AFTER INKERMANN (1854-55)
Valiant deeds--Lord Raglan under fire--Tryon the best shot--A
Prince’s button--A cold Christmas--Savage horses--The Mamelon
redoubt--Corporal Quin--Colonel Zea.
The Battle of Inkermann was fought on the 5th of November, 1854, in
a thick fog. It began very early in the morning with a surprise, and
developed into a series of desperate deeds of daring, of hand-to-hand
fights, of despairing rallies, of desperate assaults in glen and
valley, in brushwood glades and remote dells. At six o’clock in the
morning our men of the Second Division were roused by their tents being
ripped to pieces by Russian shells. In darkness, gloom, and rain the
British troops sallied forth to meet the foe--with the bayonet if they
could.
Many valiant deeds were done. Some were noted, many were unmarked.
Lieutenant Crosse was surrounded by Russians, who attacked him with the
bayonet, though he was badly wounded. He shot two with his revolver.
Then a private, running up to help him, shot another, bayonetted the
fourth, and carried the Lieutenant away in his arms.
MacGrath was captured by two Russians, but while they were leading
him away he seized the firelock of one of them, shot the Russian, and
dashed out the brains of the other.
Burke was surrounded just as a ball broke his jawbone. He rushed
amongst his enemies, shot three dead with his revolver, and cut two men
down with his sword. He fell at last with more than thirty wounds in
his body.
When Sir George Cathcart was shot and our men were retiring, Colonel
Seymour, of the Guards, a dear friend who had served with him through
the campaign in Kaffirland, rushed forward to help him, and in so doing
was shot through the leg.
“Come back, Colonel!” the men shouted as they swept past the two
officers.
“No, no; my place is here with Sir George,” replied Seymour.
“You must leave him,” cried General Torrens; “the enemy are close at
hand. You will be killed, man!”
But nothing could persuade the Colonel to leave the side of his dying
chief. There he remained, alone against the rushing tide of battle, and
met a hero’s death in endeavouring to protect his friend from insult
and mutilation.
When, later in the day, some of the French troops were seen to retire
before the impetuous onslaught of the Russian masses, Lord Raglan
despatched an aide-de-camp to General Pennefather, who was near the
French division, to ask how he was getting on.
The General sent word in reply that he could hold his own perfectly
well, and that he thought the enemy looked like retiring.
“If I can be reinforced with fresh troops, I will follow the Russians
up and lick them to the devil.”
Lord Raglan was so delighted with this spirited answer that he
galloped over to the French General Canrobert and translated General
Pennefather’s words literally to him.
“Jusqu’au diable, Général!” That was what he said.
Canrobert, who had just remounted his horse, after having his arm
bound up, exclaimed: “Ah! quel brave garçon! quel brave homme! quel bon
Général!”
The day ended with a great artillery duel, in which Colonel Dickson
won great renown, and mowed down great lanes through the massed forces
opposed to him, until they broke and fled.
Captain Peel, of H.M.S. _Diamond_, greatly distinguished himself for
his marvellous sang-froid in action. A shell fell close to a gun which
he was laying in the trenches. Instead of running to take cover, he
picked up the shell and lifted it over the parapet. The shell exploded
just after it left his hands, and did no damage, whereas had it burst
on the spot where it fell, probably many men would have been killed and
wounded.
A private of the 33rd (Duke of Wellington’s) Regiment was surprised and
made prisoner by two Russian soldiers when an advanced sentry. One of
the Russians took possession of his musket and the other of his pouch,
and they marched him between them towards Sebastopol. It was not the
direction which Tommy wanted to take, so he kept wary watch, and when
he fancied his captors were off their guard, he sprang on the one who
carried his musket, seized it, knocked the fellow down, and then shot
dead the Russian who carried his pouch. Meanwhile the Ruskie from whom
Tommy had taken his own musket rose up from his recumbent position,
fired and missed his aim. Tommy promptly hit him on the head with the
butt end of his musket. After this the Englishman proceeded at leisure
to take off his foes’ accoutrements, and he returned to his post laden
with spoils, being fired at by the Russian sentries and cheered loudly
by the English pickets.
[Illustration: GETTING RID OF HIS CAPTORS
An English private was taken prisoner by two Russians. When he thought
they were off their guard he snatched his own musket and felled one
of them, and then shot the other dead. The first tried to shoot the
Englishman, but missed, and was then promptly hit on the head with the
butt end.]
But Lord Raglan himself gave several instances of great coolness under
fire. He was sitting on horseback during the Battle of Inkermann, in
the midst of a battery of artillery, watching our men working the guns.
A very heavy fire was being directed against this part of the field,
and one of his staff suggested the propriety of his not putting himself
in quite so dangerous and conspicuous a place, especially as, from the
number of bullets that came singing by, it was clear he was being made
a mark for the enemy’s riflemen.
Lord Raglan, however, merely said: “Yes, they seem firing at us a
little; but I think I get a better view here than in most places.”
So there he remained for some time, and then, turning his horse, rode
along the whole length of the ridge at a foot’s pace. Some of the
hangers-on about the staff found they had business elsewhere, and
cantered unobtrusively away.
Towards evening of the same day Lord Raglan was returning from taking
his last leave of General Strangways, who had been mortally wounded,
and was riding up towards the ridge. A sergeant of the 7th Fusiliers
approached, carrying canteens of water to take up for the wounded. As
Lord Raglan passed, he drew himself up to make the usual salute, when a
round shot came bounding over the hill and knocked his forage-cap off
his head.
The man calmly picked up his cap, dusted it on his knee, placed it
carefully on his head, and then made the military salute, all without
moving a muscle of his countenance. Lord Raglan was delighted with the
sergeant’s coolness, and, smiling, said to him: “A near thing that, my
man!”
“Yes, my lord,” replied the sergeant, with another salute; “but a miss
is as good as a mile.”
One of the most painful things during the battle was the number of
wounded horses. Some of the poor creatures went grazing about the
fields, limping on three legs, one, perhaps, having been broken or
carried away by a shot. Others were galloping about wildly, screaming
with terror and fright. At times two or three horses would attach
themselves to the staff, as if desirous of company or for human
protection. One poor beast, who had its nose and mouth shot away,
used to edge in amongst the staff and rub its gory head against their
horses’ flanks. He was at last ordered to be put out of his pain, being
in this more fortunate than many poor soldiers, who lay out for several
nights in their agony.
It was a day or two after that the best shot in the British Army was
killed. Lieutenant Tryon, of the Rifle Brigade, was shot through the
head when in the act of firing at the retreating Russians. He was a
great loss, much beloved by his men. It is stated that he had himself
killed over a hundred Russians. At the Battle of Inkermann he employed
himself the whole day in firing at the Russian artillerymen. He had two
of his men to load for him, and they say that he knocked over thirty
Russians, besides wounding several more.
General Canrobert issued a general order eulogizing the conduct of our
Rifles, and lamenting in just terms the death of Lieutenant Tryon.
This must be the first occasion on record of a French General
particularizing the bravery of a British officer of Tryon’s rank.
There is a story told which proves that Russian Generals were not dead
to a sense of humour.
A Mr. C----, an officer in an English regiment, was taken prisoner in
a sortie of the Russians, and was sent on to Simferopol. A day or two
after his arrival there he received some letters from England which
had been sent in with a flag of truce. One of these letters was from a
young lady who was engaged to Mr. C----. In this letter she wrote:
“I hope, dearest, that if you take Prince Menchikoff prisoner, you will
cut a button off his coat and send it to me in a letter, as you know
how fond I am of relics.”
All these letters had been opened and translated at the Russian
headquarters, as is usual. Prince Menchikoff was shown this letter,
which amused him not a little; so he wrote to Mr. C----, saying how
much he regretted he was unable to pose as a prisoner, when it was the
other way about; but he had much pleasure in sending him the enclosed
button off his best coat, which he trusted Mr. C---- would forward to
the young lady with his compliments.
By December the whole army was suffering, worn out by night work, by
vigil in rain and storm, by hard labour in the trenches, by cholera
and short allowances. For nine days there was no issue of tea, coffee,
or sugar to the troops. Food, corn, hay were stowed in sailing-vessels
outside the harbour. A hurricane arose. To the bottom went provender
and food for twenty days of all the horses. You could hardly tell an
officer from a corporal. They were all hairy and muddy, filthy, worn,
mounted on draggle-tailed ponies. Yet withal we are told they were the
noblest, cheeriest, bravest fellows in Europe--ready to defy privation,
neglect, storm, and wounds. Letters, it is true, sometimes came from
the Crimea in which the writer showed a righteous indignation against
those who mismanaged affairs and caused so much unnecessary loss and
suffering. In one of these we read:
“_January 2._--We have had a rough and dreary Christmas. Where are our
presents? where are the fat bucks, the potted meats, the cakes, the
warm clothing, the worsted devices made by the fair sympathizers at
home? They may be on their way, but they will be too late. Why are our
men still in tents? Where are the huts that were sent out? Some of them
I have seen floating about the beach; others are being converted into
firewood. There are 3,500 sick men in camp; there are 8,000 sick and
wounded in the hospitals on the Bosphorus.
“Snow is on the hills, and the wind blows cold. We have no greatcoats.
Our friends the Zouaves are splendid fellows, always gay, healthy, well
fed. They carry loads for us, drink for us, eat for us, bake for us,
forage for us--and all on the cheapest and most economical terms.
“The trenches are two and three feet deep with mud, snow, and slush.
Many men, when they take off their shoes, are unable to get their
swollen feet into them again. The other day I was riding through the
French camp, 5th Regiment, when an officer came up and invited me to
take a glass of the brandy which had been sent out by the Emperor as a
Christmas gift. He had a bright wood fire burning in his snug warm pit.
Our presents have so far all miscarried.
“_January 19._--After frost and snow milder weather. Our warm clothing
has come! Many thousands of fine coats, lined with fur and skins, have
been served out to the men, together with long boots, gloves, socks,
and mits.
“What a harvest Death has reaped! How many are crippled by the cold!
“_January 24._--I have been viewing Sebastopol from a hill. The suburbs
are in ruins. All the streets I saw had their houses broken down.
Roofs, doors, and windows were all off, but the Russian riflemen shoot
from them. I saw many walking from the sea with baskets of provisions.
The harbour is covered with boats.
“_May 18._--The Sardinians are encamped on the slopes of pleasant
hills. Their tents are upheld by their lances, one at each end of
the tent. Their encampment, with its waving pennons, has a very
pretty effect. The Sardinians’ horses are rather leggy, but not such
formidable neighbours as the horses of the 10th Hussars, which are
the terror of the camp, breaking their picket-ropes and tearing about
madly.
“Yesterday I was riding peaceably along with an officer of artillery
and of 8th Hussars, when suddenly we heard cries of ‘Look out!’ and
lo! there came a furious steed down upon us, his mane and tail erect.
He had stepped out of a mob of Hussar horses to offer us battle, and
rushed at full gallop towards our ponies.
“‘Out swords!’ was the word, as the interesting beast circled round us,
now menacing us with his heels, now with his teeth; but he was repelled
by two bright swords and one strong whip, and at last, to our relief,
he caught sight of Colonel Mayo, who was then cantering by in ignorance
of his danger, till he was warned by the shouts of the soldiers. The
Colonel defended himself and horse with great resolution, and, drawing
his sword, gave point or cut right and left as the case required, till
the men of the 10th came up and beat off the creature. It is rather too
exciting this hot weather to have to run the risk of being demolished
by the heels of an insane Arab.
“_June 7._--It has leaked out that something of import was to take
place to-day. Between 5 and 6 p.m. Lord Raglan and his staff took up a
conspicuous position looking straight into the teeth of the Redan. The
man with the signal rockets was in attendance. About half-past six the
French attacking column was seen to be climbing the arduous road to the
Mamelon fort.
“The rocket was fired, and our small force rushed for the quarries to
divert the Russians. The French went up the steep to the Mamelon in
beautiful style and in loose order. Their figures, like light shadows
flitting across the dun barrier of earthworks, were seen to mount up
unfailingly in the evening light--seen running, climbing, scrambling
like skirmishers up the slopes amid a plunging fire from the guns.
“As an officer who saw Bosquet wave them on said at the moment, ‘They
went in like a clever pack of hounds.’ Then we see the Zouaves
standing upon the parapets and firing down into the fort from above.
Now they are in the heart of the Mamelon, and a fierce hand-to-hand
encounter, with musket and bayonet, is evidently taking place. It was
only seven minutes and a half from the commencement of the enterprise.
There is still another sharp bayonet fight, and this time the Russians
run out on the other side, spiking their guns. But the roar of guns is
heard on the side towards the town: the Russians have been reinforced!
“When rocket after rocket went up ominously from the French General’s
position we began to be nervous. It was growing darker, and the noise
of the fight seemed to be on our side of the fort. At last the swell
and babble of the fight once more rolled down the face of the hill.
‘They are well into it this time,’ said a General, handing over his
glass to his neighbour. All was still. No more musket flashes, no more
lightning of the heavy guns from the embrasures. A shapeless hump upon
a hill, the Mamelon was an extinct volcano, until such time as we
should please to call it again into action.
“‘How are our men getting on?’ says one.
“‘Oh, take my word for it they’re all right,’ says another.
“They were in the quarries, but had to fight all night and repel six
successive attacks of the Russians, who displayed the most singular
pertinacity and recklessness of life. Meanwhile the Zouaves, emboldened
by success, carried their prowess too far, and dreamt of getting into
the round tower by a _coup de main_. The fire of the musketry from
the round tower was like a shelf of flame, and the shells of our
gunners--for we were supporting the French--stood out dark against the
heavens as they rose and swooped to their fall.
“_June 9._--As an illustration of character I note that one of our
sailor artillerymen, being desired to keep under cover and not put his
head out to tempt a rifle bullet, grumbled at the prohibition, saying
to his comrades: ‘I say, Jack, they won’t let a fellow go and look
where his own shot is. We ain’t afraid, we ain’t. That’s what I call
hard lines.’
“Lance-Corporal Quin, of the 47th, has been brought to notice for
bravery. In one of the attacks made by the enemy on the quarries
the Russians had some difficulty in bringing their men again to the
scratch. At length one Russian officer succeeded in bringing on four
men, which Corporal Quin perceiving, he made a dash out of the work,
and with the butt-end of his musket brained one, bayoneted a second,
and when the other two took to their heels he brought in the officer
as a prisoner, having administered to him a gentle prick by way of
quickening his movements.
“After delivering him up he said to his comrades: ‘There’s plenty more
yonder, lads, if so be you’ve a mind to fetch in a prisoner or two.’
“_June 20._--A plan of attack was proposed--that the French were to
assault the Malakoff and we the Redan; but though they got into the
Malakoff, they were driven out again, with loss. As our 37th Regiment
advanced they were met by a well-aimed fire of mitraille, which threw
them into disorder.
“Poor Colonel Zea in vain tried to steady them, exclaiming: ‘This will
never do! Where’s the bugler to call them back?’
“But at that moment no bugler was to be found. In the gloom of early
dawn the gallant old soldier by voice and gesture tried to reform
his men, but as he ran to the head of the column a charge of the
deadly missle passed, and he fell dead. Next day we had to ask for an
armistice to bury our dead, which was not granted until 4 p.m. It was
agonizing to see the wounded men who were lying out under a broiling
sun, to behold them waving their caps or hands faintly towards our
lines, over which they could see the white flag waving, and not to be
able to help them. Many of them had lain there for thirty hours.
“As I was riding round I came upon two of our men with sad faces.
“‘What are you waiting here for?’ said I.
“‘To go out for the Colonel, sir,’ was the reply.
“‘What Colonel?’
“‘Why, Colonel Zea, to be sure, sir,’ said the good fellow, evidently
surprised at my thinking there could be any other Colonel in the world.
“Ah! they liked him well. Under a brusque manner he concealed a most
kind heart, and a soldier more devoted to his men and to his country
never fell in battle. The Fusiliers were the first who had hospital
huts. When other regiments were in need of every comfort Zea’s regiment
had all that exertion and foresight could procure. I ride on, and find
two Voltigeurs with a young English naval officer between them. They
are taking him off to shoot him as a spy. He has not enough French to
explain his position to his captors.
“‘He tells us he is an officer of the _Viper_, that he got into the
Mamelon by mistake.’ The matter is explained to our allies, who let him
go with the best grace in the world. As to the attack which failed,
we are disappointed, yet we do not despair; but we learn now that we
are going to attack the Redan and Malakoff by sap and mine--a tedious
process of many weeks.
“_September 5._--The Russians have evacuated the forts of Sebastopol
and withdrawn to the north side of the harbour. The Crimean War is
over!”
From Sir W. Howard Russell’s “Letters from the Crimea.” By kind
permission of Messrs. George Routledge and Sons, Ltd.