THE ARMY AFTER THE LONG PEACE--THE CRIMEA, 1854
Reference has already been made to the reduction of the army after
Waterloo. When warlike enthusiasm died out, and the cost of the
war--some £800,000,000--had been grasped, the natural reaction came.
Retrenchment “all along the line” was natural; but though the numbers
were reduced to a weak peace footing, few regiments actually ceased to
exist. The old 100th, 99th, 98th, 97th, 96th, 95th, and 94th Battalions
were disbanded. Many regiments received fresh numbers. Hence the army
in 1821 numbered 99,224 men, with 20,000 in India; but there was a
slight increase to the infantry in 1823, when the 94th, 95th, 96th,
97th, 98th, and 99th reappear, and a further increase of 7,000 in
1831 because of Irish discontent; but this was again reduced, to be
increased in 1848. In 1837 the army consisted of ninety-nine regiments
of the line, with the Rifle Brigade, but was extremely weak in the
matter of the artillery and cavalry.
The dread of war died with the banishment of the great emperor to St.
Helena, and was buried with his death. Europe was at peace for many a
year, and people, foolish then as now, could not read by the lessons
of the past that no perfect or continual peace was possible until the
millennium came. Even those who looked forward to that event did not
read prophecy correctly. There were to be “wars and rumours of wars,”
but the people sat quietly down and dreamed of a continual peace, which
was as impossible as a continual war.
Exhaustion follows great warlike efforts, and exhaustion, of a
different kind, follows prolonged peace. There is “a deal of human
nature about man,” and there is at the bottom of most of us an old
combative spirit that, however concealed by common conventional life,
is none the less still smouldering below the surface, and quite ready
to break out into a flame.
The exhaustion of war requires repose: that of peace requires
excitation, as the future proved. No war has ever been seriously
unpopular in England--_after a long peace_. Man is a pugnacious animal
at the heart of him, and woman is little better! The red coat, the
“scarlet fever,” appeals to both sexes, and the most peace-loving woman
in the world would rather see her brother or her lover die the death
for country’s sake, than see him stay at home if his soldier’s work lay
elsewhere.
Still, a great reaction, national and personal, had followed all
these years of nearly continuous war. No wonder the army was reduced,
and, to avoid further reduction, hidden away. The civilian idea that
armies could be raised anyhow, that any man was not only fit for, but
could be easily made, a soldier, was as common then as now. Yet if
these well-meaning people, people of business, had been asked if any
of their clerks could be so improvised, such a remark would have been
met by a scornful negative. Curious to remember that people who think
so are absolutely ignorant of the training in rapid decision, quick
initiative, and perfect coolness, which in the midst of battle and
sudden death the soldier, and still more his leader, has to show. But
human nature is human nature. Civilians held the purse-strings, and the
army suffered. The canker of peace rusted all things until the rude
awakening of the Crimean War, and then those who complained most of the
undoubted errors committed were the very descendants of those who had
refused in every way to keep sound and commercially intact that great
national insurance--the army.
But for India and the far East, the practice in the fighting trade
would have been little or nothing for forty years! The history of the
army from 1820 to 1854 is mainly domestic. Thus, between 1821 and 1827
the Household Cavalry had the cuirass restored; the list of battles on
the regimental colours was increased, and regimental histories ordered
to be written (by Mr. Cannon, of the War Office) by royal command;
trousers took the place of leggings, and short boots and “Wellingtons”
came into being; and when the Deccan prize-money was distributed, the
general commanding these operations received £44,201, and the private
soldier 19s. 10d.!
In 1827 the Duke of York died, and was succeeded the next year by the
Duke of Wellington.
The late Commander-in-Chief was by no means a great general, and had
lacked both tact and judgment, as was shown by his entanglement with
Mrs. Clarke, which led to a heated debate in the House of Commons.
But he was honest in his endeavour to improve the army as a fighting
machine. When Sir Arthur Wellesley was a member of Parliament, he
bore willing testimony to the work His Royal Highness had done.
“Never was there army in a better state, as far as depended on the
Commander-in-Chief, than the one he had commanded,” was his successor’s
honest opinion in 1808 regarding His Royal Highness. There is little,
if any, evidence that he was personally aware of the somewhat doubtful
transactions that had been carried on, and his rigid integrity in all
other matters had won him the respect of the army, when he finally
ceased to command it in chief.
The Duke of York was, after all, but a man of his time. He had
condescended to fight a duel with Colonel Lennox in the days of his hot
youth. He had behaved with coolness and intrepidity in Holland when the
14th Foot and the Guards had distinguished themselves at Famars and
Lincelles. He was notorious for his courtesy at his numerous levées.
He behaved with dignity, certainly, in the unfortunate campaign of
1799. He had the interest of the army at heart, as is evidenced by his
dying words to Sir Robert Peel, when he said, “I wish that the country
could compare the state of the brigade which was to land in Lisbon
in 1827 with that which landed at Ostend in 1794.” A contemporary
opinion stating that “No man of his high rank, since the days of Henry
IV. of France, had ever conciliated more personal attachments, or
retained them longer,” is sufficient eulogy of his private worth, if
his military career be not remarkable for any marked success.
[Illustration: _Private 24^{th} Reg^{t} 1840._]
The last pike carried by the infantry, the sergeant’s spontoon, from
its use as protecting the captain of the company while leading or
directing his command--disappeared in 1830, and was replaced by a
“fusil and bayonet.” The sergeant’s firearm long remained shorter than
that of the rank and file. The head-dress had been frequently changed,
and by 1840 was a heavy-topped shako with badge, and with a ball or
plume in front. The coat, or “coatee,” was swallow-tailed and buttoned
to the throat, and was ornamented with epaulets or “scales,” the cuffs
and collar showing the regimental facings. The sword was supported by
a “frog” from a cross-belt over the right shoulder, on the front of
it being a small square brass “breastplate” carrying the regimental
devices.
The small brass “duty gorget,” long worn as a badge of being on duty,
suspended by a ribbon round the neck, represented the last body armour
for the protection of the shoulders; while so the “breastplate” was, in
name at least, a survival of the cuirass.
The soldier’s bayonet was also supported by a belt over the right
shoulder, and was balanced by a cross-belt over the other shoulder,
which carried the only ammunition pouch. The man’s personal kit was
contained in a knapsack, on the top of which the rolled greatcoat was
strapped.
The drill remained practically the same from 1792 until after the
Crimean War. Editions of the Drill book published by Dundas were
issued in 1809, 1815, and 1817, though the alterations are trivial;
but in 1824, when Sir Henry Torrens revised it, greater celerity was
infused into some of the manœuvres, the “quick march” of 108 paces a
minute being now generally used, except for mere parade. The two-deep
formation became the rule, though drill for forming both three and
four deep was retained, and a temporary effort was made to introduce
the “bayonet exercise,” but this was very soon abandoned.
During Wellington’s first year of office as Commander-in-Chief,
the yeomanry were remodelled. The system of limited enlistment was
discontinued for a time, and there was much malingering in the army by
men who tried by such means to get their discharge; but in 1833 the
limit of enlistment was fixed at twenty-five years, and in 1847 at ten,
with the colours, and the power of completing twenty-one years for
pension. The soldier’s “small book,” containing his personal record,
etc., was introduced, and as the typical pattern was made out in the
name of a supposititious “Thomas Atkins,” the now familiar name of
“Tommy Atkins” as the nickname of the private soldier came to be.
Between 1829 and 1839 there is little of note except the increase in
the literature relating to the army. It was then that the _United
Service Magazine_, the _Army and Navy Gazette_, and the _Journal of
the United Service Institution_, first arose; and, save for Eastern
wars, the only other service seen by the line was in the Canadian and
West Indian troubles in 1832 and 1834, which were quelled by the 15th
and 22nd,[49] and a second Canadian rebellion, in 1839, which was
suppressed by the 24th, 32nd, and 66th.
During the ten years between 1839 and 1849 duelling, which had
continued very prevalent, was abolished. The last fought in England
was between Mr. Hawkey of the Royal Marines and Mr. Seton of the 11th
Hussars, on the beach at Gosport, in which the latter was mortally
wounded. This was in 1845.
Flogging, which it had often been proposed to abolish, was reduced to
fifty lashes in 1846, when good conduct medals and badges, as well as
gratuities for non-commissioned officers and military savings banks,
were introduced. Barrack accommodation was improved, regimental schools
introduced, and either proper married quarters, or lodging money to
men who married by permission “on the strength of the Regiment,” took
the place of the disgraceful system that had before obtained of the
married women sleeping in the same room as the men, the bed only being
curtained off.
The school of musketry at Hythe was also inaugurated; and in 1851 the
principle of granting medals was extended to cover the Indian victories
from 1803 upwards. Medals for the long war and the recent Indian
successes were issued, but of all the host who upheld the national
honour when Napoleon ruled, only 19,000 recipients were found for the
Peninsular decoration, and but 500 for the victory of Maida!
The next French “war scare” arose in 1847, because of a pamphlet,
written by the Prince de Joinville, pointing out the military
defencelessness of Great Britain, and the poor condition of our
defensive forces. This had never been more clearly pointed out than
when the Duke of Wellington wrote to Sir John Burgoyne: “It is
perfectly true that, as we stand at present, with our naval arsenals
and dockyards not half garrisoned, five thousand men of all arms
could not be put under arms, if required, for any service whatever,
without leaving standing, without relief, all employed on any duty,
not excepting even the guards over the palaces and the person of the
sovereign.” This was mainly the condition of the army when the Crimean
War broke out. The Royal Artillery had been slightly increased in 1847,
but in 1853, none the less, it was stated that there were not at home
fifty guns fit for service.
But things were on the mend. Examinations for admission to the army
were introduced, to the dismay of those who had hitherto gained
commissions therein solely by family or other influence. The arms,
too, were improving. Minié had invented a bullet, expanded by an iron
base-cup, which facilitated the rapid loading of the piece, which had
hitherto, with the Brunswick rifle, with its “belted ball,” and a range
of about 400 yards, been impossible. This began to be used in 1851.
The Great Exhibition of 1851 had introduced to the world the “Colt’s
Revolver.” As far back as 1842 the percussion lock, invented in 1807,
had taken the place of the Brown Bess, so called from the brown
tint given to the barrel, as distinct from the bright iron barrels
of foreign muskets; but it is stated that the duke was by no means
favourable to the supersession of the flint-lock by the chemically
charged cap. Judging from this, the actual armament of the whole army
with the English model of the Minié (the “Enfield” rifle of 1855),
which carried a bullet weighing sixteen to the pound, and of which a
man could only carry sixty rounds of ammunition, would have been to him
“Anathema Maranatha.” Similarly, the breech-loader had been introduced
to Napoleon in 1809, but the weapon, being probably imperfect, met
with little favour; none the less, the Prussians had already adopted,
by 1841, the breech-loading needle gun. But General Anson, then “Clerk
of the Ordnance,” had no fancy for such new-fangled ideas, a feeling
shared fully, by all accounts, with the Commander-in-Chief, who was
always irascible with inventors and their inventions. He did not
believe we “ought hastily to adopt any of these improvements”; and, as
to rifles, “it was ridiculous to suppose that two armies could fight
at a distance of 500 or 600 yards!” Even the Secretary of State for
War, afterwards Lord Panmure, stated that the weapons, that is, the
percussion musket, “were better than all the inventions that could be
discovered.” Certes, he lived long enough to be “sorry he spoke,” for
of the musket he so be-praised, it was officially declared, in 1846,
that “fire should never be opened beyond 150 yards, and certainly not
exceeding 200 yards,” for “at this distance half the number of shots
missed the target, measuring 11 feet 6 inches, and at 150 yards a very
large proportion also missed!”
It is but forty years since these ideas were held, and rightly; but it
is curious, none the less, to note the extraordinary advance the art
of killing men has made since then. In 1822 it is deliberately stated
in a French report that “thus infantry is only formidable at about
100 yards.” In 1852, and thereabout, there were marked improvements
in firearms, and this, notwithstanding the continuance of the reign
of peace the “Great Exhibition” was supposed to inaugurate, and the
ominous distant growl of the war-thunder that was arising in the East.
With nations of different national characteristics, and in different
stages of national development, the quietude of a peaceful power is
looked on as but a synonym for weakness. National decadence and a
peace-at-any-price policy run, as all history proves, on very much
the same rails; the latter spirit is called up to cover or excuse the
former. So it was that the long peace was broken. If Russia had really
thought she would have to fight four powers and a “benevolent neutral,”
she might have held her hand, but the “Manchester School” talked much,
and foreign powers are disposed always to take the outcry of the
hysterical few in England for the solid opinion of the silent many.
Some people, less influenced by the hysteria of those who, like the
Pharisee in the parable, air their opinions in the streets, or, like
Rudyard Kipling’s monkey-folk,--the “Bander-log,”--imagine, because
_they proclaim_, their proclamations must be true, were uneasy. The
best of the House of Commons were uneasy, and voted the Militia Bill,
which aimed at creating 80,000 permanent militiamen as a second line
of defence; a force that proved the justice of the view taken, by the
enormous help they gave the army when the new war began. It is saying
very little to assert that, without the militia from 1854 to 1856, we
could not have recruited the army at Sebastopol, any more than we could
have held our Mediterranean garrisons.
Then there was a certain Colonel Kinloch who was uneasy. And he found
relief for uneasiness by starting the second Volunteer Movement. The
first was when Napoleon threatened to invade us. He wrote a very
valuable, because impressive, pamphlet, which attracted attention, and
actually led to the formation of volunteer corps, which, of course,
had little support from the Government; all the more because they were
anxious about their own pet child, the new “Militia Bill.”
Then, lastly, there were the Secretary of State and the
Commander-in-Chief also anxious. And these relieved their anxiety by
doing the best possible thing they could, in establishing the camp
at Chobham, where field manœuvres were first seriously tried. Again
it is curious to see how history repeats itself. When the impressive
lesson of 1870 to 1871 aroused the national anxiety, the first camp
of instruction with real field manœuvres was started in 1871 by Lord
Cardwell, over much of the same area.
In 1852 Wellington died, and, after a while, Lord Hardinge took his
place. That the “Iron Duke” had been uniformly and, on the whole,
extraordinarily successful, is evident. That he never saw the
greatest leaders until he met Napoleon at Waterloo, is equally so.
It was for long, and is, to some extent, still rank heresy to even
criticise his actions. But whatever confidence he may have gained by
his imperturbable coolness, he gained no man’s regard. The rank and
file trusted and believed in him to some extent. But there was not
one soldier who would have died with his name on his lips as many did
for his far greater antagonist--Napoleon. Men were obedient, save in
such retreats as Burgos, when Wellington’s influence was powerless
to check the disgraceful conduct of his army, but never devoted. He
rarely praised the men who fought, and died, and won battles, some
of which are distinguished by the absence of everything but that
bull-dog courage which the privates showed. He had a belief in himself
that seems at times arrogant, but he was patient, persevering, and
sagacious. No careful student of the art of war, _no foreign military
critic certainly_, has ever classed him among the greatest generals, or
thought his campaigns worth studying seriously.
Gneisenau at Waterloo utterly mistrusted him, as has been shown, and
the feeling must have been created by Wellington himself. If half
the myths about him were true, they would be worth publishing as the
unwritten history of a great man with many faults. Of him Gleig, who
shared in the general admiration of him, is quite plain-spoken as to
his personal coldness.
“Though retaining to the last a warm regard for his old companions in
arms, he entered very little with them, after he became a politician,
into the amenities of social life. We have reason to believe that
neither Lord Hill, nor Lord Raglan, nor Sir George Murray ever visited
the duke at Strathfieldsaye, nor could they, or others of similar
standing, such as Lord Anglesey, Sir Edward Paget, and Sir James Kempt,
be reckoned among the _habitués_ of his hospitable gatherings in Apsley
House. The circle in which he chiefly moved was that of fashionable
ladies and gentlemen.”
The gallantry of Norman Ramsay’s battery at Fuentes d’Onoro met with
no praise from this imperturbable chief. Mercer’s unquestionably cool
and brave work with his battery at Waterloo was barely noticed by
his general. Mercer himself, in no very complimentary spirit, says
of his share in the great fight: “One day, on the Marine Parade at
Woolwich, a battalion coming up in close column at the double march,
Lieutenant-Colonel Brown, who stood near me, remarked, ‘That puts
me in mind of your troops coming up at Waterloo, when you saved the
Brunswickers.’ Until this moment I never knew that our having done so
had been remarked by anybody. But he assured me it was known to the
whole army; and yet the duke not only withheld that praise which was
our due, but refused me the brevet rank of major; and, more than that,
actually deprived me of that troop given me by Lord Mulgrave, the
then Master-General, for that action, as recommended by my commanding
officer, Sir G. Adams Wood.
“That the duke was not ignorant of their danger, I have from Captain
Baynes, our brigade-major, who told me that after Sir Augustus Frazer
had been sent for us, his Grace exhibited considerable anxiety for our
coming up; and that, when he saw us crossing the fields at a gallop,
and in so compact a body, he actually cried out, ‘Ah! that’s the way I
like to see horse-artillery move.’ Another proof.”
Few men had had greater good fortune than he. “With no opportunity
for the display of any kind of talent, he, after entering the army
as an ensign at seventeen, became captain, M.P., and A.D.C. to the
Lord-Lieutenant at twenty-one, lieutenant-colonel at twenty-four,
and colonel at twenty-six. Had Wellesley been the son of an obscure
gentleman he might, and probably would, with all his genius, have
served in India as a subaltern, in the Peninsula in various regimental
grades, and might have died, perhaps, a barrack-master on half-pay--a
lieutenant-colonel with half a dozen clasps.”[50] So writes one
historian of his life, and his view is shared by Brialmont, who thinks
that, when his brother became Governor-General of India, “without his
fraternal hand, he would probably have risen neither so quickly nor so
high.”
And, finally: “The duke’s unpopularity, increasing with every stage
of his opposition to the Bill, reached such a height that, on the
anniversary of the battle of Waterloo, the once idolised victor in that
fight was hunted along the city by a mob, and escaped their violence
only by a fortunate accident.”
None can deny that his rewards were ample. He had landed in the
Peninsula but the “Sepoy general,” who had, through family influence,
succeeded the man who won Seringapatam. He had received after Salamanca
£100,000, and, later on, was granted another £400,000. Talavera had
made him a viscount, and, but a few years later, he ranked as an
English duke, had received the Garter, and had been granted every
possible foreign rank and decoration.
In 1854 the long peace was broken. Tactics had meanwhile scarcely
changed since the Peninsula. The English still fought in line, the
French more or less in column, and in both armies the deployment and
the advance were covered by light infantry skirmishers. The artillery
was that of 1815 to all intents and purposes. Only the telegraph
introduced a new and not always, from a military point of view,
valuable adjunct to warlike operations, as it led to the interference,
by ignorant people at home, with the conduct of operations of which
they could form no accurate judgment; and though this “opening up”
communication with the western countries greatly accelerated the
supply of whatever was wanted, “still, in the Crimean War, it enabled
Napoleon III. to worry the army incessantly with military ideas, which
Pelissier calmly disregarded.” Lastly, the use of steamships gave
greater rapidity and certainty in the transport of troops.
Just before the war began the coatee was gradually superseded by the
tunic, which offered greater protection to the man than the previous
dress. Gradually epaulettes as well as scales ceased.
The British army entered on its first European campaign, for nearly
forty years, side by side with its ancient enemies, for the first
time since the Crusades. In alliance with Turkey, to which after was
added Piedmont, it was proposed, at first, to carry on an active
campaign in the Balkan Peninsula against the Russian invasion of the
“principalities.” Russia’s appearance there, nominally to obtain
protection for the Christian subjects of the Porte, was based on the
hope of inheriting, or gaining by force of arms, the territory of the
“sick man,” or at least, by his destruction, to lead to a partition of
his territories, as had been effected before in Poland. Russia thought
little of the then newly made Emperor of France, Napoleon III., and
he, on his part, was by no means disinclined to adopt the Napoleonic
method, and to obtain security for his throne by war abroad, and
peace, with glory added, at home. England, owing to the outcry of the
“Manchester School,” had been regarded as a _quantité négligeable_
then, as she has sometimes been since. The Czar hoped, at least,
that the canker of the long peace had so rusted her energies that
she might protest, but would do nothing more. But there were several
surprises for the autocrat, as his descendant found also in 1877 to
1878, before the wished-for end could be gained. Turks then, as later,
proved themselves somewhat stubborn fighters. To a man who believes in
Kismet, death has no real terrors, and there is only his own personal
_ego_, only his own personal nerve strength, to deal with. The quantity
is somewhat difficult of determining, and its determination marks
the difference between the brave man and the coward. Few know, or
can guess, the value of this personal equation until he is tried.
Sometimes, when that trial is made, it is too late to be of future
value.
But the Turk tenaciously held his own in the valley of the Danube,
and England and France declared war. The real defeat of Russia was
not to be on pseudo-Turkish soil. Austria intervened by mobilising
a portion of her army, which therefore threatened the Russian line
of retreat, and in other ways paralysed her freedom of action. This
“benevolent neutrality,” like all such actions which are half-hearted,
made bad blood. No one rejoiced, privately, more than Russia did when
disaster befell Austria in 1866. Said, three weeks after Königgratz,
the governor of East Siberia, who had received the news partly by
telegraph, partly by steamer down the Amoor, when asked why he had
rejoiced that “the Austrians had been gloriously defeated at Sadowa,”
“We have never forgotten or forgiven Austria’s benevolent neutrality of
1854.”
So Russia abandoned her first idea of carrying the war into the enemy’s
country, and had to prepare to defend her own.
The Allied army had been landed, till all danger in that part was over,
at Varna, and had suffered terribly from sickness. Now the seat of war
was transferred to the Crimea, with the object of destroying both the
Russian base of operations in the Black Sea, and her prestige as well,
by the capture of Sebastopol. So the troops embarked; but while both
France and Turkey had to use their ships of war as transports, and
could not therefore convey cavalry, England, with a magnificent fleet
of transports for her troops and a fine squadron of warships to cover
them, was able to embark all three arms for the new seat of war. It was
something even in 1854 to be still a leading naval power. “No power but
England has, indeed, ever successfully despatched a complete army by
sea, at anyrate since the Crusades, save England.”[51]
Thus were landed on the shores of the Crimea, which there run north and
south, on the small, well-protected beach of Balchuk Bay, a few miles
north of the Bulganak River, and about twenty-five miles north of the
principal objective, Sebastopol, a force of 28,000 French--they had
lost 10,000 men by cholera at Varna--and 7000 Turkish infantry, with 68
guns and no cavalry, and the British army of 26,000 infantry, 60 guns,
and a light cavalry brigade of about 1000 sabres. The former forces
were commanded by Marshal St. Arnaud, the latter by Lord Raglan, and
were formed into five divisions, about 5000 men, each of two brigades,
each brigade of two regiments, and with each two field batteries.
The siege train and the heavy cavalry brigade were awaiting embarkation
at Varna. Even then it had been contemplated that a siege was possible,
but there was an obstacle in the immediate way; for, behind the Alma
river, a few miles south of the Bulganak, the Russian army under
Mentschikoff had taken up a position for defence. The march began with
the English force inland on the left because it had cavalry to cover
its flank front and rear, with the Rifle Brigade forming the advanced
and rear guard; then came the French; and the Turkish contingent formed
the right of the advance, though in the column of march they followed
in rear of the French columns. The first day’s march was six miles.
The Russians had placed their army across the road from Eupatoria to
Sebastopol; but there were few troops west of the road, as the cliffs
bordering the brook were there steep, with only two difficult avenues
of approach, which might have been blocked or defended by field works,
while the plateau was exposed to the fire of the guns from the fleet.
Their right, however, rested on the Kourganè Hill, and on the slopes
below were some earthworks; while the presence of their cavalry on
the extreme right, necessitated (according to the principle of the
Peninsular days) that the left flank battalions of the English lines
should be in column ready to form square.
The battle of the Alma is a fair type of the use of line _versus_
column; and, be it remembered, that as it had survived the Peninsular
days so, very slightly modified, it remained in the British army until
1870.
The French and Turks began the battle, but what happened on the right
can be dismissed with little comment. The difficulties were rather
those of ground than those created by the enemy, for there was little
resistance here. “Opposed to the English were at least two-thirds
of the Russians.” The Second and Light Divisions, the 30th, 55th,
95th, and 41st, 47th, 49th in the one, and the 7th, 23rd, 33rd, with
the 19th, 77th, 88th in the other, led in line of columns; the Third
and First, the former composed of the 1st, 38th, 50th, and the 4th,
28th, 44th, the latter of the Guards and the 42nd, 79th, 93rd, were
in second line; the Fourth Division, the 20th, 21st, 68th, 69th, and
the 1st Rifle Brigade echeloned on the left was in third line, and the
cavalry, 4th, 13th, 18th, 11th Hussars, and the 17th Lancers, formed
on the flank and rear. Each line deployed occupied about 2400 yards,
the first at about one mile from the enemy’s position; and not only
did this occupy much time, “several hours,”[52] but the deployment was
irregular and the advance slow. All the disadvantages of the linear
formation for attack were fully shown. Crossing the Alma, where at some
points the water was up to the men’s necks,[53] the dislocation of the
attenuated front became more manifest, while the loss was heavy. Still
the shattered and broken lines pressed on, but the Light Division had
to fall back, having lost 47 officers and 850 men, and the brigade of
Guards, with the Highlanders on their left, pressed into the fight.
Though they too were checked for a time, their advance and the front of
fire they developed were too much for the Russian columns. Assailed in
front by determined infantry, the Vladimir Regiment alone about this
time lost 49 officers and 1500 men, so Anitschkoff says, and, fired on
by two guns which Lord Raglan had fortunately got across the stream in
the very forefront of the battle, the great columns dissolved and fled.
[Illustration: THE CRIMEA.
1854-5.]
But, throughout, the evil, from a military standpoint, of the long
peace was apparent. There was want of method in the attack and want
of supreme direction. The artillery was badly handled, and was used
without combined effort. It would have been wiser if the whole force
had made a flank attack on the Russian right, and both threatened
directly his line of retreat and penned him in against the coast.[54]
And, finally, the cavalry were not used at all. “I will keep my
cavalry in a bandbox,” said Raglan, which, however cautious, was not
“_l’audace_”; and so, partly due to French advice no doubt, there
was no pursuit and no rout. Once again, as often in the Peninsula,
the battle was won by the fighting power of the men rather than the
genius of the commander. Throughout, the cavalry, instead of spreading
widely for information, were kept close to the columns they should
have covered. Finally, while the Russians admit a loss of 6000 men,
the British suffered one of 2000, and that of the French was estimated
by Raglan at the most as three officers and 560 men. Two days were
then wasted, and on the 23rd the army made the magnificent march of
seven miles, and on the next day six more! With greater celerity
Sebastopol might, in all human probability, have been carried by
assault. So thought Todleben himself, the commanding engineer in the
Russian fortress, and he was no mean judge. The defeated army had
only garrisoned the fortress, and then proposed falling back into the
interior. There was, too, a dread of the fortifications themselves
on the part of the leaders of the British army, which is somewhat to
be wondered at, with the traditions of Badajoz and Ciudad Rodrigo
still not forgotten, by some at least. The works on the north side
of the harbour were deemed too formidable to attack; it was decided,
therefore, to make a flank march round the place and try the southern
side. It must be remembered that the general line of march was north to
south, that of the harbour east and west; and that beyond the upland
which lay behind the town, and which was to be the site of the coming
siege, were two harbours, Balaklava and Kamiesch, which might be used
as new bases of operation against the great fortress of the Crimea.
So the most remarkable flank march in military history was begun.
Owing to the confusion that characterised much of the staff work of
the campaign, the general-in-chief found himself leading the entire
column, the advanced guard having lost its way (!), with behind him
thirty guns; and this through a thick wood. The British general was in
as complete ignorance that the Russian army was moving across his front
five miles away, as was Mentschikoff in equally blissful ignorance that
his enemy was crossing the rear of his column of march. Thus, not even
the true advanced guard, but some of the main column, cut off some of
the Russian baggage train.
However, Balaklava was reached without further misadventure, the result
of blind accident rather than knowledge of how war should be conducted;
and the two armies settled down before Sebastopol on the Chersonese
Upland, the north side of which was formed by the south front of the
fortress, another by the sea, and the third by a cliff edge leading
down into the wide valley below the Tchernaya and Balaklava. Reversing
the order of attack at the Alma, the Allies now changed flanks, the
British from Balaklava taking the right as far as they could afford to
go (this flank had later on to be extended by the French), while the
French from Kamiesch Bay occupied the left of the besieging line. Thus
it was not even a complete investment of the southern side. The right
of the English section was at the beginning quite _en l’air_. There
was no covering army to watch and meet the Russian army known to be
outside and free to act. Balaklava was fortified, camps were formed
on the upland; the Woronzoff road, by which Todleben, in command at
Sebastopol, communicated with the interior of Russia, was defended
by a few weak redoubts held by Turks; and the camps of the cavalry
brigades were formed in the lowland between the road and the upland
cliffs. Nothing could prevent the continual reinforcement of the
garrison, nothing could prevent an attack by Mentschikoff’s army from
Baghtcheserai; but the investing force must in that case turn its back
upon the defenders of the fortress to meet the attack of the relieving
army.
Sebastopol was neither to be invested nor reduced. The siege was merely
a means to an end, that of draining the resources of the adversary, and
the cost of doing so, both in lives and in suffering, was great in the
extreme.
The siege itself is too complex to deal with in detail. The place was
bombarded on the 17th October, and the fleet co-operated. The first
sortie was made on the 26th; by January 1854 there were 14,000 men
in hospital, and there were scarcely any horses; there was a second
sortie in March; on the 9th April there was a second bombardment, but
nothing came of it; on the 6th June there was a third bombardment and
an assault, and the Mamelon was taken; the fourth bombardment on the
17th June was also followed by an assault, the cemetery at the foot of
the Green Hill being taken; a fifth and sixth bombardment was carried
out on the 17th August, and from the 5th to the 7th September; and
then the final assault was made, when the Malakoff Tower was taken,
and the attack on the Redan failed. This terminated the siege. The
Russians, after a prolonged defence, of which they are justly proud,
sank their ships, blew up the forts on the south side, and retreated
to the north side of the harbour, leaving the bloodstained ruined
city and fortifications to the victors. They had nothing to reproach
themselves with. But, meanwhile, an expedition to Kinburn had cut
off one of the arsenals on which the Russian commander in Sebastopol
depended, and the exhaustion of Russia (she had lost 240,000 men up
to the late Czar’s death, and 80,000 since) was evident. Otherwise
the Russian position was still admirable, and the war might have been
prolonged indefinitely. But the fall of the southern forts led the way
to armistice and then peace.
But while the siege was thus dragging on its weary length, the Russian
field army and the garrison had not been passive. There had been three
efforts to raise the siege, namely, those which led to the battle of
Balaklava on the 25th October 1853, when the relieving force numbered
22,000 infantry, 3400 cavalry, and 78 guns, and advanced from the
Tchernaya by Kamara, across the Woronzoff road; the battle of Inkerman,
on the 5th November 1854, when the garrison made a sortie with 19,000
infantry and 38 guns, aided by Pauloff with 16,000 infantry and 96 guns
from the Inkerman heights, while Gortschakoff threatened the upland
from the Balaklava valley; and the battle of the Tchernaya, on the
16th August 1864, in which our new Sardinian allies shared, and which
was fought by them and the French only, with a Turkish reserve, but
which does not enter into the story of the British army, except as an
incident in the campaign.
But the two former battles are remarkable and noteworthy instances of
the courage and fearlessness--one may almost add skill-lessness--of
our army. Never did men fight better. Never were greater mistakes made
in all the annals of war. The Crimean campaign teaches one thing, if
it teaches no other. Battles are won, sometimes if apparently lost, by
sheer hard fighting. When Marengo was lost, it was very soon won. So
in these cases. The army ought to have been beaten according to all
the canons of war, but it wasn’t! Perhaps a time will come when the
man who does the real work--that “very strong man,” Thomas Atkins--has
his due meed. Crosses and decorations are given often enough to those
who have never seen a shot fired, but poor “Thomas” goes away bravely
in peace, as he fought bravely in war, with his medal, and even that
for “distinguished service in the field,” to sweep a London crossing.
Balaklava is a clear instance of mere brilliant animal courage, a
bravery that the Russians recognise as fully as we do, and would reward
better than we do, who have allowed many a gallant man who rode in the
“death ride” to sink to workhouse pay. They speak with feeling and
admiration of both the action of the cavalry and the Highlanders, and
wonder why we have a clasp for Balaklava! A Russian officer, many years
ago, asking what clasp was on the Crimean medal an officer was wearing
(he was dining in a naval mess), and being told it was for Balaklava,
started, and said, “Do you English give clasps for your _defeats_ as
well as your victories, for _we_ claim Balaklava as a success?” “How
so?” was the Englishman’s natural response. “You did not hold the
field, nor did you raise the siege.” “True,” replied the Russian, “but
we won the Woronzoff road, and, practically, you never contested with
us the right to it afterwards, and contented yourself with acting
defensively behind the earthworks of Balaklava and the Upland.”
There are two sides to every question, therefore; but one thing is
evident, that the British position based on Balaklava was in front
line as regards the interior of the Crimea, while that of the French
at Kamiesch was not, and could not be, molested. A glance at the map
shows this, and shows also how a little further forethought on the part
of the British would have shown the staff the advisability of keeping
on the left, as we had done, and agreed to do, at Alma, and basing
ourselves on Kamiesch, rather than taking Balaklava as our base, in
opposition for a time to the French, and wilfully accepting, or rather
asking for, the most exposed position. It is always easy to be wise
after the event, but a wise staff gauges the possibility of the event
before it occurs. No one can ascribe to the staff in the Crimea the
virtue of prescience in the faintest degree.
The battle of Balaklava, therefore, is peculiar. The only regiments
in the _Army List_ who carry that name “on their colours” are the 4th
and 5th Dragoon Guards, the 1st, 2nd, and 6th Dragoons, the 4th, 8th,
11th, and 13th Hussars, and the 17th Lancers among the cavalry, and the
Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, the second battalion of which was
the 93rd, who formed “the thin red line” to meet the Russian cavalry,
which was looked upon, and rightly in the days of muzzle-loaders, as
peculiarly gallant. But even these brave men might look back on the
equal gallantry of the Fusiliers who at El Bodon did much the same
thing.
But a battle must be “peculiar” when only one regiment of the line can
claim a clasp for Balaklava. It only shows how purely defensive the
action was. Against the Russian host of all arms, only the cavalry
and one regiment of the line were exposed to fire. The artillery, of
course, were engaged, but to enumerate all the actions they have been
in would be to explain the meaning of their motto “_Ubique_.” The
Russians from the Traktir Bridge advanced then straight on the poor
forts situated on the Woronzoff Road, held by the Turks, and heading
towards Kamiesch and Balaklava. Expanding into skirmishing order,
says an eyewitness, they easily carried them, and the Turks fled into
Balaklava village, to be blasphemed by some old soldier’s wife who
hated running men. Her language, so it is said, was emphasised with
a broomstick. The retreating Turks were pursued by cavalry; but, met
by the guns of the Marine Artillery outside the castle and the “thin
red line” of the 93rd, the Russians fell back. The base of operations,
at least, was safe; but it could never have been carried by cavalry
alone. British cavalry alone had prevented the advance of the Russian
army elsewhere. The actual loss inflicted by this arm could not have
been much, and they probably suffered more than they inflicted; but the
moral force and value of cavalry was never more clearly shown.
There were two cavalry charges that made the battle noteworthy. There
is nothing else, except the pluck of the Highlanders, that needs
comment.
On the sound of the firing, the First and Fourth Divisions moved down
towards Balaklava, and moving parallel with them were the Light and
Heavy Brigades, separated by a wide interval, the latter leading on the
south side of the road towards Balaklava, the other on the north side
nearer the Tchernaya. The scene of the two charges is therefore divided
by the road, which runs along a low ridge. Just as the Heavy Brigade,
900 sabres strong, marching in a very irregular column without scouts,
was nearing Kadikoi, a huge column of Russian cavalry, estimated at
3000 men, suddenly appeared on their left crossing the ridge. Scarlett
did not hesitate: forming up the first troops (some 300) as they
arrived, he dashed with the Greys and Inniskillings full at the centre
of the mass, which, irresolute, halted to receive the shock; and the
4th and 5th coming up successively and taking the unwieldy column in
flank, the Russians gave way in complete disorder, and fled headlong
back to the head of the valley. The charge had cost the Heavy Brigade
comparatively few men.
Meanwhile, there had been an apparent intention on the part of the
Russians to remove the guns captured in the Turkish redoubts. To
prevent this, Lord Raglan sent his aide-de-camp, Captain Nolan,
with directions to Lord Lucan to advance. Through misconception of
his instructions, Captain Nolan, instead of indicating the intended
objective, pointed to the heavy battery of guns a mile away, supported
by masses of cavalry and infantry and other batteries on either flank.
Lord Cardigan was to charge the whole of the Russian army. But there
was as little hesitation with him as with Scarlett. Into the semicircle
of fire the Light Brigade dashed on their “death ride.” They returned
broken and in groups, having left 247 men killed and wounded, and
with a mounted strength of but 195 men. The Heavy Brigade had moved
in support, but was not employed; on the other side the Chasseurs
d’Afrique gave timely aid by driving off the guns on the left of the
advance. Nolan, the author of a misfortune the remembrance of which
is still so glorious, was struck by a piece of shell in the breast,
and though already lifeless, was carried through the ranks of the 13th
before he fell from the saddle. Never was there recorded a more daring
ride against dreadful odds, and all so practically useless. Well might
the French officer looking down from the plateau on the battle panorama
below, exclaim, “_C’est magnifique, mais ce n’est pas la guerre_.”
The camps of the different divisions had meanwhile been pitched far
back on the Upland, not far from the steep escarpment that overlooked
the plain and the Tchernaya valley, on the opposite, or right, bank of
which river rose the Inkerman heights. The more northerly of the camps,
and therefore that nearest the river, was that of the Second Division,
on whose left front lay “Shell Hill,” bounded on one side by the Quarry
Ravine and on the other by Careenage Ravine, which the Russians had
attempted to seize in the sortie on the 26th October. To its right
front is “fore ridge,” the extreme northern spur of which overlooks
the Quarry Ravine and the Tchernaya. Here, to prevent the Russians
from occupying “Shell Hill,” a sandbag battery had been built, armed,
and then abandoned. A line through this point almost due west passes
through the Lancaster gun battery; and this line represents the extreme
limit of the British occupation. North of it, between the line and that
formed by the upper end of the harbour of Sebastopol and the river
Tchernaya, is the field of Inkerman. It was on the extreme right flank
of the British defensive line.
There were for immediate purposes of defence 3000 men of the Second
Division, together with the Guards 1300 strong, and the Light Division,
1400 strong, about a mile to the south. A mile farther off was
Bosquet’s French Division. This was the force that had the task before
it of defending the gap between the Careenage Ravine and the Tchernaya
against the 35,000 men which Mentschikoff meant to develop. It turned
out to be as difficult for him to develop his strength in the narrow
space, as for his adversary to defend it.
At 7 a.m. on the 5th November heavy Russian batteries opened fire from
“Shell Hill.” The piquets fell back fighting, and were reinforced by
the Second Division. It is the most curious battle to record that has
ever been fought. In other great struggles, army corps, great units of
sorts, are used to express the action during the phases of the fight.
But Inkerman! One has to tell of what mere handfuls of men did. How the
first reinforcement was 650 men; how the 49th defeated a strong column,
and pursued it even to Shell Hill; how 260 of the 77th fired into,
and charged and dispersed, two Russian battalions; how 200 men of the
30th charged with the bayonet two out of four battalions, driving the
whole off; how the 41st, 525 gallant souls, met five other battalions
and drove them into the valley of the Tchernaya; how in this, the
first stage of this “soldiers’ battle,” 15,000 men had been shattered
by less than 4000 all told! Nor is the next stage, which began at
7.30, less extraordinary. Against the remnants of that weary force
some 19,000 fresh troops were to be brought into action, and 10,000
of them attacked the right at the Quarry Ravine. There were actually
2100 of Cathcart’s Division arriving! Round the Sandbag Battery the
fight seemed now to centre. First, some 4000 Russians attacked the 700
British there, who held them in check until reinforced by the Guards.
The fighting was individual, almost, and desperate. At one moment
there must have been some 6000 Russians against a few hundreds of the
Coldstreams, who were holding the battery, and here occurred, perhaps,
the “bloodiest struggle ever witnessed since war cursed the earth. Back
to back on that bloody ground, sodden into a hideous quagmire, the
gallant Coldstreams fought against an infuriated multitude, till their
ammunition was expended; and then, clubbing their muskets, by dint of
blows from stock and stone, they drove the Russians back far enough to
obtain room to form in line, and with levelled bayonets charged the
retreating masses, and again joined their comrades.”
Cathcart, arriving with his command, essayed a counter attack on the
right, but he fell, and his force suffered severely. The opposing
forces were curiously intermingled in that misty confusion, and a
vigorous effort again made by the Russians from the Quarry Ravine
seemed, at one moment, likely to succeed, for guns were captured. But
the end was near. An English eighteen-pounder battery and some French
guns had beaten down the fire of the Russian artillery on Shell Hill,
and at eleven o’clock the “Russians, when hopeless of success, seemed
to melt from the lost field,” and the British were far too exhausted to
pursue.
Gortschakoff’s menaced attack was not pushed home; and hence it was
that Bosquet came to the assistance of the hard-pressed British and
did useful work. The English loss was 597 killed and 1760 wounded (or
rather more than one-third their total strength), the French 130, and
the Russians 12,256. The regiments engaged on the British side were
the 4th, 8th, 11th, 15th, 17th Light Cavalry, and the 1st, 4th, 7th,
19th, 20th, 21st, 23rd, 28th, 30th, 33rd, 38th, 41st, 44th, 47th, 49th,
55th, 57th, 63rd, 68th, 77th, 88th, 95th, Rifle Brigade, and Guards.
It was the last serious effort to defeat the besieging army, and the
siege went on with all horrors of a dreadful winter. “The days and
nights in the trenches were simply horrible. The troops shivered there
for twenty-four hours at a time, often amid mud that rose nearly to the
knee, and as the winter drew on, became frozen, especially towards the
early and darker hours of the morning.” Matters improved a little when
the railway from Balaklava was completed, and when the war terminated,
the army was well fed, housed, and clothed. It was 51,000 strong, that
is, stronger than it had ever been; with Turkish and German legions,
20,000 and 10,000 each respectively, raised by British money. But
battle, and, still more, disease and mismanagement, had cost the
country 22,000 men. The general motto “Sebastopol” is borne on the
colours or appointments of the 1st, 4th, 5th, and 6th Dragoon Guards,
and the 1st, 2nd, 4th, 6th, 8th, 10th, 11th, 12th, 13th, and 17th
Cavalry Regiments, and the 1st, 3rd, 4th, 7th, 9th, 13th, 14th, 17th,
18th, 19th, 20th, 21st, 23rd, 28th, 30th, 33rd, 34th, 38th, 41st, 42nd,
44th, 47th, 48th, 49th, 55th, 56th, 57th, 62nd, 63rd, 68th, 71st, 72nd,
77th, 79th, 82nd, 88th, 89th, 90th, 93rd, 95th, and 97th Regiments of
the line, the Rifle Brigade, and Guards.
[Illustration: _Officer 20^{th} Reg^{t} (Light Co.) 1853._]
But though the State ceased to reduce the number of battalions,
everything was put on a peace footing as soon as possible. “Upon the
return of the army, the reduction of its establishments was effected
in the usual reckless fashion. We soon reverted to our customary
condition of military inefficiency.” Yet we had learned, or should have
learned, much by the war. Waste and mismanagement had characterised
the administration and the staff, the paucity of regular reserves
had so made itself felt, that even in the assault of the Redan there
were men who had barely fired a rifle before. Recruits, scarcely even
drilled, and only partly uniformed, were fighting in the forefront of
battle but a few weeks after they had enlisted. Our Mediterranean
garrisons were largely composed of militia, which force also formed,
at that time, our only reliable recruiting-ground, and in our home
forts were foreign legionary soldiers. The only things that were left,
after a while, of the experience we had gained in the Crimea were the
establishment of the School of Gunnery at Shoeburyness, the foundation
of the great hospital at Netley, the framework of the present
commissariat and transport corps, and the building of the Staff College.
Still, though reduction and economy (or what was thought economy)
naturally followed the conclusion of peace, a new era, as far as the
army went, dawned. The camp at Chobham, before the war, had emphasised
the value of such field training, and hence, largely through the
advice and energy of the late Prince Consort, a considerable area of
waste land was purchased at Aldershot, and the “Camp” was permanently
formed, Crimean huts being utilised for barracks. Bounties had
always been largely used, in the just finished war, as before it, to
induce recruits to join; but out of it the numerous small personal
requirements of the soldier were purchased. Now this was changed, and a
“free kit” of “necessaries” were given to the recruit, as well as his
uniform and equipment. Still he paid for his rations out of his daily
pay. The supply of clothing, too, which had hitherto been a regimental
matter, in the hands of the commanding officer, subject to inspection
by a board of general officers, now passed into the hands of the War
Office, a course which not only insured uniformity, but closed a door
open to possible wrong-doing.
The Victoria Cross for Valour was inaugurated, and many of the
Crimean heroes received the coveted decoration, which meant to the
men not only an honour, but carried with it a pension of £10 a year.
Since its introduction, some 412 officers and men have received the
coveted reward, and of these, apparently, 166 are still living. It
has reached all classes. There are still serving with the colours
(in 1896) 1 field-marshal, 6 generals, 2 major-generals, 6 colonels,
4 lieutenant-colonels, 4 majors, 5 captains, 1 lieutenant, 1
quartermaster, 1 surgeon-lieutenant-colonel, 2 surgeon-majors, 2
surgeon-captains, 1 sergeant-major, 1 colour-sergeant, 1 corporal, and
2 privates who wear the bronze cross. Medals were issued to all the
rank and file, with clasps for the actions in which they had shared;
and to these were added a certain proportion of Turkish, Sardinian, and
French medals for special distribution.
Many other small regulations were made for the benefit of both officers
and men, and people of all classes vied in welcoming the soldiers
home. At last the long-expiring dread of an army was nearly dead. At
Sheffield, Mr. Roebuck, at a dinner given to the 4th Dragoon Guards,
said in his speech that our soldiers are “the protectors of England,
they are the protectors of our glory, they are the protectors of our
freedom. And here now is one striking instance that your institution
affords of the thorough confidence we have in you, and in the
institution to which you belong. We are not afraid of soldiers. We
love you as brethren, and we know that you will protect us as such.”
These are welcome words to those who have seen how strong had been the
antipathy to a standing army in the past. By sheer patience, sheer
bravery, and continuous good behaviour, the standing army had won its
place in the national heart.
All the infantry were now armed with a new rifle, the Enfield. The
Minié, introduced in 1853, was very heavy, indeed far too heavy, and
carried an ounce ball. Its calibre had been that of the Brown Bess, the
heavy flintlock musket that preceded the percussion weapon of 1840,
and which had won for us much of our Empire; as this in its turn had
followed the wheel-lock and matchlock arms. The survival of the first
infantry missile weapon since the days of bow and crossbow is shown in
the term “firelock,” applied to the musket of the rank and file, even
long after the campaign of Waterloo. It was now replaced by a lighter
weapon, so that sixty rounds of ball ammunition could be carried on the
person.
So with the bayonet. At first it was merely a dagger which was
thrust, not screwed, into the muzzle of the smooth-bore gun. Then it
became socketed and lengthened. When the length of the gun barrel was
diminished, it was also lengthened, as either the “sword bayonet,”
or the very long bayonet that was, for a while, introduced with the
Martini-Henry rifle. Finally, it has reverted more or less to its
original form and length, and the Lee-Mitford has ceased to be a
serious pike.