Читать книгу A Soldier's Experience; or, A Voice from the Ranks - T. Gowing - Страница 8

Oh! forget not the field where he fell The truest and best of the brave.

Sir George had sprung from a family of warriors, who had often cheered their men on to victory; and in him Britain lost a true hero, while posterity will point to the field on which, for England’s home and glory, General Sir George Cathcart victoriously fell. Inkermann will never be forgotten.

Before I close this branch of my subject, I must say a few words about another of the commanders, and then my non-military readers will be able to see more clearly the advantages which money and position in life could secure in our army.

The Earl of Cardigan did not enter the army until he was about twenty-seven years of age. He joined the 8th Hussars, in May, 1824, and had scarcely learnt his drill when he was promoted Lieutenant; in eighteen months more was advanced to a Captaincy (but not in a black regiment). He smoothly passed through the different grades, and in six years from the date of joining, found himself a Lieutenant-Colonel and commander of a regiment. He had never smelt powder, and, in fact, had never seen the enemies of his country; influence and money had done the whole. I think the reader will agree with me that it was not a bit too soon that the purchase system was discontinued. When the army was formed for Turkey, in the early part of 1854, this distinguished veteran of the ball-room was selected to command our light cavalry brigade; and right gallantly did he lead that brigade at Balaclava, October 25th, 1854. It was a dashing piece of work, and he did it well; but that was the sum and substance of his lordship’s services in the field, and of which we shall never hear the end. Poor old Sir George Brown, Sir De Lacy Evans, Sir Colin Campbell, Sir George Cathcart, and a host of others too numerous to mention, had gone through and seen ten times as much service long before they had reached the ripe age of twenty-one. So much for money and position.

Punch, in 1855, might well put it that the Crimean army was an army of lions led by donkeys. More than half the officers did not know how to manœuvre a company; all, or nearly so, had to be left to non-commissioned officers; but yet it would be impossible to dispute their bravery, for they were brave unto madness. The writer has seen them lead at the deadly bayonet charges, and at the walls and blood-stained parapets of Sebastopol, as freely as they would have led off in a ball-room; and our officers at Inkermann let the enemy see that they knew how to fight as well as to dance, for there was no manœuvring, nothing but plain hard-hitting, and fair English fighting (not cooking).

There are none more loyal than the sons of Albion, and none more fond of seeing royalty at the head of their fleets and armies. As far back as Cressy, fought on the 26th August, 1346, when we gained a glorious victory over the French, Edward III. commanded, and there his son, the Black Prince (as he was named from the colour of his armour) had to, and did, win his spurs. The last action when royalty was in command, was Dettingen, fought 27th June, 1743. There George II. commanded. His son, the Duke of Cumberland, was with him and was wounded. The King and his son were in the thick of the fight, setting a bright example; and the same language as he used was adopted by the Duke of Cambridge at Inkermann, to animate the men, namely, “Stick to them, my boys; now for the honour of old England.” The gallant bearing of the Black Prince, particularly his behaviour to his prisoners after the battle, was well imitated by the Duke of Cumberland and the present Duke of Cambridge, for they showed on each occasion the greatest attention to the poor wounded prisoners. The Duke of Cumberland refused to have his wounds dressed or attended to in any way until the French officers who had been wounded and taken prisoners were first looked after. “Begin,” said His Royal Highness, “with that poor man, for he is more dangerously hurt than I am.” The Duke of Cambridge, at Inkermann, was in the midst of the battle and it was almost a miracle how His Royal Highness escaped; but the British soldier has good cause to thank God for throwing His protecting arm around him. His Royal Highness has for many years proved himself a good soldier’s friend, both in the field and out of it; and, when those of royal blood will lead, the enemy, whether black or white, may look out, for they are going to get it hot. At Inkermann things looked desperate. Our weak battalions were being fairly mobbed off the field. We had no support, except the Almighty, and He defended the right. At times the day appeared to us to be lost; but our troops quickly recovered themselves, at last closed upon the enemy with the queen of weapons, and then was seen with what determination Britons can fight. At a critical moment, when almost surrounded by the overwhelming numbers of the foe, His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge and a few other officers again rallied the men, and on they went with a desperate headlong charge. The bayonet was then used with effect; the vast columns of the enemy came on and on again, to be repeatedly hurled back by those who would die rather than yield an inch. Such was Inkermann, with the soldier’s friend in the thick of it. The Guards had a warm corner of it: if there was one place hotter than another on that field they got into it.

A slight digression may here he pardoned. The reader may not be aware of it, but, strange to say, the most desperate battles that have ever been fought have been fought on Sundays, particularly Palm, Easter, and Whit Sundays. The following are a few of them, showing day and date:—The battle of Ravenna was fought on Easter Sunday, 1512. There are two instances of battles between the Houses of York and Lancaster. The battle of Towton was fought on Palm Sunday. It was there that Warwick slew his horse, and swore to stand by Edward to his last gasp. The victory was gained by Edward, March 29th, 1461. Ten years after, the two parties met again, at Barnet, on Easter Sunday, April 14th, 1471. Warwick here fought his last fight, and was mortally wounded, exclaiming—

Lo now my glory is smear’d with dust and blood,— Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but dust and blood? And live we how we can, yet die we must: Kings and dragoons, when call’d, must come to dust.

One of the battles between Charles I. and his Parliament was fought on Sunday, October 23rd, 1642. I cannot pass this over without noticing a noble act of a loving son. Sir G. Scroope fell fighting for his king, with twenty-six wounds. Next day his son obtained leave from the king to find and fetch his poor father’s remains. After a long search, the boy found his father’s body in a state of nudity, in the midst of a heap of others; there was some warmth in it, and, after rubbing it for some time, he improved it to motion; from motion to sense, and from sense to speech. He lived for ten years afterwards, a monument to his son’s filial affection, care, and perseverance.

The battle of Loddon Hill was fought on Sunday, June 1st, 1679. The battle of Aghrain or Boyne was fought on Sunday, July 12th, 1691. It was there decided by force of arms that His Holiness the Pope of Rome should no longer reign supreme over the sons of Albion. Ramillies was fought on Whit Sunday, May 12th, 1706. There the French were routed from the field by the Duke of Marlborough. There was an incident in this battle, which proves that there is nothing lost by politeness. During the heat of the action, an officer kept bowing and taking off his hat to His Grace the Duke of Marlborough. He was requested to waive ceremony. While thus bowing and scraping, a cannon ball passed over him, and took the head off one of the Duke’s staff. The officer at once remarked: “Your Grace perceives that one loses nothing by politeness.” It was at this battle that the greatest General that England had ever produced had a very narrow escape. Colonel Bingfield’s head was carried off by a cannon ball, while holding the stirrup for the Duke to re-mount. He (the Duke) turned to those about him, and said, jocosely, “Gentlemen, that’s close shaving, but we’ll see if we cannot pay them for it before night.” The battle of Almawza was fought on Easter Sunday, April 25th, 1707, at which an incident occurred not generally known. The English army was commanded by a Frenchman, and the French army by an Englishman; but the Frenchmen beat the English. The battle of Bal, or Lafield, was fought on Sunday, July 2nd, 1747. It was here that Wolfe, the general who afterwards won Quebec for the British Crown, let them see what a military genius he was. This is the man whom some of the red-tape gentlemen wanted to make George II. believe was mad! “Mad, is he?” exclaimed the King, “I wish, then, that he would bite some of my other generals.” The Peninsular War was fruitful of Sunday fighting. The battle of Vimiera was fought on Sunday, August 21st, 1808. Fuentes de Oñoro was decided on Sunday, May 5th, 1811. Ciudad Rodrigo was stormed on Sunday, January 19th, 1812, with frightful slaughter. Orthes was fought on Sunday, February 27th, 1814, when the French were fairly driven from the field, 10,000 prisoners being captured. It was here that Marshal Soult made sure that he had Wellington for once; and in exultation smote his thigh, exclaiming—“At last I have him.” But he counted his chickens before they were hatched, for the then Light Division snatched his expected victory from his hands. Toulouse, the last battle in this war, was fought on Easter Sunday, April 10th, 1814. The Netherlands campaign was decided at Waterloo; which battle was fought on Sunday, June 18th, 1815. The Burmese War has two examples of Sunday fighting. Rangoon was taken on Easter Sunday, April 11th, 1852; and Pague on Sunday, November 21st, 1852. Then, in the Crimea, Inkermann, the soldiers’ battle, was fought on Sunday, November 5th, 1854. There we kept up “Gunpowder Plot” with a vengeance. Sebastopol fell into the hands of the Allies, after an unparalleled siege of nearly twelve months, on Sunday, September 9th, 1855. The Indian Mutiny fairly broke out at Meerut on Sunday, May 10th, 1857; and it was followed by the most atrocious deeds that ever disgraced the earth. The first battle resulting in the relief of Cawnpore by Sir H. Havelock, took place on Sunday, July 12th, 1857. This, I would remark, is the most astonishing battle on record. The enemy were routed from the field, their whole army driven from a strong position, eleven guns captured, and the whole force scattered to the winds, without the loss of a single British soldier. To what is this astonishing effect to be attributed? Our Christian hero, Havelock, attributed it to the blessing of Almighty God in a righteous cause—the cause of justice, humanity, and truth. At all events the enemy found out at Futtehpore, that even in the heat of a July sun, British soldiers could and would fight with valour and effect.

In the early part of the present century, when Napoleon had collected an army of veterans on the coast of France (opposite Dover), for the purpose of invading and carrying death and destruction into this our highly-favoured isle, our forefathers looked on with calm indifference, putting their trust in God. All—from the highest in the land to the humblest cottager, were prepared to meet the then mighty legions of France; and, although our united population did not exceed 18,500,000, we had 1,056,000 men in arms, ready to give Buonaparte and his followers a warm reception; but he was a long-headed man, and, for all his boasting, thought better of it. Out of this host of 1,056,000 soldiers, over 950,000 of them were British-born subjects, the remainder being made up by the King’s German legions. In addition to that army, we had a fleet of upwards of 900 sail-of-the-line, fully manned and equipped; and all this vast armament was exclusive of our armies in India. At the present date the population of Great Britain numbers 35,246,562, backed up by upwards of 25,000 at Gibraltar, 150,000 at Malta, 2,337,085 at the Cape of Good Hope; the Dominion of Canada, 4,506,800; Newfoundland, nearly 200,000; West India Islands, 1,260,000; the Falkland Islands, nearly 254,000; Australia and its dependencies, nearly 3,000,000; and last, but not least, India, with its 240,933,000 of people, hundreds of thousands of whom would rather be cut to pieces than forsake our glorious Standard; for they have proved us well since the Mutiny. That country is no longer held by a company of merchants, who try to squeeze all they can out of the natives; but the people are ruled by laws as equal as those under which we are privileged to live at home, and the same gracious Sovereign is looked up to by its teeming millions. Then there are our settlements in China; Ceylon with its happy and contended population of 4,386,000 souls; besides numerous other colonies, stations, and possessions scattered over the face of the globe. All these hosts are British subjects, and Her Most Gracious Majesty—God bless her—sways the sceptre of love over all. Now, where there is unity there is strength. God is evidently blessing this little isle, and whilst she remains faithful, He will help her. In round figures the population of the British Empire numbers nearly 300,000,000: and, although we do not keep up an army one quarter as vast as the armies on the Continent, I think I may well say that any of the other Powers would think twice—nay, thrice—before they venture to attack us. Let us be true to ourselves, loyal to our beloved Sovereign, and faithful to the God that hath protected His people in all ages. For, reader, mark it well, we enjoy blessings in this island, under our glorious constitution, that other nations of the earth know nothing of.

I have spoken in plain language, or I have tried to do so, and truth will go the furthest. It is an old saying, that in a long war, like that we had with the French at the end of the last and the commencement of the present century, ending with Waterloo, good men will shoulder themselves to the front, in spite of all obstacles, “and now-a-days none dare fight the time,” while the last few months have proved that there are as good fish in the sea as ever were caught. Old England will not go down the hill of fame while she can produce such true-hearted sons as Wolseley, Roberts, Wood, Seymour, Graham, and he who has stepped forward to lead the sons of Albion, H.R.H. the Duke of Connaught. Nelson’s last signal will always be present to the minds of his countrymen. In the hour of need Britons will, as I have before observed, do their duty. Some alarmists would have us believe that England is going down the hill, and becoming an object of derision and contempt to our Continental neighbours; but no—

Her flag has braved a thousand years, The battle and the breeze.Her sailors and soldiers are ready, aye ready, And will fight for old England, again and again.

I must get on with my story. The time was now fast approaching for us to depart, and towards the latter end of August we began to get ready for a move. On the 7th of September, 1854, we sailed under sealed orders, and left Turkey behind us.

We were now off, and it was a grand sight. Each steamer towed two transports; a part of the fleet was in front, a part on either side, and part behind us. We had some eight hundred ships of various sizes, and it seemed as if no power on earth were capable of stopping us. The Russian fleet might well keep out of our way. This voyage was truly a source of delight to the proud and warlike feelings of a Briton. As each ship with her consort steamed majestically out of the harbour of Varna, the hills on either side echoed for the first time with the loyal strains of England and France. The bands in a number of ships played “Rule Britannia,” “God Save the Queen,” and the French and Turkish National Anthems. We dashed past the huge forts on either side of us, with the Turkish, English, and French flags floating proudly to the wind, and the guns at each fort saluting us. I had a good look at them with a capital glass; they appeared of an enormous size, and the guns large enough to creep into. I have heard that no fewer than six midshipmen crawled into one of them to get out of the wet; but I will not vouch for the truth of the story. The guns are about thirty inches in diameter, and some of them unscrew in the centre; they are shotted with a granite ball, which is raised by a crane and weighs about 800 lbs.; while the charge consists of about 110 lbs., of powder. Sir John Duckworth had some of his squadron sunk or destroyed by these nice “little pills,” when he forced the Dardanelles, in 1807, and was compelled to beat a retreat. We were only too glad to get away from Turkey; their towns look very well at a distance, but none of them will stand a close inspection, for they are filthy beyond description. We steamed up the Black Sea, bidding defiance to the Russian Fleet. It was the first time that a British Fleet had ever entered these waters. We spent a few days very pleasantly—our bands every evening playing a selection of lively airs; but at length we cast anchor and got ready for landing. Two days’ rations were served out to each man, the meat being cooked on board.

The composition of the Russian Fleet, which fled at our approach, and took shelter under the guns of Sebastopol, was as follows:—

7	120	-gun	Ships		4	16	-gun	Brigs
13	84	〃	〃		4	12	〃	〃
3	60	〃	Frigates		6	16	〃	Schooners
1	54	〃	〃		2	8	〃	〃
1	52	〃	〃		4	12	〃	Cutters
2	44	〃	〃		3	10	〃	〃
2	20	〃	Corvettes		28	Withone or two Guns
4	18	〃	〃		30	TransportVessels.
4	18	〃	Brigs

Nearly all these ships were built in British waters, and all on the capture of Sebastopol were sent to the bottom, either by our guns or by the Russians to prevent them falling into our hands. A few that took shelter at Nicolaieff only escaped.

We were now approaching the enemy’s shore for soldiering in reality, and about to find out whether the sons of Albion had degenerated since the days of their forefathers, who had carried our proud flag into all parts of the world, and had proved victorious both by sea and land. The honour of old England was, we realised, now in our hands. One good look at the older men was quite enough, they meant to do or die; while our commander, Lord Raglan, inspired us with confidence that he would lead us on to victory.

The reader may now prepare himself for some rough, hard soldiering and fighting.

A TRUE BRITON WHEN THE HONOUR OF THE NATION

IS AT STAKE.

“’Tis much he dare: And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, He hath a wisdom that doth guide his brain To act in safety.”—Shakespeare.