THE WINNING OF THE HEIGHTS.
This quest was not of the easiest, for Lord Raglan had been riding along
every yard of his four miles of frontage. When last seen by the cavalry
he had been almost in the centre of the line, and thither the Lancers
made their way, passing the Guards and Highlanders lying down among the
vineyards and gardens.
Presently they rode into a very fury of shot and shell, and their danger
was as great from the British as from the Russians. They got by in
safety, however, when they had to make a detour to pass the
still-blazing village of Bourliouk.
The Second Division, in the midst of a terrific fire, was then gallantly
attempting to ascend the heights. Cornet Leland learnt that Lord Raglan
had crossed the river, and with a word to his men turned and dashed into
the stream. Sergeant Barrymore put his horse at the water, but the
animal shied and almost threw his rider. Pearson dashed by and followed
his officer; then Barrymore and Jack splashed into the water. A regular
hail of bullets flew round them, and when they were about half-way
across Sergeant Barrymore’s horse was struck and immediately rolled
over, carrying his rider with him. The sergeant’s foot was entangled in
his stirrup and he was in danger of drowning; but Jack managed to seize
his pouch-belt, and, turning his horse round, dragged him to the bank
again.
At that moment a staff-officer came dashing across the river, and was
passing Jack and Sergeant Barrymore when he suddenly uttered a loud cry
and dropped from the saddle. Jack ran up to him as he lay on the ground
and found him pale and bleeding. He was either a colonel or brigadier,
and seemed a man of some importance.
‘I’m struck,’ he gasped, tearing at his tunic, from which a paper was
sticking.
‘Can I help you?’ said Jack.
‘Yes, yes,’ said the poor officer--‘quick! I’m af-afraid--shall faint.
Take paper--Sir Colin--Colin--Campbell, Guards and High--High’----
‘To cross at once?’ suggested Jack, guessing what the wounded
staff-officer was trying to say.
The poor fellow had just strength enough to nod his head, and then Jack
seized the paper, and leaping into his saddle galloped back through the
storm of missiles to where the Guards and Highlanders were forming for
the advance.
Jack knew the stern, rugged features of Sir Colin Campbell, and riding
up to him gave both the message and the letter.
‘Ay, ay, I know as well as any one can tell me the necessity to
advance,’ said the gallant Scotsman. ‘If the Light Division had kept
their formation and not run away with themselves we should have been
close behind them now. But how is it you bring me this message? Are the
staff all down?’
Jack explained the circumstances, and Sir Colin said, ‘Remain where you
are till you have seen us cross the river, then return and report to
Lord Raglan.’
Sir Colin had carefully selected the spot where his regiments were to
cross, and he led them himself.
First came the 42nd, the gallant Black Watch, whose last war-service had
been at Waterloo, when, clinging to the stirrups of their countrymen,
the Scots Greys, they had charged upon the French, shouting, ‘Scotland
for ever!’ Then the 93rd Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders, who had
covered themselves with glory in the Peninsula; and, lastly, the 79th,
the stern fighting Cameronians, whose band had played the Lancers into
Portsmouth.
The Guards, those giants from the Metropolis, led by the Duke of
Cambridge, marching with a contemptuous indifference to the bullets
flying round them, were already in the river when the Highlanders, with
their flowing tartans and nodding Highland bonnets, their faces aglow
with the fierce joy of the warrior about to grapple with his foe, dashed
into the river.
Moving more quickly and in perfect order, the Highlanders, with much
less loss than the other regiments, gained the vineyard on the opposite
bank, where, as they marched, they snatched handfuls of grapes to quench
their burning thirst.
Having seen the division cross, Jack galloped off to find Lord Raglan
and report. He put Dainty at the river at the spot where the
staff-officer had crossed, and, penetrating into the Russian lines, he
rode on, getting higher and higher, till presently, in front of him, he
saw on a knoll commanding a view of the Russian army Lord Raglan and the
headquarter staff. Just behind them were Cornet Leland and Pearson.
Jack galloped up and delivered his message. The one-armed veteran
looked at the trumpeter. ‘I see them now advancing,’ he said, ‘and
gallantly are they doing it.’ He again put his glasses to his eyes and
looked over the field on which the battle raged.
Jack rejoined Cornet Leland and looked round him. He could see the
massive column of Russians opposing the English advance, and behind them
dense bodies of gray-coated reserves.
A French aide-de-camp came galloping up to Lord Raglan. ‘My lord, my
lord!’ he cried in great agitation; ‘we are terribly outnumbered, we are
surrounded, we are lost!’
Lord Raglan smiled in his courteous way. ‘I will spare you a battalion,’
he said; and gave the necessary order. He then gazed long at the Russian
flank, suddenly exclaiming, ‘Now, if we had a couple of guns here!’
Cornet Leland heard the words, and, immediately saluting, he cried,
‘Will you allow me to carry the message for you, my lord?’
‘Certainly, and then rejoin your regiment with your men; the fewer
mounted men here the less likely we shall be to attract attention.’
‘Follow me!’ cried Cornet Leland to Jack and Pearson, and immediately he
galloped off.
On through the hail of bullets again, across the river, and away to
where Turner’s battery of Horse Artillery were doing grand work. Cornet
Leland explained what was wanted, and at once the battery started. At a
gallop, which threatened to overturn the nine-pounders, they made for
the ford across the river. On their way one of the wheelers was killed
and the leading gun came to a halt. Instantly the traces were cut, and,
leaving the dead horse, on they went again. It was a tremendous
struggle to get the guns up the steep bank, Jack and the others
dismounting and pulling round the spokes till the perspiration poured
off the men. Then on again over the steep, rugged ground till they
reached the knoll. Only two guns had arrived, and the gunners had been
left behind. The officers dismounted, unlimbered, and laid the guns
themselves.
They were pointed at the flank of the causeway batteries. The first shot
failed, so did the second, but the third exploded right over the Russian
battery and struck a tumbrel, which exploded with a tremendous roar. A
few more shots followed, and then the Russians were seen limbering up
and retiring.
‘Hurrah!’ cried several officers, ‘they are off!’
Cornet Leland and his men then departed to find their regiment. As they
got near the great redoubt they saw the remnants of the gallant 7th
Fusiliers still maintaining a great struggle with overwhelming masses of
gray-coated infantrymen in glittering spiked helmets.
The great mass came slowly, very slowly, forward with levelled bayonets
as though to charge; but the Fusiliers, in groups and clusters, with no
sort of formation, kept firing into them, losing heavily themselves, but
doing much more execution. The sight was so fascinating that the Lancers
stayed to watch it--stayed till the heroic resolution of the Fusiliers
infused such terror into the hearts of the stricken Russians that with a
kind of wailing cry they broke and retired, but only to form again.
Farther on the Scots Fusilier Guards had advanced and been repulsed; the
Grenadiers and Coldstreams, with a proud mien, were advancing, though
they were being mowed down in long swathes. They literally staggered
before the storm of shot, and an officer approaching Sir Colin Campbell
said, ‘The brigade of Guards will be destroyed; ought it not to fall
back?’
To which the stern old General replied, ‘It’s better, sir, that every
man of her Majesty’s Guards should lie dead upon the field than that
they should now turn their backs upon the enemy!’
There was no need for fear, however. The blood of the English was up;
all they kept clamouring for was to be led forward.
The Grenadiers and Coldstreams engaged six battalions of the celebrated
Vladimir and Kazan regiments, and after firing for some time advanced
and with the bayonet-point put them to flight. The time for the
Highlanders had arrived. Sir Colin said a few words. ‘Be steady!’ he
cried; ‘fire low! Now, men, the army will watch us; make me proud of my
Highland Brigade.’
Sir Colin rode in front of the 42nd. Before him was the redoubt from
which the Light Division, spite of heroic resistance, had been driven.
Heavy columns, till now hardly engaged, faced him. With three battalions
Sir Colin was about to engage twelve.
Swiftly, almost silently, the Highlanders seemed to glide up the hill.
Sir Colin’s charger was killed; he mounted another horse, and continued
to lead his men. The advance was quickened, the men firing as they went;
the columns swept on, the formation being echelon of regiments, the 42nd
leading, the 93rd next, the 79th last.
Tremendous and ear-splitting volleys burst from the Highlanders and the
Guards, very different from the sputtering fire maintained by the Light
Division earlier in the day. The Russians seemed enveloped in fire, and
ever the men in the bearskins and those in the tossing Highland bonnets
advanced.
Presently they met, and Guards and Highlanders got to work with the
bayonet. The Russians stood a minute; then, with another sorrowful wail
like the cry of a strong man defeated, they broke and retired. A
tremendous cheer burst from the hitherto silent Guards and Highlanders,
the advantage was pressed hard, the retreat was turned into a rout, and
the Russians ran, while a fury of lead poured into them and smote them
down.
Meanwhile the two guns on the knoll with Lord Raglan had been augmented
by a battery, and these opened a tremendous fire on the retreating
Russians. Other batteries crossed the river, and frightful execution was
done.
The heights of the Alma were won, the greatest battle since Waterloo had
been fought, and the Allies were triumphant.
‘Hurrah, the day is ours!’ cried Cornet Leland; ‘let us rejoin our
regiment.’ And putting spurs to their horses in ten minutes they were
with the Light Cavalry Brigade.
One of the first to welcome Jack was Sergeant Barrymore, who, wet
through as he was, had managed to rejoin his regiment. He was mounted on
the horse of a trooper who had been wounded. A few words of
congratulation passed, then the advance was sounded.
By squadrons the different regiments advanced, and increasing the pace
to a trot they reached the crest of the hill in front of them. They were
escorting a battery of artillery, which on mounting the crest opened
fire on the retreating Russians. Numbers of stragglers, many of them
officers of rank, were seen in the dip before them, and the ground being
practicable for cavalry, Lord Lucan formed his squadrons into column and
ordered them to pursue and capture as many as they could. The delighted
troopers shot forward, and soon a good many prisoners were made.
Jack’s troop and a troop of the 11th Hussars came upon a large body of
the defeated Vladimir regiment, covering the retreat of a number of
officers, and, extraordinary sight, several carriages. With a shout the
troopers charged forward, when the Russians delivered a volley which
emptied one or two saddles; then the troopers were in amongst them; but
there was no more fight left in the Russians, who immediately threw down
their arms and surrendered.
Some score of Lancers and Hussars went off after the carriages, and
several officers of rank were captured. Jack was passing on when he
heard a piercing shriek, and, turning, beheld an extraordinary sight. A
carriage drawn by four horses had been galloping off when some Hussars
spurred after it, threatened the driver with their swords unless he
stopped, and then dismounting had opened the carriage door.
A young, handsome girl, beautifully dressed, jumped from the carriage,
when a Hussar, poking in his head, called to his comrade, and together
they dragged out an officer in a gorgeous white uniform, over which he
wore a silver cuirass. The officer, on being taken, had drawn a pistol
and fired at the Hussar, who promptly raised his sword to run the
Russian through. It was this which had caused the young lady to shriek.
Seeing what was happening, Jack made Dainty leap to the spot, and
holding up his hand he cried out to the Hussar, ‘Don’t strike, man;
don’t you see the Russian is wounded?’
‘He ain’t so badly wounded that he didn’t try to blow my head off!’
cried the Hussar, still angry.
The girl had seen Jack’s upraised hand, and without understanding what
he said, guessed he was pleading for the Russian’s life.
‘Oh monsieur, monsieur!’ she cried in French, which language Jack spoke
fluently--‘oh monsieur, save my brother!’ and she ran forward and clung
to Jack’s stirrup.
‘I will try,’ said Jack, without looking at her; ‘but he must yield
himself prisoner.’
Jack rode up to the officer, whom he now saw was very young, and cried,
‘Monsieur, deliver up your sword; you are my prisoner.’
‘I am wounded, as you see,’ said the officer with a slight curl of the
lip, ‘or I would die rather than surrender.’
‘It is the fortune of war,’ said Jack, receiving the sword, which he
handed to the Hussar, saying, ‘He is your prisoner, comrade.’
‘Keep him,’ said the Hussar; ‘I don’t want him.--Come on, Dick!’ he
cried to his comrade. ‘Mount again; there’s plenty to be done yet!’ and
away they went.
Jack had dismounted, and the girl threw herself at his feet, thanking
him profusely.
‘Oh my brother would have been killed!’ she cried; ‘a thousand thanks,
Monsieur le Soldat.’
Jack looked embarrassed. ‘Your brother is my prisoner,’ he said, ‘and I
must take him to my officer; but you, mademoiselle, what are you doing
here? You had better get into your carriage and depart. We do not make
war on women.’
‘Oh monsieur, I came out with others from Sebastopol to see the battle.
We were told the English and French would be driven into the sea. My
brother was on the staff of Prince Mentschikoff, and he was shot through
the leg. He is Count Pauloff, lieutenant in the Emperor’s Chevalier
Guards. If he is prisoner I remain with him.’
‘That is so,’ said the officer, who was lying on the ground, raising
himself on his elbow. ‘Irma will remain with me to nurse me.’
At that moment the trumpets were heard sounding the recall over and over
again, and Jack, surprised, was about to obey.
‘I will help you back into your carriage,’ he said to Count Pauloff;
‘tell the driver to follow our troop.’ With the aid of the coachman the
count was laid inside, when Sergeant Barrymore came riding up to Jack.
‘Mount and follow me, Blair,’ he said; ‘orders have been received that
we retire at once. No prisoners are to be taken; all are to be
released.’
‘But this chap is a count, and an A.D.C. to Prince Mentschikoff.’
‘Can’t help it if he’s the Emperor himself. Let him go and follow me.’
In a few words Jack explained to the astonished count that he was free,
though the young officer could hardly believe it. He and his sister
began to thank Jack most profusely, and would not allow him a minute in
which to explain they had nothing to thank him for.
He was about to mount when the count tore a small gold cross from round
his neck. ‘Keep this in remembrance of one who will be ever grateful to
you,’ he said. ‘If ever it is in my power to repay you rely upon me,’
and he handed the cross to Jack.
As Jack took it the count seized his hand. ‘You are not an officer, I
see,’ he said; ‘but you have the manners of a gentleman. Adieu, brave
soldier! you should wear golden epaulets!’
Jack shut the door of the carriage, into which the lady had jumped, and
the Russian driver, at a word from her, whipped up his horses and
followed his countrymen, while Jack and Sergeant Barrymore trotted off
to join their comrades.
The Russians fired one solitary gun, their cavalry made some show of
covering their retreat, and the battle was ended.
Another honour had been added to Britain’s roll of glory!