THE REDAN
[Sidenote: 1855. Extract from letter home, Sept. 1.]
Our allies are not yet ready for the next and, I trust, final assault;
their sap appears to touch the edge of the Malakoff. We, too, are not
ready, being in want of ammunition. We are all anxious that something
should be done, as we know not when to prepare for winter quarters.
If the Malakoff falls, it must naturally be followed by that of the
remaining works of the enemy. On the south side we shall advance
somewhat nearer to our work. The Russians, too, appear to be preparing
for a move. They have established a bridge across the harbour and are
fast removing their goods and chattels. Everything leads us to suppose
that the winter will not find us in our present position. The enemy
will contest every inch of ground. We do not, on our side, grow wiser
from experience. The other night our working party on the Right Attack
was surprised and some taken prisoners by a small body of Russians
who made a sortie. Officers have over and over again been surprised
and taken prisoners while planting their advanced sentries at night
by Russians lying concealed in the shrubs and grass. A little more
care would have prevented this. My silly fellows unnecessarily expose
themselves in spite of warnings and examples.
We have two casualties; besides, an amateur youngster from the
_Curaçoa_ must mount the parapet and borrow a sergeant’s musket, to
take a shot at a Russian. This young Gambier mounted on the top of
the parapet, had a _Miniè_ ball through his thigh in a moment. One of
my “Rodneys” got shot through the head yesterday, having gone outside
the embrasure to pick up sticks to cook his dinner. Yesterday our
bluejackets acted a play in the open air. Stage, the side of a hill; a
ballet dancer did Taglioni to perfection. The Duke of Newcastle dined
at our mess. Never enjoyed better health: lots of excitement and plenty
to do. In fact I have knocked up in succession all my staff, viz. my
A.D.C., secretary, and the stout Padre, “Thomas.” But I must not crow
till out of the wood.
[Sidenote: Sept. 4.]
Dined with Rokeby, meeting John Dugdale Astley, Scots Fusilier Guards,
returned with wound cured, and others. Was going to write a line;
an unusual rattle of musketry announced a sortie. Galloped to our
batteries, found them blazing away. The attack was on our right on the
French, who, being well prepared, gave the Russians a dressing. I have
not heard to what amount.
I must beg allowance of my readers for difference of expression in the
“Right” and “Left” Attack. Naval Brigade batteries faced Sevastopol,
while the military maps faced inland.
The moon was rising, and the outlines of hills, forts, and figures
showing. In each trench, standing up with musket in hand, were several
rows of our soldiers ready to jump at a call in support of those
further in advance, or to attack should the French have driven the
Russians back in that direction. But their attack had been on the
Mamelon from the Malakoff. We were expecting and ready to repel a
similar sortie from the Redan, but none came. When I reached the front
Captain Pechell, only son of Sir George, Bart., R.N., had just been
shot down with six men of the 77th. It is customary at night for each
side to throw out sentries in advance directly it is dark enough to
cover the persons so advancing. Just between the foot of the ditch
outside the Redan and our advanced trenches there is a cave, the mouth
of which faces towards the works on our right. Directly it is dark the
object between the Russians and ourselves is to try which can first
get possession of it. We have generally succeeded, but last night the
officer of the 88th, who went to take possession, mistook his way.
Pechell, who had been in it before, volunteered, but it was then too
late, the Russians being in possession, and at same time entirely hid
by the darkness of the cave; they allowed Pechell and his six men to
approach near enough to make sure, and then potted them all.
[Sidenote: Sept. 8.]
A bombardment, in earnest, commenced at 6 this morning; at 11.30, the
usual resting-time of the Russians, the French surprised and carried
the Malakoff. Our attempt on the Redan was to follow the hoisting of
the French flag on the Malakoff, which was too late for any further
surprises. We could now see clearly what our Naval Brigade had to do.
Leaving the higher batteries, I went down to our extreme left, on the
real Right Attack, and found a fresh battery had been made during the
night by engineers, and in charge of a young artillery officer. I had
already been advised at headquarters that our men should leave their
small arms behind. General Simpson may have heard that on a previous
occasion, when the Naval Brigade were told off to carry the scaling
ladders under the gallant Peel, directly they observed the slope of
the Redan fortification they proposed to drop the ladders, saying they
could get in better without them. After visiting the main batteries,
where my most experienced hands were, I joined our later, extended
battery. We made a bad beginning, inasmuch as our magazine was blown
up, which rendered eight guns less effective.
The rush for the Redan had now commenced, and in the excitement our
men wanted to draw the stakes out of the gabions, and to rush in. I
noticed, on high ground to my left, the two Generals, Simpson and
Gascoigne, one wounded in the head. Directly opposite, within 300
yards, was a Russian battery playing on our men; half the effect of our
battery was spoilt by being unable to fire, except by dropping shots
into the Russians opposite. Shortly after an A.D.C. came galloping,
giving me an order to “cease firing.” Our soldiers were being mowed
down, chiefly by grape shot. The young artillery officer had ceased
firing. I ran to his small battery and inquired the reason. He, too,
had received orders, same effect. I told him I had received the same,
but on no account to cease firing, and offered to send as many spare
hands as he could employ, which he accepted. The Russians used grape
shot, which came hopping along, many of them stopping in the ditch in
front of our battery. The bombardment was kept up till sunset. Augustus
Fitzroy, whose battery was on our left, on returning to camp joined
two of our officers who preferred the open. Before reaching his tent
he was knocked over by a bullet, which must have come from the Redan;
the Russians having returned to that end, which the gallant Windham had
held.
[Illustration: _“Redan” Windham._]
Windham was one of my oldest friends; we were boys together and
remained friends till his death, February 2, 1870, at the early age
of fifty-nine. He was properly called the Hero of the Redan, for by
his gallant bearing on that day he did much to retrieve our good name.
Dead against the first attack himself, its numbers, place, etc. etc.,
he nevertheless led it in the most gallant manner, being first in the
work--and after his three messengers had been disabled had the _moral_
courage to go back himself and solicit reinforcements.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Sept. 9.]
Early this morning visited Sir Colin Campbell; a few Highlanders had
during the night crept into the Redan and found it deserted. On Sir
Colin’s invitation we rode into the Redan by the salient angle. Horrors
met us at every step. Two instances of faithful, but half-starved dogs
were sitting on bodies, from which no coaxing could draw them. In a
small hut on a table, leaning against the wall, was a Russian officer,
looking smart in his uniform; on my speaking to him I found that he was
dead. In the higher part noticed excavations and could trace wires for
explosions. Sevastopol had been evacuated during the night--magazines
blown up--town blazing--ships sank--others on fire. The Russians had
put themselves on the safe side of the harbour by blowing up the east
end of the floating bridge. Strolling about I found myself close to
the ground floor of a hospital. On entering I was between two long
rows of Russian soldiers, dead and dying, on broad wooden stretchers.
I will not attempt to describe the horrors, but each body was in a
position as if trying to escape. At the further end I found a young
English officer in uniform who said he had been expecting us some
time--he was wandering in his mind. A flag of truce was hoisted about
noon. The Russians sent steamers to remove their dead and dying. One,
the _Vladimir_, was commanded, I think, by Captain Etholin, who had
done a gallant thing earlier in the war by capturing and taking into
the harbour an English transport that had grounded in sight of our
combined fleets. While the truce flag was up I moved three guns down
to the edge of the harbour. When the Russian steamers had landed their
dead and dying and returned to their moorings, in front of where we
stood in a sort of hostile parade, one of the three Naval Brigade
guns went off and smashed _Vladimir’s_ quarter boat. That same night
we were building a screen, from behind which we could destroy any
attempt at landing to interfere with our newly appointed Governor,
Charles Windham. At midnight, superintending the work, I observed the
_Vladimir_ make a move in our direction. Not a sound from on board.
When she got near mid-channel, she stopped and gradually turned with
her head up the harbour. When broadside on I gave the order to lie down
behind our newly made screen, whereupon _Vladimir_ quietly settled
herself at the bottom of the harbour, leaving nothing but the upper
masts. It was from the foremast of that ship that all flags of truce
and communications were made.
[Sidenote: Sept. 10.]
Word was sent to me that poor Augustus Fitzroy’s wound was considered
mortal. Wrote to prepare his father for the sad event, and then to
receive his last instructions. Poor dear, unlucky, gallant fellow. I
had known the whole family from the time I had landed, as a skeleton
boy, at the Cape of Good Hope in 1827. In pain I took down the items as
he wished them to be disposed of: poor boy! They were but few. He was
buried on Cathcart’s Hill with full military honours, in the grave next
to Sir Robert Newman, which I had made big enough to hold two.
[Sidenote: Sept. 11.]
The inspection of the evacuated forts showed how destructive had been
the fire of our batteries and how great a share the Naval Brigade had
in the Fall of Sevastopol. It is an immense place, but there was not
a spot where our shot had not penetrated. It was a sad spectacle; so
precipitate had been the Russian retreat that they had cut off the
communication by their bridge and left some 2000 wounded in barracks.
Looking at the mastheads of their line-of-battle ships, and the still
smoking ruins of their public buildings, I was in hopes that this would
bring the war to a conclusion.
* * * * *
Naval Brigade ordered to prepare for re-embarking. Was frequently in
the artillery camp arranging details.
One morning, in the Colonel’s marquee, we noticed a sailor coming from
the town. As he was steering wildly, I thought it best to retire into
the shade. The Colonel asked where he was from: if he had any loot. He
replied he had not, and added, “To-morrow, I intends to ewacuate the
Crimea.”