THE CRIMEA.--WITH THE SAPPERS AND MINERS.--IN TRENCH AND RIFLE-PIT.
The battle of Inkerman was the last great battle of the Crimean campaign
fought round Sebastopol. The rest of the story of the long siege is
one that deals with the heroic if unobtrusive work of the “sappers and
miners,” the Royal Engineers, those “handy men” of the Army; with the
tale of the trenches and rifle-pits, wherein men carried their lives in
their hands night after night; with sudden sorties in the dead of night
or the mists of early dawn; and with desperate attempts at storming the
outworks of the great Russian fortress, the Redan, the Mamelon Tower, and
the Malakoff.
Such a siege would have taxed to the utmost the powers of any army, but
when we remember how its difficulties were added to by the severity of
the Russian winter and the hardships under which our brave soldiers
laboured through sickness and for the want of clothing and other
necessities of life, we must account it a truly marvellous achievement.
Sir William Russell, who was the _Times_ correspondent in the war,
fearlessly spoke his mind on the scandalous mismanagement that prevailed,
and from his vivid letters we know how too often the stores ran out,
how the hospital accommodation was insufficient, and how but for the
exertions of Florence Nightingale and her band of devoted nurses we
should have lost far more than the 24,000 men who died from cholera and
other diseases, or were killed by the enemy’s bullets.
Of those days and nights in the trenches Lord Wolseley can speak from
experience, for as a young engineering officer he saw some stirring
service before Sebastopol. The loss of his right eye, and a long scar on
his left cheek, bear witness to one thrilling night’s work in an advance
sap. He was out and about again, however, as soon as possible, for every
man that could stand up was needed.
It is Lord Wolseley’s boast that, apart from the time he spent in
hospital, he was never absent from the trenches at night except on one
memorable occasion. This was when he and a brother-officer made a hasty
Christmas pudding together, compounding it in a hollowed-out shell, with
a shot for pestle. The “very bad suet” which they got from Balaclava, or
the fact that the pudding had to be devoured ere it was half boiled, may
be accounted sufficient explanation for the young officer’s breakdown.
“At about twelve o’clock,” he says pathetically, “I thought I was going
to expire.”
In giving the record of the V.C. heroes who won glory in the long months
that elapsed between the battle of Inkerman and the fall of Sebastopol,
we may well begin with the Royal Engineers, the popular “Mudlarks,” whose
proud mottoes are “Ubique” (everywhere) and “Quo Fas et Gloria ducunt”
(where right and glory lead). Eight of the many Crosses to their credit
were gained in the Crimea. Let us see in what manner these were won.
William J. Lendrim (or Lindrim, for his name is found spelt both ways),
Corporal No. 1078, R.E., had three dates inscribed on his Cross, February
14th, April 11th, and April 20th, 1855. On the first occasion he was sent
to do sapper’s work in a battery that was held by a hundred and fifty
French Chasseurs. A hot fire from the Russian guns had wrought dreadful
havoc among the gabions and raked the trenches, but Lendrim, assuming
command of the Frenchmen, quickly set to work to repair the damage. With
utter disregard for self, he was here, there, and everywhere at once,
replacing a gabion where it had been struck down, digging in the trench
and shovelling up earth round the weak places. Lendrim’s coolness and
plucky example saved that battery from demolition, as the French officer
in charge of the Chasseurs very properly noted in his report.
His second exploit was to mount the roof of a powder magazine that
had caught fire and, under a perfect hail of bullets, extinguish the
flames. This was a danger to which batteries were particularly liable,
the live shells and fire-balls that dropped among them soon setting the
basket-work of the embrasures and other inflammable parts in a blaze. I
shall have something more to say about the “heroes of the live shell”
before this chapter is ended.
The third date on our brave sapper’s Cross, April 20th, recalls a very
daring feat on his part. Out among the rifle-pits, in the open, some
Russians had erected a screen of brushwood, barrels, and sailcloth,
behind which they thought themselves well secure. A party of British
sappers who lay all night in a trench thought otherwise. In the darkness,
just before dawn, a dozen of them, prominent among whom was Lendrim,
dashed out and with bayonets fixed charged the rifle-pits and destroyed
the screen.
We come now to the eventful 18th of June, in the same year, when a
desperate assault was made on the Redan, the while the French stormed
the Malakoff, some distance to the right. With a column of sailors and
soldiers that formed one of the attacking parties were Lieutenant Graham
and Sapper John Perie of his own corps. They had scaling-ladders and
sandbags with them, but these were not wanted after all, for the terrific
fire that poured down on the open ground before the fortress walls made
it impossible for the work to go forward.
Even then men were found willing, nay anxious to try, and scores of
redcoats dotted the rocky ground between the last trench and the abattis.
But it was a hopeless task--a wanton waste of valuable lives. Very
reluctantly Graham, who had taken command, ordered his men to retire.
While, in the security of the trench, they waited for the Russian fire
to diminish, the lieutenant once more showed of what stuff he was made.
There was a wounded sailor lying out in front, calling piteously for
help. An officer of the Naval Brigade heard him first, and asked for
another volunteer to assist in bringing the wounded man in.
“I’m with you,” cried Graham, springing up instantly; “And I too,” added
John Perie. And out they ran on their noble errand of mercy, succeeding
in the task without being hit.
Both the lieutenant and the sapper were awarded the Cross for their
bravery. The former, as everyone knows who has read the history of the
Egyptian War, became the famous General Sir Gerald Graham, the victor of
El Teb and Tamai. He died in 1899.
No reference to that disastrous assault on the Redan would be complete
without mention being made of Colour-Sergeant Peter Leitch, V.C., also
of the Engineers. Like his fellow-sapper, Perie, he was attached to a
ladder-party which shared the fate of defeat. At the foot of the fortress
the little party was held in check by the pitiless fire of shot and
shell. Men dropped on all sides, for there was no cover.
There were the scaling-ladders to be placed, however, and Leitch came
forward to take the lead. Leaping into the ditch, he pulled down gabion
after gabion from the enemy’s parapet until sufficient had been secured
to make a _caponnière_, filling them with earth and placing them to
afford shelter to his comrades. It was a heroic task, and many a wound
did he receive until he was finally disabled, but he had the satisfaction
of knowing that he had done his duty well.
Nor does this conclude the record of the gallant “Mudlarks.” I might
tell a stirring story of how Lieutenant Howard Crauford Elphinstone
(afterwards a Major-General and a K.C.B.) did great deeds in that same
affair of the Redan, rescuing with the party of volunteers he led no
fewer than twenty wounded men, and winning the French Legion of Honour in
addition to the Cross for Valour. But I have only room now to speak of
one more, John Ross, Corporal No. 997.
Of the three acts of gallantry of which the dates are graven on his
Cross, two were performed for daring sapping operations in what were
termed the 4th and 5th Parallels. In the darkness of night he and his
men worked like moles, quietly but swiftly, connecting (in the first
instance) the 4th Parallel with a disused Russian rifle-pit, the line of
cover thus formed giving the attacking party a tremendous advantage when
morning broke and the fight was renewed.
It was highly dangerous work from first to last. Every few minutes shells
and fire-balls from the Russian guns, which kept up a constant cannonade
throughout the night, would fall in their midst, and unless these were
promptly extinguished the havoc wrought was considerable. But through it
all they plied their spades bravely and set their earth-filled gabions in
position, Ross himself doing the greater part of this latter hazardous
work.
His third notable exploit bears date September 8th, of the same year,
1855. The last assault on the Redan by the allied troops had been made,
but with what results was not known. Ominous loud explosions startled the
still night air every now and then, and the British and French troops
held back uncertainly, waiting for the enemy’s next move.
The cessation of the Russian cannonade and musketry fire, however, led
many to think that the greycoats had abandoned their position, even if
only temporarily. Among those of this way of thinking was Corporal Ross.
Leaving the trench of the 5th Parallel, where he was working, he set
off alone across the intervening ground to see if his suspicions were
correct. It was ticklish work, he knew, for the flashes of the explosions
in the huge fortress lit up the plain vividly, and his figure showed up
an easy mark for any Russian sharpshooter who remained on the watch.
But he kept on until he reached the abattis, when clambering up to the
nearest embrasure he wormed his way in.
The place was empty. Only a dismantled gun and the débris caused by a
well-aimed shell greeted his eyes. Having made certain that he had not
been deceived, Ross hastened back to the lines to spread the news. A
party was at once formed to make another inspection of the Redan, Ross
accompanying it and leading the way into the fortress, which was found
absolutely deserted.
The Redan was forthwith occupied by our men, but the siege was now
practically over. The Russians had retired to the north side of the
harbour, evacuating the town.
So much for the “Royal Sappers and Miners”; we shall meet them later in
a warmer clime, in India, doing their duty as faithfully and performing
deeds every whit as heroic as any they did in the bleak wastes of the
Crimea.
* * * * *
The heroes of the trenches and rifle-pits appeal especially to the
imagination. The long vigil of the sentries as they paced to and fro
while their comrades slept or worked in the trench at their back was
an ordeal well calculated to try the nerves of even seasoned soldiers.
A goodly proportion of the guardsmen, riflemen, and others who were
detailed for this hazardous work were under fire in this campaign for the
first time in their lives, but we never read that they flinched from the
task imposed upon them.
However worn and weary the sentry might be, after a long day of digging
and hauling sandbags, he knew he had to exert the utmost vigilance while
on guard. Under cover of the darkness it was a favourite pastime with the
Russians to make sorties in little parties of three and four from the
fortress, in the hope of surprising the harassed sappers as they took a
brief and well-earned rest.
So came three Russians one bitterly cold December night in 1854 to a
small outlying picket of the 7th Royal Fusiliers. Private Norman, on
single sentry-go, caught sight of the grey figures creeping stealthily
towards him. Firing his rifle to sound the alarm, he rushed forward and
leaped boldly into the trench where the enemy had taken cover. Two he
seized and held prisoner, conducting them back to the British lines, but
the third escaped. The plucky Fusilier got the Cross for this action when
the time came to reckon up those who were most worthy of the honour.
But to narrate the several exploits of the heroes of the trenches is to
tell much the same story over and over again. A score or more of gallant
fellows--Moynihan, Coleman, Alexander, McWheeney (who was never absent
for a single day from his duties throughout the war), and others--braved
the Russian fire to dash out into the open and rescue from certain death
some wounded officer or private who lay exposed on the field. The V.C.
was often earned many times over by these.
Only a few stand out from the rest by reason of some special feature,
such as Private John Prosser of the 1st Regiment, who, seeing a rascally
soldier wearing the Queen’s scarlet in the act of deserting to the
Russian lines, jumped out of his trench and chasing the fugitive under a
heavy cross fire collared him and brought him back to camp--and, let it
be hoped, swift justice. For this, and for rescuing a wounded comrade
later on, Prosser gained his V.C.
There were, too, the “heroes of the live shell” to whom I made reference
some pages back. Sergeant Ablett, of the Grenadiers, with Privates
Strong, Lyons, Coffey, McCorrie, and Wheatley, received the decoration
for this act of valour. Plump into the trench in which each delved
dropped a fizzing shell, and without a moment’s hesitation the plucky
fellow lifted it up and flung it over the parapet, to burst more or less
harmlessly outside.
Sergeant Ablett’s shell fell right among some ammunition cases and powder
barrels, and but for his prompt action a terrible explosion would have
taken place with much loss of life. In Wheatley’s case the stalwart
private attempted first to knock out the burning fuse, but failing to do
this he coolly dropped his rifle and disposed of the unwelcome intruder
with his hands.
Of the dashing sorties upon the Russian rifle-pits pages might be
written. I have only space to tell of one such. It may well serve as
characteristic of all. Privates Robert Humpston, Joseph Bradshaw, and R.
McGregor of the Rifle Brigade are my heroes.
Far out on the Woronzoff Road, near some formidable quarries that had
served the Russians well, was a strongly protected rifle-pit whence
sharpshooters directed a deadly fire against a battery in process of
formation by our men. It was essential that this “wasps’ nest” should be
silenced.
Humpston particularly chafed over the seeming impossibility of doing
this, and at last proposed to two comrades (Bradshaw and McGregor) that
they should “rush” the pit. The two agreed, being much enraged, it is
said, by the recent sniping of a bandsman who was a special favourite.
Accordingly, without asking for the leave which they knew would be denied
them, the three stole out of camp one morning before daybreak, and crept
unobserved towards the death-dealing pit. When within a few yards of it
they gave a wild cheer and charged straight at the surprised Russians.
It was bayonet work, stab and thrust wherever a greycoat showed. How many
they killed between them is not recorded, but the rifle-pit was cleared
once for all and its destruction accomplished.
All three privates were awarded the Victoria Cross, and Humpston, as the
leader, received prompt promotion, together with the sum of £5.
* * * * *
Before closing this chapter and passing on to tell of the Crimean naval
Crosses, I cannot refrain from noting just two daring deeds that gained
the V.C. for two gallant gunners during the operations before Sebastopol.
They are written large in the annals of the Order.
Gunner and Driver Arthur, of the Royal Artillery, was in an advanced
battery at an engagement near the Quarries, when the 7th Fusiliers
fighting near by him ran out of ammunition. Arthur promptly volunteered
to supply them, and although he had to cross repeatedly an open space on
which a hot fire was concentrated, he carried the ammunition stores to
the waiting men. But for his assistance the Fusiliers must have had to
abandon the position they had captured.
Equally dashing was Captain Dixon’s defence of his battery. The latter
was wrecked by a shell which, bursting in the magazine, blew it up and
destroyed five guns, besides killing nearly all the gunners. It was a
great event for the Russians, who cheered and danced with joy at the
result of the shot.
But they counted without Dixon. The sixth gun of the battery, although
half buried in earth, was still workable. With some help he got the gun
into position again, loaded and sent an answering shot hurtling into the
enemy’s battery, much to their surprise and discomfiture.
And it is to Dixon’s lasting glory that he worked that single piece
until darkness ended the duel. The chagrined enemy peppered him without
cessation throughout the rest of that day, but he bore a charmed life.
The artillery captain rose to be a Major-General in after years, with
C.B. after his name besides the letters V.C., while France honoured him
by creating him a Knight of the Legion of Honour.