A GHASTLY ADVENTURE--THE EMBARKATION--A
STORMY LANDING.
As soon as it was known in Britain that the Russians had retreated
from the Danube, and that their forces would in all likelihood be
poured into the Crimea to reinforce that great stronghold, every
scrap of news from the seat of war was welcomed with the greatest
enthusiasm. Every one, too, seemed to be listening breathlessly and
in silence for the first shot to be fired. It was a silence, all
made sure, that would soon be broken by the pæans of victory. Our
soldiers near Varna were not idle. True, they were waiting for
embarkation, and what a wearisome wait it was! It would have been
irksome in the extreme had our troops not been kept busy collecting
wood and manufacturing gabions and bastions for the siege-works
before Sebastopol.
Even already, then, it will be noted that a siege was in
contemplation. Nobody, however, had any idea it would be a long one.
The allied fleets had complete possession of the Black Sea. In a
manner of speaking, Sebastopol was already besieged or blockaded.
Our object was, or rather ought to have been, to isolate the Crimea
from Russia. (_Vide_ map.) Seeing that the neck of land that joins
it to the mainland is of no great width, this ought to have presented
but few difficulties. We should thus have effectually prevented
enforcements from pouring into Sebastopol.
But difficulties arose long before the allies were ready for
embarkation that no one had dreamt of. While the French troops were
still on their voyage from Marseilles, some cases of that terrible
disease the cholera had broken out among the troops. The doctors
made as light of it as they could, assuring those in command that, as
soon as the army had landed and commenced active service, the plague
would be stayed.
This was very far indeed from being the case. The cholera grew even
more virulent after the men got under canvas. Here was an enemy,
then, that seemed to fight on the side of "Holy Russia," and that,
too, with terrible effect; for before the embarkation for the Crimea,
the French army had about 10,000 dead or hors de combat, while nearly
a thousand of our own brave soldiers had succumbed. The fleet, too,
was attacked, and steamed away to sea in the hopes of safety. In
vain. It was a terrible time on board some of our vessels; for the
virulence of the plague seemed to know neither bounds nor limits, and
the healthy part of the crews was engaged all day ministering to the
sick, laying out the dead, or committing their bodies to the deep.
It was about this time that one beautiful morning--the sunshine
glittering on the sea and casting a glamour over the greenery of hill
and dale and woodland--our old friend the _Gurnet_ steamed into the
Bay of Balchik, some distance north of Varna. Embarkation was here
busily going on, amidst a scene of such confusion and bustle as no
one on board the _Gurnet_ had ever before witnessed. The bay was
covered with ships of every size and description--an immense forest
of masts bearing flags of all kinds and colours, conspicuous among
which were the British, French, and Turkish ensigns. In and out
among the shipping plied the boats, with which the bay was so filled
that scarcely could the water be seen. The noise and din were
indescribable.
Well, if the embarkation of our troops was not conducted in so
orderly a manner as one could wish to see, that of the French and
Turks was confusion worse confounded.
Early that morning, before the _Gurnet_ got in, and ere yet the grey
clouds of the dawning day had changed to purple and gold, Jack
Mackenzie, whose watch it was, had gone to the first lieutenant's
cabin to make a report.
"Three men, sir," he said, "are swimming about a quarter of a mile
off our weather-bow."
"What do they look like?" asked Sturdy.
"I can't quite make out, sir. Perhaps they are the survivors from
some boat that has been capsized."
"Very well, Jack; lower the first whaler."
"Can I go myself, sir?"
"Certainly. The quartermaster is on deck?"
"Yes."
The _Gurnet_ was hove to, and in a short time, rowed by its brawny
crew, and steered by Jack himself, the whaler was bounding over the
waves towards the men. Yes, men they had been; but now, horrible to
relate, they were but hideous, grinning corpses. Buried they had
been--that is, buried at sea, and hastily, too, with shot to sink
them; but this had not been sufficient. It was a ghastly sight. The
men lay on their oars for a time looking horrified. Silent, too, for
a time, till one old sailor spoke out.
"Them's cholera corpses, sir. Hadn't we better put back?"
Jack had really been wondering whether it was not his duty to take
them in tow, so that they might be properly buried. A cold shudder
ran through him, however, when he learned the truth; and so the boat
was put about and rowed swiftly back to the ship.
"I thought as much," said Sturdy, when Jack went below again to
report. "Ah, lad! if the cholera has broken out among our troops and
seamen, we'll be held in check by an enemy far more terrible than the
Russians."
That evening Dr. Reikie and Jack went on shore to pay a visit to the
camp of the Highlanders under the brave Sir Colin Campbell, who,
years after this, became the hero of India during the awful mutiny.
Everywhere they were met by troops on the march towards the
hastily-constructed piers that our engineers had made to assist the
embarkation. Slowly and sadly these troops marched; so weak and
sickly did they appear, that scarce could they carry their knapsacks.
It was but little wonder. The whole air had the odour of a
charnel-house.
They found their way to the Highlanders' camp at last; and rushing
out from his tent-door, the first to bid Jack welcome was his cousin
Llewellyn. He had just come off duty, and had not had time to divest
himself of his accoutrements.
"Duty," he said, smiling a little sadly; "why, Jack, it's all duty
just at present. It is duty all day long and most of the night, and
I'm never out of my war-paint. But perhaps our brave fellows have
suffered as little as any from the scourge, though we have buried
quite a number. At first, Jack, we used to play them to the grave
with the 'Dead March,' you know. But la! lad, there is no music
now.--Dr. Reikie, I have heard so much about you from Cousin Jack's
letters that I appear to have known you all my life. But, bless me,
boys, come under canvas. I and Lieutenant Murray are quartered here.
Snug enough? Oh yes; we don't complain about anything but the delay
in getting off. We want to fight. Oh, I feel sure when we get into
grips with the Russians the cholera will be scared away."
"I hope so," said Reikie; "but I very much doubt it."
"Ah! well, don't frighten us, anyhow," said Llewellyn.
That bold young Highlander certainly did not look as if anything
would frighten him. How handsome and strong he was, and how brave he
seemed! I'm not at all sure that Jack did not envy him his superior
stature--for he bordered on six feet. Perhaps Jack was boy enough
yet to covet that feather bonnet, for he was barely seventeen.
But Llewellyn threw off his Highland bonnet, and ordered his servant
to bustle about and get coffee ready.
It is no wonder that the conversation turned upon home. But at this
stage of the happy meeting it hardly could be called a conversation;
for Llewellyn had so much to say that in telling the news his tongue
could scarcely rattle on fast enough. But the gist of what he said
can, after all, be given in a few words:--
"Three years and over, Jack, since you were home. Never mind, lad;
we've only got to smash the Russians, to raze to earth the
battlements of Sebastopol, to annihilate the defenders, to hurl back
the Bear to his icy den in the north, and, having covered ourselves
with honour and glory, to return, as the good ships' parsons tell us,
'in safety to enjoy the blessings of the land with the fruits of our
labours.'"
"Loot, eh?" said Dr. Reikie, quietly smiling; "and we have to thrash
the Russians first?"
"Oh yes; that is part of the programme of this grand picnic."
"And mother and sister?" said Jack.
"Both happy and beautiful. And what think you, Jack? I went down to
say good-bye, of course, before my regiment left, and Uncle Tom, who
has all sorts of kindly messages to you, went with me, and your
sister told me that she is coming out, if the war lasts over the
autumn, to help to nurse the sick and wounded! A whole lot of ladies
are coming, only I don't expect there will be any sick or wounded
left to nurse by the time they think of coming out. Well, then,
north I went to bonnie Drumglen, where my sister Tottie is at
present, you know."
"My little sweetheart?"
"Yes: the old lady won't want her, and indeed we are all so happy to
be friends again. As she gets older, Jack, she gets more forgiving
and less severely aristocratic. Oh, she has a heart after all. She
had tears in her eyes, Jack, when she bade me good-bye, loading me
with tender messages to her own dear boy, as she still calls you."
"God bless her!"
"Yes, Jack, and Uncle Tom and I went to see the Malonies. Poor Peter
is just the same, only he no longer plays on the street, for, through
uncle's influence, he has adopted teaching music as a profession.
The Malonies haven't altered a bit, and your old cat is still first
favourite at the fireside. And Mrs. Malony told me tell you she
prayed for you every morning and night of her life, and made Malony
himself do the same under penalty of feeling the weight of the
potato-masher in case of forgetting."
It was late that night before the doctor and Jack got back to the
_Gurnet_; but nevertheless they found everything on board in an
uproar, preparations being made to receive for passage a contingent
of one of the regiments.
Storm and tempest delayed the sailing of the great armada for some
time after it was quite ready. But at last it got to sea; and when
once fairly away from the bay, and bearing up for the unknown land,
then as Jack and Sturdy stood side by side on the quarter-deck, the
brave lieutenant confessed that never in all his experience had he
beheld so grand a spectacle.
The whole peninsula of the Crimea is hardly twice the size of
Aberdeenshire or Yorks; and broadening out from the Isthmus of
Perekop in the north, its whole length to Balaklava in the south
(_vide_ map) is not more than 120 miles as the crow flies. The
entire population of the Crimean peninsula at the time of the
invasion is said to have numbered about 220,000. But looking at a
map, although it gives one a good idea of the lie of the land and
water, is not very instructive as far as the features of the country
are concerned; so, just in a sentence or two, let me tell you what
these are like. The northern and the middle portions, then, are a
kind of barren prairie land or steppes, and but sparsely inhabited by
Tartars, who dwell in tumble-down little villages, and tend their
flocks and herds. Not so peacefully, however, as do our Highland
shepherds. Those Tartars may be simple in their ways, but they are
wild and uncouth in nature. But proceeding southward from Perekop,
we come to a far more beautiful or bountiful land. Mountains shelter
it from the storms of the north, and here are hills and glens and
wide smiling valleys with woods of pine and oak, under the shelter of
which, and on the sunny braes, grow olive trees, the pomegranate, and
even sub-tropical fruits, while green grass waves plentiful in spring
and summer, and wild flowers are everywhere.
The southern end of this peninsula is hilly and cliffy. It is
indented on the west by the great harbour of Sebastopol, and on the
south by that of Balaklava. The capital is Simferopol, lying away to
the north and east of the virtual capital, Sebastopol.
It was on the north and west of the peninsula that the allied armies
landed and commenced their memorable march upon the great Russian
stronghold. In the map you will note the streams or rivers they had
to cross. The first is the Bulganak, and is but a "drumlie" rivulet
or burn. The hills that range here with valleys between are from 400
to 500 feet high.
Well, the Bulganak flows west, so does the Alma seven miles further
on, and also the Katcha and Belbek, the latter being nearest to
Sebastopol. But the Tchernaya, I wish you to observe, runs north and
west, and falls into the head of the harbour of the great stronghold.
There is but one other point I wish to draw your attention to, and
that is what is called the Upland between Sebastopol and Balaklava.
The extreme western point is called Cape Kherson.
The distance from Varna to Sebastopol is about 300 miles, and had
this city been made, in every sense of the word, a base of supplies,
much of the suffering during the terrible winter of 1854-55 would
have been spared our ill-starred soldiers.
The coast had been well reconnoitred by H.M.S. _Caradoc_ and
_Agamemnon_, on board of which were not only Lord Raglan himself, the
one-armed hero and commander of the British forces, but General
Canrobert and Sir John Burgoyne.
At last the beach to the north of Bulganak was selected as a
landing-place, owing to its position; being defended inland by two
small lakes, so that the enemy, had they wished to attack, could only
have done so by the narrow strip of beach betwixt these lakes and the
sea.
The French and Turks were first got on shore on the fourteenth day of
September; and they landed unopposed by the enemy, but not by the
elements, for a heavy swell tumbled roaring in upon the beach, and
the surf and breakers were so high that boats and rafts were dashed
to pieces.
Had a terrible gale from the west come on, this allied fleet might
have suffered as disastrous a fate as the Spanish Armada of olden
times.
On the 15th the British landed.
How small in comparison with the forces and huge armies of the
present day was the whole combined force! The Turks numbered but
7,000--they had sixty-eight guns, but no cavalry; the French were
infantry, 28,000 in all; and we ourselves had but 26,000, added to
which was that brave and splendid Light Brigade of cavalry 1,000
strong. Ah! we shall hear of them again.
The knapsacks of our brave fellows were left on board, for many were
so low and ill that they could not have carried them. Nothing,
indeed, was carried that could be dispensed with--not even tents, bar
those for the sick and for the head officers. Blankets to cover them
they had, and in these were wrapped up only the bare necessaries of
life.
Nor was there any available transport landed save a few horses. The
army, however, soon captured country carts from the Tartars to the
number of about 400, and they drove in all the live stock that they
could find.
But on the whole, instead of being prepared for a long and exhausting
war, our soldiers stood on the beach hardly equipped for a review or
picnic.
Providence probably fought on our side, else the Russians, who had a
free hand and a very large force of cavalry, might have terribly
harassed us and rendered our victories impossible. The whole army of
the allies was, be it remembered, a "movable column." It had no base
behind it to which it could send back its sick or wounded. These
must be carried onwards day after day, or left to the tender mercies
of a foe that, under the circumstances, one cannot marvel at being
implacable. Moreover, a movable line of battle must hurry on to
death or victory; for if it be harassed by the enemy's cavalry, and
by guerilla bands of the peasantry, and people whose country is
invaded, the limited supplies are soon exhausted, and there is
nothing to fall back upon.
The march of the allied armies, then, onwards to Sebastopol, a
distance of about twenty-five miles, was indeed a daring and
adventuresome one. But the many hopes of the invading army lay in at
once inflicting upon the Russians a defeat that should stagger and
paralyze their whole force.
On the afternoon of the nineteenth of September, our forces in battle
array reached the first of the streams, the Bulganak, and here, for
sake of water, they bivouacked for the night.
It might have been said that the whole force slept upon their arms;
for on the hills, at no great distance beyond them, the Russians were
espied, apparently about 10,000 strong in all, and well supplied with
horses and artillery.
But the night passed quietly by. The hour of battle had not yet
arrived.