"CHRISTMAS IN THE CRIMEA.
"HOW IT WAS CELEBRATED NEAR BALACLAVA IN 1854.
"BY LIEUT.-GENERAL LAURIE, C.B., M.P.
"In some of his Christmas annuals Charles Dickens delighted to portray
the misanthropic grumbler who hated to see others enjoy themselves,
and always laid himself out to be especially miserable at Christmas
time, exaggerating the effects of the season by assuming a frozen
aspect, and like an iceberg, chilling all around him; yet as the same
iceberg when swept into the Gulf Stream finds the surrounding air and
water by which it is enveloped will not admit its retaining its frigid
isolation, it gradually melts and mixes with the warmer current, so
Dickens brought his surly and crabbed man in contact with those who
had set themselves to see everything under its brightest aspect, and
under these softening influences he gradually thaws out and becomes
the merriest amongst the merry, carried away by the joyous influences
that are associated with the keeping of Christmas. And in all
English-speaking countries, and especially in our old home, England,
it is looked upon as a season to be given up entirely to pleasure in
the present and bright hopes for the future. Memory takes me back to a
Christmas which hardly came up to the ideal, and the contrast of then
and now, of trials and miseries endured then, as compared with present
comforts, may make us more satisfied with, and thankful for what we
now enjoy. Twenty-nine years ago England had contributed as her share
of the Crimean invading force over 35,000 men, of whom a scanty 8,000
were on Christmas Day, 1854, available for duty; many of the remainder
had helped to fill the huge trenches hastily dug for graves on the
fields of Alma and Inkerman, or slept below the innumerable little
mounds which surrounded our camp hospitals, and inside the canvas
walls of these the number of sick exceeded the total of those who
still stood in the ranks, although none were received into hospital as
long as they were able to carry themselves and their rifles. During
the greater part of December we had been reduced to half rations, and
sometimes to no meat at all; half a pound of biscuit; one blanket, and
threadbare suit of uniform contributed but small support and
protection to meet a climate not unlike that of Nova Scotia. And we
were entirely without fuel, other than the roots of small alder
bushes, which were grubbed up with pickaxes carried off from the
trenches, and sometimes the pickaxe handles were used to warm a
canteen of water for tea. But soon these became so scarce that we were
without a single fire in the camp of my regiment for three days. In
spite of all, however, Christmas was at hand, and we all set ourselves
to be jolly. Even the celebrated Mark Tapley would have considered the
circumstances were fairly creditable. The authorities also considered
it incumbent on them to make an extra effort, and it was announced
with great pride that the commissariat had secured some live cattle in
honour of the season, and we were to receive an issue of fresh meat.
But this was the extent of their ambition, and their pride met with a
fall, for, after waiting till after three o'clock, our pioneers, who
drew the rations, returned with the melancholy intelligence that there
was nothing for us that day. 'The Zouaves,' so said the commissariat
officers, 'had stolen the bullocks.' It is often mentioned as one of
the advantages of live cattle as food for an army that they require no
transport, but carry themselves. But we learnt that there is another
side to this quality--they sometimes carry themselves away, as they
did on this occasion. Whether our gallant allies really ate our dinner
as well as their own that Christmas Day I know not, but African
warfare had taught them to take care of No. 1, and they formed a
convenient and not unlikely peg on which to hang the deficiency; and
deficiency there was, for our supply department, relying upon their
fresh meat, had not brought up any salt meat from Balaclava, and we
were left with only our ration biscuit for our Christmas dinner. Just
as we received this pleasant intelligence the orderly sergeant handed
me the order book warning me I was for guard duty in the trenches that
night. Our regiment, which had gone out from Edinburgh in the spring
over 1,000 strong, and had received a reinforcement of nearly 100 men,
was at this time reduced to 68 men available for duty. So but one
captain and one lieutenant (myself) were detailed to take charge of
this poor remnant of what had been, three months before, a magnificent
battalion. Captain Patrick Robertson, well known to Haligonians as
Colonel Robertson-Ross, Adjutant-General of Canadian Militia, was to
be my companion. A new colonel had just been sent to us from a West
Indian regiment, who took as much interest in his new command as if he
had served all his life with us, and employed his chargers and his
grooms to transport any possible comforts for his men. Six months
afterwards he was struck down when directing the fire of his men on
the Russian gunners to keep down their fire and cover our attack on
the Redan. By chance he heard us warned for guard, and at once went to
his tent and returned with a ham knuckle. 'It is all I have,' he said,
'but those going on duty must have the first chance of some food on
Christmas Day. Sit down on your rug and make the best of it.' He was
in earnest, so we ate up his dinner and polished the ham bone; but I
had determined to keep Christmas as an Englishman should with a real
plum pudding. I had collected the ingredients in the course of a
couple of trips among the Maltese and Greek settlers at Balaclava and
from the stewards of some of the transports; a few raisins, a little
sugar, some butter (so called by courtesy); and of course my ration
rum came into play. I could not get any flour, so purchased some
biscuit at Balaclava. It was mouldy and full of weevils, and had been
condemned as ship's stores and sold to some camp followers, but to us
at half a crown a pound it was a treasure. I pounded a quantity of
this as fine as possible, and mixed the material in my tin shako
case, which did duty as bucket, etc., and tied them up in one of my
two towels, and, having secured a tent bag full of freshly dug alder
roots, the pudding was put on to boil. As we were going on guard,
dinner was early, perhaps too early for the pudding. We had no holly,
and could not spare spirits enough to make a blaze, but my servant
brought in the pudding quite as triumphantly as if we had been in
baronial mansion in old England. It was reserved for me to open the
towel, which I did with no little pride at having the only plum
pudding in camp. I had buttered the towel so that it should not stick
to it; it did not, but it did not stick together either. It would not
stand up, but fell apart like very stiff porridge. I believe it wasn't
bad to eat, but it wasn't exactly what we understand to be plum
pudding. My vanity was cruelly mortified after all my efforts to
excel. I have never attempted to make another plum pudding. The
Russians were considerate that night. They gave us very little
annoyance, and Robertson and I walked up and down in rear of the
trenches where our weary and worn-out men were lying quiet, getting a
welcome rest in a half-wet, half-frozen ditch. We talked of home and
how we had spent other Christmases, but I do not think we either
expressed or held any other thought for the future than when we should
bring our discomforts to an end and wind up the siege by a determined
attack on Sebastopol. Little we expected that after long separation
our paths would again come together in America, serving the Canadian
Government in the organization of its militia. And amongst the sad
memories which intertwine with the pleasures of this present Christmas
is that of my poor comrade, a brilliant out-post officer and a gallant
man, who, after facing every form of danger as a soldier should, died
a few months since from violent seasickness, brought on in crossing
the English Channel. Memory conjures up the past at this season.
Friends who have left us are present in spirit. We associate the past
with the present more at Christmas than at any other time of year. It
colours our thoughts and influences our acts unknown to us, and brings
out kindly feelings and hope, as much in 1883 as my reminiscences show
it did in 1854."
[Illustration: GENERAL LAURIE AND HIS THREE SONS IN 1901.]
IN TRENCHES.
_Christmas Day, 1914._
Here we are, on Christmas Day! We have had a curious time of it. Last
night, about eleven o'clock, the enemy (100 yards only from us) put
lanterns up on the parapet and called out: "Do not shoot after twelve
o'clock, and we will not do so either." One of our men ventured
across; he was not fired upon, and was given a cigar and told to go
back. A German officer came out next, and asked for two days' truce
from firing, but we said, "Only one day." Then we saw both sides,
English and German, begin to swarm out to meet each other; we thought
it wiser to keep our men in, because we did not trust the Germans, so
I rang up the General to tell him this. We had to station sentries on
the trenches to keep the men back; they were so eager to talk to the
Germans. Then I offered to go across myself and learn what I could,
and finally the German General asked me to send one of our officers
over to them. This I did, and gave the latter as an ostensible reason
the _Daily Telegraph_ of December 22nd, which I had got hold of, and
which contained a very fair account of the troubles in Austria-Hungary
and Berlin. He went out with this paper, met some German officers, and
discovered a certain amount. They were very anxious to know if the
Canadian Division had arrived, whether our trenches were very muddy,
and told him that our rifle fire was good. We said that our rifle fire
in general was our weak point, etc., etc. So now this is the queer
position of affairs: we fire a pistol shot off at 12 midnight to-night
by arrangement, and they reply with some shots over our heads, after
which things continue to hum as before. You have no idea how pleasant
everything seems with no rifle bullets or shells flying about. I need
hardly tell you that we have kept our men ready in the trenches all
the same, as we do not trust our friends further than we can see them.
As to other matters. (1) The pheasants and the partridges arrived in
time, and we lunched off them sumptuously to-day; many thanks. (2) The
chocolate arrived, and was distributed this afternoon to the men. (3)
I enclose three Christmas cards. They are very hard to get, and you
had better keep them as mementoes of this war. I am sending one to my
Mother. (4) Only 500 lbs. of plum pudding arrived for our men this
afternoon. If more does not turn up to-morrow, I will write to the
A.D.C. of General Rawlinson to find out what has happened to the
remainder. Whilst we are peaceable, the guns are booming out now and
then some miles away on our left and right where the French are
fighting. I suppose we all thought from the Germans' behaviour that
they had something up their sleeves and are looking out for squalls.
They said that their army was in Moscow, and that the Russians were
beaten, and, moreover, that the war would be over in two, or at most
three weeks, so we are expecting a push....
STILL IN TRENCHES.
_December 26th, 1914._
Your letters came last night. Many thanks for sending mincepies, which
have not yet appeared, but which will have justice done to them when
they do turn up. As to your large bales of clothing, I believe they
have arrived. I must say "believe" because my duties are so many that
I have had to tell off one of my officers to look after these affairs;
he then reports their arrival to me, bringing in the card enclosed in
the bundle, etc. Sometimes they do not all come in one body, but
perhaps one bundle to-day and another two days later. I think,
however, that practically the whole five have now arrived. There are
so many things that we are actually storing, some in a hired building
behind the lines, for the men can neither wear nor carry them. I hear
that poor Mr. Aitchison has lost his son; he was in the fourth King's
Own, my father's as well as my brother H.'s old corps. The Kaiser has
come to this part of the world, it is said, so I expect we shall hear
of some strong fighting soon. Our "friends" fired one shot at 12
midnight as arranged, but have been quiet ever since. Perhaps they are
tired of the war, and want to get home. I expect you are very busy
about Christmas things. Do not overtire yourself. How very kind of my
Mother to send L25 to our Funds! I must write and thank her. In the
meantime, we do not really require anything; will let you know when we
do. I am told that all regiments are much the same. Matches are an
exception, and are always welcome, but they must be _safety_ ones to
go through the post. Frost this morning, though nothing very cold as
yet; still the sheepskin will probably be most useful if I can wear
and carry it, but it has its difficulties. Thank the children for
their cards, please....
IN BILLETS.
_December 27th, 1914._
Our strange sort of armistice continued throughout yesterday. The
Germans told us they were all Landwehr men, and therefore not obliged
to fight outside Germany except as volunteers, and that they did not
intend to fight at present. Sure enough, though we shelled them and
fired at them with rifles, they paid not the slightest attention.
Whilst the shelling was on, they dodged down in their trenches, and
popped up again when it was over. We hit one with a rifle, but as they
would not reply, we felt rather mean and fired over their heads. The
relieving regiment [Lincolnshire], of which Mr. Brown of South
Collingham is a member, said they would not go on like this. Curiously
enough, they have done so. Leaving our trenches, we marched away
gaily, getting in here about eight o'clock, or a little later. Had
something to eat; then I crawled between my blankets, having, as
usual, been up just before 5 o'clock the previous night. At 10.30 p.m.
we were waked by a message: "The Germans are attacking at midnight. A
deserter has just come in to say so." Out we turned immediately, and
marched in very cold weather to a certain point. There we halted; our
guns had already opened a dreadful fire on the ground where the enemy
must have been assembling his assaulting columns. Apparently this took
the heart out of him, for the attack did not come off. I very much
thought that this night would probably be my last. However, about 2.30
a.m. we decided to put the men into any ruins near us, and after
stopping for some time in a blacksmith's shop seated on a sheaf of
straw, I managed to get into a room with a concrete floor, and went to
sleep there, having borrowed a sort of thin wrap from a Frenchman and
put a sack over my feet to keep them from freezing. About 6.15 a.m.
the Frenchman gave us some warm milk, and I was able to give him in
return some of your excellent chocolate, whilst we also partook of it
too. By 8 o'clock we were back in our billets. I had luncheon with my
own General (Brigadier-General Lowry Cole). I hear that the enemy are
walking about again on their parapets--refusing to fight. Church this
morning in the unruined chapel of a small convent which has escaped
the attention of the Huns! Apparently the people do not mind our using
it. The central light of the east window represents a figure of the
Blessed Virgin Mary, but a lot of my Presbyterians come all the
same....
_Later on 27.12.14._
I am still in my hole in the earth. Very horrid. Have not washed nor
shaved for two days, and am covered with mud from head to foot in
thick layers. If I raise my head to stand up straight, a bullet skips
about my ears. I went round my trenches last night from 7 p.m. till
12.5 a.m. Such a walk! For some four hours I was travelling as hard as
I could in the mud, slipping down in filthy ditches, entering in
narrow cuttings in the earth made to protect one from sniping, and
called concentration trenches. Still, we got round and held the line
afterwards, despite the miseries of the situation. Sometimes I had to
crawl on hands and knees through tiny places. I fancy that a pig is a
happier creature than I am at present! When I arrived home at my
particular burrow, I found a bundle of correspondence waiting for me
to be answered to the Brigadier, so that had to be done in my ruin.
Was up at 4.30 a.m. to try to see about the men's food and teas for
the coming day, and filling of water-bottles, all of which has to be
accomplished in the dark. I have had a very trying time working night
and day lately. No sleep the day before, and none excepting three
hours last night. This makes 72 hours up to 5 o'clock to-day, with
only three hours' rest. As I sit here I can hear the shells booming
near us, and very heavy fighting on the left, whilst a solitary sniper
keeps pouring bullets over my head, hitting all round the houses some
four hundred yards behind me. I ask no questions, but think that we
cannot possibly be relieved under four more days, and that we shall be
very, very dirty at the end!
IN BILLETS.
_December 28th, 1914._
Two private plum puddings arrived last night; many thanks. I turned in
at 8.30 p.m., and slept peacefully and heavily till 7.30 a.m., and
would have slept longer, only an orderly from the Brigade Office woke
me with his gentle tread on carpetless boards! I had one other
interval during the night listening to our guns all blazing away
together for quite a long time. Presumably they are trying to catch
the Germans forming up somewhere for an attack. You ought to be near a
six-inch shell when it bursts to hear the sort of "scruntling" wrench
that it gives as it breaks up the tough outer steel. To-day I have
been arranging to have my men and their clothes washed, for such
things have to go on in war as well as in peace time, only I am
obliged to have the clothes fumigated as well now. My own hair has not
been cut since I left Winchester, but I will try to see to that this
afternoon! The weather has broken from frost into a heavy drizzle,
which ought to make the trenches a sight, with the mud that is in them
already, when we go back. I have written to my Mother thanking her for
her generous gift to the Regiment. I fear she is alarmed at my being
out here.... I am going for a walk this afternoon to try to get some
life into my toes; they have been quite dead since we went into the
trenches for the first time. Probably they are really all right,
though I cannot feel anything as yet in them. Gen. Davis tells me
that we are shooting away at the enemy to-day, but still they will not
fight. Our last hostess was the daughter of a gamekeeper; that was
where we had some milk yesterday morning. She said that her father
escaped the Germans by jumping on a horse and riding 20 miles. I think
I could have walked that distance easily for the same reason. Col.
Napier told me that his boy Charlie was captured by the Germans at
school at Hanover, "which," he added, "doesn't make me love my enemies
any more."...
IN BILLETS.
_December 29th, 1914._
We are off to-night for the trenches again. I hear that the Germans
spent their time shelling our particular ones. It is to be hoped that
they have used up their ammunition for the present, as I believe they
are rather short. Such a night as it was; blowing a raging gale; but
one gets very selfish, and we only remarked: "What an awful night in
the trenches! Please God the Germans do not attack! Thank God we are
not in them to-night!" and that was all. I wonder how long this war
will go on. It never seems to come to an end, does it? I walked
yesterday afternoon to a small town beyond shell fire and had my hair
cut at last. I also had tea with a Capt. Sherlock, whose wife, I
think, was a friend of yours, one of Sir Francis Cruise's daughters,
"Gussie." I heard from Major Alston, of the 2nd Bat., how Capt. Whelan
was killed. He showed great courage, and stood up on a parapet to
demonstrate to his men where he wanted some digging done, only 250
yds. from the Germans. Of course he was seen at once, and was hit in
the lungs. Major A---- also said that he was commanding that
Battalion, and it was full of strange officers, but I expect they are
doing all right. I fancy our German friends are finding the war longer
than they thought. A curious coincidence is that we are opposed to the
25th German Infantry Brigade, that, of course, being our own number.
So far we have not received Princess Mary's boxes. We shall get them
in time, and I shall let you know later on about the plum puddings
when I hear from the A.D.C. I did not get a letter from you last
night, no doubt owing to Christmas Day and delayed posts....
IN TRENCHES.
_December 30th, 1914._
Just returned to my ruin from my trenches. They are up nearly to the
waist in water, with little islands here and there for the men. I am
absolutely trembling with cold, though I have changed my garments.
Whilst I was there poor Capt. Miles, attached to me, was shot through
the head. Being close by, I waded to him, but it was hopeless from the
first. Such a place to die in!--but Heaven will be Heaven after that.
His poor wife, too. I must write to her. He was a very nice man. I had
plenty of morphia given to him, and he is now dying without any pain
quite peacefully. Coming away from him, the German snipers spotted me,
and twice I was covered with mud from their bullets; a near shave! It
is a good thing to be able to look forward to Heaven as a home. I only
wish I could realize it even more than I do. I will write you again as
soon as we get into billets when I can find my valise. I think at
Carlton you are fairly safe from air raids....
_P.S._--Mincepies tried to-day are excellent. I have heard from Capt.
Boscawen about the plum pudding. It seems that a portion had to go to
other regiments of the Brigade, but I should like you to send over
some more for my Regiment only as soon as you can conveniently order
it. Princess Mary's present has arrived, and I have sent it across to
you for safe custody. The keeper might like the pipe and tobacco. I am
sure you will appreciate the brass box as a memento, for we have both
won it very hardly.... I have just been to see poor Capt. Miles
carried out on a stretcher dead. I wonder how much of this war and the
deaths caused by it will rest on the Kaiser's shoulders. I must now
write a further letter to go to his wife. He was a talented man, and
used to write for papers. When the war broke out he was running a
cinematograph film-collecting expedition in German East Africa, and
just managed to get away. Poor fellow!