THE CRIMEA
Our ships had some experience of attacking forts (in the Black Sea) on
the 17th of October 1854. We did not damage the forts. On the other
hand, we received a good dose in return: wooden walls and granite forts
are different things. Then, again, the combined Fleets must indeed have
paralysed the Russian Fleet, which was so much inferior. But it was a
pity that when we sailed for the Baltic (and still more so when we got
there) we were led to think of mighty deeds in store for us. When our
medals were presented to us, with the bit of blue and yellow ribbon,
many felt that they had not deserved them: and the trinkets were kept
in hiding.
I remained in England until the following January. Then, being quite
re-established in health, I received orders to rejoin the _Princess
Royal_ off Sebastopol. It was while I was at home that the news of
Balaclava and Inkerman arrived. Many of our friends and relations were
laid low on those battlefields. I can well recall the wave of mixed joy
and sorrow that swept over England as the detailed accounts came slowly
to hand. My uncle, Lord George Paget, at the head of his regiment, the
Fourth Light Dragoons, commanded the second line in that fatal and
memorable charge, where his regiment was well-nigh destroyed. It was to
him, as he was riding off the field, that were addressed those words
by the French Marshal, which have since passed into proverbial use:
“C’est magnifique; mais cela n’est pas la guerre.” One of Lord George’s
troopers, who (I think) was his servant, was made prisoner, and for
some reason was taken before the Tzar of Russia. Observing the man
standing six foot two in his stockings, His Imperial Majesty inquired
what regiment he had belonged to, and, being told that he was in a
Light-Cavalry regiment, said, “Well, if you are a Light-Cavalry man,
what the devil are the heavies?”
I took passage to the Crimea in a hired transport, and we sailed from
Plymouth early in January 1855. We carried a few troops, and a large
quantity of stores for the army. Touching at Gibraltar and Malta, we
arrived at Constantinople after a three weeks’ passage.
I shall never forget my first sight of the entrance to the Golden
Horn. Those who have seen it will bear me out when I say that of its
kind the view is second to none in the world. It was a beautiful still
morning, and as the sun rose and reflected its golden rays on all the
minaret towers and the great edifice of St. Sophia, one seemed in
fairyland. The caiques, the colouring, the costumes, and the novelty of
this oriental scene--all enchanted me.
Before leaving England I had been told to quit the transport at
Constantinople, and to report myself on board the _Carodoc_, the
man-of-war appointed to our Ambassador as his despatch vessel. I was
most kindly received by dear old Derriman, the Captain, who told me to
present myself up at the Embassy, where Lord Stratford de Redcliffe
wished me to stay until I could get a passage to rejoin my ship on the
Black Sea.
That great man made a deep impression on me. Tall and upright, he
was as fine a figure as ever stepped: a man of perfect features and
iron will: a grand seigneur; and the world knew it. He kindly told
me to make myself at home, and to remain at the Embassy until he was
ready to start in the _Carodoc_ for the Crimea. He was going to the
front to hold an Investiture of the Bath, and would probably sail in
two or three days. This gave me intense pleasure: I rejoiced at the
prospect of becoming acquainted with Constantinople. Lady Stratford
de Redcliffe and her charming daughters made things doubly pleasant.
That most lovely and engaging of women, Lady George Paget, my cousin
(aunt by marriage), also was staying at the Embassy. Among the staff
of the Embassy were many men who made their marks in after life--Odo
Russell, Allison, Count Pisani, and others,--from whom, one and all, I
received the kindest attention. It was indeed an interesting time: I
saw everything, and had a sort of general _lascia passare_.
I was soon called upon to assist in the correspondence department
at the Embassy, and many were the despatches which I copied. Every
one was overwhelmed with business, and I was only too glad to render
what assistance I could. His Lordship was often at work most of the
night, receiving and dictating despatches; his breakfast hour varied
from nine to twelve, according to his hours of rest. The Embassy at
Constantinople in those days was, I imagine, a position of unique
and supreme importance in diplomacy. The postal and the telegraphic
services were in their infancy. In copying Lord Stratford’s despatches
I was not long in discovering how frequently he acted on his own
initiative and responsibility, without reference to the powers that
were at home. No such independence would now be tolerated, nor would it
be possible. It is one thing to recommend your views before the home
authorities for approval; quite another, to act on the spur of the
moment, and to take the sole responsibility on your own shoulders, as
Lord Stratford did. The Turks held him in unbounded fear and respect.
The Bosphorus was a great sight. Ships of war were passing to and fro;
transport and provision ships were constantly going and coming. With
Lady Stratford, I went over to Scutari Hospital to see the crowds
of wounded and invalids from the front, and was presented to Miss
Nightingale. How she worked!
Constantinople in those days was purely Turkish. Modern customs were
not in vogue: the Frank dress was infrequent. The bazaars were rough
and uncivilised. Not until some time after the war was there any
marked improvement in the customs of the natives. Trade soon became
more general, and, owing to freer intercourse with foreigners, the
more enlightened Turk began to shake off the lethargic Eastern style,
adapting himself to the more modern ways of civilisation. I doubt much
whether the change has produced good results as far as the Turk is
concerned.
While awaiting the Ambassador’s departure for the Crimea, I made
excursions to the environs. The sweet waters of Asia were most
interesting. Rowed about in the Embassy caique, I visited most of the
palaces, gardens, and other places worth seeing. Everything was novel.
Englishmen were at that time held in high esteem by the Turk. “Buono
Johnnie” was the cry everywhere, and nothing could have exceeded the
Turk’s rude civilities. I was much amused at the way the kavasses
cleared the road for one. When you were walking in the bazaars, or in
the streets, which were crowded, men and women were sent flying on the
approach of your kavass, who generally wielded a big stick. And the
swarms of dogs--how curious it all seemed to my young imagination!
The _Carodoc_ soon sailed, and in less than thirty-six hours we
found ourselves steaming into Balaclava harbour, which was almost
landlocked. On passing the towering perpendicular cliffs I could not
help picturing to myself the scene of carnage of the previous October,
when so many vessels, with their living freights, were lost during a
frightful gale on that iron-bound coast. Before we got in I caught a
distant sight of Sebastopol and the large allied Fleets at anchor off
the coast. My ship was lying in Kazatch Bay. As there was no chance of
joining her for a few days, His Excellency asked me to accompany him
in his daily expeditions to the front. We were a goodly party. All the
ladies from the Embassy accompanied us. We rode or drove to all the
battlefields and objects of interest at the front, lunching generally
at some Headquarter Staff, and on one occasion at Lord Raglan’s. The
battlefield of Inkerman was still full of _débris_. I was astonished
to see so many boots lying about--and poor fellows’ bones as well. I
carried off a Russian musket, besides other small articles.
At Lord Raglan’s I came across Frank Burgesh--afterwards Lord
Westmorland--looking as handsome and as fresh as he was when hunting
with the Fitz-William hounds.
Subsequently we visited the ground of the famous Balaclava charge,
and saw some of the remains of the shattered cavalry. The few horses
surviving were in a sorry plight. Their manes and tails were much
reduced: actually the horses, from sheer hunger, had been gnawing one
another. Lord George Paget had scarcely any horses fit for duty the day
after the charge. The Tenth Hussars, with splendid horses, had just
arrived from India, and, mustering strong, were much more numerous than
the whole of the Light Brigade.
On one occasion, while I was with Lord Stratford, there was a review
of 25,000 French troops; and I was much struck by their soldier-like
bearing.
Within a few days I rejoined my ship, then lying off Sebastopol,
delighted with all I had seen, and with Lord Stratford’s kindness to
me. Once on board again, I soon shook down among old messmates and
friends. There had been many changes among the officers; but my best
friend, Dick Hare, was still there. The three bad officers had been
weeded out. Consequently, our mess was comfortable.
In a letter to my mother I remarked that I much preferred the Black Sea
to the Baltic, and that I felt happier--more reconciled to the Service.
There was always the sure expectation of seeing active service, and
possibly of being in the thick of it.
The duties assigned to me were to keep daily the morning and in the
evening the six-to-eight watch. This went on without a break for eight
months. I soon became accustomed to getting up at 4 A.M., and in the
fine summer months it was pleasant to paddle about the decks during the
washing process. When the ship’s company went to breakfast, at three
bells (5.30 A.M.), I could get three-quarters of an hour to myself,
alone in the gun-room, for my cup of ship’s cocoa and biscuit; to be
followed by reading or writing letters, pondering over my letters from
home, and a glance at my Prayer Book, as to which I remembered my
mother’s last injunctions.
How much I relished my 5 A.M. cocoa! A hungry middy does enjoy it;
though it takes the sharp edge off the eight o’clock breakfast, which
consisted of (perhaps) a piece of toughest beef-steak--any part of
the animal being dignified by that name. The poor animals, which had
ploughed Turkish soil for many a long year, were slaughtered the
afternoon before, between two guns, on the main deck. When we were not
favoured with these mighty bullocks, it was a case of salt pork or
junk (salt beef); these were usually chopped up into square bits, and
curried with a ghastly yellow powder. Sometimes we had boxes of grub
(as it was called) sent out from home; the grub was much appreciated,
and we usually shared it with our chums. Mostly it consisted of jams,
potted meats, and preserved milk; but in those days potted meats were
in their infancy, and nothing like so good as now. The condensed milk,
though to a certain extent welcomed, was nasty stuff: some of the
midshipmen preferred spreading it on their bread to putting it in their
tea.
During the daytime my duties were very various. We were supposed to
go to the Naval Institute for two or three hours in the forenoon; but
going was a rare occurrence. There was much duty to be done away from
the ship in boats--provisioning, coaling, landing stores for the front,
besides attending constant signals from the Flag-Ship. This, together
with gun drilling and other exercises, took up a great deal of one’s
time.
Occasionally I got a day’s leave. Then I went to the front, and dined
with some pal in the Brigade of Guards or other regiment, shared his
tent for a night, and had a peep at the trenches next day. We could
see a good deal of the fighting from the ship: the sorties at night
were lit up by bursting shells. By its lighted fuze I often watched the
trajectory of the shell while circling through the air, beautifully
timed to burst on approaching the ground.
Having to be up so early every morning, I was generally in my hammock
by 9.30 P.M. (sometimes earlier), and often fell asleep while the band
was playing on the main deck, hard by the officers’ smoking resort.
Smoking was kept uncommonly strict in those days. The hours of the ship
company’s meals were the only times allowed during the daytime; in the
evenings, from after evening quarters until just before the rounds were
gone, at 9.30; and no officer could smoke until he was eighteen. I
became an inveterate smoker, and once was within an ace of being turned
out of the _Excellent_, gunnery-ship at Portsmouth (while undergoing
my examination), for smoking with another fellow on the extreme fore
part of the main deck, a locality well known to the naval officers. The
sentry smelt the fumes, and reported us. We had tried to get out of a
scuttle; but it was considerably too small, and we had to surrender,
feeling it was all up, and that we should have to suffer next day.
However, somehow we got off with a deuce of a wigging.
On another occasion I infuriated my senior officer by smoking
while on duty. I was serving in the Mediterranean under that great
disciplinarian, Sir William Martin (nicknamed Pincher Martin). I was
officer of the guard, and had a long nasty pull round from the Grand
Harbour at Valetta to the quarantine harbour, to get the Admiral’s
despatches from the P. and O. steamer. It was a blowy cold night: so
I allowed all my boat’s crew to light their pipes. On arriving at
Admiralty House with the Commander-in-Chief’s bag of despatches, I was
kept waiting in the hall while the old gentleman was at dinner. After
his meal, the Admiral descended the staircase, and, in his usual curt
way, said, “You are the officer of the guard, I presume? What sort of a
night is it?” I having answered his questions, he said, “You have been
smoking, sir!”--“Yes, sir: I have. I have had a long pull--and a very
wet one--round from the other harbour.” “This is very disgraceful,”
quoth he: “I will see about this to-morrow.” However, I heard no
more of it. I always thought that the restriction as to smoking was
carried much too far in the Navy. When I commanded ships, I used to
allow much more licence than the Queen’s Regulations authorised, and I
never found cause to repent of the indulgence. Smoking was considered
a great solace and help, and many a dull afternoon was got through
by my officers and men over their pipes. The custom of the Service
was to allow a sort of half-holiday on Thursday afternoon. The pipe
went, “Make and mend clothes.” That was a curious definition of a half
holiday; but on those occasions every one was allowed to smoke, and it
was a _dies non_ with the ship’s company.
At 9 P.M. the youngsters, as a rule, were supposed to leave the
gun-room; the signal for this arrangement was called “Sticking a Fork
in the Beam.” I cannot remember ever seeing one so placed; but that was
the adopted term. After a boy had passed his four yearly exams he was
considered an oldster, and assumed a position of more importance. The
chief benefit attached to his promotion was an extension of limited
wine and extra bill. At ten, in harbour, gun-room lights were put out.
The master-at-arms (the chief of the ship’s police) came round with his
lantern, and was supposed to see the gun-room cleared of its inmates.
If the seniors were singing, and there was some particular hilarity
going on, the master-at-arms might be requested to ask for an extra
half-hour’s lights. He would then go to the officer of the watch for
permission. Much depended on the conscience of the officer.
The gun-room officers always dined at noon at sea, and at two or
half-past two in harbour; but by degrees these hours became later,
though it depended a good deal on the view which the Captain took
of the arrangements. Dinner at noon and a wretched tea at about 5
P.M. made a boy feel mortal hungry by 7 or 7.30: so the steward was
generally in requisition for a pot of sardines or for a lobster. This
was considered an extra; and, as you were limited to 15s. a month of
extras, one had to be very careful, and to economise one’s consumption.
A certain amount of gambling went on over these extras. We “read” for
each article; which, being interpreted, means that, instead of tossing
up as to who should be charged for the supper, you selected the number
of a letter of a specified line on a page--_e.g._, two two right, or
three three left (as the case might be): the nearest letter to A won
the supper. At Malta, sometimes, I have been away all day getting
biscuit from the factory and filling launch after launch with bags of
biscuits: so I used to lunch off newly-made biscuit and raw carrots
or parsnips that were _en route_ on board. I relished the provender:
a middy’s digestion is pretty tough. It was considered a great honour
to be asked to dine when at sea with the Captain. If one’s stock of
clean white shirts was exhausted, one generally pulled out all the
worn shirts and selected the best to wear at his table. At half-past
two in the afternoon watch any middy on duty told the officer of his
watch that he was asked to dine with the Captain, and no power on
earth could prevent you from leaving the deck. Occasionally the Ward
Room officers asked one to dine, which was a more enjoyable invitation,
as you usually sat next to your pal lieutenant or officer, who was in
the habit of lending you his cabin, or generally looked after your
interests. It was a great boon having a cabin to fall back on, and when
fatigued to be able to rest on a comfortable bed. Otherwise there was
nothing but a hard teak deck to lie on, and a sextant box, or (what we
often used) a couple of nautical almanacks for a pillow.
On many of our Sundays, while blockading Sebastopol, with everything
quiet on deck and below, and perhaps not a shot being fired from the
land batteries, I have gone down into the gun-room and seen rows of
middies, mates, and other officers stretched out all over the deck
fast asleep--and in the fore-part of the ship most of the ship’s
company. Sailors are adepts at sleeping in quiet moments. Small blame
to them; for when at sea a constant watch and watch for weeks and
months is kept, and there is little continuous rest. I always thought
it hard lines that after keeping the middle watch--from midnight to 4
A.M.--you had to be out of your hammock by 6.30. Often turning in wet
and cold at four, you could not get off to sleep, particularly in bad
weather, because of the noise; and just as you dozed off you heard the
solemn grunt of your hammock-man, “Turn out, sir: it’s five bells”
(6.30 A.M.); and the longer you kept him waiting, the shorter was
his breakfast hour. How one could have wished him farther--anywhere
but bothering one! And then his dirty hands pulling your sheets and
pillows about, so as to place them away properly in the hammock, and
that it should appear on deck in its proper shape to be stowed in the
hammock-netting, well scrutinised by some very strict officer of the
watch or mate of the deck! Woe betide you if the hammock looked too
full of bedding, or in excess of what his critical eye might notice!
I have often seen an unfortunate sleepy mid roll out of his hammock,
cover himself with a blanket or a rug, and give himself another hour
or so of rest by lying on the top of his chest, his own little home;
but not much comfort attached to it if you were over four foot six in
height.
What I used to hate most--in hot weather especially--was that morning
evolution of crossing yards at eight o’clock. Just washed and dressed,
perhaps in a clean pair of duck trousers, up you had to go to the main
or fore-top, running up tarred rigging, or (just as bad) finding the
rigging full of coal-dust and smoke. One often came down positively
black, hot, and uncomfortable, one’s trousers ruined; and there you
were, for perhaps the rest of the day, as another wash was out of the
question. In after days wiser heads--at any rate, officers with more
forethought--left off making you wear your ducks on this particular
occasion, and the comfort and convenience was a great boon to officers
and men. But somehow, in my early days at sea, very little was studied
as to convenience and comfort for officers and men.
In much later days I was serving in a line-of-battle ship belonging to
the Channel Fleet. We wintered at Portland. It happened to be a very
severe winter--so much so that at times our rigging and sails were
frozen. Twice a week the ship’s company had to wash their clothes,
which generally took from an hour to an hour and a half. Consequently,
the routine was put a little out of joint. Time had to be made up
somehow. The usual hour to turn out was at 5 or 5.30 A.M., to wash
decks; but on washing mornings I have seen the men turned out at 7
bells in the middle watch (3.30), on a freezing morning, to scrub
hammocks and wash clothes, with nothing but a wretched lanthorn and a
farthing dip to see by; and this was the only light for ten or a dozen
men to wash their clothes by. After this the decks had to be washed
in icy cold water, and at 6.30 these wretched frozen men consoled
themselves with breakfast of cocoa and ship’s biscuit--possibly with
bread and butter, if the bum-boat had come alongside; but, as it
generally blew a gale, Mr. Bum-boat did not appear so early. I can
vouch for these remnants of barbarism: I was what was termed Mate of
the Main Deck, and had to be up to see the business carried out.
During May the combined fleets sailed on an expedition to Kertch, at
the entrance of the Sea of Azov. We left some ships to remain off
Sebastopol; but the bulk went to Kertch, and shipped a goodly quantity
of troops. The _Princess Royal_ took on board the 90th Regiment of the
line, besides detachments.
We expected opposition to our landing; but, as light-draught vessels
could easily command and cover the landing, no Rooskies appeared to
oppose us. We soon had our army ashore on a sandy beach not many miles
from Kertch itself. Next day, while we were on the line of march,
my uncle, Lord Clarence, happened to be in close conversation with
Sir Edmund Lyons, when the Commander-in-Chief, suddenly observing me
near at hand, called me up, and said, “Here, youngster: can you talk
French?” On my answering “Yes,” he said, “Go at once and find the
French General in Command” (pointing me out the direction in which I
should find him), “and tell him that I wish the English Jack to be
hoisted alongside the Tricolour as soon as that fort is captured. Mind
and say so very civilly and in your best French.” Off I ran as fast as
my legs would carry me across the plain. Singling out what appeared
to me to be a body of French Staff-Officers, I asked the first among
them to point me out the General in Command. Luckily, that potentate
was among the bunch of officers. I felt nervous and shy; but, mustering
up courage, I stood, cap in hand, delivering my orders. To my horror,
he seemed to demur, and asked me a heap of questions before he at last
consented and desired me to inform the Admiral that his wishes should
be carried out. I had been told to bring back an answer; but for the
life of me I could not find the Commander-in-Chief for a long time.
However, when I did find him he seemed pleased. He said, “I see the
Union Jack is up alongside the French flag. Well done, my boy! What’s
your name, and who is your father? Tell your Commander I am much
pleased with you.” I did feel proud.
There was no opposition at Kertch, and that evening part of the troop
bivouacked in the town and suburbs.
Whether they resulted from the pent-up life of the soldiers and
sailors, or from the mere longing for a spree, I do not know; but the
looting and breaking into cellars, and the consequent trouble, were
very discreditable. I supposed it was one of the horrors of war. Among
other officers, I was sent ashore next day to patrol the streets with
a strong picket, and endeavour to keep the inhabited houses free from
molestation. I took many disorderly men of both armies prisoners, as
well as lusty Jacks of the Fleet. However, fair and square looting
seemed to be winked at. Our mids went ashore, and bagged no end of
cases of champagne. On a subsequent occasion my respected uncle did not
scruple at having a wretched old piano taken on board the _Princess
Royal_ by way of enabling his dear little nephew to keep up his music!
We lay some little time off Kertch while our gun-vessels and launches
of the Fleet were employed playing wholesale destruction of grain and
stores in the Sea of Azov; and they had some sharp fighting into the
bargain.
I used to land occasionally, and in strolling about the camps came
across old friends that I did not even know to be attached to the army
before Sebastopol. Two of them were old cricketing friends: so, no
doubt, we got on the noble game and cricket grounds many miles away.
On the 24th of May the Fleet weighed--or part of it, bound to a very
strongly fortified place, Anapa, where we expected heavy fighting.
Splinter netting was got up; masts and yards were struck; everything
was made ready for an attack. Next morning, when approaching this
place, the _Hannibal_, line-of-battle ship, was sent on ahead to look
out and report by signals whether the forts were ready for us. To our
dismay (I thought so then), we found the forts evacuated, and partly
blown up. They were excessively strong, and stood on a very commanding
position on high cliffs. We should have had our work cut out to subdue
them. How bloodthirsty the middies were! I suppose I was too young to
realise the horrors of a naval action, and of seeing our decks strewn
with killed and wounded. I never could understand why the Russians blew
up and deserted the place. On landing, soon after anchoring, we could
readily observe the strength of the place. Some of the works were blown
up, and the guns were spiked or taken away--possibly buried. Leave to
land was granted; but on no account were we to enter the forts--for
fear of slow matches and explosions.
We fraternised with some very picturesque Circassians. I longed to
buy some of their accoutrements, which they seemed ready and willing
to sell; but, alas! I had no money with me. However, a happy thought
struck me. I happened to be wearing a new pair of duck trousers.
Thinking that I might tempt them with the shiny brace buttons, I went
round a corner and cut the trinkets off. The effect was magical, and
enabled me to purchase some of the cartouche-cases in which they
carried their powder slung round their waists, or sewn into their rough
coats across their chests. They say that exchange is no robbery. The
aphorism was well illustrated. Soon we were back again to our old
anchorage off Sebastopol, feeling that we had had a wild-goose chase.
Indeed, we were all beginning to be weary of not having the chance of
distinguishing ourselves from on board our respective ships. Luckily,
my uncle was of an enterprising nature. He formed an idea that it would
be a good thing to worry the forts by firing into them after dark. To
do this, it was necessary to have leading lights on the coast, so as to
guide the ships in at night; and these he placed on the sea-coast on
the extreme left of the French position.
The Admiral lent him a paddle-sloop, the _Spitfire_, commanded by an
able officer, one Spratt; and for several nights I accompanied my uncle
while the operations were going on. Our only danger was that we might
be discovered by the Russian guard-boats that were always prowling
about outside the harbour mouth. Somehow, they never saw us. After a
week’s work at placing the lights, everything was in readiness for
the night attack. The lights were very ingeniously placed, showing
different colours on different bearings; and when on these bearings we
knew our approximate distance from the fort at the harbour’s mouth.
On the night of the 16th of June the _Miranda_ frigate, commanded
by Captain Lyons, supported by rocket boats, was sent in to attack
the forts. Unfortunately, the enemy got his range--owing to the
illumination caused by the rockets, which lit up the whole scene. Poor
Lyons was killed, and there was considerable loss besides, and the
incident ended in being somewhat a failure. The intention of these
night attacks was to worry the enemy, and keep the sailors and gunners
down at the forts instead of their assisting in the siege batteries up
at the front.
Next night, that of the 17th of June, came our turn in the _Princess
Royal_. My Captain begged to be allowed to go in alone, so as not to
attract the fire of the forts by too great a display of firing, such
as that of the previous night. Of course, this sort of affair under
cover of darkness makes it a mere question of luck whether we should be
sunk, or seriously mauled, or escape scot-free. The enemy could fire
at random only. We were not blessed in those days with search-lights:
in fact, there was nothing to give the enemy a clue to our distance,
and they could not lay their guns with any certainty: whilst, we being
directed to fire in broadsides only, there would naturally be no
continuous firing to assist their gunners in laying the guns.
We cleared for action at 9 P.M. that evening, hove in our cable, and
awaited the signal to weigh. How wearisome each half hour seemed! We
longed to have the business over. We waited and waited the signal; but
half hour after half hour passed, and nothing happened. So we could
only lie down at our guns and take a snatch of sleep--or make the
attempt, at any rate. I wonder what many of us thought over during
those weary half hours, and whether our minds were far away? Not a
light was allowed. All was still, and in utter darkness. The only
light to be seen on board was in the binnacle compass on the poop. I
recollect well running up and down constantly to the poop to find out
the latest news, and convey it below, because at one time we began to
despair of the attack coming off that night.
My uncle was calmly walking the poop, in close conversation with the
Commander, and awaiting the signal to weigh. At last, at midnight, up
went the signal, by lanterns: “Weigh and proceed.” All was bustle in
an instant; though beyond the links grinding in at the hawse pipe not
a sound was to be heard--no boatswain’s whistle: absolutely nothing.
We were soon under weigh, and off at slow speed. The lights which we
placed were plainly visible as we steamed in. It was a most exciting
moment as we gradually approached the enemy’s huge batteries. The men
were already at their guns, and we had placed a few more from our port
batteries over to the star-board side, in order to give them not only
46 but also 50 or more shots from our star-board broadside.
Having got our bearings on with the lights (coloured large lanterns),
we steamed on until a certain light showed red: then we knew our
approximate distance, and that it was time to fire. Up to this time I
had been constantly sent down with messages to the officers at their
quarters, in order to make sure that no mistake could possibly be made;
and the Captain arranged to give the order himself for the broadside to
be fired at the exact moment.
I was on the poop by the Captain’s side. Suddenly he asked whether all
was ready below--the guns being elevated to 1200 yards and loaded with
shell. The answer was, “Yes, sir.” He said, “Stand by.” A few seconds
of suspense followed. When the order to fire was given, off went the
roar of these guns simultaneously from our whole broadside; and in a
few seconds I saw the most lovely illumination of the whole front of
Fort Constantine. Our shells had burst beautifully. On the face of the
fort, for an instant or so, I could plainly see the embrasures (so to
speak) lit up, and, indeed, the whole face of the fort.
A minute or two elapsed before any fire was returned. First came one
or two shots; then gradually more; until they began pounding away to
their hearts’ content, firing red-hot shot, shells, and chain shot,
the latter to cut our rigging. The shells I could plainly see coming
over us, some few bursting short; but the enemy must have estimated our
range to be 200 yards farther out, for hundreds passed over us, cutting
our rigging unmercifully. Had we been that distance farther out to sea
we should indeed have got a proper mauling. It was great luck, indeed,
that our hull was hit only five times. We lost only two killed and five
wounded: all at one gun under the poop: just below where my Captain and
I were standing.
I shall never forget an idiot of a signalman who, on hearing the crash,
yelled out to me, “Look out, sir: the mast is coming down by the run.”
This shot certainly made great havoc. After knocking these poor chaps
over, it tore up some planks on our quarter-deck, smashed part of the
mast, and made a hole in the stern of our boom boat in its passage
overboard to the other side. For a quarter of an hour or more these
shots and shells came very thick. We loaded for another broadside,
but suddenly got into unpleasant shoal water: so we had to turn tail.
I believe our orders were not to run any risks, and not to fire more
than one or two broadsides if the enemy got our range: after all, our
purpose was served in worrying the forts. Though the engagement was
exciting, I felt glad when we got out of range. It certainly was too
hot to be pleasant.
When the retreat from quarters was sounded, there was a general call
for the steward; and (now two o’clock in the morning) potted lobster,
tinned salmon, and sardines were eagerly devoured. Many a yarn about
the details of the night passed between us. We were afterwards told
that the whole Fleet had been watching the affair, which was described
as lovely in the distance. Next day we buried our dead outside at sea.
Some people think that being sewn up in a hammock with two shots tied
to the foot of it, and being launched overboard, is the best way of
being buried. I do not. I hated seeing the bodies slipped overboard out
of a port from a grating during the funeral service.
For a fortnight we had cholera in the Fleet pretty badly. I think we
lost eleven poor chaps in our ship alone. Many others were seized, but
got over it. Our men generally fell ill about daybreak or soon after.
I have seen them, seized with the horrid cramp, tumble down while
decks were being washed. The best precaution was to make every one as
cheerful as possible, so as to keep the devil out of the mind. The band
used to play off and on all day; while games and smoking were allowed
_ad lib_.
By the next mail I wrote to my mother, describing the night attack; and
saying:--
I have no wish to go into action again, if I can keep out of it. We
were the first line-of-battle ship that has been in at night--and
so close! How jealous the Acres must be [alluding to the _St. Jean
D’Acre_, our chummy ship, commanded by Henry Keppel]. I have earned
the Black Sea medal.
The day after our night attack we were all very busy watching an
unsuccessful assault of the Redan, and could plainly see with glasses
a great deal of what was going on. For some long weeks we lay off
Sebastopol, weighing our anchor only twice. On the first occasion we
received sudden orders to get up steam, in company with other ships of
the Fleet, and to start for some unknown destination. Many were the
conjectures. Could it be a sudden attack on the forts of the town? Or
were we off to some fresh destruction of the enemy’s positions? Suffice
it to say, the Fleet was formed into one long line, and at first shaped
a course directly towards the mouth of the harbour, and, on arriving
within measurable distance of long shots, quickly turned along the
coast in the direction of Eupatoria. All the marines were ordered to
sit on the top of the boom boats and hammock nettings--in fact, to
show their red coats in the most conspicuous manner;--and even the
blue-jackets were dressed up in spare tunics and placed in conspicuous
spots, thus affording a certain amount of merriment: the ruse being to
mislead the Russians into thinking that we were bound with troops to
the Alma.
We anchored that night off Eupatoria, returning to Sebastopol next day.
Whether the Russians were taken in by our manœuvre, or they thought it
a capital joke, we never knew. Nothing came of the emprise.
The second time we weighed, the ships were spread out across the
mouth of the harbour. We slung our long-range 68-pounders on the
fore-stay, and at an elevation of 45° fired occasional shots towards
the batteries. I think that we did not do any harm: we could not quite
range the batteries. On that occasion one of our small steamers went
in pretty close under the land, to reconnoitre; and the Russian paddle
frigate _Vladamir_ was out of the harbour like a shot, and might have
caught our vessel had not one or two other steamers gone to the rescue
and driven the Russian off. At night we had to row careful guard round
the ships. The Russians also had guard-boats; but we seldom came across
them. How different it would be now, in the days of search-lights,
steam launches, and torpedo boats! No fleet would dare to anchor off a
harbour’s mouth for weeks together.
There was great excitement about this time over a person who professed
to be able to steal in at night in a submerged canoe, drop an anchor
when within a certain distance of the Russian ship, fire his submarine
mine under her bows, and haul himself out by his cable. I believe
he was a blue-jacket of the _St. Jean D’Acre_; but, somehow, the
performance never came off.
At this time my uncle became very unwell, and had to be invalided. This
was a matter of great regret to us all on board; for not only was he
deservedly popular, but also we knew that, while under his command, our
good ship would have been one of the first selected for any particular
service.
He was always most kind and considerate to me; but in those days it was
not a good thing for the skipper to have a near relation serving under
him. That created a certain amount of suspicion, and at times made me
feel that I might be thought the originator of some gossip that may
have reached his ears. Having the run of his cabin was a great boon. On
one occasion, having met with a nasty accident to my foot, I was laid
up in a cot in his cabin for three weeks. I could never get into a pair
of ready-mades afterwards.