1855--ASSAULT OF THE REDAN--_continued_
The abatis and its defenders--Hit for the second time, I collapse,
but am revived by a well-drilled Corporal--Lord Raglan’s
remarkable kindness--I regain my pony at Constantinople--I join
the Army--An impatient Cornet--Mr. Farquharson, M.F.H.
In my heart I experienced a sense of relief, from the feeling that my
responsibility was over, as even my most gallant Chief, William Peel,
would not expect me to carry a ladder 18 feet in length by myself. It
was now lying within 30 yards of the abatis, under the slight shelter
of which a few scattered soldiers were crouching: some were firing,
a great many shouting, while on the parapet 15 feet above us stood
Russians four and in places six deep, firing at, and calling on us
sarcastically to walk in. I looked round, and at once saw there was
no chance of our accepting the invitation. The abatis where I was
standing, between 60 and 70 yards from the salient, was a strong fence
4 feet thick, and 5 feet high in places, made up of stout trees, and
beams from 6 to 8 inches in diameter, closed with brushwood. There were
places where a man could have squeezed through the holes made by our
shells, but only one at a time, and even then, assuming that he crossed
unscathed the open space intervening between the abatis and the ditch,
there was still a more formidable obstacle. From the bottom of the
ditch the top of the parapet on which the Russians were standing was 26
feet high.
The Storming party had dwindled down to 100, and I perceived at once
that unless heavy reinforcements came up there was no chance of
carrying the work. While looking round to count heads, Lieutenant
Graves of the Royal Engineers (see p. 73) asked me if I had seen
Captain Peel. I said “No, not since we crossed the parapet,” and as
he passed on, he was killed. He spoke as calmly as when, repairing the
embrasure on the 10th April, a round-shot cut the ground from under
his feet. Now an officer detaching a bough from the abatis waved it
over his head, and cheerily called on the men to follow him, but while
shouting he was pierced by several bullets, and fell lifeless.
I was greatly impressed by the courage of a young Sergeant, who was
trying to collect men to accompany him through or over the abatis.
After calling in vain on those immediately to follow him, he lost his
temper, and shouted, “I’ll tell my right-hand man to follow me, and if
he fails I’ll shoot him.” He brought his rifle down to the “Ready,” and
said, “Private ----, will you follow me?” I was almost touching them,
and seeing by the Sergeant’s eye that he was in earnest, stood for a
few seconds studying the determined look on the man’s face The Private
looked deliberately on the hundreds of Russians above us, and then ran
his eye right and left of where we were standing, as if estimating
the number of his comrades, who certainly did not exceed 100, and
with as much determination as the Sergeant said, “No, I won’t.” The
non-commissioned officer threw his rifle to his shoulder with the
intention of carrying out his threat, but in doing so, struck by a
grape-shot, he fell dead.
I now dropped on one knee to talk to an officer sitting under the
abatis as to our chances of getting in, when he was hit just above the
waist-belt by a bullet. He tossed about in great pain, calling on the
Almighty. I was somewhat perturbed, but had seen too many men killed to
be seriously affected, until he apostrophised his mother; this allusion
distressed me so much that I rose, and walked slowly in the direction
of the Malakoff, looking to see if there were any weaker spots in the
abatis. I had only gone a few yards, when glancing upwards I saw a
section of Russians “following” me with their muskets. Instinctively
throwing up my left arm to shield my face, I was walking on, when a
gun was fired with case-shot close to me. The missiles came crashing
through the abatis, and one weighing 5½ oz. struck my arm just below
the funny-bone. This sent me screaming to the ground, and I rolled some
yards down the slope of the hill, where I lay insensible.
I do not know how long I was unconscious, but it cannot have been
many minutes; for the whole affair did not last more than half an
hour. I was aroused by an Irish corporal, who shook my arm, saying,
“Matey,[40] if you are going in, you had better go at once, or you’ll
get bagoneted.”[41] I presume it was the pain in my arm which brought
me back to consciousness, but I answered the man with an outburst of
bad language. He drew himself up erect, and bringing his hand across
his body to the rifle said, “I beg your pardon, sir, I did not know
you were an officer. Can I help you?” “Yes, help me up, but by the
other hand.” He then told me the “Retire” had been sounded some minutes
earlier, and that all our people were going back. In spite of the
number of men firing at us at less than 100 yards’ distance, he helped
me up carefully, taking care not to hurt my arm, and then bending down
his head, ran as hard as he could towards our trenches. I followed him
towards the 8-gun battery, but very slowly; for although I had not
previously felt my weakness since the moment we crossed the trenches to
assault, I had now become faint, and could walk only slowly, although
grape and case shot fell thickly around me.
When I had gone 300 yards, I saw several men running with their heads
bent down along a ditch, made direct towards the Redan for about 100
yards beyond the Quarries, during the last few nights. It was only
two feet deep, but with the rank grass three feet high on the slope,
gave slight shelter from view. I had walked only a few yards in the
ditch, however, when the screams of wounded men, who had crawled in
for shelter, and were now hurt by the soldiers running over them,
caused me to get out and walk away. I had scarcely left the ditch
when it was swept by case-shot from three guns in succession, and
most of the men who had been running over their comrades fell killed
or wounded on top of them. As I approached the trenches in front of
our 3rd parallel, from which we had started, the last of the Covering
party which had remained out to fire on the Russians, were returning
inside the trenches. I made for a place where the slight bank was worn
down, in order to avoid the increased exertion of mounting up four
feet, when a young soldier passed me on my left side, and doubtless
not noticing I was wounded knocked me heavily on the arm, saying,
“Move on, please.” As he crossed the parapet, I caught the butt of the
rifle to pull myself up, and he turned his face, saying, “What are you
doing?” A round-shot passing over my right shoulder struck him between
the shoulders, and I stepped over the remains of his body so exhausted
as to be indifferent to his death and to my preservation, due to his
rudeness in jostling me out of my turn at the gap.
On the safe side of this little parapet, there sat a sailor who made
me feel ashamed of my own powers of endurance. He had been severely
wounded in the right hand, and had lost two of his fingers, and
thinking how helpless I had become, I stood still to admire the man’s
coolness and self-possession. With his left hand he had pulled out
of his trousers the tail of his shirt, and holding it in his teeth,
had torn off nearly three strips when I approached. With these he was
bandaging up his hand in a manner which would have done credit to a
class who had gone through “First Aid to the Wounded,” and he answered
my question as to his wound quite cheerily.
When I reached the foot of the parapet of the 8-gun battery I was
unable to walk up it, and fell to the ground at the first attempt. When
I did surmount it, I hesitated to step down to the banquette, fearing
to jar my arm, and paused so long that a sergeant, probably not wanting
to see more fire drawn on to the spot, called out, “Jump, jump, you
little devil, or you will get killed.” I consigned him to a hot place,
and sank down where I was, when two officers seeing my state came out
and carried me inside the work.
I was taken to a doctor (an Irishman) whom I had known for some time,
and was greeted warmly with the exclamation, “Sit down, my dear boy,
an’ I’ll have your arm off before you know where you are.” I steadily
but with some difficulty evaded his kind intention, and was eventually
put into a stretcher and carried to camp by four Bluejackets. As we
left the battery the stretcher-bearers and I had an escape, for a
shell burst just in front of us, cutting up the ground between the
fore and rear carriers, who, however, did not flinch; but as we passed
through the camp of the 4th Division, as they changed arms, the iron
hook which kept the stretcher apart unshipped, and I fell heavily to
the ground on my wounded arm.
Whilst waiting in the operating-tent for my turn for the table, I
was interested by the extraordinary fortitude of a Bluejacket, who
discussed the morning’s failure without a break in his voice while
the doctors were removing two of his fingers at the third joint. When
my turn came, I had a heated argument with the surgeons, who wished
to amputate the arm above the elbow. The Navy had then an officer
dangerously ill from a wound received a few days earlier, in which
case amputation had been delayed too long, and all but the senior
Doctor wished to take off my arm. To him I appealed to be allowed the
chance, and to persuade him I underwent considerable pain. The eight
who were for removing the limb declared that it was impossible that any
use could be obtained from the arm, the elbow-joint of which had been
shattered. To prove that it was not, I doubling my fist raised the arm
as high as I could, until the case-shot met the fore and upper arm, on
which the senior Medical officer decided that he would at all events
try to save the limb.
As soon as I recovered consciousness after the anæsthetic, Captain Peel
came to see me,[42] and telling me that he had got half-way, asked me
how far the remainder of the party had advanced. Having told him, I
inquired anxiously for my friend Michael Hardy, of whom I could learn
nothing. At the time of the Truce next day, his body was found in an
embrasure of the Redan, the only man as far as I know who crossed the
abatis and ditch that day.
There were two Ladder Naval parties, but the Left, from causes beyond
their control, went only a few yards, and was then ordered back,
suffering but little loss. According to my Journal written at the time,
48 casualties occurred amongst our 60 men, of whom 19 were killed and
29 wounded. All 7 officers of the party, except Mr. Daniel, were hit.
I slept for some hours, until awakened by Colonel Steele[43] coming
into my tent. He brought me a letter from Lord Raglan, placing his
carriage at my disposal to carry me down to Kazatch, where H.M.S.
_Queen_ was lying, whenever I could be moved.
When the last of our Effectives retired the batteries re-opened fire,
and within an hour the Russian guns were reduced to silence; this
shows clearly the error made in assaulting before we had crushed
their batteries. Lord Raglan rode over to General Pélissier, who was
on Victoria Hill, with whom he arranged to renew the Attack. Later
on, however, Pélissier sent over to say General d’Autemarre, who was
in command in the extreme Front, thought the troops were not in a
condition to undertake another assault, and so the columns were brought
back to camp soon after 7 a.m. Our casualties were 100 officers and
1444 of other Ranks. The French and Russian statistics are recorded
together for the 17th and 18th, the former losing 3500 and the Russians
5500.
The initial error was in assaulting before the enemy’s guns were
silenced. Lord Raglan himself has recorded that owing to smoke he was
unable to ascertain the progress of the columns of our Allies, and when
it was apparent to him that they were not succeeding he determined to
send his troops to the Redan to help them. Although indirectly, it
is now certain that we could have helped the French more if we had
bombarded, instead of sending Infantry forward, yet it is not at all
certain that our Allies would have accepted this view. Whenever the
assault was to be delivered, however, all soldiers will agree with
Todleben’s opinion that the number of British troops sent to the Redan
was entirely inadequate for the task.
The Commodore had written to the Captain of H.M.S. _Queen_ asking him
to send a boat for me.[44]
I went down on the 20th, and though my friend and messmate, Edward
Hunter, held my wounded arm up as long as he could, yet he himself
being ill with fever, was unable to support it in a drive of eight
miles, and the jolting of the carriage caused excruciating pain in
the wounded limb, which rested on my ribs. When we reached the beach
at Kazatch it was late, the ship’s boat had returned, the Midshipman
in charge thinking I could not be coming, and it was only after an
unpleasant experience with two Greeks and being taken first of all to
a French man-of-war, that I got on board H.M.S. _Queen_. I reached
my uncle’s ship at 11 p.m. There, however, I had every attention and
kindness which it was possible for a patient to receive. The Captain
gave me one of his cabins, for H.M.S. _Queen_ had been fitted as a
Flagship in 1852, and the accommodation had never been reduced.
I had a succession of distinguished visitors, mainly I imagine on
account of my uncle’s popularity, for I was only a Midshipman,
and the callers commanded battleships, and included the French
Naval Commander-in-Chief, who came on board on the 30th June. My
uncle’s courteous, polished manners were appreciated by well-bred
French Naval officers. I enjoyed much more the conversation of my
brother-Midshipmen, who sat with me by turn all day.
My uncle wrote on the 21st a grateful letter in my name to Lord Raglan
for his kindness in having lent me his carriage, and received a
reply,[45] a copy of which got me a Commission in the Army. Five days
later he was taken ill, dying on the 28th June. He was one of the most
uncomplaining, loyal servants the British nation ever had; ordered by
the Government to carry out a difficult task with inadequate means,
he died from care and overwhelming anxiety, a victim to England’s
unreadiness for war.
My uncle, though kindness personified, was anxious to send me back at
once to the Naval Brigade, not realising that the bone in my arm had
been splintered, and showed some impatience when the wound failed to
heal. On the 10th July I was sent down to the hospital at Therapia, on
the Bosphorus, where I was nursed by two resident ladies, the Misses
Baltazzi. I should have been very happy there but that the doctor in
charge, every other day, used to put a probe, something like a bodkin,
for a inch and a half out of sight in the wound, and when the Irish
orderly seeing me wince under this examination, later found I was
troublesome, treating me as a child, would say, “Be quiet, or I’ll call
the doctor to progue you.” As the result of further probing, however,
on the 19th I was taken down to Stamboul and put on board the _Great
Britain_ for passage to England. She sprang a leak next day, and I was
transferred to H.M.S. _Perseverance_; she was actually under way when
she was ordered to anchor, and wait for two officers and two horses.
Our language at this repeated delay cannot be here quoted, but I had
reason to be thankful, as with the two officers there came a charger
and my pony, which neighed with delight at seeing me. I had tied it
up to the Lancaster gun in the 21-gun battery at 2 a.m. on the 18th
June, and had never seen it again till it was hoisted on board H.M.S.
_Perseverance_ on the 22nd July. It had been transhipped as often as
I had been, so the coincidence of its eventually reaching the vessel
in which I went home was remarkable. My uncle, Mr. Western Wood, M.P.
for the City, owned some ships chartered by the Government, and one
of them was in Balaklava Harbour on the 18th of June. The Captain had
been instructed to offer me any assistance I might require, and when he
visited the camp the day after I had gone to Kazatch, my comrades told
him that he could not please me better than by taking my pony home. He
was not going himself for some time, so shipped the pony on another
vessel, which also was detained in the Bosphorus, but its Captain
managed to get the pony on board the man-of-war--how I never heard.
* * * * *
I got back to my father’s house in Essex early in August, and
immediately began to worry my mother about returning to the Crimea.
Neither of us foresaw the initial expense of entering the Army, and
I urged that I could live on £250 per annum, and as I had cost my
parents £100 in the Navy, they would only have to find £150 more.
There appeared to be no chance of my seeing more service in the Naval
Brigade, for there were already questions of its being re-embarked, as
had been the wish of the Admiralty for some months. It was known in
London the French were not anxious to carry on the war, but that our
Government thought a permanent peace could not be obtained until Russia
had been further humbled, even after Sevastopol was in our hands. It
was generally believed that when the fortress was taken, the British
troops would go to Simferopol, and that this was not merely a fancy of
my own is shown by the words of a letter written by Captain Sir William
Peel from Whitehall Gardens to me the day I re-embarked for the East,
_i.e._ 2nd January 1856, in which, after wishing me good luck, he says,
“You will have a grand campaign this year.”
My parents consented to my joining the Army,[46] and during the
last week in August I wrote to the Commander-in-Chief asking for a
Commission in any Light Cavalry regiment at the seat of war, forwarding
a copy of the letter Lord Raglan had written to my uncle on the 21st
June. My letter was posted on a Friday, and I was much disappointed
when I did not receive an answer on the following Monday, and for a
week made the house unbearable by my impatience. My father on the
Friday promised if no answer had been received by the following Monday
he would go to town and ask for an interview with Lord Hardinge; but
next day, when we got the _Times_ at ten o’clock, I found I had been
gazetted the previous evening to the 13th Light Dragoons, then in the
Crimea. As it may seem strange that the Commander-in-Chief should
accept the services of a person who had never been seen by any
soldier in England, I mention Lord Raglan’s Despatch[47] on the Assault
had then been received.
[Illustration: CORNET WOOD, 13TH LIGHT DRAGOONS
1855]
After I had been at home three weeks, I suffered pain in my arm. The
inner wound, where a case-shot 5½ oz. in weight had been cut out, had
healed up; but the outer wound, 2½ inches long, where the shot struck
close to the joint, was painful, and I could feel something moving in
it.
I have always been a nervous patient under a surgeon, and personally
removed eight pieces of bone. My difficulty was to see the wound, as
being outside, I could not turn the arm round sufficiently. I had a
firm cushion made, on which I rested the arm, opposite a mirror, and
then by working with care and patience I got out eight pieces, the
first 1¼ inches long, in September. They were all edged with points
like needles, but it was the first only which seriously hurt me. The
last bit I let our Doctor remove, at Scutari, in February 1856, for it
was small, and came away easily on his opening an abscess, which had
formed over the wound.
In the middle of the month I spent a short but most enjoyable visit
with Captain Peel at Sandy. The morning after I arrived a deputation
from Potton asked my host to link their village by tramway with the
Great Northern Station at Sandy, a distance of about three miles.
Having inquired the terms, he sat down and made his calculations,
while they waited, and in less than an hour he dismissed them with a
favourable answer. He constructed the tramway, which was taken over by
the Bedford & Cambridge Railway Company, when that line was made, five
years later.
Captain Peel was as good at playing host as he was at fighting, and
I left the place with an increased admiration of my late Chief’s
character. Three months later he came to see me at Dorchester, being
anxious that I should study my new profession, and not content myself
with sauntering through life in the Army.
When I joined the Depot at Dorchester there were but two Duty officers,
both recently appointed. There was no Mess, and one of the Cornets,
the son of a Riding Master, having no private income, lived entirely
in his room. The other, Reynold Clements, a University graduate, and I
dined at the King’s Arms Hotel, where we were soon joined by Stanley
Clarke, now General Sir S. de A. Clarke, G.C.V.O., Aide-de-Camp to the
King, who was recovering from recent illness. Before the end of the
month more Cornets joined, and a Mess was formed in Barracks. This
added materially to my daily expenses, for although I was a water
drinker, all wine was shared by dining members. The Riding Master was
in command, and being married did not dine at Mess. There was only one
senior Lieutenant, who exercised no control, and champagne was drunk
daily.
My father could only find ready money sufficient to pay for my
chargers, £220; so my mother sent me to Messrs. W. E. Seagrove, the
Portsea Naval Outfitters, who having supplied my kit in 1852, were
willing to allow credit. They gave excellent value for the money, but
had some difficulty in the unaccustomed job of fitting overalls.[48]
The fit of the riding trousers was then important for an officer’s
reputation. That the foot of the trousers should always rest on the
spur when the knee was bent, was essential for the enjoyment of a
peaceful life in Mess, and the avoiding of sarcastic remarks by the
senior officers on parade.
My young comrades, ignorant of the reason, at first made merry at my
choice of an outfitter, as they did at my not drinking alcohol or
playing cards; but they were gentlemen by birth and manners, and though
I saw much practical joking, I did not suffer in any way from it. I
had, however, passed my novitiate in the rough school of a gunroom
Mess. The only time I ever played cards was one evening when I was
reproached for not taking a hand at whist, there being only three
other Subalterns present. Eventually I assented, but putting down a
five-pound note, said, “Now, when I have lost this, or in any case at
eleven o’clock, no one will object to my going to bed.” They said,
“Why, Sailor, that will last you for a week.” Before bedtime I had got
rid of it, and was never asked to play again in the few months I spent
at the Depot. While we were in Ireland in 1857, loo was often played,
and generally for high stakes. One of my messmates who had lost heavily
gave me a bond for £50, to be forfeited if he played again for a year.
In addition to authorised deductions, for instruction of self and
horses, amounting to £11, there were many bad old customs which pressed
heavily on those who joined in ignorance of the initial regulated
impositions, and others, such as a drink first time on Parade with
troops, from £7 to £10, first time on guard 30s. I went into the Riding
School on the 19th, and was sent over the bar on the 25th October, nine
months’ daily practice in the Crimea having settled my seat in the
saddle.
Because I desired to be on Service again, and foresaw financial
embarrassment, I wrote on the 24th October direct to the
Commander-in-Chief, gratefully acknowledging the appointment I had
received, stating I had passed my drills, and begging I might be
sent to join the Service troops in the Crimea. I did not mention my
Equitation efficiency, not I imagine from any desire to deceive, but
because I did not feel any difficulty on the point.
I duly received an answer, signed “G. Wetherall, Adjutant-General,”
which showed such a keen sense of humour as to induce me, forty years
later, when I was Adjutant-General, to try to obtain a copy; and
search was made, but in vain, at Somerset House, where War Office
records are stored, but I can recall it nearly verbatim. Sir George
Wetherall, addressing the Officer commanding the Depot, ordered him
to instruct Cornet Wood that he should write through his Commanding
Officer, and not direct to the Commander-in-Chief. “Lord Hardinge has
always understood it takes more than twenty-four days to make a perfect
Cavalry officer, which time it appears Mr. Wood has been at the Depot.”
The letter ended however, in stating that a note had been made of my
wishes.
Captain and Brevet-Major Tremayne joined early in November from leave
of absence from the Crimea, and soon to our advantage, tightened the
reins of discipline. Meeting a young Dragoon at the Barrack gate, who
was going out for a walk some days later, the man failed to salute, and
when checked, alluding to the Major’s plain clothes, said with some
assurance, “Oh, I don’t know you, sir, in that coat.” The Major said,
without raising his voice, “Well, go back and stay in Barracks till you
know me in all my coats--I have not got many.” This at once stopped
the practice, which was prevalent, of young soldiers ignoring their
officers unless in uniform.
In November I had my first day’s hunting, with Mr. Farquharson’s
hounds. We had not much sport, but I enjoyed the sensations of being on
a big, smooth-jumping, 16.2 horse moving over fences without effort.
The second day, however, I was a trial to the Master. Hounds had run
fifteen minutes fast in a vale near Blandford. My horse followed them
like a dog follows its master, and until a check I saw no one, and
doubtless overrode the hounds. They “threw up” in a meadow, close to a
spinney, and before I could stop, my horse careered through the middle
of the pack, knocking three apparently lifeless.
On he rushed, I tugging in vain with my one hand, for my left arm
was in a sling, as bone was still exfoliating. Alongside the spinney
there ran a chace-way closed at either end by gates. The horse touched
neither, but I shot forward on to his neck as he landed over the first,
and had only just recovered stirrups and seat as he cleared the second
gate. Then out of sight and sound of other horses he stopped, and I
rode sorrowfully back. When I rejoined, the Master was on foot, with
the Hunt servants examining casualties, and he reproved me in strong
language. Major Arthur Tremayne riding up, pointed to my arm, saying,
“The boy has been severely wounded in the Crimea.” Mr. Farquharson
dropped the limp hound he was examining, and coming forward, uncovered
with a deep bow, saying, “As many times, sir, as ever you like.” It is
strange that while my arm escaped injury out hunting, I twice knocked
it so severely as to re-open the wound, once by falling on shingle at
Maldon, another time by falling downstairs in Barracks.
Mr. Southwell, whose sister I married twelve years later, joined
in November. Educated at Stonyhurst and Oscott, he had been well
brought up, but was delicate, and although to me he became a pleasant
companion, possibly the more so from the dissimilarity of our
characters and education, was constitutionally unsuited for the life in
a Cavalry Regiment. To his cultivated, refined, artistic temperament
the daily work and relaxation were alike uncongenial, and when I left
the Regiment he retired, though his father[49] was an enthusiastic
Light Dragoon. I took Southwell’s part when rough practical jokes were
played at his expense, and we became intimate friends.