NAVAL BRIGADE
[Sidenote: 1855. July 3.]
A report going that George King, commanding _Rodney_, 74, whose crew,
she having no steam power, had been landed with the Naval Brigade, was
about to invalid. It occurred to me that nothing could be done afloat
with a dual command, and that if George King would, with Admiral’s
approval, exchange ships, I might stand a chance of seeing more service
on shore than afloat. Mine was a selfish idea. If ever a man was proud
of, and happy in, his ship it was myself.
Consulted my kind friend Admiral Sir Edmund Lyons, who required time to
consider. My brother officers decidedly disapproved. Dined early with
Houston-Stewart to attend later the embarkation of the remains of Lord
Raglan, deeply lamented, on board the _Caradoc_, Commander Derriman. It
was an imposing but sad spectacle.
The Admiral having approved of the exchange, allowed _Acre_ to be
shifted into Kazatch Bay. Now it was settled, a sinking of the heart
came on at the idea of removing myself from the good fellows with whom
I had been serving.
[Sidenote: July 7.]
I had promised Lady Churston, Sir Robert Newman’s sister, to remove his
remains from “a green field through which ran a small stream by the
stump of a tree.”
This was my only description. To Cathcart’s Hill, however, I had sent
a party from the _Rodney_, early, with the necessary implements to
work through granite, and when about it to make a grave large enough
to hold two. It took me hours to find the place. At last I examined a
space occupied by 3000 Turkish soldiers without a particle of green on
it. Stumps of two small trees, a quarter of a mile apart, caused me to
think they could not now be standing unless fed by water.
We had not far to dig. I had prepared a coffin large enough to hold
that in which poor Newman might have been buried. But, alas! we found
only bones, rats had been at work. The only thing that made me believe
I had the right remains was a pair of brown silk socks. All we could
collect was carefully arranged, and the coffin screwed down: the Union
Jack spread over it.
[Sidenote: July 9.]
Rode to the artillery camp at Balaklava, and obtained from the officer
in charge a corporal and a six-horse limber waggon, on which the coffin
was placed.
With my smart corporal we rode through the camp on our five or six
mile journey. Among others we met Honourable William Colville of Rifle
Brigade; he was a good draughtsman, and kindly dismounted, taking from
his sabretasche pencil and paper, and made a sketch of this cavalcade
for me to send to Newman’s sister.
[Illustration: _Sketch by Col. Hon. W. Colville._
_Jack, to newly-arrived subaltern, “Sorry I can’t obleege you with a
horse, but I have a quiet dromedary I can sell you.”_]
[Sidenote: July 10.]
After breakfast read commission on board _Rodney_, King reading his on
board _St. Jean d’ Acre_. Sad day for me. In the evening escorted Mrs.
Williams on board _Europa_ for passage to Scutari. Dined with Charlie
Talbot on board _Algiers_.
[Sidenote: July 11.]
Early dinner in Wardroom. Pretended to be going to _Rodney_, and so
avoided taking leave of my good fellows. Young Harry Stephenson and
Thompson transferred to _Rodney_.
[Sidenote: July 12.]
Dined with General Barnard, who had just been appointed Chief of Staff.
[Sidenote: July 13.]
Dined with General Simpson, now Commander-in-Chief, and reminded him
of our meeting at his mess when he commanded the 29th at Mauritius in
1829, I then a mid of the _Tweed_.
[Sidenote: Letter to M. S. July 14.]
Find our Jacks queer fellows; they deal in horses or anything else,
and as soon as they come out of the trenches they are all over the
soldiers’ camps, doing work for the officers, repairing tents and that
sort of thing, receiving part payment in grog, and then share it with
the first “soger” they meet.
I avoid too many restrictions, as long as men appear at the 10 A.M.
muster, properly dressed, with their arms cleaned and correct, with
correct numbers of the men and battery they have to relieve. They are
then dismissed, and find their own way by trenches or over the open. In
a body they are pretty sure to draw the enemy’s fire.
[Sidenote: In Camp, July.]
In our camp we are tolerably comfortable. My tent is pitched on a
patch of ground on the edge of a hill. There is a long open avenue in
front, on either side are the tents of the officers and seamen, which
they decorate in the most fantastic way. All sorts of devices for
weathercocks, etc. The shells that annoy us most are those that burst
in the air. We are very close to one another in some places, but I
expect we shall soon shut the Russians up, as they fire very wild when
fired at; our fellows are as steady as ever; the more casualties, the
more jokes are cracked!
In front of our batteries, between us and the Redan and Malakoff
Towers, are the trenches, and the Quarries, formerly a Russian
position--taken by us before Inkerman, at present held by the guards
and other troops. While no particular bombardment is going on, our
orders are, to watch the enemy’s batteries, and only fire on them
when they fire on our advanced parties in the trenches, so that the
soldiers are, in a measure, partly under our protection. In this way
we get some pretty shooting. A shell from the Redan bursts over our
soldiers in the trenches; bang goes an 8-inch shell from the sailors’
battery, generally right into the embrasure, from which the mischief
came. Another shell reaches them from our Left Attack. The French,
too, take it up and pop one into them from the Mamelon, and then for
the next half-hour a general scrimmage takes place, exciting to a
degree. A very little precaution teaches you to know, by every gun that
the enemy fires, whether they are shot or shell. The shot we do not
care for. I saw one of our Jacks make a low bow to a shot that he saw
coming directly at him: at the right moment he bobbed his head, and
it passed about a foot above his body. There are small hollow places
on ground above our batteries in which sailors are employed making
gabions: having expended their materials the bluejackets were amusing
themselves by running at one another with the gabions over their heads,
when an enemy’s shell exploded without serious damage to any one.
Most of the shot strike the parapet and throw a cloud of dust, dirt,
and small stones into our batteries. Each day I have been so covered
that you could not have told the proper colour of my dress. The shot
are very good fun, but the shells are beastly things from which it is
difficult to escape. They are no respecters of persons. On Sunday a
man was killed by the fragments of a shell while he was sitting in the
supposed most secure place inside the entrance to one of our magazines.
[Illustration: _Sketch by Col. Hon. W. Colville. 1855.
In Rear of the Lancaster Battery_]
Wenny Coke goes into the trenches to-night, and to-morrow I shall be
in our batteries all day and will give such a dusting to any Russian
battery that has the impudence to molest my favourite Fusiliers. I am
going to take grub, and have invited Wenny to dinner in the deepest
part of his trench. Had I had time, I could fill a quire with the
absurdities of the soldiers as well as sailors, who have given many
a good laugh. Directly little Harry heard of my appointment, he got
leave and galloped up to my tent.
[Sidenote: July 15.]
Visited our right division in trenches. Thompson performing divine
service in open air to the Naval Brigade; “Little Harry” with him. A
man killed while sitting in the battery reading his Bible.
[Sidenote: July 16.]
Among arrivals from home in Balaklava was a cargo of ice for use of
Naval Brigade hospitals. For some unknown reason doctors objected
to receive ice in the hospitals! After my superiors afloat had been
supplied, the Commander of the Naval Brigade came in for a share. We
were not far from the French headquarters. I sent a couple of blocks
to General Pellissier, who invited me to _déjeuner_. He had clever
fittings with green branches, etc., for luxury and comfort reminding me
of Vauxhall gardens in bygone times. Dined with General Barnard.
[Sidenote: Letter to H. F. S. July 18.]
Wenny Coke in the trenches last night bowled over by a spent round.
On visiting his tent I found him cheery, but round shot don’t touch
gently. I was about to sit on a fur coat, rolled up near the head of
his bed, when he called out, “Don’t sit there, Uncle Harry. A cat from
Sevastopol came out last night and dropped nine kittens in the sleeve!”
Shepherd, one of the petty officers of the _St. Jean d’Acre_, had
conceived the idea that he could, single-handed, blow up a man-of-war
in Sevastopol harbour. The contrivance appeared simple enough. I had
already taken him with his apparatus to the Admiral, who was amused and
approved, leaving the time for the experiment to me. The plan was this.
To prepare a light iron case a foot long by eighteen inches, with a
loop at each end. The case to be fitted with a Bickford’s fuse, which
burns under water. A sort of canvas duck punt was to be fitted to
exactly hold the case amidships. The after part was to hold one sitter,
who could easily steer with a canoe paddle without noise. The Russians
had been in the habit of sending three or four thousand men across
the entrance end of the harbour. The night fire of war-ships had so
inconvenienced this passage of their transport boats, they shifted the
line of their passage higher up the harbour.
The dark night for our expedition arrived at last. The spot for
embarkation was only separated by a spur of land covered by thick scrub
and bush, but the darkness of the night enabled our guide to take us to
the water. At half-past twelve the punt left the rough slips and was
immediately lost to sight, nor was there the slightest sound. At the
expiration of three hours nothing had occurred, and there were signs
of daybreak. With us was Colonel St. George Foley, attached to General
Pellissier’s staff. We were within range of the Russian sentries, and
had to creep through scrub and bushes until we were inside the French
lines: we soon commenced on our refreshments. I was distressed at
having helped to lose poor John Shepherd--as, if caught, he would be
shot as a spy. St. George Foley was put out at the loss of his horse,
servant, and haversack. My coxswain, who, I think, had been washing his
mouth out, was sent in search among an acre of gun carriages, waggons,
etc., and returned, announcing to Foley that “The beggar was gone, but
had left his painter.” Poor Foley applied for explanation. Painter was
a rope spliced in a ring in the bow of a boat, and most likely the
horse had slipped his head out of halter and gone home--the servant
losing no time in following. In fact, all during the night the white
light of shells had been flying over our heads from three different
Russian batteries at a French mortar battery. Great was my delight an
hour after my arrival in camp to hear of Shepherd’s safe return. The
plucky fellow had pulled past and between a number of Russian steamers,
and was within 400 yards of the three-deckers, when a whole string of
Russian boats pushed off from the western shore to convey troops across.
For an hour he lay in his little punt hoping for an opening to pass
through. Daylight came and he had not time to return the distance to
where we were; he therefore struck at once for Careening Bay, one side
of which he knew was in the possession of the French. Lord Charles
Paget’s plan of night attack had caused the Russians to change the
route for conveying reliefs across.
[Sidenote: July 19.]
On returning from batteries got news of Lushington’s promotion and my
appointment to the command of the Naval Brigade! Lucky dog that I am!
[Sidenote: July 20.]
Early ride to Kamiesch and breakfast with the Admiral. Kind and
confidential chat.
[Sidenote: July 21.]
Assumed command of Naval Brigade: Prince Victor of Hohenlohe, A.D.C.;
Rev. Josiah Thompson, Chaplain; forage allowance for five horses.
Early morning, a cavalry corporal with two orderlies at my tent door.
Reported myself at headquarters.
[Sidenote: July 22.]
Sunday, divine service in open air. Visited Right Attack and Quarries
with Sir Harry Jones; dined with him.
[Sidenote: In the batteries of Naval Brigade, July 23.]
Instructions from headquarters to prepare for a sortie, and that I had
better communicate with the General at the Quarries. The day was far
advanced: a storm brewing. Had an experienced and good officer in
Captain Moorsom, who had been in the Naval Brigade from the beginning.
Of course Moorsom opened a sharp fire on the Russian batteries, which
eventually drew part of their fire off our advanced trenches. He knew
the bearings of the Russian forts on which our batteries could tell
best. Could not do better than leave him in charge, while I went to
the quarries for further instruction. Storm commencing, shifted into
pea-jacket and jack-boots, sword and cap. Rain fell heavily. Zig-zags
being on the slope, I was soon washed out and took to the open. Dark,
too, came on with the storm; lost my way, but knew by descending,
and the constant discharge of musketry, I must come to our own
troops--which I did; but no one could hear or attend to me. I knew not
the way. Took to the right. Came on the Guards, whom I knew by their
bearskins; they were equally busy. It was no use pulling their coats;
the thunder of guns and muskets rendered one’s voice equally useless,
so crept on. The storm began to break. Laid hold of a soldier’s coat
and bellowed to him. He bellowed “sergeant,” who bellowed me what my
name was. When I told him, he said: “That lie won’t do. I know Captain
Keppel of the Grenadiers. You must come to our officer.” I pleaded
inability to walk further. Another bearskin on my left! No alternative.
The storm and sortie were over.
By the time we reached the officers, they were enjoying a little rest
as well as refreshment. One of them asked the sergeant: “What have you
there?” “A prisoner, sir.” After a while there was a laugh. Most of
them knew and had made me out.
With the assistance of grog and a feed I got back to my tent, but
the sun was well up. The kind Lord Rokeby pretended to be angry, and
offered that if I attended the camp, the Brigade should march past
me; but I don’t think my poor father, had he been alive, would have
recognised me in my trench costume.
[Sidenote: Letter to M. S. July 28.]
Our batteries are getting so close to the enemy’s that casualties are
frequent, and the Naval Brigade gradually reducing, without a chance
of recruiting, except in officers, whose vacancies are replaced from
the Fleet. Although they hear, afloat, the jokes played, when the time
comes they forget. Our chief battery on the left is at the foot of a
hill, and a favourite mark for the enemy’s shells. The fuses burning
in the air are often heard before the shells are seen. We have trained
look-out men who know by the sound about where the shell was likely
to drop. They call out, “Right,” “Left,” “Front,” “Rear,” when those
present rush to any point they fancy, dodge close to a gun carriage, or
jump through the embrasure, and so risk a Russian bullet.
The favourite resort was the magazine passage, cut out of the hill
with a bend in it. The first there, the best chance. The new arrival
affords the best sport, and is prepared for. The dirtiest stretcher, on
which some bleeding body had lately been carried, is at hand. The shell
bursts; the new arrival is struck behind the ear by moist clay, is
immediately seized, laid on the dirty stretcher, carried off, without
resistance, by bearers to the zig-zag cutting and upset into the ditch,
which generally holds water. Of course he is received with cheers,
and watches anxiously for the next newcomer. Dined yesterday with the
Commander-in-Chief at headquarters and met our War Minister, the Duke
of Newcastle; I have established a mess-room, where we meet at supposed
dinner at eight o’clock. Most of my time is passed in the batteries.
[Sidenote: July 30.]
Visited Left Attack. Found remains of the gallant Colonel Norcott’s
horse and servant just killed by the same shot. He always rode
this white charger in front of his rifle regiment. Mail in. Letter
from First Lord, Sir Charles Wood, informing me of my having the
Good Service Pension. Visited hospital in Cossack Bay and Admiral
Freemantle.