CATCHING A TARTAR.
After their victory at the Alma the allies tarried long on the ground
they had gained. There were many excuses, but no sound reasons, for
thus wasting precious moments that would never return. It was alleged
that more troops had to be landed; that the removal of the sick and
wounded to ship-board consumed much time; that further progress must
be postponed until the safest method of approaching Sebastopol had
been discussed in many and lengthy councils of war.
Yet at this moment the great fortress and arsenal lay at their mercy.
They had but to put out their hands to capture it. Menschikoff's
beaten army was long in rallying, and when at last it resumed the
coherence of a fighting force its leader withdrew it altogether from
Sebastopol, thus abandoning the fortress to its fate.
Its chief fortifications now were on the northern side, that nearest
the allies, and within a short day's march. Only one redoubt--the
so-called Star Fort--was of any formidable strength, and as this was
close to the sea-shore it was exposed to the bombardment of the fleets.
But the Star Port lay before the French, supposing that the original
order of march was preserved; and the French, exaggerating its powers
of resistance, could not be persuaded to face the risks of assault.
The fact was, St. Arnaud lay dying, and for the moment all vigour was
gone from the conduct of the French arms.
Little doubt exists to-day that the northern fortifications could not
have resisted a determined attack. That it was not attempted was
another grave error; to be followed by yet another, when, after a
hazardous detour--the well-known "flank march"--the allies transferred
themselves to the southern side of Sebastopol, and again neglected a
palpable opportunity. The north side might be fairly well protected;
the south was practically defenceless; a few weak earth-works,
incomplete, and without artillery, were its only bulwarks; its only
garrison were a few militia battalions and some hastily-formed
regiments of sailors from the now sunken Russian ships of war.
It must undoubtedly have fallen by a _coup de main_. But generals
hesitated and differed, bolder spirits were overruled, undue weight
was given to the too-cautious counsels of scientific soldiers, and it
was decided to sit down before and slowly besiege the place.
The chance on which the allies turned their backs was quickly seized
by the enemy. One of the brightest pages in modern military annals is
that which records how the genius and indomitable energy of one man
improvised a resolute and protracted defence; and none have done
fuller justice to Todleben than the foes he so long and gallantly kept
at bay.
The allies now entered, almost with light hearts, upon a siege that
was to last for eleven weary months and prove the source of unnumbered
woes. In a comfortable leisurely fashion they proceeded to break
ground, to open trenches, and approach the enemy's still unfinished
works by parallel and sap. The siege-train--the British War Minister's
fatal gift, encouraging as it did the policy of delay--was landed, as
were vast supplies of ammunition and warlike stores. Tents, too, were
brought up to the front, and the allied encampment soon covered the
plateau from the Tchernaya to the sea. The troops soon settled down in
their new quarters, and the heights before Sebastopol grew gradually a
hive of military industry, instinct with warlike sounds, teeming with
soldier life.
The Royal Picts found themselves posted on the uplands above the
Tchernaya valley, very near the extreme right of the British front,
and here they took their share of the duties that now fell upon the
army, furnishing fatigue-parties to dig at the trenches, and armed
parties to cover them as they worked, and pickets by day and night to
watch the movements of the enemy.
Since McKay's official recommendation for a commission, he had been
entrusted with duties above his position as sergeant-major. The
adjutant had been badly wounded at the Alma, and it was generally
understood that when promoted McKay would succeed him. Meanwhile he
was entrusted with various special missions appertaining to the rank
he soon expected to receive.
One of these was his despatch to Balaclava to make inquiries for the
knapsacks of the regiment. They had been left on board ship, and the
transport had been expected daily in Balaclava harbour. The men were
sadly in want of a change of clothes, and neither these nor the little
odds and ends that go to make up a soldier's comfort were available
until they got their packs. McKay was directed to take a small party
with him to land the much-needed baggage and have it conveyed by hook
or crook to the front.
He left the camp late in the afternoon, and, striking the great
Woronzoff Road just where it pierced the Fediukine Heights, descended
it until he reached the Balaclava plain. A few miles beyond, the
little town itself was visible, or, more exactly, the forest of masts
that already crowded its little land-locked port.
Here, on the right of the communications between the English army and
its base, a long range of redoubts had been thrown up and garrisoned
by the Turks. These crowned the summit of a range of low hillocks,
and, in marching to his point, McKay paused on the level ground
between two hills. The Turks on sentry gave him a "Bono Johnny!" as he
passed, by way of greeting; but they were far too lazy and too sleepy
to do more.
It was evident they kept a poor look-out, and doubtful strangers were
as free to pass as British friends. Just upon the rear of No. 3
Redoubt McKay and his men came upon a fellow crouching low amongst the
broken ground. McKay would have passed by without remark, but his
first look at the stranger, who wore no uniform and seemed a harmless,
unoffending Tartar peasant, was followed by a second and keener gaze.
He thought he recognised the man; he certainly had seen his face
before. Directing his men to seize him, he made a longer and closer
inspection, and found that it was the ruffian whom they had surprised
and chased on the heights above the Alma the morning after the battle.
"He is up to no good," said McKay. "We must take him along with us."
But where? The job they were on was a definite one; not the capture of
chance prisoners, which would certainly delay them on the road.
Still, remembering the last occasion on which he had seen this man,
and the mysterious remarks that Hyde had let fall concerning him,
McKay felt sure the fellow was not what he seemed. This Tartar dress
must be a disguise: how could Hyde have made the acquaintance years
before of a Tartar peasant in the Crimea?
Certainly the man must go with them, and therefore, placing him
securely in the midst of his party, McKay marched on. If nothing
better offered, he would hand his prisoner over to the Commandant of
Balaclava on arrival there.
But as they trudged along, and, leaving the cavalry-encampment on
their right, approached the ground occupied by the Highland brigade,
they encountered its general--McKay had seen him at the Alma--riding
out, accompanied by his staff.
The quick eye of Sir Colin Campbell promptly detected the prisoner. He
rode up at once to the party, and said, in a sharp, angry tone--
"What are you doing with that peasant? Don't you know that the orders
are positive against molesting the inhabitants? Who is in command of
this party?"
McKay stood forth and saluted.
"You? A sergeant-major? Of the Royal Picts, too! You ought to know
better. Let the man go!"
"I beg your pardon, Sir Colin," began McKay; "but--"
"Don't argue with me, sir; do as I tell you. I have a great mind to
put you in arrest."
McKay still stood in an attitude of mute but firm protest.
"What does the fellow mean? Ask him, Shadwell. I suppose he must have
some reason, or he would not defy a general officer like this."
Captain Shadwell, one of Sir Colin's staff, took McKay aside, and,
questioning him, learnt all the particulars of the capture. McKay told
him, too, what had occurred at the Alma.
"The fellow must be a spy," said Sir Colin, abruptly, when the whole
of the facts were repeated to him. "We must cross-question him. I
wonder what language he speaks."
The general himself tried him with French; but the prisoner shook his
head stupidly. Shadwell followed with German, but with like result.
"I'll go bail he knows both, and English too, probably. He ought to be
tried in Russian now: that's the language of the country. He is
undoubtedly an impostor if he can't speak that. I wish we could try
him in Russian. If he failed, the provost-marshal should hang him on
the nearest post."
This conversation passed in the full hearing of McKay, and when Sir
Colin stopped the sergeant-major stepped forward, again saluted, and
said modestly--
"I can speak Russian, sir."
"You? An English soldier? In the ranks, too? Extraordinary! How on
earth--but that will keep. We will put this fellow through his
facings at once. Ask him his name, where he comes from, and all about
him. Tell him he must answer; that his silence will be taken as a
proof he is not what he pretends. No real Tartar peasant could fail to
understand Russian."
"Who and what are you?" asked McKay. And this first question was
answered by the prisoner with an alacrity that indicated his
comprehension of every word that had been said. He evidently wished to
save his neck.
"My name is Michaelis Baidarjee. Baidar is my home; but I have been
driven out by the Cossacks to-day."
It was a lie, no doubt. Hyde had recognised him as a very different
person.
"Ask him what brings him into our lines?" said Sir Colin, when this
answer had been duly interpreted.
"I came to give valuable information to the Lords of the Universe," he
replied. "The Russians are on the move."
"Ha!" Sir Colin's interest was aroused. "Go on; make him speak out.
Say he shall go free if he tells us truly all he knows."
"Where are the Russians moving?" asked McKay.
"This way"--the man pointed back beyond Tchorgorum. "They are
collecting over yonder, many, many thousands, and are marching this
way."
"Do you mean that they intend to attack us?"
"I think so. Why else do they come? Yesterday there were none. All
last night they were marching; to-morrow, at dawn, they will be here."
"Who commands them?"
"Liprandi. I saw him, and they told me his name."
"This is most important," said Sir Colin; "we must know more. Find
out, sergeant-major, whether he can go back safely."
"Back within the Russian lines?"
"Exactly. He might go and return with the latest news."
"You would never see the fellow again, Sir Colin. He is only
humbugging us--"
"Put the question as I direct you," interrupted the general, abruptly.
"What we want is information; it must be got by any means."
"Yes, I will go," the prisoner promised, joining his hands with a
gesture as if taking an oath; "and I would return this very night; you
shall have the exact numbers; shall know the road they are coming,
when to expect them--all."
"Let him loose, then," said the general; "but warn him, if he plays us
false, that he had better not fall into our clutches again."
"You may trust him not to do that, sir," said McKay, rather
discontented at seeing his prisoner so easily set free.
The general ignored the remark, but he was evidently displeased at its
tone, for he now turned sharply on McKay, saying--
"As regards you--how comes it you speak Russian?"
"I was born in Moscow."
"Of Russian parents?"
"My father was a Pole by birth, but by extraction a Scotchman."
"What is your name?"
"McKay--Stanislas Anastasius Wilders McKay."
"Ah! Stanislas; I understand that. But how is it you were christened
Wilders? And Anastasius, too--that is a family name, I think. Are you
related to Lord Essendine?--a Wilders, in fact?"
"Yes, sir, by my mother's side."
"And yet you have taken the Queen's shilling! Strange! But it is no
business of mine. Young scapegrace, I suppose--"
"My character is as good as--" "yours," McKay would have said, but
his reverence for the general's rank restrained him. "I enlisted
because I could not enter the British army and be a soldier in any
other way."
"With your friends'--your relatives'--approval?"
"With my mother's, certainly; and of those nearest me."
"Do you know General Wilders--here in the Crimea, I mean?"
"My regiment is in his brigade."
"Yes, yes! I am aware of that. But have you made yourself known to
him, I mean?"
The young sergeant-major knew that his gallantry at the Alma had won
him his general's approval, but he was too modest to refer to that
episode.
"I have never claimed the relationship, sir," he answered, simply, but
with proud reticence; "it would not have beseemed my position."
"Your sentiments do you credit, young man. That will do; you can
continue your march. Good-day!"
They parted; McKay and his men went on to Balaclava, the general
towards the Second Division camp.
"Curious meeting, that, Shadwell," said Sir Colin. "If I come across
Wilders I shall tell him the story. He might like to do his young
relative--a smart soldier evidently, or he would not be a
sergeant-major so early--a good turn."