UNDER FIRE ON THE FATAL 18TH OF JUNE--BEFORE THE
REDAN--AT THE CEMETERY--THE ARMISTICE--DEATHS AT
HEAD-QUARTERS--DEPRESSION IN THE CAMP--PLENTY IN THE
CRIMEA--THE PLAGUE OF FLIES--UNDER FIRE AT THE BATTLE
OF THE TCHERNAYA--WORK ON THE FIELD--MY PATIENTS.
Before I left the Crimea to return to England, the Adjutant-General of
the British Army gave me a testimonial, which the reader has already
read in Chapter XIV., in which he stated that I had "frequently
exerted myself in the most praiseworthy manner in attending wounded
men, even in positions of great danger." The simple meaning of this
sentence is that, in the discharge of what I conceived to be my duty,
I was frequently "under fire." Now I am far from wishing to speak of
this fact with any vanity or pride, because, after all, one soon gets
accustomed to it, and it fails at last to create more than temporary
uneasiness. Indeed, after Sebastopol was ours, you might often see
officers and men strolling coolly, even leisurely, across and along
those streets, exposed to the enemy's fire, when a little haste would
have carried them beyond the reach of danger. The truth was, I
believe, they had grown so habituated to being in peril from shot or
shell, that they rather liked the sensation, and found it difficult to
get on without a little gratuitous excitement and danger.
But putting aside the great engagements, where I underwent
considerable peril, one could scarcely move about the various camps
without some risk. The Russians had, it seemed, sunk great ships' guns
into the earth, from which they fired shot and shell at a very long
range, which came tumbling and plunging between, and sometimes into
the huts and tents, in a very unwieldy and generally harmless fashion.
Once when I was riding through the camp of the Rifles, a round shot
came plunging towards me, and before I or the horse had time to be
much frightened, the ugly fellow buried itself in the earth, with a
heavy "thud," a little distance in front of us.
In the first week of June, the third bombardment of Sebastopol opened,
and the Spring Hill visitors had plenty to talk about. Many were the
surmises as to when the assault would take place, of the success of
which nobody entertained a doubt. Somehow or other, important secrets
oozed out in various parts of the camp, which the Russians would have
given much to know, and one of these places was the British Hotel.
Some such whispers were afloat on the evening of Sunday the 17th of
June, and excited me strangely. Any stranger not in my secret would
have considered that my conduct fully justified my partner, Mr. Day,
in sending me home, as better fitted for a cell in Bedlam than the
charge of an hotel in the Crimea. I never remember feeling more
excited or more restless than upon that day, and no sooner had night
fairly closed in upon us than, instead of making preparations for bed,
this same stranger would have seen me wrap up--the nights were still
cold--and start off for a long walk to Cathcart's Hill, three miles
and a half away. I stayed there until past midnight, but when I
returned home, there was no rest for me; for I had found out that, in
the stillness of the night, many regiments were marching down to the
trenches, and that the dawn of day would be the signal that should let
them loose upon the Russians. The few hours still left before
daybreak, were made the most of at Spring Hill. We were all busily
occupied in cutting bread and cheese and sandwiches, packing up fowls,
tongues, and ham, wine and spirits, while I carefully filled the large
bag, which I always carried into the field slung across my shoulder,
with lint, bandages, needles, thread, and medicines; and soon after
daybreak everything was ready packed upon two mules, in charge of my
steadiest lad, and, I leading the way on horseback, the little
cavalcade left the British Hotel before the sun of the fatal 18th of
June had been many hours old.
It was not long before our progress was arrested by the cavalry
pickets closely stationed to stop all stragglers and spectators from
reaching the scene of action. But after a Blight parley and when they
found out who I was, and how I was prepared for the day's work, the
men raised a shout for me, and, with their officer's sanction, allowed
me to pass. So I reached Cathcart's Hill crowded with non-combatants,
and, leaving there the mules, loaded myself with what provisions I
could carry, and--it was a work of no little difficulty and
danger--succeeded in reaching the reserves of Sir Henry Barnard's
division, which was to have stormed something, I forget what; but when
they found the attack upon the Redan was a failure, very wisely
abstained. Here I found plenty of officers who soon relieved me of my
refreshments, and some wounded men who found the contents of my bag
very useful. At length I made my way to the Woronzoff Road, where the
temporary hospital had been erected, and there I found the doctors
hard enough at work, and hastened to help them as best I could. I
bound up the wounds and ministered to the wants of a good many, and
stayed there some considerable time.
Upon the way, and even here, I was "under fire." More frequently than
was agreeable, a shot would come ploughing up the ground and raising
clouds of dust, or a shell whizz above us. Upon these occasions those
around would cry out, "Lie down, mother, lie down!" and with very
undignified and unladylike haste I had to embrace the earth, and
remain there until the same voices would laughingly assure me that the
danger was over, or one, more thoughtful than the rest, would come to
give me a helping hand, and hope that the old lady was neither hit nor
frightened. Several times in my wanderings on that eventful day, of
which I confess to have a most confused remembrance, only knowing that
I looked after many wounded men, I was ordered back, but each time my
bag of bandages and comforts for the wounded proved my passport. While
at the hospital I was chiefly of use looking after those, who, either
from lack of hands or because their hurts were less serious, had to
wait, pained and weary, until the kind-hearted doctors--who, however,
_looked_ more like murderers--could attend to them. And the grateful
words and smile which rewarded me for binding up a wound or giving
cooling drink was a pleasure worth risking life for at any time. It
was here that I received my only wound during the campaign. I threw
myself too hastily on the ground, in obedience to the command of those
around me, to escape a threatening shell, and fell heavily on the
thumb of my right hand, dislocating it. It was bound up on the spot
and did not inconvenience me much, but it has never returned to its
proper shape.
After this, first washing my hands in some sherry from lack of water,
I went back to Cathcart's Hill, where I found my horse, and heard that
the good-for-nothing lad, either frightened or tired of waiting, had
gone away with the mules. I had to ride three miles after him, and
then the only satisfaction I had arose from laying my horse-whip about
his shoulders. After that, working my way round, how I can scarcely
tell, I got to the extreme left attack, where General Eyre's division
had been hotly engaged all day, and had suffered severely. I left my
horse in charge of some men, and with no little difficulty, and at no
little risk, crept down to where some wounded men lay, with whom I
left refreshments. And then--it was growing late--I started for Spring
Hill, where I heard all about the events of the luckless day from
those who had seen them from posts of safety, while I, who had been in
the midst of it all day, knew so little.
On the following day some Irishmen of the 8th Royals brought me, in
token of my having been among them, a Russian woman's dress and a poor
pigeon, which they had brought away from one of the houses in the
suburb where their regiment suffered so severely.
But that evening of the 18th of June was a sad one, and the news that
came in of those that had fallen were most heartrending. Both the
leaders, who fell so gloriously before the Redan, had been very good
to the mistress of Spring Hill. But a few days before the 18th, Col.
Y---- had merrily declared that I should have a silver salver to hand
about things upon, instead of the poor shabby one I had been reduced
to; while Sir John C---- had been my kind patron for some years. It
was in my house in Jamaica that Lady C---- had once lodged when her
husband was stationed in that island. And when the recall home came,
Lady C----, who, had she been like most women, would have shrunk from
any exertion, declared that she was a soldier's wife and would
accompany him. Fortunately the "Blenheim" was detained in the roads a
few days after the time expected for her departure, and I put into its
father's arms a little Scotchman, born within sight of the blue hills
of Jamaica. And yet with these at home, the brave general--as I read
in the _Times_ a few weeks later--displayed a courage amounting to
rashness, and, sending away his aides-de-camp, rushed on to a certain
death.
On the following day, directly I heard of the armistice, I hastened to
the scene of action, anxious to see once more the faces of those who
had been so kind to me in life. That battle-field was a fearful sight
for a woman to witness, and if I do not pray God that I may never see
its like again, it is because I wish to be useful all my life, and it
is in scenes of horror and distress that a woman can do so much. It
was late in the afternoon, not, I think, until half-past four, that
the Russians brought over the bodies of the two leaders of yesterday's
assault. They had stripped Sir John of epaulettes, sword, and boots.
Ah! how my heart felt for those at home who would so soon hear of this
day's fatal work. It was on the following day, I think, that I saw
them bury him near Cathcart's Hill, where his tent had been pitched.
If I had been in the least humour for what was ludicrous, the looks
and curiosity of the Russians who saw me during the armistice would
have afforded me considerable amusement. I wonder what rank they
assigned me.
How true it is, as somebody has said, that misfortunes never come
singly. N.B. Pleasures often do. For while we were dull enough at this
great trouble, we had cholera raging around us, carrying off its
victims of all ranks. There was great distress in the Sardinian camp
on this account, and I soon lost another good customer, General E----,
carried off by the same terrible plague. Before Mrs. E---- left the
Crimea, she sent several useful things, kept back from the sale of the
general's effects. At this sale I wanted to buy a useful waggon, but
did not like to bid against Lord W----, who purchased it; but (I tell
this anecdote to show how kind they all were to me) when his lordship
heard of this he sent it over to Spring Hill, with a message that it
was mine for a far lower price than he had given for it. And since my
return home I have had to thank the same nobleman for still greater
favours. But who, indeed, has not been kind to me?
Within a week after General E----'s death, a still greater calamity
happened. Lord Raglan died--that great soldier who had such iron
courage, with the gentle smile and kind word that always show the
good man. I was familiar enough with his person; for, although people
did not know it in England, he was continually in the saddle looking
after his suffering men, and scheming plans for their benefit. And the
humblest soldier will remember that, let who might look stern and
distant, the first man in the British army ever had a kind word to
give him.
During the time he was ill I was at head-quarters several times, and
once his servants allowed me to peep into the room where their master
lay. I do not think they knew that he was dying, but they seemed very
sad and low--far more so than he for whom they feared. And on the day
of his funeral I was there again. I never saw such heartfelt gloom as
that which brooded on the faces of his attendants; but it was good to
hear how they all, even the humblest, had some kind memory of the
great general whom Providence had called from his post at such a
season of danger and distress. And once again they let me into the
room in which the coffin lay, and I timidly stretched out my hand and
touched a corner of the union-jack which lay upon it; and then I
watched it wind its way through the long lines of soldiery towards
Kamiesch, while, ever and anon, the guns thundered forth in sorrow,
not in anger. And for days after I could not help thinking of the
"Caradoc," which was ploughing its way through the sunny sea with its
sad burden.
It was not in the nature of the British army to remain long dull, and
before very long we went on gaily as ever, forgetting the terrible
18th of June, or only remembering it to look forward to the next
assault compensating for all. And once more the British Hotel was
filled with a busy throng, and laughter and fun re-echoed through its
iron rafters. Nothing of consequence was done in the front for weeks,
possibly because Mr. Russell was taking holiday, and would not return
until August.
About this time the stores of the British Hotel were well filled, not
only with every conceivable necessary of life, but with many of its
most expensive luxuries. It was at this period that you could have
asked for few things that I could not have supplied you with on the
spot, or obtained for you, if you had a little patience and did not
mind a few weeks' delay. Not only Spring Hill and Kadikoi, which--a
poor place enough when we came--had grown into a town of stores, and
had its market regulations and police, but the whole camp shared in
this unusual plenty. Even the men could afford to despise salt meat
and pork, and fed as well, if not better, than if they had been in
quarters at home. And there were coffee-houses and places of amusement
opened at Balaclava, and balls given in some of them, which raised my
temper to an unwonted pitch, because I foresaw the dangers which they
had for the young and impulsive; and sure enough they cost several
officers their commissions. Right glad was I one day when the great
purifier, Fire, burnt down the worst of these places and ruined its
owner, a bad Frenchwoman. And the railway was in full work, and the
great road nearly finished, and the old one passable, and the mules
and horses looked in such fair condition, that you would scarcely have
believed Farrier C----, of the Land Transport Corps, who would have
told you then, and will tell you now, that he superintended, on one
bleak morning of February, not six months agone, the task of throwing
the corpses of one hundred and eight mules over the cliffs at Karanyi
into the Black Sea beneath.
Of course the summer introduced its own plagues, and among the worst
of these were the flies. I shall never forget those Crimean flies, and
most sincerely hope that, like the Patagonians, they are only to be
found in one part of the world. Nature must surely have intended them
for blackbeetles, and accidentally given them wings. There was no
exterminating them--no thinning them--no escaping from them by night
or by day. One of my boys confined himself almost entirely to laying
baits and traps for their destruction, and used to boast that he
destroyed them at the rate of a gallon a day; but I never noticed any
perceptible decrease in their powers of mischief and annoyance. The
officers in the front suffered terribly from them. One of my kindest
customers, a lieutenant serving in the Royal Naval Brigade, who was a
close relative of the Queen, whose uniform he wore, came to me in
great perplexity. He evidently considered the fly nuisance the most
trying portion of the campaign, and of far more consequence than the
Russian shot and shell. "Mami," he said (he had been in the West
Indies, and so called me by the familiar term used by the Creole
children), "Mami, these flies respect nothing. Not content with eating
my prog, they set to at night and make a supper of me," and his face
showed traces of their attacks. "Confound them, they'll kill me, mami;
they're everywhere, even in the trenches, and you'd suppose they
wouldn't care to go there from choice. What can you do for me, mami?"
Not much; but I rode down to Mr. B----'s store, at Kadikoi, where I
was lucky in being able to procure a piece of muslin, which I pinned
up (time was too precious to allow me to use needle and thread) into a
mosquito net, with which the prince was delighted. He fell ill later
in the summer, when I went up to his quarters and did all I could for
him.
As the summer wore on, busily passed by all of us at the British
Hotel, rumours stronger than ever were heard of a great battle soon to
be fought by the reinforcements which were known to have joined the
Russian army. And I think that no one was much surprised when one
pleasant August morning, at early dawn, heavy firing was heard towards
the French position on the right, by the Tchernaya, and the stream of
troops and on-lookers poured from all quarters in that direction.
Prepared and loaded as usual, I was soon riding in the same direction,
and saw the chief part of the morning's battle. I saw the Russians
cross and recross the river. I saw their officers cheer and wave them
on in the coolest, bravest manner, until they were shot down by
scores. I was near enough to hear at times, in the lull of artillery,
and above the rattle of the musketry, the excited cheers which told of
a daring attack or a successful repulse; and beneath where I stood I
could see--what the Russians could not--steadily drawn up, quiet and
expectant, the squadrons of English and French cavalry, calmly yet
impatiently waiting until the Russians' partial success should bring
their sabres into play. But the contingency never happened; and we saw
the Russians fall slowly back in good order, while the dark-plumed
Sardinians and red-pantalooned French spread out in pursuit, and
formed a picture so excitingly beautiful that we forgot the suffering
and death they left behind. And then I descended with the rest into
the field of battle.
It was a fearful scene; but why repeat this remark. All death is
trying to witness--even that of the good man who lays down his life
hopefully and peacefully; but on the battle-field, when the poor body
is torn and rent in hideous ways, and the scared spirit struggles to
loose itself from the still strong frame that holds it tightly to the
last, death is fearful indeed. It had come peacefully enough to some.
They lay with half-opened eyes, and a quiet smile about the lips that
showed their end to have been painless; others it had arrested in the
heat of passion, and frozen on their pallid faces a glare of hatred
and defiance that made your warm blood run cold. But little time had
we to think of the dead, whose business it was to see after the dying,
who might yet be saved. The ground was thickly cumbered with the
wounded, some of them calm and resigned, others impatient and
restless, a few filling the air with their cries of pain--all wanting
water, and grateful to those who administered it, and more substantial
comforts. You might see officers and strangers, visitors to the camp,
riding about the field on this errand of mercy. And this,
although--surely it could not have been intentional--Russian guns
still played upon the scene of action. There were many others there,
bent on a more selfish task. The plunderers were busy everywhere. It
was marvellous to see how eagerly the French stripped the dead of what
was valuable, not always, in their brutal work, paying much regard to
the presence of a lady. Some of the officers, when I complained rather
angrily, laughed, and said it was spoiling the Egyptians; but I _do_
think the Israelites spared their enemies those garments, which,
perhaps, were not so unmentionable in those days as they have since
become.
I attended to the wounds of many French and Sardinians, and helped to
lift them into the ambulances, which came tearing up to the scene of
action. I derived no little gratification from being able to dress the
wounds of several Russians; indeed, they were as kindly treated as the
others. One of them was badly shot in the lower jaw, and was beyond my
or any human skill. Incautiously I inserted my finger into his mouth
to feel where the ball had lodged, and his teeth closed upon it, in
the agonies of death, so tightly that I had to call to those around to
release it, which was not done until it had been bitten so deeply that
I shall carry the scar with me to my grave. Poor fellow, he meant me
no harm, for, as the near approach of death softened his features, a
smile spread over his rough inexpressive face, and so he died.
I attended another Russian, a handsome fellow, and an officer, shot in
the side, who bore his cruel suffering with a firmness that was very
noble. In return for the little use I was to him, he took a ring off
his finger and gave it to me, and after I had helped to lift him into
the ambulance he kissed my hand and smiled far more thanks than I had
earned. I do not know whether he survived his wounds, but I fear not.
Many others, on that day, gave me thanks in words the meaning of which
was lost upon me, and all of them in that one common language of the
whole world--smiles.
I carried two patients off the field; one a French officer wounded on
the hip, who chose to go back to Spring Hill and be attended by me
there, and who, on leaving, told us that he was a relative of the
Marshal (Pelissier); the other, a poor Cossack colt I found running
round its dam, which lay beside its Cossack master dead, with its
tongue hanging from its mouth. The colt was already wounded in the
ears and fore-foot, and I was only just in time to prevent a French
corporal who, perhaps for pity's sake, was preparing to give it it's
_coup de grace_. I saved the poor thing by promising to give the
Frenchman ten shillings if he would bring it down to the British
Hotel, which he did that same evening. I attended to its hurts, and
succeeded in rearing it, and it became a great pet at Spring Hill, and
accompanied me to England.
I picked up some trophies from the battle-field, but not many, and
those of little value. I cannot bear the idea of plundering either the
living or the dead; but I picked up a Russian metal cross, and took
from the bodies of some of the poor fellows nothing of more value than
a few buttons, which I severed from their coarse grey coats.
So end my reminiscences of the battle of the Tchernaya, fought, as all
the world knows, on the 16th of August, 1855.