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Some messengers came in from Peshawar on the 25th. They heard the men of the 13th in fits of laughter at some absurd game they were playing, and all the native soldiers singing in chorus their festival songs. They were astounded.
“Why,” they said, “you are besieged, and ought to be sad and dispirited; but you are all as merry as possible.”
When they saw the ease with which a party of Akbar’s men were beaten in a fight for some grass they were utterly confounded. When they returned to Peshawar all this went down the road to the Khyber, with wonderful additions. It was just the sort of tale that in the mouths of such men would not lose in the telling.
All this time the greatest cordiality and good feeling prevailed between the European and native soldiers.
“I remember one case of disagreement,” says Seaton. “A sepoy of my company met a soldier of the 13th on a narrow path in the town. The soldier overbalanced himself, and stepped into the mud.
“Being very hot-tempered, he struck the sepoy a violent blow. The latter came to me to make his complaint. The matter was referred to Sale, who was furious, blew up the English soldier fearfully, and ordered him to confinement.
“As the Adjutant was marching the soldier off the sepoy took the soldier by the hand and said: ‘General Sahib, forgive him. There has not been one quarrel between any of us ever since the regiments have been together. You have scolded with him, so I ask you please forgive him.’
“The General granted the sepoy’s request. The soldier said he was sorry he had given way to temper and struck a man who could behave so generously.
“Many of our soldiers had friends among the sepoys, and I have known more than once a soldier, when dying, send for his sepoy friend to be with him in his last moments.”
Akbar had a new idea: he caused large flocks of sheep to be driven over the distant forage grounds. On the 30th they saw these flocks going within range of the guns. They looked at them with hungry eyes.
On the morning of the 1st of April a flock of sheep was driven by the enemy’s shepherds close to the old ruined fort. Several officers got round Sale and fairly badgered him into making an attempt to carry them off. Four hundred men, all the cavalry, and some pikemen, were ordered out. As they sallied forth Seaton heard a man on the walls say to a friend, “I say, Bill, what a lark if we can get in all them sheep!”
The cavalry rode out and got round them. The sheep were given to the pikemen. The infantry extended in skirmishing order to check the enemy, who were running up. The sheep were got in, the last one dropping a lamb on the very threshold.
They had one man killed and eight wounded, but were all in the highest spirits, and when the Afghans, dancing with rage, showed themselves on the hills, they were saluted with shouts of laughter and a thousand cries of “B-a-a! b-a-a!”
The garrison got 481 sheep and a few goats. The General gave forty sheep to the men of Seaton’s regiment (natives); but they, with great good-feeling, desired that the sheep should be given to the English soldiers, for whom, they said, such food was necessary, while they could do very well on their rations. Bravo, 35th Native Infantry! A grateful letter came in return from the non-commissioned officers and privates of the 13th L.I. to Colonel Dennie, ending with, “Believe me, sir, that feeling is more gratifying to us than the value of the gift, and we shall ever feel the obligation our old comrades and brother campaigners have placed us under.”
On the 3rd a spy came in and told them that when Akbar learnt that they had captured his sheep, he burst into such a transport of fury that his people were afraid to go near him.
On the 6th of April they heard that Pollock had been repulsed in the Khyber Pass, and at noon Akbar fired a royal salute in honour of his victory.
All the officers now went to Sale and urged on him the absolute necessity of going out and fighting Akbar.
Sale saw that the time for action had arrived.
On the morning of the 7th strong guards were posted at the gates, a picket in the centre of the town, and all pikemen, sick and wounded soldiers, etc., were sent to man the walls, and a very respectable show they made.
With the first peep of dawn the gates were quietly opened, and the three columns, under Dennie, Monteath, and Havelock, sallied out.
The plan was to march direct on Akbar’s camp, burn it, drive him into the river, and bring off his guns.
They wasted some time in attacking a ruinous fort, and Colonel Dennie was mortally wounded. Then Sale called off the troops, and they went straight for Akbar.
The sound of the guns had roused all the enemy’s force, and they were turning out in thousands. It was a grand sight to see their large masses of horse coming down from the hills. They charged boldly on Havelock’s column, which, rapidly thrown into square, received them with the greatest coolness, and repulsed them with heavy loss.
They then made an attack on Seaton’s regiment, but at this moment two guns of Abbott’s battery came up and sent shot and shell crashing into the enemy’s ranks, making them recoil faster than they had advanced.
The English soon came within sight of the Afghan camp, from whence the enemy opened fire on them, which caused some loss. But they made a rush and carried the camp without a check, while the enemy fled through the groves of trees beyond. They tried to carry off one of the guns, but a shot by Abbott killed the two horses attached to the limber, and the artillerymen fled. Numbers of the fugitives threw themselves into the river, which, swollen and rapid, destroyed the greatest part of them.
The whole of Akbar’s camp fell into our hands. His guns, ammunition, standards, plunder – everything he had with him. The bugle soon recalled the skirmishers, and Seaton was detached with a party to fire the tents and the huts, made of boughs and reeds. The smoke of the burning proclaimed our victory to the whole valley. Numbers of camels and mounds of grain fell into our hands.
“I secured three noble camels for myself, and right good service they did me afterwards.”
Sale was anxious to get back to Jellalabad, so the men returned in triumph, each man carrying off what he pleased, and were received with loud cheers from the walls. A little after dark the news was brought in by some Hindoos living in the valley that every fort and village within eight miles had been deserted.
This night they slept in bed, perfectly undisturbed. After passing the last thirty-six nights on the ramparts, armed and accoutred, constantly roused by the enemy, by their own rounds, by the relief of sentries, by those terrible earthquakes, many nights drenched by rain without shelter, quiet rest in a real bed for the whole night was an unspeakable luxury; “but coupled with the thought that, unaided, we had broken the toils cast round us by Akbar Khan; that we had beaten in fair fight the chief who had destroyed our Cabul army; that months of toil, watching, anxiety, and peril had been crowned with glorious success; that our country’s honour was safe in our hands, it was positive bliss, such as few have had the happiness to taste.”
On this night even the earthquakes spared them – no sudden roar, no sharp electric shock, no far-off rumbling sound, no sharp crack of doom to startle them from their well-earned repose. It was bliss!
It was observed that earthquakes usually followed much rain, thus raising the question whether steam may not often be the origin of the phenomenon.
Next day they found 580 rounds of ammunition for the captured guns. Now food began to pour in from the country, and they lived on the fat of the land.
News came in that Pollock had forced the Khyber, and would arrive about the 15th.
At length, on the morning of the 14th, they could see with their glasses Pollock’s force coming near. They had not arrived in time to help the garrison in their imminent peril. They had lost the grand opportunity of joining with them to crush the man whose treachery had destroyed their brothers-in-arms, whose bones lay scattered in the icy passes of Cabul. A fifth part of Pollock’s cavalry would have enabled them to annihilate Akbar and all his troops.
So when next morning Pollock’s force did arrive, there was a hearty welcome, but a sly bit of sarcasm in the tune to which the band of the 13th played them in, “Ye’re ower lang o’ comin’.”
It was not Pollock’s fault, however. He had to wait for the troops to join him at Peshawar.
“Let me relate one incident,” writes Colonel Seaton, “that will tend to illustrate the character of my old commander, General Sir R. Sale.
“Shortly after Akbar’s camp appeared in sight it was whispered about in garrison that Akbar intended to bring Lady Sale, then a prisoner in his hands, before the walls, and put her to torture within sight, and so compel Sale to surrender.
“Every day when the men were at dinner Sale used to take a turn on the ramparts, ostensibly to have a quiet look round at the progress of our works, but in reality, I believe, to ponder on the desperate situation of his wife and daughter, and debate with himself the means of effecting their rescue.
“We knew that they were well, had hitherto been kindly treated, and were in Akbar’s fort, not many miles off.
“One day Sale, in going his rounds, came and stood over the south gate, where I was on duty; so, as I had enjoyed the privilege of great intimacy with him and Lady Sale at Cabul, I went out and joined him. I ventured to mention this report, and asked him what he would do if it should prove true, and if Akbar should put his threat into execution.
“Turning towards me, his face pale and stern, but quivering with deep emotion, he replied:
“‘I – I will have every gun turned on her. My old bones shall be buried beneath the ruins of the fort here, but I will never surrender!’”
Could Lady Sale have heard it, her heart would have bounded with pride, for the heroine was worthy of her hero.
The reception of the garrison by Lord Ellenborough at Ferozepoor was a noble and ample return for all their toil and suffering. His lordship had taken care that each officer and man of the “illustrious garrison,” as he termed them, should have a medal, and they were sent out to them before they reached Ferozepoor.
Not an English officer in India at this time had such a mark of distinction. They were the first to be so honoured, and were highly gratified by it.
On the morning on which they marched in, the bridge of boats over the Sutlej was gaily ornamented with flags and streamers. His lordship met them at the bridge head, and was the first to welcome them as they stepped on the soil of our own provinces. All the troops in camp were drawn up in line at open order, and received them as they passed with presented arms. Lord Ellenborough also ordered that at each station they marched through on their way to their destination the same military honours should be rendered to them. The garrison were received with similar marks of distinction at Kurnaul, at Delhi, and at Agra.
“We may forget everything else, but we shall never forget Lord Ellenborough’s noble and ever-ready kindness and the many honours he caused to be shown us. One word more: After the Mutiny, it is not to be wondered at that the sepoy was written down as a demon and a coward; but we had known him as an excellent soldier, generally mild and humane and temperate as a man, sometimes even generous and forgiving, as the best of Christians.”
When will it become the English custom to recite before our young of both sexes some of the deeds which have saved the Empire, “lest we forget”? If not in church, at least in school, we should make this effort to save our children from ignorance, which is ingratitude.
From Major-General Sir Thomas Seaton’s record, “From Cadet to Colonel.” By kind permission of Messrs. G. Routledge and Sons.
CHAPTER VIII
SIEGE OF SEBASTOPOL (1854-1856)
The English land without tents – Mr. Kinglake shows off before Lord Raglan – The Alma – Strange escapes – Looted houses – Fair plunder – Balaklava Bay – Horses lost at sea – A derelict worth having – Jack very helpful – The Heavy and Light Brigades – Spies – Fraternizing.
The Crimean War, fought between Russia on the one hand and England, France, Turkey, and Sardinia on the other, consisted mainly in the Siege of Sebastopol, a strong fortified port in the South of Russia. They fought ostensibly about the guardianship of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, but really because Turkey was thought to be decaying, and Russia wished to protect the Slavonic races in her own interest, and to extend her power to the Dardanelles. The war was characterized by the great sufferings of the troops during the winter, intensified by storms in the Black Sea, where so many transports laden with warm clothing went to the bottom that our men were left unprotected.
Even at the first landing, on the 14th of September, 1854, these sufferings commenced. Imagine a bare and desolate beach, the home of seagull and wild-fowl, suddenly turned into a barrack-yard. From one end to the other bayonets glistened, red coats and brass-mounted shakos gleamed in solid masses. The transports were tossing yonder out in the offing, and as gig or cutter grounded on the sand the officers of each company first landed, each in full dress, and carried his greatcoat, fastened by a strap round his body. After the officers came the men, bearing rations for three days in their wallets. Before they were all well on shore the rain began, and the wind was sending a little surf on the beach. The horses were not yet landed, so Generals and staff-officers might be seen sitting on powder-barrels on the shore, retiring gloomily within the folds of cape and mackintosh. Disconsolate doctors were groaning after hospital panniers which had not yet arrived; for, strange to say, more than one man died on that beach.
The country people, though at first full of fear of the invaders, soon brought food to sell, and retired with twinkling eyes. They were of Tartar race, with small eyes set wide apart and high cheek-bones.
That first night in the Crimea! Twenty thousand Englishmen, and not one tent amongst them! The wind rose and the rain fell in sheets, piercing through the greatcoats and blankets of the soldiers. Their only bed was the reeking puddles. They had no fire to cheer them, no hot grog. They were just miserable, while the French and the Turks were lying snug under canvas.
No wonder that there was a great increase in illness among the troops. Next day the surf was so heavy that many boats were stove in, and the work of landing horses and guns was difficult.
On the morning of the 20th, as Lord Raglan, the Commander-in-Chief, was waiting, surrounded by his staff, for the troops to get into position, a gentleman joined them on a handsome grey pony.
The pony began neighing and screaming so loudly that no one could hear a word that was said. Lord Raglan turned and asked:
“Does anyone know who that gentleman is?”
One of the staff replied: “I think it is one of the newspaper reporters, my lord. Shall I ask him to go away?”
Lord Raglan laughed, and said: “If you do, he will show you up, you may depend upon it.”
“It is Mr. Kinglake, the author of ‘Eōthen,’” said another.
“Oh,” said my lord, “a most charming man,” and was going to speak to him, when the French Marshal St. Arnaud rode up and prevented it.
About an hour after, as Lord Raglan was nearing the Russian position, a pony dashed past at a furious pace, and who should it be but Mr. Kinglake, the future historian of the Crimean War? On he went right through the skirmishers, with his horse’s head between his legs. Fortunately for the rider, the saddle got forward, and soon went over the horse’s ears. Of course the author of “Eōthen” went with the saddle, which was better than riding into the enemy’s lines.
It struck the staff as rather an absurd thing just before a battle, and they all laughed; but Lord Raglan rode up and offered him another pony. Mr. Kinglake has not mentioned this personal adventure in his history.
Then came the Battle of the Alma, a river at that time of year only knee-deep. It cost us nearly 3,000 men killed or wounded. They say the individual escape of officers and men was miraculous. Chin-straps were shot off, buttons carried away, belts torn, coats ripped – all without further injury to the wearer. Many hundred Russians threw away their arms and accoutrements in their flight. On the further heights, about a mile and a half from the Alma, the British troops ceased their pursuit; and then arose such a cheer – a cheer from 20,000 victorious men. Even some of the wounded fellows joined in it.
“I shall never forget that cheer as long as I live,” writes an officer. “It was indeed thrilling. I almost pitied the fallen enemy; it must have been so galling to them. I heard a man of the Guards say to a comrade: ‘I say, Bill, pleasant for them poor devils’ (pointing to some wounded Russians), ‘hearing our chaps cheer like that.’
“Lord Raglan rode up and down the line, the men cheering him heartily. There was such a shaking of hands. One felt very choky about the throat and very much inclined to cry as one wrung the hand of a friend. ‘God bless you, old fellow! So glad to see you all right!’ and so on. It was a touching sight to see the meeting between Lord Raglan and Sir Colin Campbell. The latter was on foot, as his horse had been killed under him. He went up to his lordship and, with tears in his eyes, shook hands, saying it was not the first battle-field they had won together. The battle was over at twenty minutes to four p.m.”
Next morning the poor wounded were far more quiet. Many had died during the night. Numbers of our men were going about among the wounded before it was light, giving them drinks of water. All those shot through the head died with a smile on their faces. “Some looked so happy, poor fellows! that one felt comforted.” On the 23rd of September order was given to prepare for marching, and the army left the heights of the Alma.
But what is that grey mass on the plain, almost lying without life or motion? Now and then, indeed, an arm may be seen waved aloft, or a man raises himself for a moment, looks around, and then lies down again.
Alas! that plain is covered with the wounded Russians still.
Nearly sixty long hours have they passed in agony on the wet ground, and now the English must leave them as they lie. Seven hundred and fifty wounded men are still on the ground, and we can do nothing for them. Their wounds have been bound and dressed by us, and Lord Raglan has told the head-man of a Tartar village to do what he can for them.
At first the country was hilly and barren, but on coming to the valley of the Katcha there were beautiful verdure, shrubs, white villas and snug cottages, vineyards and gardens.
A guide-post showed they were ten miles from Sebastopol. The road now looked like a byway in Devon or Hampshire. Low walls were surmounted by fruit-trees, laden with apples, pears, peaches, and apricots, all ripe and fit for use.
The first villa they came to was the residence of a country surgeon. It had been ruthlessly destroyed by the Cossacks. A veranda, laden with clematis, roses, and honeysuckle, was filled with broken chairs and tables. All the glass of the windows was smashed. There lay on the grass outside the hall-door two side-saddles, a parasol, and a big whip. The wine-casks were broken and spilt; the barley and corn of the granary were tossed about; broken china and glass were scattered over the floors; and amid all the desolation and ruin of the place a cat sat blandly on the threshold, winking her eyes in the sunshine at the new-comers. The scene within was awful. The beds had been ripped open, and the feathers littered the rooms a foot deep; chairs, sofas, bookcases, pictures, images of saints, needlework, bottles, physic-jars, all smashed or torn, lay in heaps in every room. Even the walls and doors were hacked with swords. It was as if the very genius of destruction had been at work and had revelled in mischief. Every other house and villa that they passed was a similar scene to this. Grand pianos and handsome pieces of furniture covered with silk and velvet, rent to pieces with brutal violence, were found in the larger houses.
The houses consist of one story only, size being gained by lateral extension. Each house has a large patch of vineyard round it. A porch covered with vines protects the entrance. They learnt from a deserter that the natives were hiding because they expected to be shot; also, that the Russians in their retreat had been seized with panic in the night, and had rushed off pell-mell; indeed, the state of the roads favoured this, for they were littered with linstocks, cartridges, and caps all the way. Our soldiers now fared on the richest of grapes and the choicest pears, but they were not allowed to waste or plunder.
September 25.– On the march to Balaklava they got near the enemy. They proved to be the baggage-guard of a large detachment. A few rounds, a cavalry charge, the Rifles in skirmishing order, and they broke, leaving baggage of every description strewed over the ground for two miles.
This was fair and lawful plunder, and the troops were halted and allowed to take what they liked and what they could carry. The officers presided over it to see that there was no quarrelling. Immense quantities of wearing apparel, dressing-cases, valuable ornaments, and jewellery were found in the carts.
A Russian artillery officer, found in one of the carriages, was in a very jovial mood, beside an empty champagne bottle. Fine winter cloaks, lined with fur, were found in abundance. This plunder put our soldiers in great good-humour, and they marched on the whole day in excellent spirits.
As the baggage was some miles behind, Lord Raglan had to put up in a miserable little lodge, while his staff slept on the ground in a ditch outside.
Not the smallest attempt was made by the enemy to annoy the English during this march to Balaklava; but we could have been greatly harassed by the smallest activity on their part. The march lay through woods, along bad and often precipitous roads, and a few trees felled at intervals could have stopped our army for hours. We had, it seems, taken the Russians by surprise, and they showed themselves quite destitute of resources.
“Balaklava, September 24.– I never was more astonished in my life,” writes Sir W. Russell, “than when I halted on the top of one of the numerous hills of which this part of the Crimea is composed, and looking far down, saw under my feet a little pond, closely shut in by the sides of high, rocky mountains. On this pond floated six or seven English ships, for which exit seemed quite hopeless. The bay is like a highland tarn. It is long ere the eye admits that it is some half-mile in length from the sea, and varies from 250 to 120 yards in breadth. The shores are so steep and precipitous that they shut out the expanse of the harbour, and make it appear much smaller than it really is.
“Towards the sea the cliffs close up and completely overlap the narrow channel which leads to the haven, so that it is quite invisible.
“On the south-east of the poor village which straggles between the base of the rocky hills and the margin of the sea there are extensive ruins of a Genoese fort, built some 200 feet above the level of the sea, all crumbling in decay – bastion and tower and wall. A narrow defile leads to the town. A few resolute men posted here might have given great trouble to a large army.”
The staff advanced first on the town, and were proceeding to enter it, when, to their surprise, from some old forts above came four spirts of smoke, and down came four shells close to them. The dose of shell was repeated; but by this time the Agamemnon outside the rocks was heard busily sending her shot against the fort. After a few rounds the fort was summoned, hung out a flag of truce, and surrendered. There were only sixty men – all made prisoners.
As Lord Raglan entered at noon the principal street, the inhabitants came out to meet him, bearing trays laden with fruit and flowers. Others bore loaves of bread cut up in pieces and placed on dishes covered with salt, in token of goodwill and submission. The fleet and army were once more united. Lord Raglan had secured his base of operations. Towards evening the huge bulk of the Agamemnon glided in between the rocks of the entrance, to the joy and delight of all on shore.