The misty grey of early dawn lay over the smooth grassy slopes of the
Crimea when Phil and Tony turned over on the following morning and
looked about them. Here and there men were moving about like big
ghostly shadows as they trudged down to the banks of the River Bulganak
to fill their water-bottles and mess-tins in preparation for the morning
meal. Some were crouching over smoking fires, encouraging them to burn
up brightly and give out sufficient heat to cook the food. Close at
hand others were grooming officers' chargers, and on every side there
was the clatter of an awaking camp, the stamp of restive hoofs, cheery
calls from man to man, and the startling notes of reveille ringing out
clearly in the morning air, and warning all that another day had
arrived, and that it was time to throw off sleep and be ready to try
conclusions with the enemy.
"Lummy, ain't I sleepy just!" yawned Tony, throwing off his blanket and
sitting up to rub his eyes with his knuckles.
"I too could have done with a couple of hours more," answered Phil
peevishly. Then, springing to his feet, he shook the heavy dew from his
blanket and looked towards the river, the smooth and sluggish surface of
which had just caught the first rays of the rising sun.
"Who's for a dip?" he cried briskly. "Come along, Tony, boy; we shall
never wake up till we have douched ourselves with water."
"'Tain't a bad idea, Phil, and I'm with yer," exclaimed his friend,
shaking himself like a dog. "There ain't no towels, as I can see, so I
suppose it's a case of dry as best you can."
"Yes, of course. The sun will be up in another ten minutes, and will
serve our purpose well. Come along; we've a clear half-hour before
breakfast."
Another five minutes and Phil, accompanied by many comrades, was hastily
pulling off his boots and clothing close to the bank of the stream.
Then someone waded in and tried the depth, and having found a deep pool
the others dived in, splashing the water in every direction. The
pastime caught on like fire, and very soon a hundred or more were
enjoying a bathe. Officers, too, came down to the river, some to look
on, and others to join the men in the water.
By eight o'clock the whole of the Allies were under arms and waiting
anxiously for orders, the French on the right, while the British took
care of the left flank, where danger was to be expected. In rear of all
were the arabas and cavalry, besides herds of cattle and sheep. Phil
and Tony had been relieved of their charge, and were in the ranks with
their comrades.
"I ain't sorry to say good-bye to that old cart, araba, or whatever they
call it," exclaimed Tony. "Yer see, we shall get a chance of seeing
most of the fun if there's a fight, whilst if we was in charge of the
ammunition where should we be? Right away behind, there ain't a doubt,
kicking our heels and waiting till some chance cannon-shot come bowling
along our way and chopped our heads off. Halloo! who's that?"
This exclamation was caused by the sudden appearance of a
smartly-dressed officer, with glittering epaulettes and waving plume,
cantering down before the British lines.
"It's Marshal St Arnaud, him as commands the Froggies," shouted someone.
The news spread through the ranks, and at once, lifting their rifles,
the troops greeted the Marshal with three hearty British cheers, a
compliment which evidently caused him much gratification.
"We shall move now, Tony," remarked Phil gravely, "so we'll just shake
hands, old man. One never knows what may happen. Perhaps it will be
unnecessary, but we've a big fight before us, and who can say that we
shall both come safely through it?"
"No one, Phil. No one but Him as sits above," Tony answered earnestly;
"but I tell yer we're coming through it, you and me, and you're going to
do something for them stripes. I feel it somehow. But here's my hand,
old pal. You've been a good 'un to me, and if I go this day, I'll have
a better chance than a year or more ago. I shall, and yer know it."
Tony grasped Phil's hand and wrung it, while tears stood in his eyes.
Phil returned the pressure earnestly, and then they leant on their
rifles and waited for the word to advance.
Between nine and ten it came, and the Allies trudged forward over a wide
sweeping plain leading to a ridge, beyond which lay the valley of the
Alma, the valley--fair though it looked on that grand morning--of the
shadow of death. And now guns in front boomed out, answering the shots
of the Russian batteries, and each man grasped his rifle more firmly at
the sound, while a keen, strained look came over his face, as though he
had braced himself for the trial which was coming.
Trudge, trudge, trudge! On moved the mass of men, looking grand in
their varied uniforms, and all seeming anxious to get more quickly to
that ridge in front and look upon the enemy.
"Ah! there they are," exclaimed Phil with a sigh of relief as his
company topped the rise and came in full view of the Russian position.
"See, they are right in front of us if we only march in the direction we
are taking now, so there will be plenty of work for us, you fellows!
Hurrah for the fight!" and in the excitement of the moment, he snatched
his bearskin from his head, and, tossing it into the air, caught it on
his bayonet with the skill of a juggler. Instantly a wave of cheering
spread along the British lines, and a forest of bearskins and head-gear
of every description was thrust aloft on the gleaming bayonets, soon--
very soon--to be used in deadly and desperate earnest for another
purpose. A minute later the answering cheers of the French came echoing
along the lines, their "Vive l'Empereur!" piercing the morning air with
a shrill note, showing that they too were roused to the highest pitch of
enthusiasm.
"Look, Tony!" exclaimed Phil a few minutes later, having calmed down
sufficiently to be able to make a good examination of the Russian
position, "those beggars have chosen a splendid spot on which to
manoeuvre. You can see them massed on the slope of the hill close upon
the other side of the river, and to reach them we must cross the open
and plunge through the water. That makes it pretty well impossible for
our cavalry to help us by a flank attack. But we'll go for them tooth
and nail, in the regular old bull-dog way, and if we don't rout them out
of their position, well, I'll--I'll never speak to you again."
"Yer won't, won't yer?" answered Tony, with a curious grin, staring at
his friend with no small amount of astonishment. "Young 'un, I never
see yer so wound up afore. I never thought yer was that bloodthirsty.
Me and all yer mates took yer for one of them quiet kind of coves what
takes a lot of rousing. But now--blow me--I can see yer monkey's up,
and I'll have to keep an eye on yer, else yer'll be trying to fight the
whole of them Russian coves alone." Then, having smiled once more at
Phil, the honest fellow's face suddenly assumed a sterner look, his eyes
glistened and his cheeks flushed, while he hurriedly fumbled at the
fastening of his ammunition-pouch. "Beat 'em, Phil, old boy! in course
we will. If the Grenadier Guards don't find their way to the top of
that there hill, and take every one of them big guns yer see, it'll be
because there ain't none of 'em left to do it. We'll manage it or die
on the way."
And indeed, to look at the disposition of the Russian troops and guns
made by General Menschikoff, there was every possibility that before
they were forced to retire many a gallant British and French soldier
would be laid low upon the grass. In front of the Allies stretched the
river Alma, forming a sharp bend, the apex of which was opposite the
division between French and English troops, and pointed towards the
Russians. In the bend was the village of Bourliouk, soon to be the
scene of sharp skirmishing, and on the right a road crossed the river
and ascended the opposite bank, which at that point sloped easily
towards a conical hill known as Telegraph Hill. To the right of this
road, and exactly facing the French and Turkish troops, there was a
steep cliff on the other side of the river. Up this, however, two roads
ran, one of which was available for guns.
In front of the British, grassy slopes descended to gardens and
vineyards which stretched to the river-bank, and through them passed a
broad post-road from Sebastopol to Eupatoria, crossing the Alma by a
bridge, and ascending between Telegraph Hill and another height known as
Kourgani Hill. On either side of this road the banks of the river
ascended in easy slopes, and here it was that Menschikoff had disposed
his forces, planting a formidable battery of fourteen guns, of large
calibre, behind an earthwork thrown up on a terrace one hundred yards
from the water, while farther to the left was another battery, the two
supported by nine field-batteries of eight guns each--a truly formidable
armament.
"Heavens! what guns!" Phil heard one of the officers mutter. Then,
gripping the colours he bore, the young fellow tossed his head proudly
and added: "By Jove, we'll have the lot before the day is out!"--a
resolution which every soldier had also made.
What it was to cost them only the future could disclose, but those who
had seen war before, who had trained themselves to conduct the movements
of armies, could not but expect a heavy list of casualties; for even an
amateur might have seen that the Russian position was one of
extraordinary strength, while the expert able to grasp its salient
points could tell at a glance that it presented an extremely difficult
and anxious problem to the attacker. Even Phil, boy though he was and
inexperienced in warfare, could not but be struck by the formidable
works towards which the Allies were advancing.
"They seem impregnable," he muttered. "Look at the batteries. They
must have 100 guns at least, and all trained for the slope upon which we
are advancing. Then there is the river to cross. It may or may not be
fordable, but in any case it means a disadvantage to us and an advantage
to the Russians. When that is crossed there is the rush uphill in the
teeth of those guns, and opposed by the enemy's bayonets. It will be
hot work, Tony, very hot work, for I suppose we shall be compelled to
make a frontal attack."
"If that means marching straight to our front, without turning so much
as an inch, then I says yes, I hope we shall," Tony answered with a
growl, assumed only to cover his excitement. "How else should
Englishmen attack? Go straight for them is our way of doing business,
and I reckon it's the best."
And this in fact seemed the only way of attacking the Russians
successfully. Perhaps a flanking movement to the left might have proved
successful, but even then the river must first be forded, no doubt in
the teeth of a murderous fire. But this had not struck the British
leader as possible, and the whole force marched on steadily, shoulder to
shoulder, and with a martial tramp which seemed to shake the ground.
And upon them as they advanced was fixed the anxious gaze of some 50,000
Russians, horse, foot, and gunners, who marvelled at their boldness and
seeming unconcern, and waited only for the long red lines of the British
and the brisk-moving masses of French blue to come a little nearer, when
they promised themselves that they would sweep them out of existence
with a tempest of shot and shell the like of which had never been
experienced. Yes, all was ready. Their guns were trained for the
ground over which British and French must pass; but not for an instant
did it occur to them that French and Turks might think of attacking the
cliffs on their left. The narrow road, its steepness, and the proximity
of their guns seemed to make such an attempt impossible, and, safe in
the thought, they brought every piece they possessed to bear upon those
slopes and vineyards across which the British were soon to march.
"Halt!" The command came hoarsely through the air and was emphasised by
the shrill notes of a bugle.
"Now, what is going to happen?" asked Phil. "Ah! I see; we are to get
into our proper formation, ready to march down to the river. Then I
suppose we shall deploy till we have ample elbow-room, and afterwards
make a dash for the Russian position."
Ten minutes later the British divisions were swinging along over the
green turf, their centre marching almost directly on the village of
Bourliouk, and the whole face to face with Menschikoff's huge army, and
destined to bear the brunt of the fighting.
The French and Turkish troops took but a small part in the battle.
Seeing the difficulty of the two cliff roads ascending the river-bank to
the left of his force, Menschikoff had failed to occupy them, as has
been mentioned, and had placed but few troops in the neighbourhood, for
the guns of the allied fleets commanded the cliffs. Taking advantage of
this, the lithe and active little Frenchmen were soon crowding the
narrow road in their front, and in an incredibly short space of time
their guns had been hauled to the top of the cliff, and from there
boomed out at the Russian batteries and long lines of massed infantry,
doing much execution and threatening them from their flank. Farther to
the right the Turks swarmed up the other road, and having gained the
cliffs, took up their position there.
Meanwhile the red lines of the British, who, it had been arranged,
should not be launched at the main army till the French had commenced
their flank attack, moved down the grassy slope, solemn and grand, and
as steadily as a mass of moving rock, the front line composed of the
Second and Light Divisions, the next of the Third and First Divisions,
in column formation, while behind them the Fourth Division marched in
echelon, with five regiments in rear as reserves.
Stretching for nearly two miles, with its right close to the village of
Bourliouk and its left near that of Tarkhaular, the mass of men advanced
slowly and evenly, with a cloud of skirmishers from the rifle battalions
thrown out in front. Soon these became engaged with the Russian
skirmishers posted in the vineyards and in Bourliouk, and the sharp
rat-a-tat of musketry and an occasional hiss above the heads of the
gallant men in red showed that the battle of the Alma had commenced. A
grunt, almost a shout, of satisfaction and pent-up excitement, instantly
went down the lines, and the regiments at a sharp order commenced to
open out and deploy, the foremost line, composed of the Second and Light
Divisions, stepping forward at a smart pace, which soon became almost a
double, as the men eagerly advanced against the Russians.
Boom! The big battery had opened fire, and, as if this had been a
signal, every gun on the Russian side blazed out and covered the slopes
with smoke, while their shot searched the whole British front, tearing
remorselessly through the ranks and crashing into the village houses.
"This is hot!" shouted Phil in Tony's ear, as they squatted with their
comrades upon the grass, awaiting the order to advance. "I'd rather
march straight against that battery than sit here and be pounded into a
jelly before having a chance of a smack at those beggars."
"'Tain't nothing," grunted Tony reassuringly, tilting his bearskin back
to dash the perspiration from his forehead. "Ah, that was a bad 'un!"
he muttered hoarsely as, with an awful screech, a cannon-shot plunged
into the men close at hand, laying five of the poor fellows dead and
maiming two others in its flight.
But now the first line had reached the river, and, holding their pouches
and rifles above their heads, they plunged in boldly, and were soon
massed on the other side, where they waited, standing waist-deep in the
water, and sheltered by the steep bank from the fire of the batteries
above. But it was only a momentary halt. Dashing through the river,
Sir George Brown put his horse at the bank, and, surmounting it, turned
in his saddle and called upon the brave fellows to follow him, waving
his sword in a manner that showed all who were out of hearing what his
wishes were. And he had not to call a second time, for, hastily gulping
down a mouthful of water, the thin red line climbed the bank with a
shout, and, falling into their places with as much coolness as though on
a parade-ground, advanced shoulder to shoulder up the slopes.
A glance at them, however, displayed the curious fact that the advancing
troops were in no regular formation. Compelled to deploy and often make
wide detours in passing through the vineyards on the other bank and in
marching round the village, regiments had been split up into smaller
portions, and in many cases men had lost sight of their comrades
altogether. But still discipline and coolness were second nature to
them. Without orders but of their own initiative they fell in, and
forming a double line--the favoured formation for British attack,--they
pressed up the hill; dark-coated riflemen and red linesmen intermingled,
and were swallowed up in the clouds of eddying smoke.
Up, up they climbed, steadily and with heroic bravery, and, passing
through a storm of hurtling iron and lead, at length flung themselves
upon the deep columns of the Russians.
One moment visible, they were seen surging from side to side,
desperately using their bayonets; and next moment, with an appalling
roar, the batteries would open once more, and clouds of white smoke
would swallow them up, only their excited cries, and the hoarse,
encouraging voices of the officers nobly leading them, showing that they
still survived.
"It's grand to see them," cried Phil, carried away by the excitement of
the moment. "When will our turn come? They will be swept away by those
crowds of Russian soldiers. Look at them, Tony! Now they are at close
quarters, and the enemy is giving back. Hurrah, now we have them!" and,
springing to his feet, he would have broken from the ranks and rushed to
join the fighting-line had not Tony clutched him by the arm and dragged
him to the ground, while a hoarse and well-timed "Steady, youngster,
you're tiring yourself; keep all your gristle till we come up against
them," from a veteran sergeant who sat close at hand, smoking calmly,
served to quieten him again. But Phil was not the only man there who
longed to be up and doing. Not one but was restless and chafing at the
delay, especially at Phil's last shout, for a turn had taken place in
the tide of the battle which indeed gave the British a far better chance
of victory. Awed by the mass of advancing men, the big Russian battery,
which had done such damage in our ranks, suddenly limbered up and
retired over the hill--a disgraceful retreat which proved disastrous to
the enemy.
But though the attacking force had thus gained an important advantage,
the masses of the Russians now poured down the slope and threw
themselves upon the gallant British line. Bravely did the latter
resist, and with desperate courage strive to continue their advance; but
the enemy opposing them were equally brave and equally stubborn, and
moreover had the advantage of position and numbers. For a few moments
there was a seething mixture of red and grey coats, glittering bayonets,
and darts of flame; and then, broken by sheer weight, the British
retired upon the ranks of the now advancing second line.
Side by side Phil and Tony stepped forward with their comrades, and
almost in a dream plunged through the river and climbed the opposite
bank. But now the voices of their officers recalled their wandering
senses, and, falling into their places, the brigade of Guards pushed on
in perfect formation, with the Highlanders abreast of them.
What a scene it was! What excitement and what movement! A double line
of stalwart Guardsmen as well-ordered and as rigidly erect as if
drilling in the green parks at home; and in line with them brawny
Highlanders, all dripping with water, deafened by the crashing
artillery, and yet determined to a man to get to close quarters with the
enemy. And retiring upon them, war-worn, bedraggled, and bareheaded,
with faces and hands black with the smoke of powder, some limping
heavily, and others even crawling, came the gallant first line, loth to
turn their backs upon the foe, and yet compelled to do so by
overwhelming numbers. Had the second line advanced earlier it would
have supported them at the critical moment, but owing to the fact that
Lord Raglan and his staff had already crossed the river and ridden close
to Telegraph Hill, it received no direct order from him; and when it did
advance, it was on the responsibility of the division commander. But
now, opening its ranks for the moment to pass through the broken first
line, it marched at a rapid pace, and immediately plunged into the
tempest of bullets. Men fell to right and left, biting the dust and
struggling in their agony, while others lay motionless, sometimes with
contorted limbs and faces, and sometimes in peaceful repose as if
asleep, stirring not from the position in which death had found them.
Ah! it was war, red, cruel war, and well might that second line have
wavered and turned back. But theirs was not that sort of courage.
Determined to be beaten by nothing, they kept steadily marching up the
hill, and soon disappeared, for volumes of smoke were pouring from the
village of Bourliouk, which was now in flames, and, mingling with that
from the guns, enveloped the combatants in a dense cloud.
And as the line advanced into the thick of the fight, and while rifle
fire brought havoc to the ranks, the Russian skirmishers, still clinging
to their positions amongst the trees of the river-bank, picked off all
the stragglers, and even turned their volleys and the fire of a few
light field-guns upon the main body.
"Keep together, mate. We'll fight 'em side by side," shouted Tony,
closing up to Phil. "Got yer rifle loaded? Then keep yer charge till
we gets to close quarters. It'll come in handy then."
"Right! I thought of that," Phil shouted back. Then, closing up to
their comrades, they advanced at a rapid pace and flung themselves upon
the lines of grey-coated Russians.
To this day Phil cannot quite recall what happened. If you press him he
will perhaps tell you that he recollects a young officer falling at his
feet, while a huge Russian prepared to bayonet him. Next moment the man
was down and Phil was standing over him, while Tony's rifle laid low
another who was in the act of dashing his friend's head to pieces with
the butt of his weapon.
On pressed the red line resistlessly and with never a pause, leaving
behind them friend and foe strewn upon the grass, and on, ever in front,
went the officers and the colours into the heart of the struggling mass
of grey. There was no need to call to their men and beg them to follow.
The British lion was aroused in desperate earnestness, and with grim
and awe-inspiring silence the men rushed on headlong and regardless of
bullet or bayonet. There was a crash, the bang, bang of an occasional
shot, and the clash of steel upon steel, and then the trample of
thousands of feet as the enemy gave way and fled.
Side by side Phil and Tony had fought their way into the middle of the
famous Vladimir regiment, and as the Russians turned, found themselves
mixed up with brawny Highlanders, who, with the light of battle in their
eyes, were pressing resistlessly forward. Suddenly Phil caught sight of
a figure in advance bearing a British colour. It swayed this way and
that, now endeavouring to get closer to the Highlanders, and next moment
swept forward as the retreating Russians slowly gave way and drove the
bearer before them.
"The colour! the colour!" he shouted frantically, dashing forward with
Tony at his heels. Scattering those who barred their path, they made
their way to the flag, and falling-in on either side, fought grimly to
help its bearer back to the ranks of the Highlanders.
"Thanks, my men!" shouted the young officer who supported the flag.
"Now, help me, and we'll get out of this hole. All together! Rush!"
With their weapons held well in advance, the three dashed at the enemy,
while the Highlanders, seeing the predicament into which the colour had
fallen, with a shout of wrath flung themselves in their direction. But
though beaten, the Russians had in no way lost courage, and, turning
fiercely, they bore the gallant Scotsmen back, while others opposed Phil
and his comrades.
"Rally, rally! The colour!" shouted Phil, thrusting right and left with
his bayonet, and turning just in time to discharge his rifle at a man
who was attacking them in rear.
So fiercely did the little band of three fight that the Russians in
their immediate neighbourhood gave way, and, standing in a circle round
them, glared at the gallant red-coats who had thus far been too much for
them.
A glorious picture they presented. At bay, with a host of the enemy
surrounding them and glowering at them with fierce hatred, the officer
and his two supporters indeed were men of whom Britain might well feel
proud. With flushed faces and flashing eyes, which looked into those of
the enemy with no signs of fear, but with keen glances of stem
determination, they stood there a mere drop in an ocean of struggling
men. Smoke-begrimed, dishevelled, and with bearskins tumbled in the
mud, Phil and Tony clutched their rifles and looked ready and willing to
fall upon the hundreds around them. Thoughts of home, danger of
capture, or death by bayonet or bullet were lost in the delirious
excitement of the moment. They thought only of the flag for which they
fought, and, hemmed in and panting with exhaustion, they listened to the
deafening din of the battle still raging a few feet from them, and nobly
determined to die sooner than permit the Russians to capture it.
"We're done, lads," groaned the officer, sinking on his knee.
"Corporal, take the colour. I'm hit, and can't hold it any longer.
Fight on for it!"
Phil grasped the staff, and, hoisting the flag still higher, looked
round with proud defiance, while Tony, with a grim smile of exultation
on his face, stepped nearer to him.
"Ay, well fight on for it, sir, never fear," he muttered. "We'll fight
till we're dead."
Phil nodded.
"I'll borrow your sword, sir," he said, grasping the weapon as he spoke.
"A rifle and bayonet are too heavy to use one-handed."
"Look out, lads! Here come the cavalry!" the officer exclaimed at this
moment; and almost instantly Cossack horses dashed through the Russian
infantry, scattering them and surrounding the colour. There was one
last desperate fight. Phil's sword smashed in two at the first vicious
cut, and for a minute he continued the defence by belabouring the
horsemen with the colour-staff. Then that was dashed to the ground, and
before he was aware of it a lasso-noose had been slipped over his
shoulders, securing his arms to his side, and he was being dragged away.
The last backward glance as he was hurried away showed him a grand rush
by the Highlanders. The grey-coats retreated precipitately, and amid
hoarse shouts of exultation the rescued colour was borne back to the
British lines.