A FIELD OF HEROES--"ON, LADS, ON!"--BRAVE
CODRINGTON--PANIC AND TERROR.
It was nearly ten o'clock next day when the allies again moved
forward.
Every heart beat high as the order was given to advance, for it was
known all along the line that the day of battle had dawned. Yes,
every heart beat high; but long ere eventide many of those brave
fellows would be lying still and stark on the bare hillsides.
The enemy had indeed withdrawn from the ridges in front; but no one
doubted that he lay further on awaiting the attack, and on ground
that had been carefully selected.
On and on and on they marched, tired enough already, many faint and
obliged to fall out.
In the regiment of brave Highlanders, the 93rd, in which Llewellyn
Morgan held his commission, every man seemed burning for the fray.
The certainty of battle had raised their spirits, and even those
among them that but the day before had felt weak and sickly, now
marched on with heads erect. Llewellyn was certain in his own mind
that, were it not for the fact that they had to keep in alignment
with the vast army which stretched from their right away towards the
sea, the Highlanders would soon have been far in advance.
It was not, however, until nearly noon that the sound of great guns
came booming towards them from the west.
"What do you make of it, Grant?" said Llewellyn to a lieutenant who
marched by his side.
"Oh," said Grant, "those are the guns of the allied fleet. They have
found the enemy on the heights beyond the river Alma, and have opened
fire. How do you feel, Morgan?" he added.
Llewellyn smiled. "Well," replied the brave young fellow, "I cannot
say that I feel afraid; but I suppose what I do feel is something
very like it. I am burning with anxiety, and now and then my heart
goes pit-a-pat."
Grant laughed. "You are very candid," he said; "and your feelings
are just mine. Confound those French fellows! why don't they come
on?"
"Well, a short while ago they had to halt for us. Come, Grant, time
about is fair play."
"Yes, halt the beggars did to make their coffee. But now when we get
to the top of this grassy slope we shall see the river Alma, and see
the enemy also."
And this was so.
I wish, reader, we could remain with bold young Llewellyn and his
friend Grant throughout all the fearful battle of Alma. But we must
take a glance at the whole field.
The plain on which the allies made their last halt swept smooth and
green down to the winding river side. (_Vide_ plan.)
If a small boat at sea were sailing north from the direction of
Sebastopol, she would find on her right a high wall of rugged rocks.
Well, on coming to and entering the river, these cliffs are still
continued up the south side of the stream for a mile and a half.
After this the wall of rocks ends in a range of hills or heights,
subsides into these, as it were, and the braes are now climbable even
to Englishmen, and far more so, of course, to the Scottish
mountaineers.
Now for the villages on the northern bank of the stream. The first
is Alma Tamak, higher up is Bourliouk, and higher up still the little
village of Tarkhanlar. As to the roads leading up through the cliffs
or up the hills, the first is near to the mouth of the stream, which
is here fordable, and the path goes up the cliff. At Alma Tamak
there is, when you get over the river, a road up a kind of glen in
the wall of rocks, and along this guns may be taken with difficulty.
Further up still, and near to a farm, is a third road; then a better
and wider one not far from Bourliouk, which takes the traveller right
away up to Telegraph Hill.
[Illustration: Map of Heights of Alma]
Having ascended the wall of rocks through the gaps, or climbed the
braelands, our troops would find themselves on a rugged tableland
which stretched south and away as far as the next
river--Katcha--which, with Belbek, lay between them and the goal of
their expectations, Sebastopol.
The disposition of the forces is plainly laid down in the plan
herewith presented, so I need not describe it in the text. As to the
fleets, the Turkish squadron was farthest south, then came the
French, and next the British.
It will be noticed that the whole front of battle fell to the share
of the British, the French having undertaken to reach the heights
between the enemy and the sea, and so turn the Russian left flank.
But the main portion of the enemy's forces was massed to the east of
the road from Eupatoria to Sebastopol. Observe, please, their
batteries, their cavalry stretching along from Kourgané Hill, and
note the position of the Vladimir Regiment. When you have done so,
we are ready for the great fight.
Lord Raglan himself, in company with brave St. Arnaud, reconnoitred
the enemy's position during the last halt, and after that, towards
one o'clock, the signal for battle was given. We must follow the
French, for they had the honour of commencing this bloody affray.
General Bosquet's division, then, which had been hugging the
sea-shore, was divided into two brigades. One of these was ordered
to leave their knapsacks behind--alas! many a poor fellow never saw
knapsack more--and, fording the stream, ascend the first path I have
mentioned. This brigade was followed by the Turks. The other
brigade ascended opposite Alma Tamak, and the artillery were taken up
this road also. Farther inland, General Canrobert's division got on
by the road opposite the farm, and, next to Canrobert's, Prince
Napoleon's division.
But note this early: that the seaside brigade of Bosquet's and the
Turks never got near enough to the enemy to fire a shot. So that
disposes of them. Indeed, if you imagine the field of Alma to be a
chess-board, you can suppose this brigade and the Turks as useless.
Canrobert's guns had to follow Bosquet's left brigade a mile to the
west of him, and he himself was a mile to the west of Telegraph Hill.
[Illustration: He has seized the colours, and his wild slogan can be
heard high above the roar.]
Well, now, many of my readers will at once ask the question: Why
didn't the Russian general destroy, block up, or defend these roads?
Perhaps he forbore to defend them because he would have placed
himself within reach of the ships' guns; but a little engineering
skill might have rendered them entirely impassable, to artillery at
all events.
While the French were ascending to the right then, even as it was,
the guns of their fleet were throwing their shot and shell far on to
the plateau beyond them.
And now the British began to move onwards to take up the ground they
were to occupy. There were, therefore, confronting our British
soldiers at least 21,000 men, with eighty-four guns on
hastily-constructed batteries.
I should be sorry to ask the reader to burden his memory
unnecessarily; but as the Second Division and Light Division took
such a prominent part in the battle, it is well to remember of what
regiments they were made up.
The Second Division, then, which was on the right, with the Light on
the left, was composed of the 30th, 55th, and 95th regiments, under
Pennefather; and the 41st, 47th, and 49th, under Adams. It was
commanded by Sir De Lacy Evans, who was a true hero and a good
soldier. He had fought in the Peninsula, in America, and at Waterloo.
The Light Division (Sir George Brown's) had also six regiments--the
7th, 23rd, and 33rd, under brave Codrington; and the 19th, 77th, and
88th, under Buller.
Between the villages of Bourliouk and Tarkhanlar were many enclosed
gardens, their stone walls running towards the river. Many of these
were all a-tangle with vines. Right opposite, on the other side of
the river, was the famous Kourgané Hill, and its batteries some
distance back.
Our skirmishers, going on at the double, first encountered the
Russian fire from the village of Bourliouk and those vineyards; but
the enemy was driven from there after setting fire to the little
town, the flames and smoke of which added much to the terrible
character of the scene. Our Light and Second Divisions began to
deploy as the shot and shell from the Kourgané battery tore through
their ranks and burst over them. There was here another delay,
owing, I believe, to our right being too close to and hampered by the
French.
This delay, it is said, was not accidental but part of the plan, and
our divisions were waiting to let the French artillery get up by the
road I have already mentioned. For Canrobert's infantry and Prince
Napoleon's division could not advance without the support of its guns.
Soon, however, and before the proper time, a staff officer rode from
the French commander asking Lord Raglan to push on.
Then, indeed, the tug of war began in deadly earnest; for the order
to advance was given, and on dashed our troops.
About the same time Lord Raglan, singularly enough, with a few of his
staff, rode round the right of the village, crossed the Alma, and
stationed himself on a height well within the enemy's lines, from
which, while he could observe what was going on, he could scarcely be
expected to issue orders. Moreover, he was in a position of danger.
This certainly proved him a brave man, but was not quite in
accordance with the tactics of the best generals.
But come, reader, you and I shall, for a time, join Brown's command
on the left, for it is the first to advance; and like Llewellyn
yonder with his Highlanders, we are burning to fight. He, however,
has not the chance afforded him yet. We have, so hurrah!
Here we are at the first low wall, which we leap nimbly, and find
ourselves among the tanglement of bushes and vines. We must cut and
fight our way through these till we reach the river. Did ever you
pause on the banks of a stream and wonder whether it was fordable or
not, or whether it would be unadvisable to wet your feet! Whiz!
That was a round shot, that flew close over us; and shells are now
tearing up the vineyard behind us, and shattering the stone walls.
The bullets from above are pattering on the water, and men are
falling here and there. So we hesitate not, but dash into the
stream. The swords of our brave young officers are pointing onwards.
Yonder is the hill. Up we must charge!
Now over the stream, we find a little shelter, for a few moments
only, under the opposite bank. Some of us, weak from illness, are
already pumped. All are glad to have this breathing spell. We look
back across the stream. Yonder is the blazing village, flames
leaping in tongues high in air through the clouds of smoke and sparks
that roll slowly to leeward. Evans's men, their belts and
accoutrements glittering here and there in the sunshine, are half
hidden by the smoke, but soon they too reach the stream and commence
to ford.
"On, lads, on!"
It is the bold voice of Sir George Brown, who, on horseback, is the
first to clamber up the bank. We draw a deep breath, and nerve
ourselves to follow. Nay, but it needs but little power of will to
get up nerve. Are we not Englishmen?
So we answer our general with a blood-rousing cheer.
We are up! The fight is raging now all around us. Last night, as we
lay under the stars wrapped in our humble blankets, we wondered if in
the heat of battle we should experience aught of fear. Fear? no, no,
here is none of it. We hardly know just at present what is going on.
We hear no orders. The din of battle--the shouts of rage or agony,
the clash of arms, and the roar of artillery--deafens us. The air is
filled with smoke and flame. At times we are in touch with our
companies, and charging two deep against the four-deep masses of the
grey-clad foe in front of us; but as often as not do we find
ourselves in no line at all, only fighting in daring groups. We in
the Light Division, though at present we know it not, are supported
by the 95th, one of Codrington's regiments.
This is awful work! Not three hundred yards ahead and above, the
shot from the Russians' greatest battery is tearing through our
ranks. Again and again we stumble, sometimes on the blood-slippery
glacis, sometimes over a fallen friend. Yet on we dash towards the
fiery mouths of those roaring guns. Away to our right the 7th
Regiment is hurling all its force against the left wing of the Kazan
Regiment. That was indeed a terrible tulzie!
Hurrah! It is a wilder shout than ever. Just for a moment we see
the impetuous Codrington urging his regiment even to greater speed.
It was their war-cry we heard, and it steels our every nerve.
But see, the guns above us give no longer voice. Have we won? We
know not. The guns, however, are rapidly being withdrawn. And we
know afterwards that a greater mistake could not have been made by
our surly foe. Yet every gun is valuable, and I suppose they knew we
would take them anyhow.
But bravery is not everything in battle. The guns, it is true, hurl
no more their deadly missiles, to decimate our ranks, but there are
now rushing on to meet our four regiments the brave Vladimir
Regiment, supported by a field battery, and another great regiment,
with the right wing of the Kazan.
Can we stand it? Our men are falling on every side--officers, sword
in hand, sergeants, rank and file, piled here and there, or crawling
in agony and writhing in anguish and pain.
How hot the fire! how wild the din! We are being annihilated. Where
are our supports, and why do they not make haste to help us? We know
not. We do not know that the Guards are even then hurrying up to our
support. Yet Codrington seems to have done about all a brave man
could do.
He is outnumbered--beaten and flying. Ah! there was no fear before,
but now as we are hurled down the hills, something more than fear,
and akin to the nightmare terror that seizes a runaway horse, fills
our breast, and it is _sauve qui peut_.
A few minutes more and our supports would have been on the field of
battle.
There come the Guards. They have advanced in good order. They have
forded the stream, and are bravely rushing on up the hill thus:--
_Left Battalion._ | _Centre Battalion._ | _Right Battalion._
THE COLDSTREAMS. | SCOTS FUSILIERS. | GRENADIERS.
Now, what happens? Alas! our broken and retreating ranks sweep down
on that centre battalion, and carry it right before us to the banks
of the stream.
Are we beaten? Is the battle lost? These questions we may put to
ourselves, even to each other, but we cannot answer.
Personally--that is, as far as our four regiments are concerned, to
say nothing of the Scots Fusiliers that were hurled back by us--we
are defeated. There is no other name for it.
Our losses, though we are ignorant of this at present, are fifty
commissioned officers, about the same number of sergeants, not
including twelve officers of the daring 7th. In rank and file
altogether over one thousand men lie dead or wounded.
But see, although the Scots Fusiliers are swept down by our pell-mell
retreat, the Coldstreams and Grenadiers continue their advance in
splendid lines and quite unbroken.
Ah! there is something in bravery and daring that at times leads on
to victory against odds too fearful for the mere tactician to
contemplate.