
“But events thicken. The Russians—evidentlycorps d’élite—their light blue jackets embroidered with silver lace, were advancing at an easy gallop towards the brow of the hill. A forest of lances glistened in their rear, and squadrons of grey-coated Dragoons moved up to support them.
“The instant they came in sight the trumpets of our cavalry gave out the warning blast which told us all that in another moment we should see the shock of battle beneath our very eyes. Lord Raglan, all his staff and escort, groups of officers, Zouaves, French Generals and officers, bodies of French infantry on the heights, were spectators of the scene, as though they were looking on the stage from the boxes of a theatre. Nearly every one dismounted and sat down in deep silence.
“The Russians rode down the hill at a slow canter, which they changed to a trot, and at last nearly halted. Their line was at least double the length of ours, and it was three times as deep. Behind them was a similar line, equally strong and compact. They evidently despised their insignificant-looking enemy, but their time was come. The trumpets rang out again through the valley: the Scots Greys and the Enniskillens went right at the centre of the Russian cavalry.
“The space between them was only a few hundred yards; it was barely enough to let the horses gather way. The Russian line brings forward each wing as our horse advance, and threatens to annihilate them as they pass.
“Turning a little to the left to meet the Russian right, the Greys rush on with a cheer that thrills to every heart; the wild shout of the Enniskillens rises at the same instant. As lightning flashes through a cloud, the Greys and Enniskillens pierce through the dark masses of the Russians. The shock was but for a moment. There was a clash of steel, a light play of sword-blades in the air, and then the Greys and the red-coats vanish in the midst of the shaken and quivering columns. In another moment we see them emerging and dashing on with diminished numbers, in broken order, against the second line, which is advancing against them as fast as it can to retrieve the fortune of the charge.
“It was a terrible moment. God help them! they are lost!
“With unabated fire the noble hearts rode at their enemy. It was a fight of heroes. The first line of Russians, though broken, had turned, and were coming back to swallow up our poor handful of men. By sheer steel and sheer courage Enniskillen and Scot were winning their desperate way right through the enemy’s squadrons, and already grey horses and red coats had appeared at the rear of the second mass, when, with irresistible force, the 1st Royals, the 4th Dragoon Guards, and the 5th, rushed at the remnants of the first line of the enemy, went through it as though it were made of pasteboard, and dashing on the second body of Russians, still disordered by the terrible assault of the Greys and Irish, put them to utter rout. A cheer burst from every lip. In the enthusiasm officers and men took off theircaps and shouted with delight, clapping their hands again and again.”
Lord Raglan at once despatched Lord Curzon to convey his congratulations to General Scarlett, and to say “Well done!”
The gallant old officer’s face beamed with pleasure when he received the message. Our loss was very slight—about thirty-five killed and wounded.
Presently General Canrobert, attended by his staff, rode up to Lord Raglan, and complimented him upon the magnificent charge of our cavalry.
It was shortly after this that the historic charge of the Light Brigade took place, owing to an order misinterpreted. Lord Lucan received a written order from Brigadier Airey through Captain Nolan to advance his cavalry nearer to the enemy.
“Where are we to advance to?” asked Lord Lucan.
Captain Nolan pointed with his finger to the mass of Russian cavalry, the six battalions of infantry, and the thirty guns that faced them, and said: “There are the enemy, sir, and there are the guns; it is your duty to take them.”
Don Quixote in his tilt against the windmill was not so rash and reckless as the gallant fellows who prepared thus to rush on almost certain death.
It is a maxim of war that “cavalry never act without a support,” that infantry should be close at hand. The only support our light cavalry had was the reserve of heavy cavalry a long way behind them.
As they swept proudly past, officers could scarcely believe the evidence of their senses. Surely that handful of men are not going to charge an army in position! At the distance of 1,200 yards from thirty iron mouths there belched forth a flood of smoke and flame. There were instant gaps in our ranks—dead men and horses,riderless horses starting aside—but the remnant rode on into the smoke of the batteries. You could see their sabres flashing as they cut down the gunners; you saw them return, break through a column of infantry, then, exposed to a flank fire from the battery on the hill, scattered, broken, wounded, dismounted, flying towards their base. But at this moment a large body of Lancers was hurled on their flank. They were cutting their way through this mass when there took place an act of atrocity without parallel in modern warfare. The Russian gunners had returned to their guns: they saw their own cavalry mingled with the troopers who had just ridden over them, and, to their eternal disgrace, poured in a murderous volley of grape and canister, thus mingling friend and foe in one common ruin.
All our operations in the trenches were lost sight of in the interest of this melancholy day, in which our Light Brigade was annihilated by their own rashness and by the brutality of a ferocious enemy.
“November 3.—There were many spies in our camp—sometimes dressed like French officers—and we not clever enough to detect the bad French. The other night the sentinel before the house of the Provost-Marshal in Balaklava was astonished to see a horse, with a sack of corn on his back, deliberately walking past him in the moonlight. He went over to seize the animal, when the sack of corn suddenly became changed into a full-grown Cossack, who drove the spurs into his horse and vanished!
“Our sentries often fraternized with the Russian sentries. A few nights ago our men saw some Russian soldiers coming towards them without arms, and they supposed them to be deserters; but, on coming nearer, they made signs that they wanted a light for their pipes, and then they stayed a few minutes, talking. FirstRussian: ‘Englise bono!’ First Englishman: ‘Ruskie bono!’ Second Russian: ‘Oslem no bono!’ Second Englishman: ‘Ah, Turk no bono!’ pretending to run away as if frightened, upon which all the party go into roars of laughter, and then, after shaking hands, they retire to their respective beats, ready for the bloody work of war.”
From Sir W. Howard Russell’s “Letters from the Crimea.” By kind permission of Messrs. George Routledge and Sons, Ltd.
Valiant deeds—Lord Raglan under fire—Tryon the best shot—A Prince’s button—A cold Christmas—Savage horses—The Mamelon redoubt—Corporal Quin—Colonel Zea.
The Battle of Inkermann was fought on the 5th of November, 1854, in a thick fog. It began very early in the morning with a surprise, and developed into a series of desperate deeds of daring, of hand-to-hand fights, of despairing rallies, of desperate assaults in glen and valley, in brushwood glades and remote dells. At six o’clock in the morning our men of the Second Division were roused by their tents being ripped to pieces by Russian shells. In darkness, gloom, and rain the British troops sallied forth to meet the foe—with the bayonet if they could.
Many valiant deeds were done. Some were noted, many were unmarked. Lieutenant Crosse was surrounded by Russians, who attacked him with the bayonet, though he was badly wounded. He shot two with his revolver. Then a private, running up to help him, shot another, bayonetted the fourth, and carried the Lieutenant away in his arms.
MacGrath was captured by two Russians, but while they were leading him away he seized the firelock of one of them, shot the Russian, and dashed out the brains of the other.
Burke was surrounded just as a ball broke his jawbone. He rushed amongst his enemies, shot three dead with his revolver, and cut two men down with his sword. He fell at last with more than thirty wounds in his body.
When Sir George Cathcart was shot and our men were retiring, Colonel Seymour, of the Guards, a dear friend who had served with him through the campaign in Kaffirland, rushed forward to help him, and in so doing was shot through the leg.
“Come back, Colonel!” the men shouted as they swept past the two officers.
“No, no; my place is here with Sir George,” replied Seymour.
“You must leave him,” cried General Torrens; “the enemy are close at hand. You will be killed, man!”
But nothing could persuade the Colonel to leave the side of his dying chief. There he remained, alone against the rushing tide of battle, and met a hero’s death in endeavouring to protect his friend from insult and mutilation.
When, later in the day, some of the French troops were seen to retire before the impetuous onslaught of the Russian masses, Lord Raglan despatched an aide-de-camp to General Pennefather, who was near the French division, to ask how he was getting on.
The General sent word in reply that he could hold his own perfectly well, and that he thought the enemy looked like retiring.
“If I can be reinforced with fresh troops, I will follow the Russians up and lick them to the devil.”
Lord Raglan was so delighted with this spirited answer that he galloped over to the French General Canrobert and translated General Pennefather’s words literally to him.
“Jusqu’au diable, Général!” That was what he said.
Canrobert, who had just remounted his horse, afterhaving his arm bound up, exclaimed: “Ah! quel brave garçon! quel brave homme! quel bon Général!”
The day ended with a great artillery duel, in which Colonel Dickson won great renown, and mowed down great lanes through the massed forces opposed to him, until they broke and fled.
Captain Peel, of H.M.S.Diamond, greatly distinguished himself for his marvellous sang-froid in action. A shell fell close to a gun which he was laying in the trenches. Instead of running to take cover, he picked up the shell and lifted it over the parapet. The shell exploded just after it left his hands, and did no damage, whereas had it burst on the spot where it fell, probably many men would have been killed and wounded.
A private of the 33rd (Duke of Wellington’s) Regiment was surprised and made prisoner by two Russian soldiers when an advanced sentry. One of the Russians took possession of his musket and the other of his pouch, and they marched him between them towards Sebastopol. It was not the direction which Tommy wanted to take, so he kept wary watch, and when he fancied his captors were off their guard, he sprang on the one who carried his musket, seized it, knocked the fellow down, and then shot dead the Russian who carried his pouch. Meanwhile the Ruskie from whom Tommy had taken his own musket rose up from his recumbent position, fired and missed his aim. Tommy promptly hit him on the head with the butt end of his musket. After this the Englishman proceeded at leisure to take off his foes’ accoutrements, and he returned to his post laden with spoils, being fired at by the Russian sentries and cheered loudly by the English pickets.