Читать книгу A Soldier's Experience; or, A Voice from the Ranks - T. Gowing - Страница 9

Table of Contents

Disembarkation in the Crimea—First night in the Enemy’s Country, a night long to be remembered, no shelter—March to the Alma—The Battle—The Fusiliers leading the Van—Letter from the Heights to my Parents—A fair description of that Terrible Fight—March from the Alma—Balaclava easily taken—We take up our position in front of Sebastopol—First Bombardment—The Battle of Balaclava—Charge of the Light and Heavy Brigades—Poem by Tennyson—Little Inkermann—Letter home, 27th October, 1854—Trench Work—The Battle of Inkermann, the soldiers’ fight—Am Wounded—Description of that Fight—Aspect of the Field after the Fight—My Letter Home—Sent on to Malta—Letter from Her Majesty—Notes on a Norfolk Hero at Inkermann, Sir T. Troubridge—Who first landed in the Crimea?

On the 14th September, 1854, we landed at Old Fort. At a signal from the Admiral-in-Chief we all got ready, and the first consignment of the Light Division were soon off at rapid pace. It was a toss-up between us and a boat-load of the 2nd Batt. Rifle Brigade, as to who should have the honour of landing first on the enemy’s shore; but with all due respect I say the Fusiliers had it, though there was not much to boast of, as it was afterwards said the Rifles were a very good second (see note at the end of chapter). We were not opposed in landing; a few Cossacks were looking on at a respectful distance, but made no attempt to molest us. It would have been madness on their part to have done so, considering the enormous force we could have brought to bear upon them. A company of ours, and one or two of the Rifles, were at once sent forward to be on the look-out; Sir G. Brown went with them and nearly got “nabbed;” they could have shot him, but wanted to take him alive, believing that he was “a big bug;” some of our people, however, noticed their little game, crept close up to the General, and when the Cossacks thought of making a dash, set to work and emptied some of their saddles, while the remainder scampered off as fast as their horses’ legs could carry them. Sir G. Brown had thus a narrow escape—as narrow as any he had previously experienced in the Peninsula and elsewhere. The greater portion of our army quietly landed—the French disembarking some little distance from us. These had their little tents with them, and so had the small detachment of Turks who were with us, but there was not a single tent for the English Army—so much for management. Thousands of Britain’s sons, who had come to fight for Queen and Country, were thrown ashore, as it were, without shelter of any kind.

A portion of the infantry with a few guns were first landed; but I must say that our condition as an army in an enemy’s country was pitiable in the extreme. We had no tents, our officers had no horses, except a few ponies; Sir George Brown’s sleeping compartment and dining-room were under a gun-carriage: even as bad off as we were our position was to be envied, for, although we were drenched to the skin, we were on terra firma. The poor marines and sailors in the men-of-war boats, were towing large rafts, with horses, guns, and detachments of artillerymen, amid a heavy swell from the sea, that was now running high—it was as dark as pitch, the horses almost mad with excitement, kicking and plunging. A number of poor fellows found a watery grave, rafts being upset in the heavy surf whilst attempting to land—the sea dashing with all its majestic force upon the sandy beach, although we could not see it. We made fires the best way we could, with broken boats and rafts; It was a fearful night! When morning broke, we presented a woeful appearance; but we soon collected ourselves and assembled on the common. Next day we managed to get hold of a few country carts, or waggons, full of forage, that were being drawn by oxen and camels. We were all anxious to get at the enemy, and longed to try our strength against any number of boasting Russians. Our united army stood as follows:—English, or rather Britons, four divisions of infantry, each division then consisting of two brigades, each brigade of three regiments; to each division of infantry was attached a division of artillery, consisting of two field-batteries, four nine-pounder guns and two twenty-four pounder howitzers; we had a small brigade of light cavalry with us, attached to which was a six-pounder troop of horse-artillery; in all we mustered 26,000 men and 54 field guns. Our gallant allies, the French, had about 24,000 men and 70 field guns. The Turks had about 4,500 men, no guns or cavalry, but they managed to bring tents with them. Thus the grand total now landed, and ready for an advance to meet the foe at all hazards, was 54,000 men, with 124 field guns. And the subsequent pages will tell how that force often met and conquered, amidst the storms of autumn, the snows of winter, and the heats of summer; nothing but death could thwart that dauntless host, whose leaders knew no excuses for weakness in the day of trial. We were all ready to cry shame on the man who would desert his country in the hour of need—

Hail to thee, Albion, that meet’st the commotion Of Europe as calm as thy cliffs meet the foam; With no bond but the law, and no bound but the ocean; Hail, Temple of Liberty, thou art my home. Home, home, sweet home. Moore.

The first night in the Crimea was a night long to be remembered by those who were there. It came on to rain in torrents, while the wind blew a perfect hurricane; and all, from the Commanders down to the Drummer Boys, had to stand and take it as it came. And the rain did fall, only as it does in the tropics. We looked next morning like a lot of drowned rats. What our people were thinking about I do not know. Had the enemy come on in strength nothing could have saved us. We were now in an enemy’s country—that enemy most powerful and subtle; it was known that they were in force not far from us, though their strength was unknown—yet we were absolutely unprovided with camp equipment or stores.

They say fortune favours the brave, and, happily, the Russians let the opportunity slip. Next day we were as busy as bees landing all sorts of warlike implements—artillery, horses, shot, shell, and all that goes to equip an army, except shelter. The “unseen enemy” was still with us, daily finding its victims. Our men worked like bricks, were determined to make the best of a bad job. We dried our clothing on the beach, and the next night strong lines of picquets were thrown out to prevent surprise, while we lay down, wrapped in our cloaks. On the 16th, we still kept getting all sorts of things on shore in readiness to meet the enemy; but our people seemed to forget that we were made of flesh and blood. The French were well provided with tents and other comforts; we still had none. On the 17th there was the same work getting ready for a start; but the morning of the 18th saw us on our legs advancing up the country. We then suffered from the want of water; what we did get was quite brackish. On the morning of the 19th we marched fairly off with the French on our right. We continued to suffer very heavily; a number of men fell out for the want of a few drops of water, but it could not be got, and we continued to march all day without sighting the enemy, except only a few Cossacks, who kept a respectful distance from us. The Light Division was in front, and we found out afterwards that was to be our place whenever there were any hard knocks to be served out.

It began to get a little exciting in the afternoon. In front of us was a handful of cavalry—a part of the 11th Hussars; and presently a battery of Horse Artillery dashed off at a break-neck pace and began pounding away at something we could not see. We saw that day the first wounded man on our side—a corporal of the 11th Hussars; his leg was nearly off. We soon got accustomed to such sights, passed on, and took no notice. As we topped the rising ground we could see the enemy retiring; our Cavalry were still in front, feeling the way—as they advanced the Cossacks kept slowly retiring. We still advanced until it began to get dark, when strong picquets were thrown out—we collected what we could to make our bivouac fires, for we still had no tents. Some of our poor fellows died that night sitting round the scanty fires, or wrapped in their cloaks. I shall ever remember that night as long as I live. We sat talking for some little time of our homes and friends far away. My comrade had just had about an hour’s sleep; when on waking he told me he had a presentiment that he should fall in the first action. I tried to cheer him up and drive such nonsense out of his head. I thought he was not well, and he replied that he was very ill, but should be out of all pain before to-morrow’s sun set; however, he was determined to do his duty, let the consequence be what it might, adding, “May the dear Lord give me strength to do my duty for my Queen and Country, for I could not, my boy,” grasping my hand, “bear the thought of being branded as a coward.” Still retaining a firm manly grip he continued, “for God has washed all my sins away in Jesus’ blood. Come,” he continued, “let’s walk about a little; I am getting cold.” Afterwards, getting hold of my arm, he stopped, looked me full in the face, and twice repeated the solemn words, “Eternity, Eternity, know and seek the Lord while he may be found, call upon Him while He is near, for you cannot tell what to-morrow will bring forth, and it may be too late then.” Then he repeated parts of hymns, which I had often heard sung when a boy. I can safely say he was one who was ready for anything—life or death. As he had said, “his life was hid with Christ in God.” We pledged that we would do all that we could for each other in life or in death; I little thought that his end was so near.

Such were some of the men who carried the standard that has braved the battle and the breeze for a thousand years up the heights of Alma, and I can say truly, that it is not the drunkard or the blackguard who makes a thorough soldier, either in the field or out of it. As I proceed with my narrative, I will give other examples—for instance, Sir H. Havelock, Colonel Blackader, Major Malan, Lord Raglan, and also poor Captain Hedley Vicars, of the 97th, one of the bravest of men, who loved the Lord with all his heart and soul, and was not at all backward in telling poor sinners what that Lord had done for him. As he would often say, “Religion is a personal matter; have mercy upon me, oh God, for I am vile.”

VIEW OF THE HEIGHTS OF ALMA.

THE BATTLE OF THE ALMA.

Well, to my story; the morning of the 20th found us once more on our legs. Marshal St. Arnaud rode along our line; we cheered him most heartily, and he seemed to appreciate it; in passing the 88th, the Marshal of France called out in English, “I hope you will fight well to-day;” the fire-eating old Connaught Rangers at once took up the challenge, and a voice loudly exclaimed “Shure, your honour, we will, don’t we always fight well?” Away we then went at a steady pace, until about mid-day—the Light and Second Divisions leading, in columns of brigades. As we approached the village of Burlark, which was on our side of the river, or what was called the right bank, the blackguards set fire to it, but still we pressed on; we by the right, the Second division by the left. We now advanced into the valley beneath, in line, sometimes taking ground to the right, then to the left, and presently we were ordered to lie down to avoid the hurricane of shot and shell that the enemy was pouring into us. A number of our poor fellows lay down to rise no more; the enemy had the range to a nicety. Our men’s feelings were now wrought up to such a state that it was not an easy matter to stop them. Up to the river we rushed, and some,—in fact all I could see,—got ready for a swim, pulling off their knapsacks and camp kettles. Our men were falling now very fast; into the river we dashed, nearly up to our arm pits, with our ammunition and rifles on the top of our heads to keep them dry, scrambled out the best way we could, and commenced to ascend the hill. From east to west the enemy’s batteries were served with rapidity, hence we were enveloped in smoke on what may be called the glacis. We were only about 600 yards from the mouths of the guns, the thunderbolts of war were, therefore, not far apart, and death loves a crowd. The havoc among the Fusiliers, both 7th and 23rd, was awful, still nothing but death could stop that renowned Infantry. There were 14 guns of heavy calibre just in front of us, and others on our flanks, in all some 42 guns were raining death and destruction upon us. A number of our poor fellows on reaching the top of the slippery bank were shot down and fell back dead, or were drowned in the Alma. The two Fusilier Regiments seemed to vie with each other in performing deeds of valor. General Codrington waved his hat, then rode straight at one of the embrasures, and leaped his grey Arab into the breastwork; others, breathless, were soon beside him. Up we went, step by step, but with a horrid carnage. When one gets into such a “hot corner” as this was, one has not much time to mind his neighbours. I could see that we were leading; the French were on our right, and the 23rd Fusiliers on our left. This was Albuera repeated—the two Fusilier regiments shoulder to shoulder—only the French were on our right as Allies, whereas in the former battle they were in front as bitter foes.

The fighting was now of a desperate kind. My comrade said to me “We shall have to shift those fellows with the bayonet, old boy,” pointing to the Russians. We still kept moving on, and at last General Sir G. Brown, Brigadier Codrington, and our noble old Colonel, called upon us for one more grand push, and a cheer and a charge brought us to the top of the hill. Into the battery we jumped, spiked the guns, and bayoneted or shot down the gunners; but, alas, we were not strong enough, and we were in our turn hurled, by an overwhelming force, out of the battery, and down the hill again. The old 7th halted, fronted, and lay down, and kept up a withering fire upon the enemy at point-blank range, which must have told heavily upon their crowded ranks. Help was now close at hand. Up came the Guards and Highlanders. His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge was with them, and he nobly faced the foe. He had a good tutor in that hero of a hundred fights, Sir Colin Campbell. They got a warm reception, but still pressed on up that fatal hill. Some will tell you that the Guards retired, or wanted to retire; but no, up they went manfully, step by step, both Guards and Highlanders, and a number of other regiments of the 2nd Division, and with deafening shouts the heights of Alma were ours. The enemy were sent reeling from them in hot haste, with Artillery and a few Cavalry in pursuit. If we had only had three or four thousand Cavalry with us, they would not have got off quite so cheaply; as it was, they got a nasty mauling, such an one as they did not seem to appreciate.

After gaining the heights—a victory that set the church bells of Old England ringing and gave schoolboys a holiday, we had time to count our loss. Alas, we had paid the penalty for leading the way. We had left more than half our number upon the field, dead or wounded, and one of our colours was gone, but, thank God, the enemy had not got it; it was found upon the field, cut into pieces, and with a heap of dead and wounded all around it. Kinglake, the author of “The Crimean Campaign,” says in the boldest language that “Yea and his Fusiliers won the Alma.” As one of them, I can confirm that statement—we had to fight against tremendous odds. The brunt of the fighting fell upon the first Brigade of the Light Division, as their loss will testify. At one time the 7th Fusiliers confronted a whole Russian Brigade and kept them at bay until assistance came up. Our poor old Colonel exclaimed, at the top of the hill, when he sounded the assembly, “A colour gone, and where’s my poor old Fusiliers, my God, my God!” and he cried like a child, wringing his hands. After the enemy had been fairly routed, I obtained leave to go down the hill. I had lost my comrade and I was determined to find him if possible. I had no difficulty in tracing the way we had advanced, for the ground was covered with our poor fellows—in some places sixes and sevens, at others tens and twelves, and at other places whole ranks were lying. “For these are deeds which shall not pass away, and names that must not, shall not wither.”

The Russian wounded behaved in a most barbarous manner; they made signs for a drink, and then shot the man who gave it them. My attention was drawn to one nasty case. A young officer of the 95th gave a wounded Russian a little brandy out of his flask, and was turning to walk away, when the fellow shot him mortally; I would have settled with him for his brutish conduct, but one of our men, who happened to be close to him, at once gave him his bayonet, and despatched him. I went up to the young officer, and finding he was still alive, placed him in as comfortable a position as I could, and then left him, to look for my comrade. I found him close to the river, dead; he had been shot in the mouth and left breast, and death must have been instantaneous. He was now in the presence of his glorified Captain. He was as brave as a lion, but a faithful disciple. He could not have gone 100 yards from the spot where he told me we should “have to shift those fellows with the bayonet.” I sat down beside him, and thought my heart would break as I recalled some of his sayings, particularly his talk to me at midnight of the 19th; this was about six p.m., on the 20th. I have every reason to believe that he was prepared for the change. I buried him, with the assistance of two or three of our men. We laid him in his grave, with nothing but an overcoat wrapped around him, and then left him with a heavy heart.

In passing up the hill I had provided myself with all the water bottles I could, from the dead, in order to help to revive the wounded as much as possible. I visited the young officer whom I saw shot by the wounded Russian, and found he was out of all pain: he had passed into the presence of a just and holy God. The sights all the way were sickening. The sailors were taking off the wounded as fast as possible, but many lay there all night, just as they had fallen. Dear reader, such is war. I rejoined my regiment on the top of the hill, and was made Sergeant that night. We remained on the hill until the 23rd, and lost a number of men from cholera.

The 21st and 22nd were spent in collecting the wounded—both friend and foe. Ours were at once put on board ship and sent to Scutari; some hundreds of the enemy were collected in a vineyard on the slopes, the dead were buried in large pits—and a very mournful and ghastly sight it was, for many had been literally cut to pieces. It was a difficult matter really to find out what had killed some of them. Here men were found in positions as if in the act of firing; there, as if they had fallen asleep; and all over the field the dead were lying in every position it was possible for men to assume. Some of those who had met death at the point of the bayonet, presented a picture painful to look upon; others were actually smiling. Such was the field of the Alma.

The first battle was now over, and as I wrote to my parents from the heights, I thanked God I was still in the land of the living, and what’s more with a whole skin (except an abrasion on the head caused by a stone), which a few hours before had appeared impossible. The three regiments that led the way suffered fearfully, the 7th Royal Fusiliers on the right, the 23rd Royal Welsh Fusiliers in the centre, and the 33rd on the left. Any one of these three Regiments suffered more than the whole brigade of Guards or Highlanders combined; not that I wish to speak disparagingly of the gallant Guards or the noble Highlanders, I only wish to show on whom the brunt of the fighting fell.

I saw the Heights of Alma on the 20th September, Then the maiden British army first faced the foe, Then the Russian bear, with all his ugly cubs, Was taught to use his heels, as fast as he could go.

Volumes could be written upon the Alma—the battle that opened the guns of France and England in unison, but I must confine my narrative to what actually passed under my own eyes, or in my own regiment. Canrobert, a French Marshal, might well in the excitement exclaim, “I should like to command an English Division for a campaign, and it would be the d—— take the hindmost; I feel that I could then attain my highest ambition!” A Russian wounded General, in giving up his sword, as prisoner of war, stated that they were confident of holding their position for some days no matter what force the Allies could bring against them, adding that they came to fight men and not devils. Prince Menschikoff quitted the field in a hurry, for he left his carriage behind and all his state papers. He, poor man, had to eat a lot of humble pie, and we are told that he was furiously mad. He had been over confident that he could hold us in check for three weeks, and then put us all into the sea; he just held the heights for three hours after the attack commenced. Ladies even came out of Sebastopol to witness the destruction of the Allies; but I fancy their flight must have been most distressing, while their feelings were not to be envied.

The Russian officers were gentlemen, but their men were perfect fiends. The night after the battle and the following morning, this was proved in a number of cases, by their shooting down our men just after they had done all they could for them. Our comrades at once paid them for it either by shooting or bayoneting them on the spot; this was rough justice, but it was justice, nevertheless; none of them lived to boast of what they had done.

Poor Captain Monk of ours was the talk of the whole regiment that evening. It appears that a Russian presented his rifle at him, close to his head. The Captain at once parried it and cut the man down. A Russian officer then tackled him in single combat, and he quietly knocked him down with his fist, with others right and left of him, until he had a heap all round him, and at last fell dead in the midst of them. Sir G. Brown’s horse was shot from under him just in front of us, but that fire-eating old warrior soon collected himself, jumped up waving his sword and shouting, “Fusiliers, I am all right, follow me, and I’ll remember you for it!” and then, as Marshal Ney did at Waterloo, led the way up that fatal hill on foot, animating the men to the performance of deeds of valour. Britons, where is the man who would not respond to such a call? The eyes of the civilized world were upon us. Up the hill we went, for our blood was up, and the strength of all the Russians could not stop us; they might call us red devils if they liked, we were determined to do our duty for Queen and country. We remained on the heights until the 23rd. The 57th joined us there, just too late for the battle; but the old “die-hards” left their marks upon the enemy at Inkermann and throughout the siege of Sebastopol.

The following letter, written immediately after the battle, will, perhaps, prove interesting here:—