Huge indeed was the Russian army which Phil and his outposts saw
advancing upon them through the mists of the valley. Thousands of
infantrymen were in each of the thick columns, while far behind were
others, resting on their arms and waiting in reserve. To attempt to
keep back such a force was ridiculous, but much could be done by
resolute men to delay its march, and Phil decided to attempt this with
the handful at his command.
"The columns to right and left I must leave to themselves," he said
hurriedly. "In any case they will march on and overlap me. But the
central column is the biggest and most important, and, therefore, I will
concentrate all my fire upon it. Pass the word along there for the men
to close," he shouted. Then, turning to his sergeant, he said: "Hurry
back to the camp at once and warn them that three Russian columns are
advancing. Say I will hold them in check as long as possible."
Saluting hurriedly, the sergeant turned and ran back towards the
barrier, leaving Phil and his handful of men face to face with the
Russians.
Nothing daunted, and well knowing that much depended upon his exertions,
for a long delay would enable the Second Division to get under arms and
take up good positions, Phil concentrated his men, and with a rapid
order formed them into line, the ends of which he swung backwards till
they were in a semicircular formation.
"Now," he said, standing in front of them with rifle at the slope over
his shoulder, "about turn; retire ten yards, and when you are well in
among the bushes, lie down and wait for the order to fire."
Steadied by the example of coolness and determination shown them, the
outpost-party swung about and retired into a thick belt of scrub, which,
with the aid of the dense morning mist and numerous boulders, completely
hid them. Each man at once threw himself upon the ground and waited,
with rifle resting upon a stone.
Standing in their midst, Phil directed the greater part to pour their
volleys into the central column, while a few files on the flanks engaged
those on either side. Tingling with excitement, and filled with dogged
determination to harass the Russians to the last, the men levelled their
rifles and waited eagerly for the word.
And as they waited, the tramp of thousands of feet grew nearer and still
nearer, while the low and buzzing hiss of excitement, which Russian
soldiery indulge in when about to attack, seemed already to have passed
beyond them. Suddenly, however, a puff of wind blew the mist away in
long trailing flakes, and the central column appeared, marching at a
rapid pace, and already within thirty yards of the outpost. Almost at
the same moment the lateral columns came into sight, but separated by a
little wider interval.
"Fire!" cried Phil in a loud voice.
Instantly a rattling volley was poured into the dense masses of men, who
came to an abrupt halt, while confusion and alarm spread through their
ranks. Then officers rushed to the front, sword in hand, and called
upon them to charge.
Flash! Another volley was poured into the struggling ranks, and men
were seen to drop on either side.
Bending down so that the scrub just concealed them, Phil and his men
rapidly reloaded, and had emptied their rifles again before the mist
fell once more and hid the enemy from sight.
"Load again," cried Phil. "Now, are you ready? Then follow me to the
right. We will change our position before these fellows recover
sufficiently to open fire."
Running through the dense growth of bushes, the outpost-party soon took
up a new position in front of one of the other columns, where, spreading
out so as to pour their volleys into all three columns, they waited
again for the command to fire.
Meanwhile shouts and oaths came in a perfect storm from the Russians,
and their hiss of excitement rose to deafening pitch.
Then the mist was suddenly rent asunder by a flash of flame which ran
along their front, and a hail of bullets was poured into the bushes
where Phil and his party had lain not a minute before, sending a shower
of twigs and leaves pattering to the ground, and striking the boulders
with a series of sharp thuds, which told that but for the fortunate
change of position, the outpost-party would have been decimated.
"Now we'll give them another taste," said Phil aloud. "Then we'll
retire some fifty yards and wait for them again."
The movement proved even more successful than he could have hoped, for,
bewildered by the mist, and fearful that they had stumbled upon a strong
force of the Allies, the Russians still stood rooted to the spot, while
the bullets tore remorselessly through their crowded ranks, doing awful
execution at such close quarters. Standing in front of them, officers
waved their swords gallantly and called upon them to advance, but,
stricken by the fire and in dread of the British bayonet, the
grey-coated host stood there doubtful and hesitating, and kept from
flying only by the press of men behind, unaware as yet of the trouble
which had befallen their comrades in advance.
"We'll play the same game again, my men," cried Phil coolly, as soon as
the retirement had been carried out. "Then we'll make for the barrier
and rejoin our friends. The 80th is there by now, and will be ready to
help us if we are in difficulties."
"What's that there, sir?" asked Tony suddenly, standing by his master's
side and pointing to the left. "That's a column of Russians, I reckon,
and if we're to get back to friends alive we'd best be quick about it.
See, they're already behind us."
Staring through the mist, Phil recognised with a start that the force of
Russians to the left, suffering less from the galling fire of the
British outposts, had recovered their wits, and, advancing up the
valley, were tramping past him and already deploying between himself and
the "barrier."
"Get together, men," he cried hastily. "Now, in two lines, and bayonets
to the front! Keep your fire till at close quarters!"
Springing to their feet, the outpost-party hastily fell in, and,
following Phil, who went some paces in front, retired at a ran, darting
round boulders and clumps of brushwood, and keeping as much under cover
as possible. But though they retired rapidly, the Russian ranks
deployed even more quickly, and while those to the far left pushed on
directly in their front, taking the course of a narrow ravine, others
spread towards the centre, hoping there to join hands with their
comrades.
And now an additional element of danger presented itself to Phil and his
comrades. Behind them they had left the bulk of the enemy hesitating
and uncertain how to act, and pouring an aimless and useless fire into
the cover which had concealed those who had done them so great a
mischief. At first firing independently and wildly, they had soon taken
to well-ordered volleys, and, there being no answer to these and no more
missiles of death flying through their ranks, they took courage and,
coaxed by their officers, advanced. Arrived at the brushwood cover,
they found not a single British soldier. Only deep footprints in the
mud, and the litter of twigs brought down by their own bullets, could be
seen, and recognising that they had been duped, they broke from a hiss
of excitement into a roar of fury, and, breaking from control, dashed
forward over boulder and scrub towards the British lines.
"Hark! What is that?" said Phil, holding up his hand to arrest his men.
"What do those cries mean?"
"It's the Russians coming," answered Tony. "Listen: you can hear them
tearing through the wood. Quick, or we'll be taken. Look, there are
men in front of us."
A hasty glance told Phil that Tony was speaking only the truth, for at
this moment a swarm of grey-coats could be seen between themselves and
the barrier, and one of these, turning round at the moment, caught sight
of the British outposts, and with a shout attracted his comrades'
attention.
"Get together, lads!" said Phil, with coolness and decision. "There,
that will do. Now let me take my place on the right. Remember, keep
your fire till the muzzles almost touch their coats, and then pull the
triggers. Are you ready? Then charge!"
In a close and compact mass, and with bayonets well to the front, the
little party dashed forward, and, directed by Phil, charged where the
Russian ranks seemed thinnest. With eyes flashing, and courage roused
to the highest, the men behaved with a coolness and disregard of danger
which was magnificent. Waiting till the whites of the Russians' eyes
were distinct, they poured in a terrible volley, and then threw
themselves upon the enemy with a shout. For five minutes a furious
melee raged. Bayonets thrust the air wildly on every side, and death
seemed in store for Phil and his small command. Struck by bullets, or
thrust through by the steel, some of his gallant men fell before a
minute had passed, but, undismayed, and filled only with an enthusiasm
and fury which made them forget all else, the remainder wielded their
weapons unceasingly, and, plunging ever forward, cut their way to the
heart of the enemy, and then through its crowded ranks, until not a
Russian lay between them and the barrier. Then turning fiercely they
waited only to cast off a few who still clung to them, and, dashing them
to the ground, took to their heels, and within a minute were over the
barrier and lying full length upon the ground, panting and endeavouring
to regain their breath ere the enemy were upon them.
As for Phil, he cast his rifle to the ground, and, seating himself upon
a boulder, waved his arms at the officers surrounding him, and
endeavoured to tell them how vast was the force about to attack the
British camp.
"There, sit still and say nothing," said the colonel who had spoken to
him on the previous evening. "Thanks to the timely warning you sent by
the sergeant, we are as prepared as it is possible to be, though our
numbers are dangerously small. Still, we are ready, and we must thank
you, Western, for delaying the enemy and so giving us time. Let me tell
you you have done a gallant and most useful service for the army. Now,
I see you are better. Take a small nip from this flask. It will help
you to pull round."
Phil did as he was directed, and just as the enemy reached the barrier
had recovered his breath and strength sufficiently to snatch up his
rifle again and join his company.
And now commenced a battle upon the fortunes of which depended the fate
of the Allies. Here was an immense army marching in three columns upon
a ridge held only by a division scarcely 4000 strong. In rear of it lay
the French, at present wholly unable to help or reinforce, for, though
not attacked, they sat in their trenches, menaced by Liprandi's large
force from the Causeway heights, captured on "Balaclava" day. And on
their left the roar of cannon from the fortress could already be heard
as they thundered at the British, while behind the masonry thousands of
Russians were massed in preparation for a gigantic sortie upon the
investing trenches.
No one could help that gallant 4000, for everywhere troops were urgently
needed against threatened attack. But lack of numbers was fully
compensated for by a courage which becomes even more remarkable as one
thinks of it--courage sufficient to urge them to march over that crest,
and, leaving their tents, amongst which cannon-shot were already
hurtling, to descend the slope and advance against an army of huge
proportions. Fortune favours the brave, indeed, for where can history
show a brighter example? Eager for the fight, and reckless of the
consequences, the British troops descended the ridge and threw
themselves upon the enemy. The mist opened, and the Russians saw a
double line of red, and faces furious with excitement and lust of
battle, charging upon them, but next moment the British ranks were
hidden. A breath of wind to dispel the vapour would have turned the
fortunes of the battle, and changed glorious victory for the British
into disastrous defeat. But there was no breeze, no puff of wind to
clear the atmosphere, and, ignorant of the thinness of the opposing
lines, and feeling sure that they were already face to face with the
bulk of the allied army, the Russians came forward slowly and carefully.
There was none of that dash and recklessness which would have brought
them victory; instead, they paused, swayed this way and that, torn
incessantly by volleys from rifles which, far superior to their own,
caused ghastly slaughter in their ranks; and gave way whenever a company
of England's soldiers fell upon them.
Meanwhile what had happened at the barrier? Two hundred of the 30th
Foot lay behind it, and alone met the central column with their
bayonets. Rushing at the low wall of stones, swarms of grey-coated
warriors attempted to climb it, only to be hurled back from the
bayonets. Time and again did they renew the assault, but always with
the same result. And all the while bullets pelted amongst them, so that
at length, despairing of surmounting the barrier, they turned to the
left and joined one of the lateral columns. All day long did that
gallant handful of the 80th cling to their position, and almost
incessantly were they called upon to oppose other bodies of Russian
troops, who came to renew the combat. Worn out with their exertions,
with blackened faces and blood-stained clothing, they threw themselves
upon the miry ground and slept the sleep of exhaustion till another
alarm was given, when, shaking off their drowsiness by an effort of
will, they sprang to their feet once more, and, grasping rifles, again
flung themselves upon the enemy. Gallant souls indeed they were, but
not more brave and determined than their comrades upon that memorable
battle-field. Sweeping by them on the right one Russian column fell
upon the flank of the British and hurled it aside by sheer weight of
numbers. Then, advancing rapidly, they wheeled to the left, and were
within an ace of taking the division in rear. But again fortune
favoured the British. Buller hurried up with reinforcements at this
moment, and, falling upon them with bull-dog ferocity, pushed them back,
then rent them in pieces, and sent them hurrying away in disorder.
And on the British right events of no small moment were taking place.
Pushing past the barrier, with the 200 of the 30th growling on their
flank, and constantly hurling volleys at them, an enormous column closed
with the soldiers in red and pressed them up and up the hill till the
crest and the sandbag battery were reached.
And now commenced a stage in the battle that is memorable, that stands
out amongst all the glorious deeds of that splendid day as more glorious
than all the rest. As if at school and struggling for the possession of
some imaginary castle, British and Russians fought fiercely for the
sandbag battery. A mere mound of earth, and having no guns, it was but
a mark, a ridge upon the rolling crest, which attracted the eye. Foiled
in their main attempt to force the enemy back and march on towards
Balaclava, the Russians forgot the object of the day, and those in the
neighbourhood of the battery straggled furiously for its possession.
Frantic with rage and disappointment, and with noble courage, they
hurled themselves upon it time and again, only to be as bravely met and
dashed down the hill once more. Grim, bareheaded, and full of valour
the Guards clustered round that battery and disputed its ownership with
the Russians. Undaunted by the numbers advancing, time and again they
hurled them back, and then stood leaning upon their rifles, and between
their gasps for breath called to the Russians to come again, to mount
the slope and capture the position. And the grey-coated host glared up
at them across a stretch of beautiful green turf now piled high with
poor lads who had fought their last fight. Yes, hundreds of fine men
lay there, some barely more than boys, others in the prime of life,
gaunt, raw-boned Russian linesmen, with ugly red streaks upon their
faces, or big patches of like colour growing ever larger upon the grey
cloth of their uniforms. Amongst them, too, still clutching rifles, and
some even with hands clenched and tightly grasping their enemies, lay
fine stalwart Guardsmen, young men in the pride of youth and strength,
and veterans. Death had called them away, and just as many an eye would
dim, and cheeks be moistened, in far-away Russian cabins for those near
and dear who had gone, so in good old England women and lasses would
soon be weeping for those gallant sons and brothers who had died for the
country's good.
For long hours the conflict raged round the battery, but though the
Russians were in far greater numbers than the British, the Guardsmen
budged not an inch; and when the day was done, stood victorious and
proud owners of the position.
Meanwhile the orderly lines of the Second Division had been broken by
sheer weight of numbers, and pushed back here and there; in other parts
they pressed forward with irresistible valour into the enemy's columns,
and fought on in parties of two hundred, and often less--as few even as
twenty,--with desperate courage and determination, and with a lust of
battle and ferocity that was truly marvellous. Not once, but many
times, these small groups flung themselves upon the enemy, and,
thrusting and slashing on every side, cut their way to the very centre
of the mass of grey, pushed on with assailants surrounding them, and at
length passed to the other side, only to turn and bury themselves once
more in the Russian ranks.
Late in the day, too, when the fate of the battle still hung in the
balance, more artillery arrived, and, engaging the batteries on Gun
Hill, caused them to retire. Then slowly and grudgingly the Russian
infantry turned round and retreated in disorder to the heights of
Inkermann, leaving an enormous number of killed and wounded behind them.
Oh for Scarlett's Heavy Brigade, or the remainder even of that glorious
600 horse who had charged into "the gates of hell" on Balaclava day!
One dash, one fierce charge amidst those retreating soldiers, and defeat
would have been a rout, a decisive victory, which even at this date
might well have led to the surrender of the fortress and the humbling of
Russian pride.
But no horse were there, and the retreating forces of the Czar reached
their bivouacs sullen and dispirited at their crushing defeat, but
without suffering further injury save from the shell and plunging shot
as the British guns opened upon the flying mass.
But that deep valley and the slopes leading to the ridge were piled with
dead and wounded innumerable, for both sides had lost heavily, the
Russian casualties amounting to many thousands.
Phil took his full share in the battle, while Tony hovered like a
guardian angel near him, many a time turning aside a flashing bayonet
meant for his friend.
One thrust, indeed, got home, the bayonet transfixing Phil's thigh and
bringing him to the ground.
With a roar Tony was upon the man and had knocked him senseless with a
tremendous blow on the head from the stock of his rifle. Then, lifting
Phil, he carried him into a safer position behind the barrier of stones.
"It's nothing," exclaimed Phil, with a smile. "Slit up my trousers and
just tie your handkerchief round. That's it. Now I think I shall be
all right. The pain made me feel a little faint."
Taking a pull at his flask, which contained weak brandy and water, he
was soon on his feet again, and had taken his place in the
fighting-line. When all was over, Tony helped him back to his tent, and
fetched the regimental doctor, who bandaged the wound.
"It's a simple flesh wound," the latter said encouragingly, "and, if you
rest a little, will give you no trouble beyond a little stiffness. The
difficulty is to get you young fellows to sit still for a moment. But
you must rest, and as there happens to be a convoy going to Balaclava in
an hour's time I'll send you with it and have you put on one of the
ships."
"I'd rather stay here and get well," said Phil eagerly. "After all,
it's only a scratch, and will be right in a week."
"Now, I'm treating you, my boy," the doctor exclaimed shortly, "and for
your own good I shall send you on board ship, so there is an end of the
matter."
Phil resigned himself to what he thought was a hard fate, for he was
anxious to stay with his regiment. But no doubt rest for a few days was
required, and the doctor was right in insisting upon it.
"Pack up my things, Tony, and we'll see whether I cannot get a lift in
an araba," he said. "The convoy is to start from the crest, so you
might slip up and see what can be done."
Tony did as he was told, and was able to secure a place for his master.
Phil was then carried to the top of the hill, and, being lifted into the
cart, was driven off. The convoy reached Balaclava at dawn, and Phil,
with Tony in attendance, and some fifty other wounded men was sent on
board a small schooner, which at once weighed anchor, and sailed out of
the harbour.
"Nasty place that," said the captain, a rough-faced, genial old sea-dog,
jerking his thumb towards the harbour. "Safe as a house so long as the
wind's off shore; but once it begins to blow the other way, God help
those aboard ship. There'll be only bare rocky cliffs to welcome them
if the vessels go ashore, and how could they help doing that, for the
anchorage is notoriously unsafe? Can't imagine why they stick there!
There's many a safer harbour hereabouts."
The captain looked anxiously at the fine transports swinging to their
cables, and then muttering "Thank heavens I shall be at sea and have a
better chance than they!" nodded to Phil and dived below.
He was a knowing man, this sailor, and, being accustomed to the Black
Sea, was well aware that the season for violent gales and storms of rain
and snow had now arrived. That night indeed, and all the following day,
it blew so fiercely that the vessel's bowsprit carried away, and she was
obliged to put back into Balaclava for repairs. A few days later she
once more set sail.
"Don't like the look of things," muttered the captain, looking round
anxiously as they sailed from the mouth of the harbour. "If it comes on
to blow on-shore to-night it'll be bad for them ships in there. But it
isn't my affair. The chap as is in command has been warned more than
once already."
"Do you think we are going to catch it again?" asked Phil.
"Can't say for certain, but it looks precious like it; I wonder what the
glass is doing?" and with an anxious expression the captain went to
consult his barometer.
"Falling fast," he said shortly, "and it's getting much colder. We're
in for a dusting, I think. Mr King, get those sails taken off her, and
make all taut. I'll go my rounds in half an hour and see how things
are." He crossed the deck and fell into earnest conversation with his
mate, leaving Phil to make his way aft and talk matters over with Tony.
The captain's fears were not unfounded. That evening, November 14th, a
gale of wind sprang up, blowing dead on-shore, and soon a terrific storm
was raging. With her head jammed close up into it, the _Columbine_
seemed to make fair progress; but soon darkness had obscured the cliffs,
and there was nothing by which to judge their position.
"We're far closer to those cliffs than I like," Phil shouted in Tony's
ear. "Still, we seem to be getting well out to sea, and if only we can
manage that we ought to be safe."
"I'd rather be fighting the whole Russian army than knocking about
here," Tony roared back. "'Tain't that only neither. This sea puts a
chap off his grub, and we ain't had such a lot of late as to let us
afford it. Look what a rat I'm getting;" and with a comical air of
despair he clutched the tunic he wore, to show that it was too large for
him.
An hour passed, and it was very evident that the fury of the storm
increased rather than diminished. Phil struggled on to the poop and
found his way to the captain's side.
"We're in the hands of Providence, I reckon," cried the old sailor
reverently. "Every foot we make we lose to leeward, and away over in
that direction are the cliffs. We're running a trifle more along the
coast now, for there's not a ship that's built that could face this
gale. God help us, young man! We can do nothing more for ourselves."
Three hours later a tremendous sea struck the ill-fated ship and smashed
her rudder to pieces. Instantly she commenced to broach to.
"Get a grip of something to hold you up," shouted the captain. "That'll
finish her. Good-bye, lad!"
Phil grasped his hand for the moment and looked into his face. It
showed more clearly than a book could how desperate the situation was.
Leaving him, he crawled along to Tony.
"Get hold of a rope, old man," he screamed in his ear. "She's going
fast towards the rocks."
Whipping out their knives, they soon obtained two long pieces of stout
cordage. With these they tied two of the large wooden gratings at the
hatchway together, and obtaining some more rope, secured themselves to
the woodwork, so that if the ship went down the hatchings would float
away and support them.
Meanwhile huge billows of green water poured on board, thumping the ship
till every timber quivered. Then one immense wave curled right over her
and smashed her decks like an egg-shell. Immediately all was confusion.
Shouts occasionally reached Phil's ear, and he once caught sight of the
grey-headed old captain kneeling in prayer. A moment later another wave
turned the unfortunate _Columbine_ completely over, and, filling at
once, she sank like a stone.
Phil felt as though he was being smothered. The din of rushing water
rang in his ears, and intense darkness surrounded him. He fought and
kicked madly. Then something struck him sharply on the head, and he
grasped the grating to which he was tied, and with an effort dragged
himself upon it. Close alongside was the other grating, and upon it,
clinging with all his might, was Tony. And thus, side by side, one now
dancing on the summit of a wave, while the other hung in the trough,
drenched with water of icy coldness and almost smothered by the surf and
rain, they drifted fast towards those inhospitable black cliffs against
which the tempest thundered.