CHAPTER IV.IN TURKEY AND THE CRIMEA.
ENCHANTING SCENE—LOSS OF BAGGAGE HORSES—SIR GEORGE BROWN’S ORDER—IDENTIFICATION OF LOST HORSES—DEALINGS WITH THE PEASANTRY—FORAGING—CHOLERA IN BULGARIA—DISAGREEABLE MISTAKE—DR. SHEGOG—DEVOTION TO HIS WORK AND SUDDEN DEATH—DEATH OF AN OFFICER—EMBARKATION AT VARNA—THE BLACK SEA FLEET—KIND SOLDIERS—OUR FIRST SCARE IN THE CRIMEA—KINDNESS OF LORD RAGLAN—AN OUTLYING PICQUET—STORY OF A CONNAUGHT RANGER—CAPTURE OF BALACLAVA—A SERIOUS MISTAKE.
ENCHANTING SCENE—LOSS OF BAGGAGE HORSES—SIR GEORGE BROWN’S ORDER—IDENTIFICATION OF LOST HORSES—DEALINGS WITH THE PEASANTRY—FORAGING—CHOLERA IN BULGARIA—DISAGREEABLE MISTAKE—DR. SHEGOG—DEVOTION TO HIS WORK AND SUDDEN DEATH—DEATH OF AN OFFICER—EMBARKATION AT VARNA—THE BLACK SEA FLEET—KIND SOLDIERS—OUR FIRST SCARE IN THE CRIMEA—KINDNESS OF LORD RAGLAN—AN OUTLYING PICQUET—STORY OF A CONNAUGHT RANGER—CAPTURE OF BALACLAVA—A SERIOUS MISTAKE.
CHAPTER IV.
An the 29th of May, 1854, we embarked on board theCambria, and on the 30th arrived at Varna, where we encamped for a few days. On the 5th of June we changed our ground. Our tents were pitched on a height between two lakes. The hills all around us were covered with young trees in beautiful foliage, and on our right was a valley, through which a broad river flowed. The green hills were dotted everywhere with white tents, and curling smoke was stealing out of the woods from many a bivouac fire. It was an enchanting sight. Some of our baggage horses had been stolen, but a few had been recovered. As there was a difficulty, however, in recognising them, Sir George Brown, the general of the light division, issued an order that each animal belonging to the different regimentsforming the light division should have some identifying mark, so that, if any of them were stolen, their recovery might be facilitated.
The adjutant of the Connaught Rangers, Arthur Maule, gave orders to his batman to have his initials burnt on his horse’s hind-quarters. I suppose Paddy did not know what initials meant, for Maule, on proceeding with his batman to inspect his nag, found B. R. beautifully clipped and burnt on the charger’s hind-quarters.
‘What does B. R. mean?’ said the astonished officer. ‘My initials are A. M.’
‘Arrah, sure, sir,’ replied the rather offended groom, ‘B. R. stands for British Army.’
The peasantry were much alarmed at our approach at first; but they very soon found out that we were willing to pay freely for the produce of their farms, and in process of time they actually walked through our camp shouting out what they had for sale. One poor man I heard crying out, in a very loud voice, ‘Bono Johnny. Bonobadeggs!’ the result, no doubt, of some wag’s tuition. Colonel Sanders, of the 19th Regiment, and myself rode out one day to forage among the villages, whose inhabitants weregenerally pleased to provide us with whatever they possessed for a consideration.
This day we had been very successful, and our appearance would have surprised those at home, who think officers of the Army the most luxurious of men. Colonel Sanders had become possessor of several fresh eggs, which he placed in his pockets. I was the proud owner of a duck and two hens, which were put in front of me on the baggage pony I was riding. We got on very well at first; but my duck became obstreperous, and the hens struggled, so my nag began to kick, and roused Colonel Sanders’ charger to do likewise—alas! for the colonel’s coat, where now the pomp and circumstance of glorious war? ‘Oh! the eggs are all smashed!’ was the colonel’s most distressing announcement. We rode into camp very curious specimens of the British soldier. Sanders went away to pass amauvais quart d’heurewith his batman, and I was received with joy by my servant, Hopkins, who expressed his delight in the following forcible, if not very elegant terms:
‘Hurroo! here’s fowls. I’ve had nothing torub the sweat off my teeth but stale bread, Hurroo!’
The time passed in Bulgaria by the light division would have been a long continued picnic had not pestilence come upon us, and cholera visited our camp in its most cruel form. It is very sad to recall to one’s memory that beautiful spot which simply by a change of wind was altered from a paradise to a place where death in one of its most horrid forms reigned supreme. We changed our ground very often, but the hideous demon followed us wherever we went, and we welcomed the order when issued for the light division to march to Varna, there to embark.
One cold, raw evening, when cholera was at its worst, several of us were sitting in my tent drinking hot rum and water. The sergeant of my company came to make some report, and I offered him some hot grog, which he accepted. With the greatest care I mixed the drink, and gave it to him, while he made some kindly remark as he drank it off, and then went away. Some one else, coming into the tent soon after, was also invited to ‘liquor up.’ The mug inwhich the sergeant’s grog had been was still on the table, and the little that was left looked so curious that I put my lips to it, and was terribly distressed to find that I had used salt instead of sugar in concocting it. The great fear came over me that it would make the sergeant feel sick, and that he might fancy he had taken cholera; so I sent for him, and, when he came, I told him of my mistake. His answer surprised me; for he said he knew it was salt from the taste.
‘But, sergeant, was it not very horrid?’ I exclaimed.
‘Well, sir, it was rather nauseous,’ he replied.
‘Why did you drink it?’ I asked.
‘I did not like to let on that I knew it, as you had kindly given me the drink,’ was the astounding reply.
On our march to Varna, we were encamped on the ground which had been vacated by the 79th Highlanders. Our tents were pitched, but great difficulty had been experienced in getting the sick settled in camp, and the doctors had been most terribly overworked. When the detachment of the 88th Regiment were quarteredat Grenada in the West Indies, I saw mentioned in theGazettethe appointment to the Connaught Rangers of a man with a very curious name, Shegog. This name haunted me, and I never took up a newspaper without reading that Shegog was appointed assistant-surgeon to the 88th. The steamer arrived early one morning at Grenada, and I was wondering what news had come from England when my servant announced, ‘Dr. Shegog.’ The doctor was a curious-looking man, with very prominent eyes, and, when he put his hat on, it was always very far back on his head; but, when we came to know him, we found that there never was a truer man than ‘Old Shay;’ no warmer heart ever beat than his. He accompanied the regiment to Nova Scotia; and after being quartered, on our return home, with me at Ashton-under-Line, he embarked with the 88th on board theNiagara, to proceed to Turkey, in April, 1854.
When cholera attacked the light division in Bulgaria, Dr. Shegog never flagged in his attentions to the sick, while he took but little care of himself. The hospital tent was a fearful place to visit. The poor men were lying on the groundwrithing in agony; crying out to be rubbed in accents most pitiful to hear. Others were too far gone to feel pain—their last hour was nearly come. ‘Old Shay’ was everywhere, and doing all in his power for the suffering soldiers. The Roman Catholic priest might be seen kneeling beside the dying men whispering hope to their passing spirits.
The joyous order came at last to move to Varna for embarkation. The news came like a tonic, and the weary men seemed to gain strength at once. Our brigade marched away, and we were full of joyful anticipations. Dr. Shegog had been so occupied looking after the sick that he had no time to think of himself. The poor fellow’s tent was pitched, but he had no dinner to eat. Steevens, Browne, and I messed together, and, as our repast was over, nothing remained. Shegog came to my tent, and asked if we could give him something to eat, but we had not one scrap left. He was told there was lots of brandy, to which he was welcome at any time. He thanked us, but said he wanted something to eat, and at that moment Maule, the adjutant, appeared, and said, ‘Come along. Old Shay, Ihave something cold in my tent,’ and so he went away. Next morning, poor, kind-hearted Shegog died of cholera. A man came to me, and told me that the doctor was very ill. When I saw him, all pain was over, and he soon sank to rest. He was buried under the shade of a tree. Who knows the place of his grave now? But what matter? Wherever he may be laid, it is the resting-place of a true and honest worker who lost his life in helping the sick and weary.
As we returned to the camp from Shegog’s funeral, one of my brothers-in-arms said he felt very unwell. We cheered him up as well as we could, but as the night went on he became really ill, and, in the morning, our surgeon passed my tent, and said, ‘Mackie has got cholera.’
The regiment was preparing to proceed on the march to Varna, for we had nearly reached our destination, and our chief, Shirley, proposed that Mackie should be left till later in the day—under charge of a guard—but, as he decided to accompany the battalion, a stretcher was made as comfortable as possible for him, and he was carried by some men of his company. On approaching Varna, he asked them to lower himdown to the ground, which they had no sooner done than poor Mackie expired.
Our embarkation at Varna was effected without difficulty. Our vessel, which was towed by a steamer, formed one of that magnificent fleet of men-of-war and transports that covered the Black Sea for miles. When night came on, the scene was marvellous to look upon; light after light shining in the far distance over the calm sea. Sometimes the sea resembled a large harbour full of vessels at anchor, then it assumed the appearance of long streets in some vast town, but all was silent, and filled our minds with awe.
The light division landed at Old Fort in the Crimea. There was no opposition from the Russians, not one of whom was visible, except some Cossacks on a distant hill. We marched only a few miles from where we had disembarked, and halted in what appeared to be a stubble-field, but, as darkness had come on, it was difficult to know where we were. While we were in this state of perplexity, it began to rain. I was dressed in, I believe, the identical coat in which I had appeared at the Tuileries ball, which was uncomfortablefor even a drawing-room, but quite unsuited for a wet night in a ploughed field. For hours the rain continued, and we were all wet through. The men, in the morning, managed to light a fire, and one of them brought me a mug of hot rum and water, which was most delicious. What kindly fellows these private soldiers were in those by-gone days! I daresay they are the same now, but I only testify to what they were then, from my experience of them.
In a day or two we got our tents and were comparatively comfortable. One night some firing was heard, which was taken up by the whole line of sentries. What an excitement it was! Stevens and I shared the same tent, sleeping on the ground, without light of any kind, in total darkness. When the hurly-burly began—the buglers sounding the alarm, followed by the assembly—we both jumped up, and struggled to get our shakoes, which, of course, had hid themselves. Scrambling in the dark, our two heads came bang against each other, and nearly floored us both, but at length, after a fall over the tent ropes, we reached my company. One of our staff-sergeants was an excitable man. It is reportedof him that on that night he rushed about with a drawn sword in a most frantic way, and nearly knocked over a bugler, who, seeing this wild man rushing at him, fell on his knees, exclaiming, in terrified accents,
‘Spare me, spare me, I’m a frind!’
This was our first scare in the Crimea, and was caused by some horses having got loose and surprised the sentries.
The story of the Crimean War has been told so often that I am not going to inflict the oft-repeated tale on my friends, but only mention a few facts which are not universally known.
It was the day before the battle of the Alma, when one of my brother officers was taken very ill with symptoms of cholera. There was a small house, I think a post-house, near our bivouac, and my friend took refuge there. He had not been long established in these humble quarters when a staff officer came and informed him he was sorry he must turn him out, but that Lord Raglan’s head-quarters had been fixed there, and that his lordship was then approaching.
Lord Raglan came up during this conversation, and, on being informed of the case, insisted thatmy brother officer should remain undisturbed where he was, had a chair brought in to make him more comfortable, and, later in the day, with his one hand, carried a bowl of soup to my suffering friend, and this was on the night before the battle of the Alma. Lord Raglan showed in many acts what a kind heart was his. Later, when the siege of Sebastopol was progressing, Nat Stevens and I were sitting in our closed tent, enjoying a fire. Nat was an inventive genius, and had found an old funnel lying about, and had made a kind of a chimney, through which escaped some of the smoke, that was caused by a few damp roots burning in a very primitive fire-place. We were actually weeping for joy, as a great deal of smoke refused to leave us. It was snowing heavily outside the tent, when a voice was heard shouting. With many exclamations of disgust Nat opened the tent. A figure on a horse, all alone, was barely visible in the snow.
‘What are you burning?’ asked the rider. ‘I see you have a fire by the smoke.’
‘Roots,’ answered Nat.
‘Remember, do not burn charcoal; an officer ofthe 97th Regiment has lost his life by doing so,’ said Lord Raglan, for he it was, who, bent on deeds of kindly care, rode, unlike the French generals, unattended by any staff, his visits to the camp thus remaining unknown.
After the battle of the Alma I was ordered to take my company on outlying picquet. The night was pitch dark, and my instructions were to communicate with the 19th and 77th, the other two regiments of our brigade. I could see nothing in front, and in our rear were the bivouac fires of the light division, and I heard no sound but the murmur of the voices of the men. At length I was aware that some one mounted was approaching, and a voice said, ‘Who is in command here?’ I advanced and explained my position. The owner of the voice gave me several instructions, one of which was to light a fire, ‘and, if anyone asks you who gave you these orders, say General Pennefather,’ and he rode away.
The men of my picquet lit a fire, and very soon after the picquets of the 19th and 77th approached, attracted by the light, for they also had been puzzled what to do. We had not been long settled when a clatter of cavalry soundedcoming towards us, and an English voice made the same observation the general had done! ‘Who is in command here?’ I made myself known, and great was my surprise to find Thompson of the 17th Lancers, with a detachment of his regiment, roaming about. For a moment or two we recalled old scenes in Paris; for he had formed one of that merry party. We shook hands, and he rode away. I never saw him again. He was killed in the charge of the light brigade at Balaclava.
Archdeacon Wright told a good story of a Connaught Ranger, after the battle of the Alma. When we moved on, and came to the river Katcha, where we halted for the night, there was near our bivouac a country house, which had been deserted by its inhabitants a very short time before our arrival. The property was a valuable one, and there were extensive cellars, in which were many large casks of wine. The archdeacon was roaming among them, when all of a sudden he came on a soldier of the Connaught Rangers, who, on being discovered, began to tap the big barrels with a stick, and appeared to listen attentively to the sound he made.
‘What are you doing there, my friend?’ said the archdeacon.
‘May it plase yer riverence,’ replied the man, ‘I was looking for the well, and thought perhaps these barrels moight howld water.’
Some of the men of my company had also been looking for water, for they brought me a huge can full of the best red wine I ever tasted, and just in time; for an order was issued soon after forbidding the men to stray away from the lines of their regiments.
After the flank march through the woods—a most fatiguing performance—and having come to Mackenzie Farm, and the rear of Menschikoff’s army, where his carriage was taken, in which was a drunken aide-de-camp, we continued on to Traktir Bridge, and next day advanced on Balaclava, which was easily captured. What a pretty smiling little harbour it was then! approached through vineyards laden with the most magnificent grapes.
I there received an order to remain in command of some men of the 88th, who were to form part of a dépôt under command of a colonel. The dépôt consisted of men from all the regiments.At first we bivouacked in the open, but, after a little, houses were appropriated for the men, and the officers had to shift for themselves. I found a cottage, in which was rather a pretty woman in great fear and distress. It was a clean little house, and I got some one to explain to the poor woman that her things would be safe, and that she might come and take them away whenever it suited her. So she seemed quite pleased, and presented me with some hens. I do not remember how she managed to get her things removed, but she and her property disappeared, and I was left in possession. A looking-glass, which now hangs on the wall in Monreith, is the only memento I have of that small house.
A very curious thing happened to me, which was very trying at the time, but in one way had its pleasing aspect, for it brought forth expressions of kindly feeling from men with whom I had small acquaintance. In the list of captains in the 88th I was fourth. George Vaughan Maxwell had been senior captain, but was promoted to be major. By some strange mistake, when the brevet came out in November orDecember, 1854, my name appeared as brevet-major, although there were three captains senior to me. Colonel Shirley went to Lord Raglan, and brought to his lordship’s notice the facts of the case: that my seniors were more entitled to the brevet than I was. Lord Raglan said it was a very hard case for my seniors, but that as I had received the brevet, the rule applied—once a major, always a major—and that I was a very lucky fellow.
So I did duty as a major, and commanded in the trenches as one—in short, was recognised as a brevet-major. But one cold winter’s morn I was informed that my appointment was a mistake, and that I must return to my former rank as captain. It was a very trying position, but no fault of mine. Everyone sympathised with me, and, when I went on duty to the trenches, the officer in command, generally, to show how much he felt for me, gave me charge of some most exposed party, a kindness I would have most gladly dispensed with. My relations at home were very indignant—one sterling friend of mine was most energetic in her efforts to see me righted, and on one occasion attacked a great man in authorityso strongly that at length he rose, exclaiming,
‘Duchess, I can remain no longer. I sit on a Board at two o’clock.’
‘Well,’ said her grace, ‘I can only hope that it may be avery hard one.’