THE AWFUL GALE--IN CAMP BEFORE SEBASTOPOL--LETTERS
FROM HOME.
Few, if any, of our Crimean heroes are likely to forget the terrible
gale of hurricane force that came raging from the south on the
fourteenth day of November.
Jack Mackenzie and Dr. Reikie were still stationed on shore, where
they were to remain till the close of the war.
The _Gurnet_ had been to Varna on special duty--luckily for her--and
just one day at sea on her return voyage, when early in the morning
it came on to blow. It was Sturdy's watch at the time, and even at
six bells it was dark--dark, and dirty as well; and several times
when the lieutenant looked at his watch by the glimmer of the
binnacle lamp, he thought it must surely have stopped. It was cold
too, bitterly cold; and though it had fallen calm about the middle
watch, it now began to blow again, while a weight seemed to lie on
the cloud-laden air that oppressed every one on board. The glass,
too, boded no good; and not knowing what might happen, the lieutenant
thought it his duty, even before calling Mr. Fitzgerald and his
watch, to close-reef top-sails and set a storm-jib.
Hardly had he done so before the hurricane came down on the ship,
with a force that for a time seemed to threaten her with destruction.
Sturdy himself could not remember ever being afloat in a more
terrible storm. And the strength of it had come on with the
suddenness of a white squall in the Indian Ocean. For a short time
he tried to keep the course, but speedily found that the best thing
he could do was to lie to. The _Gurnet_, however, was a strong
little craft, and so long as there was plenty of sea-room neither
Captain Gillespie nor his lieutenant feared anything.
Considering everything, the vessel was not driven so far out of her
course after all, nor had steam been got up until the violence of the
cyclone--for cyclone it was--had passed away.
Just two days after this the _Gurnet_ was at anchor near Balaklava
harbour, and her officers then found that the destruction caused by
the storm was fearful to contemplate.
The _Gurnet_ could scarcely have made her way into the harbour
itself, had it been desirable to do so, owing to the quantities of
wreckage that floated about and filled it. Even when Sturdy landed
on duty, the boat had a difficulty in getting through. It was
pitiful to see those boxes of stores, but above all the trusses of
hay--irretrievably damaged by the salt water--floating in the sea.
Sturdy got news of the storm here in Balaklava before he went on to
the front. Of ships or vessels of one sort and another no less than
twenty-one had been wrecked, and ten more damaged. The saddest thing
of all was the total destruction of the fine steamer _Prince_, which
was laden with a splendid cargo of everything that could be of use to
our poor troops in enabling them to stand the rigours of the winter
as they lay before Sebastopol. Stores of ammunition too were lost.
So much for the destruction of life and valuables along the shore.
But when our good lieutenant at last found himself on the Upland and
near our camps, he opened his eyes in astonishment. Here were misery
and wretchedness past description. I said "near our camps," but near
to the places where our camps had been would be more in accordance
with facts.
The wind and the rain together had weighted and blown down the tents
in every direction; scattered them wholesale, indeed, in every
direction. Neither food, fire, nor shelter therefore remained for
the men. Poor fellows who had been working in the trenches returned
tired and weary, to lie down, hungry and cold, literally in the mud
and slush.
Snow, too, had fallen, to make matters worse, and ground that had
been hard and solid before was now little better than a mire.
The first to meet Sturdy after his return from the general's quarters
was Dr. Reikie, and with him was his servant Paddy O'Rayne.
"Why," cried the doctor in his broadest Doric, "wha wad hae thocht o'
seein' you here, Sturdy man? A sicht o' you is guid for sair een
[sore eyes]."
"I know you are tired, poor Auld Reikie," said Sturdy as they shook
hands.
"What way that, man?"
"Because when you're tired you always talk broad Scotch; secondly,
because you don't seem to have shaved for a week; and thirdly,
because you're as dirty as any old tramp."
"Ah! goodness help us, Sturdy," replied the doctor, "it is tramp,
tramp all day and all night here. I haven't had my shoes off since
the hurricane, nor poor Paddy here either; and as for Jack, he's
working in the trenches now with the naval brigade at the big guns.
And when he comes back, after he has a mouthful of food, he just sets
to and helps me. Man, it's a comfort to have friends around you in a
time like this. Look, see, I've got the hospital tents a kind of
rigged again. But, dear Sturdy, I declare that if I were to tell you
one-half of what my poor sick and wounded have suffered these last
two or three days, it would bring tears to your eyes, rough old
sea-dog though you are."
"Terrible!"
"Ay is it, Sturdy. Myself and the other doctors were getting a nice
lot of things stored away for the patients. But, man, the tents were
blown down, and the food and stores and lint and bandages all
destroyed. When we got the tents off the creatures, we found dozens
dead in bed; and from the rest, with their poor wounded limbs and
necks and heads, the very blankets were torn by the strength of the
gale. Sturdy, my friend, it's the truth I tell you: only those of
the wounded that are deid and awa' [dead and gone] are to be envied.
I won't ask you to come to the hospital, the sichts are far ower
sickenin'. Talk o' the glory o' war! Man, it's yonder under those
drippin' tents you could see all its ghastliness."
"And is cholera still raging?"
Reikie pointed to a wretched apology for a tent at some distance from
the rest.
"Look for yoursel', Sturdy."
Two and two in single file, each pair with a ghastly burden between
them, fully eighteen men were marching away from the camp.
"It's burial-time, that's all," said Reikie, then abruptly changed
the subject. "Do you see those men yonder scattering themselves over
the Upland?"
"Yes; and they don't seem unhappy. Where are they off to?"
"They are going to dig roots for fuel, then light their fires if they
can. They are running to keep themselves warm; they are laughing and
chaffing to keep up each other's hearts. Ah! there are no soldiers
like the British."
"Poor beggars!" said Sturdy, "Why, we were never so badly off as that
even at sea, Reikie."
"Well, how we are to get through the dismal winter the good Lord only
knows, my friend."
* * * * *
Things grew ten times worse in the British camps before very long.
I have no desire to draw a harrowing picture of the sufferings of our
soldiers and sailors, but the reader should know a little of what war
is at its worst. Though most of the poor men that languished in pain
and misery through the next two or three months before Sebastopol are
dead and gone, one feels pity even now when thinking of their
wretchedness, and one feels burning with anger also to think that the
greater part of all they underwent might have been prevented by
ordinary care and good management on the part of those who held the
reins of authority at home.
Sturdy paid another visit to the front in December. Again he met
Reikie, but this time in Balaklava, and with him were Jack Mackenzie,
and a few marines to carry back stores. Both the surgeon and Jack
had burdens to bear.
"Well," said Jack, "how do we look this time?"
"You look old and worn, Jack, I assure you. I'm sorry for you. How
about your honour and glory, lad?"
[Illustration: "Maggie!"--"Jack!"]
Jack shook his head somewhat sadly, then burst into a merry laugh.
"O Mr. Sturdy, that is all to come. At present, I must admit, we are
just pretty miserable, you know."
"Well, your cheeks look pretty hollow, anyhow."
"The best proof that I can give you," said Jack, "that we are not
living in clover is, that the doctor here has ceased to look for
specimens in his idle moments."
"Idle moments!" laughed the surgeon. "A lot of those we have. O
Jack, Jack, I believe you would have your joke if we were taking you
to the grave to bury you.--Been down for stores," he continued, in
reply to a question of Sturdy's. "Yes, Sturdy, I've had to fight,
too, for all I've got. But, man, the suffering of my poor fellows is
so dreadful that--hang me if I wouldn't steal for them."
It wasn't often that honest Reikie made use of a questionable word;
and as the tears stood in his eyes as he spoke, I think we must
forgive him.
"I've been giving it to the fellows here all round," he added, "right
and left, but I don't think it did much good."
Jack laughed heartily.
"No, Mr. Sturdy, it did no good, because it was all in broad Scotch."
"I'd no time to speak English. But, dear Sturdy, I could save
hundreds, and the other doctors more, if we had only medical comforts
and stores. Man, it would draw tears from a nether millstone to hear
the poor fellows beggin' for a little soup or sago. Jack can tell
you of the sufferings his men undergo in the trenches. My place is
with the sick."
"And mine too," said Paddy O'Rayne. "And it's meself that belaves
that my master here is killing himself for the want av slape, sorr,
and I wish you'd spake to him. Faith, it would be the sorrowful day
for us all if he was kilt entoirely. As for staling, sorr," he
added, "I've tried it meself, so the surgeon shouldn't soil his
sleeves."
"Yes," laughed Reikie, "I must say that Paddy does find a bit on the
sly sometimes."
"Thrue for you, doctor, sorr; but it isn't always stolen it is.
There was the other day, you know, when just across the lines that
pony was shot with a bit of a shell: who had a better roight than our
patients to it? But sure the loife was barely out av the baste when
he was surrounded wid Frenchies, and if I hadn't learned to twirl a
good shillalah in ould Oirland, it's sorra a hind leg av that pony
I'd have had at all. 'Git off wid ye,' I cried, 'ye durty frog-atin'
spalpeens!' They didn't understand a word I said; but troth they
felt the whacks all the same. Well, sorr, as I was staggerin' back
wid my beautiful hind leg av pony, who should I meet but a squad o'
blue-jackets. 'Hullo, Paddy!' says one, 'down wid your leg; it's
share and share alike.' But bless you, sorr, when I tould them the
mate wasn't for myself at all, and that I'd just been after staling
the leg av a horse to make a drop av beef-tea for the sick, sure they
left in a body, and wouldn't have touched a morsel to save their
lives; and it's nothing but the blessed truth I'm telling you, sorr."
"Talking about horses, Sturdy," said Reikie, "man, their sufferings
are terrible! I don't think there are five hundred alive in the camp
now, and these are only kept together by their skins. They used to
have to come all the way down here for forage; but now if there was
forage for them they couldn't carry it. We've had frost and snow on
the Upland, and after every extra cold night, Sturdy, we have extra
bodies to bury next day, both men and horses."
"And it's never a burial the horses get ayther," said Paddy, "and
never a much the men, poor, dear sowls."
"But here come our fellows with the scanty stores," said
Reikie.--"Now, Jack, we're ready for the march."
On their way up they were met by Llewellyn and a party of Highlanders
returning from the army head-quarters, where they had been with
biscuit.
Llewellyn halted his men, and gave the doctor and his party a hearty
welcome.
It would have been difficult to say which looked in the sorrier
plight, Jack's marines or Llewellyn's Highlanders. Both had high
cheek-bones now, telling of want of sleep and scanty fare; but many
had cheeks that were touched with a hectic flush, eyes all too
bright, and the ringing cough that spoke of fever within. Death had
already marked them for his victims. But Death had been so busy of
late that he hardly knew where to turn.
The Highlanders' legs were red and bleeding round and above the
knees. When a kilt gets wet, the greater part of the moisture sinks
to the lower part; and when this is frozen, it always cuts. Their
shoes or boots were holed, their stockings too, and some had bare cut
feet bound round with rags.
But during the short time that the two parties halted, the privates
became very friendly, and food was freely "swapped" for morsels of
tobacco.
"So you see," said Llewellyn, "my Highlanders are pack-horses now.
We carry siege material as well as biscuit and food; for, Mr. Sturdy,
we are going to have another go at the Russians before long. The
Redan and Barrack Battery are both to be taken in fine style."
"Well, I wish you luck, Llewellyn."
"It is fighting we want," said the young soldier. "Bother it all,
our fellows might as well have stayed at home and ploughed the
fields, as come here to play at being pack-horses and shore porters."
"Good-bye till we meet."
"Good-bye, good-bye."
Jack and his party were some distance off, when Llewellyn ran after
them.
"Jack, old cousin," he said, "a mail-boat has just come in; I've seen
the signal. Now for letters from home."
I think the news with which Jack's cousin had hurried after them
lightened every heart in that little party, and so they struggled on,
talking gaily enough till they reached the Upland. Sturdy insisted
on carrying his share of the medical stores; and indeed he was the
hardiest and strongest man of the lot.
The road to-day, Dr. Reikie told the lieutenant, was even less cut up
and sticky than usual. "Sometimes, man," he said, "the mud is so
deep and tenacious that it sucks the very boots off the poor
soldiers' feet--a perfect quagmire."
On their way to the front, Sturdy, hardy sailor though he was, was
sickened at the horrible sights he saw on each side of the road.
There were men lying there whom it was impossible for the time to
assist, struck down with cholera or dysentery on their way back with
their bundles from Balaklava.
There were horses dying, horses dead, skeletons of bullocks, some
wholly exposed, some half buried, and here and there skeletons even
of men, protruding from their all too shallow graves; and although
the winter air to-day was crisp and keen, and snow lay on the
hillocks that had not been trodden, the stench that filled the air
was at times almost unbearable.
Pitiable sight, too, were the Turks whom they met, and who salaamed
as they passed, albeit they were carrying their dead on stretchers,
or even on their backs, to be buried in one common grave down near to
Balaklava.
* * * * *
Sturdy, at his own request, was permitted to spend a few days in camp
and in the trenches, so he soon found out something of the terrible
life our poor fellows had to endure there.
Badly fed, clothed in rags, with at night scarcely a blanket to cover
them from the rain or melting snow, that poured in through the
tattered tents; hardly any fuel; no means of cooking their scanty
rations; on night duty or day duty, on the march, or under fire in
the drains called trenches,--was it any wonder that even those who
were not killed or wounded were dying day by day, like braxied sheep,
as Dr. Reikie put it?
I am glad, indeed, to drop the curtain over this part of my story,
for horrors like these are but little to my taste.
The scene changed as far as our principal heroes were concerned, when
one evening Reikie met Sturdy.
He had a letter in his hand.
"We are off," he said.
"Who are off, and off what?"
"Why, your ship is ordered to Scutari, with a cargo of sick for
hospital there. I am going in charge of them. _You_ are ordered to
join the _Gurnet_ at once, and I myself have ordered Jack to come
with us."
"Jack isn't sick?"
"No; but Jack has been working too hard, and he isn't well, so I've
recommended the change."
The transport of the sick and wounded to Balaklava was in itself a
sad and terrible picture.
I do not know whether it would not have been even more humane to
permit them to die in the mud of the hospital tents.
Sturdy shuddered as he looked at those poor mummies of men, that were
gently lifted in their blankets and placed on horseback--the poor
horses themselves staggering under the weight.
There was little complaining heard from the pallid sufferers: many
seemed even dying as they were hoisted to the backs of the steeds.
Some moaned, others showed by their faces that they were suffering
agonies of pain; and although their messmates were as gentle with
them as if they had been sick infants, every now and then one could
hear such expressions as--"Gently, Jack, gently!" "Mind my leg,
Bill!" "Yes; now I'm easier, thanks, thanks!"
These last words were indeed spoken by a poor soldier of the 77th,
whose head drooped back the very next moment--the man was dead.
The march to Balaklava of Dr. Reikie's detachment of sick was far
more sad than any funeral procession ever seen.
The movements of the horses, gingerly though the poor wise brutes
tried to step, as if sensible of the weary load they had to bear,
caused the wounded to moan and groan; but many lay with closed eyes
as if dead, while others, horrible to relate, were attacked by fits
of wild delirium on the march, and had to be held down by force.
Then the horses often slipped, and more than one fell.
As gently as possible the men were lifted off on their arrival at
Balaklava, and conveyed on board the _Gurnet_.
Here Reikie made them all as comfortable as circumstances would
permit.
But do not think, reader, that their sufferings were ameliorated when
the _Gurnet_, after considerable delay, got off to sea. No, it was
increased tenfold; for these sick were packed on the decks side by
side, with hardly room for the attendants to step between.
Alas! the attendance they got was but little, though every one, from
the doctor downwards, tried to do what they could for them.
To their other miseries were added all the horrors of sea-sickness;
for a storm had come on, and although the vessel was under steam, she
made all too little headway. She shipped seas at times, or the spray
dashing inboard cold and white soaked the wretched patients to the
skin.
Next day, however, the sea went down, and the sun shone out; but many
were dead, and with scant ceremony and short service were lowered
over the side, to float or sink, for there was no shot that could be
spared to carry them to the bottom.
Scutari at last!
The word passed from mouth to mouth along the decks, and the poor
fellows who heard it smiled in hopefulness. Now they would have
rest, they believed; now they would be safe, and soon get well. Then
ships would bear them back once more to their own far-off homes in
well-beloved England.
But for Jack that name Scutari had a charm it could possess for none
of the others.
Those letters from home had brought good news to many, but to no one
more than to Jack Mackenzie. For his sister, whom he had not seen
for so many long years, was coming out to Scutari as a nurse. His
mother, too, was well, and so were his cousins and Uncle Tom.
There was also a precious little missive from Violet--that is Tottie.
Well, I should not like to call it a love-letter. What do little
girls of twelve know about such a thing as love, except for ice-cream
and chocolate drops? This letter was not even grammatical, the
spelling was somewhat original, and the caligraphy just anyhow. But
Jack--well, I won't tell you.
Then there was that letter from Drumglen, so orthodox, so prim, that,
as he read it, the old grandam herself seemed to be sitting there
before our hero in her high-backed chair. But the letter was
affectionate enough for all that; so on the whole Jack was happy.