JACK RECEIVES HIS FIRST STEP.
Night had fallen upon the slopes of the Alma. The British army had
encamped on the ground it had won, and hundreds of camp-fires flickered
on the field.
Round one, Jack, Will, Sergeant Linham, Pearson, and Brandon were
sitting. They were all moody and silent. A great battle had been fought,
a great victory had been won; but there was no jubilation in their
hearts.
Darkness fortunately hid from them the terrible sights by which they
were surrounded, but it could not shut out the sounds. Groans and cries
and moanings for water were heard from all sides, and the lanterns
bobbing about in different parts of the field showed where the doctors
and ambulance-men were busy. For hours Jack and Will had wandered over
the field, taking water to the wounded and often helping to place some
shattered hero in a more comfortable position till the doctors--or
death--should come to him.
Later, they had eaten their ration of pork by the camp-fire, and now
they sat gloomily looking into the flickering flames.
Pearson sucked moodily at his pipe. ‘Hearts will be sore in England when
the news of this day’s work is known,’ he said presently.
‘Ay, and hearts will be glad,’ growled Sergeant Linham; ‘the cry of the
orphans will be drowned in the shouts over the victory. And so it ought
to be. We’re soldiers, aren’t we, and it’s our trade to kill or be
killed? Our relations know this, and must expect some of us to go.’
‘That’s true,’ said Pearson.
‘And I want to know,’ said the sergeant, taking his pipe from his
mouth--‘I want to know what difference does it make whether we go now,
on the field of battle, or in a few years’ time in some hospital? Now, I
want to know that.’
No one answered Linham, and, his beak-like nose looking more aggressive
by the flickering light of the fire, he continued, ‘It’s better to die a
soldier’s sudden death than to lie in bed for weeks like a mangy cur. A
soldier’s death is a glorious one, though many a life was thrown away
to-day.’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Pearson.
‘Bad leading,’ said Linham solemnly; ‘we’ve been too long at peace. Our
Generals are the bravest men on earth; but the way the poor Light Bobs
were mishandled, charging up the hillside in a mob, and then left
unsupported! Bah, we didn’t fight like that in India!’
Again there was a silence, so Sergeant Linham, knocking the ashes from
his pipe, wrapped his cloak round him. ‘It would have been different if
our old General that the colonel and I served under in India had been
here. Now, I want to know what you think he’d ha’ done. I
want--to--know’---- A faint snore finished the sentence. The sergeant
had fallen asleep, an example which the others tried to follow; but they
found it a difficult task.
Fresh to the horrors of warfare, they could not get the recollection of
the terrible sights they had seen out of their minds, and when at last
they did drop into fitful slumbers it was only to go through again in
their dreams the terrors of the day. It was a positive relief to Jack
when, long before dawn, reveille aroused him.
Orders were received that some squadrons of cavalry should at once try
and get in touch again with the enemy and find out where he was and what
he was doing. Without bite or sup the Lancers mounted and moved off in
the darkness. The road was easy to follow. Arms, accoutrements, and dead
or wounded men strewed the way. They had not got very far when daylight
overtook them, and advancing with great caution they accelerated their
pace.
Helmets, shakos, greatcoats, arms of every description littered the
ground, and the practised eye of Captain Norreys told him that it had
been a panic-stricken crowd which had passed along there a few hours
before.
As the sun came out the men got cheerier and threw off something of the
depression which seemed to have fallen upon them. They left the road and
crossed the undulating grass-covered plains that led up to the heights.
Several times during the early morning small parties of Cossacks had
been seen; but these, on observing the British troops, turned and
galloped off as if for their lives.
Presently the reconnoitring cavalry came in sight of the defeated
Russian army, which had evidently encamped for the night on a river
which the English afterwards found was named the Katcha. It was clear
that the alarm had been given, for on the north side of the river
cavalry and artillery could be seen trotting rapidly away, while
strings of infantry and baggage all mixed up together streamed along
after them. The troops still on the British side of the river were
straining every effort to get across, for it was plain they imagined the
handful of Lancers they saw was but the advanced guard of the British
army.
On the little bridge a terrible jam had taken place. Men, horses, wagons
were all mixed up in an inextricable mass, and it was clear to Jack that
the army beneath him was only a panic-stricken mob. Men could be seen
using whips, officers the flats of their swords, while a confused murmur
of voices ascended to the hills. Hundreds of Russians, throwing away the
heaviest part of their kit, could be seen dashing into the river and
wading across, joining their countrymen on the other side in their mad
rush for Sebastopol. The Alma had been a terrible lesson!
Captain Norreys with one or two other officers dismounted and surveyed
the scene through their glasses.
Jack was holding their horses.
His captain looked long and earnestly at the scene below him, then said
in regretful tones, ‘What a mistake we’re making, lying inactive on the
Alma with a beaten foe but a few miles from us! With a dozen squadrons
and a horse-battery I’d engage that not one of those Russians ever
entered Sebastopol.’
The reconnoitring party ate the rations they had with them, and, having
seen the last of the Russians cross the bridge, returned to their camp.
They found every one available busy tending the wounded and burying the
dead--English, French, and Russian--and a melancholy task it was. In the
battle fell 5709 Russians, 2002 British, and 560 French. As Jack rode
over the battlefield he closed his eyes to shut out the terrible sights.
The sailors from the vessels were invaluable, and handled the wounded
with all the gentleness of women. Many of the poor fellows had to be
carried fully four miles to the shore; but despite that more than a
thousand were got aboard.
In regimental orders that day there were several surprises for Jack. He
found he was promoted corporal ‘for distinguished service rendered at
the skirmish on the Bulganak,’ and Sergeant Linham was to be ‘acting
trumpet-major,’ while Trumpet-major Joyce was named as orderly to Lord
Raglan.
This was very pleasant news to Jack, and that day he took an opportunity
of sending home a few lines; telling his mother of the battle and
assuring her of his safety, informing her of his promotion but making no
mention of the gallant deed by which he had earned it. ‘It’s the first
step on the ladder,’ said Jack to himself that night as he surveyed his
corporal’s stripes. ‘If ever I live to get home I hope to add a third
stripe to these two.’