Chapter XXIV: The Passage of the Alma

As Jack gazed up and saw Sergeant Barrymore bending over him, his thoughts went back to that Sunday afternoon, nearly eighteen months ago, when once before he had lain beside a river, with Sergeant Barrymore tending him. Then with a rush came back the recollection of the skirmish.

‘Poor Tom!’ said Jack, ‘was he saved after all?’

‘Yes, and is still alive, thanks to you. He is being attended to by the doctors; but whether he’ll live or not I can’t say. But we’d best get you along to the doctor and have your cut properly bandaged.’

Putting up his hand, Jack found his head was tied up in a pocket-handkerchief.

‘Your cap saved you,’ said the sergeant, ‘else that slice above the ear would have been serious.’

Jack had also received a prick from a lance on his thigh, which, though bleeding profusely, was not very painful. He, however, insisted on remaining at his duty, and with Barrymore’s help went on to their camping-ground.

Will was loud in his praises of Jack’s gallantry. ‘You ought to get your commission,’ he said. ‘If some blessed officer had done what you’ve done he’d have got a step in the regiment, half-a-dozen letters after his name, and I don’t know what all.’

‘Never mind, Will, old boy; get me a drink of coffee from somewhere, and any one can have the letters and the promotion.’

Pearson and Brandon had just succeeded in roasting some green coffee-beans, and soon Jack had a pannikin of the hot beverage, to which a little drop of rum had been added. The drink did Jack much good and he soon felt better. In the evening he went up to the hospital-tent with Will and inquired about Tom Gallon.

The gray-headed, kind-eyed Scot who was regimental surgeon shook his head. ‘He may live,’ he said; ‘but his soldiering days are over. His left arm ‘s smashed and must come off above the elbow, and he’s got a nasty dig in his back. Providing we can keep off fever, he may pull round; but I’m afraid’-----

‘Poor Tommy!’ said Jack. ‘I should like to see him once, doctor, before it’s too late.’

‘Impossible; any excitement would be fatal. By the way, are you the trumpeter who saved him?’

‘I stood by him till our men returned.’

The doctor shook Jack warmly by the hand. ‘You performed a brave deed,’ he said. ‘I heard of the affair from Captain Norreys, who’s bringing it to the notice of Lord Raglan. But what’s wrong with your head?’

Jack replied that he had received a slight cut, which the doctor insisted upon dressing, besides the prod in his leg, making Jack relate how he had saved Gallon the while.

That night the army was encamped in order of battle, for it was expected the Russians would make a night-attack. They were known to be quite close and in great strength, part of which they had revealed in their attempts to draw the British cavalry into an ambush. The troops piled arms and were warned to be ready to turn out at an instant’s notice. Extra strong vedettes and outposts were posted; but Jack’s regiment was fortunate in not being called upon to supply either.

They were encamped just behind the village of Bulganak, Lord Raglan passing the night in a posthouse close to the bridge. From the English lines the camp-fires of the enemy, seeming endless in number, could be plainly seen, and all knew that even if they went through the night without an attack the next day would see them engaged in a big battle, for the Russians barred all further progress towards Sebastopol.

The night passed peacefully, however, and before dawn, without sound of trumpet or drum, the French and English got under arms. Little time was taken over breakfast, the last meal many hundreds of the gallant fellows were fated to eat; then the troops began to take up their position for the advance. But it was some time before the army got on the move. When they did, Jack, who with his regiment still marched on the left flank, saw large bodies of Cossacks and other cavalry on the hills and ridges, and the sight of burning villages and homesteads showed the Allies that the Russians were pursuing their old tactics of destroying everything as they retired before their enemy.

The advance was across gently undulating country towards a range of steep heights, ending near the sea in great cliffs, some hundreds of feet high. With one or two protracted halts in between, the Allies towards midday had approached to within about a mile and a half of these heights, and there another long halt was made while the English right got into touch with the French left.

Jack could see at the base of the cliffs the river, with the knolls, ridges, and gullies beyond it. The opening in the hills through which the road to Sebastopol ran was also visible. A commanding height, which Jack afterwards learnt was the Kourgane Hill, stood out plainly. Several small villages were visible on the Russian side of the river, between the sea and the Kourgane Hill, and cottages and farmhouses were scattered about.

The practised eye of the soldier could discern across the river large bodies of cavalry on the move, while enormous masses of gray-coated infantry were amongst the slopes and ravines, the whole position simply bristling with field-batteries and howitzers. In front of the Kourgane Hill a great redoubt, armed with fourteen guns of heavy calibre, had been erected, and this was the ‘key’ of the Russian position. Around this it was fated that the fiercest fighting of the day was to take place.

Sergeant Linham had approached Jack, and he looked grimly at the strong position. ‘Ha, hum!’ he said, ‘many a man will lose the number of his mess before those heights are carried; but we shall do it.’

Just then the dense blue-uniformed masses of French infantry were seen moving forward to attack the Russian right. They advanced with a deal of dash, artillery supporting them. Soon a tremendous cannonade was in full progress, and the English line was halted till the French had achieved their object.

Presently the English again moved forward, and the objects on the other side of the river became plain. It was then about one o’clock, the day was hot and cloudless; the sun shone down on what, had they not been advancing in the grim reality of war, would have been a glorious spectacle. Arms glittered, plumes waved, colours fluttered. Scarlet-coated light infantry, fated to bear the brunt of that day’s fighting, sombre-clad Riflemen, kilted Highlanders, bearskinned Guards, gaily braided artillerymen--all moved forward in the most beautiful order. No haste, no uncertainty; everything staid, orderly, majestic. Arrived within about a mile of the river, the British regiments began to deploy, and with the utmost coolness and precision moved forward for attack.

Presently a boom was heard from the position in front of Jack’s division, and a round-shot came ripping across the river. Another and another followed, and soon a tremendous cannonade was opened on the English. Jack felt a sort of tightening of his heartstrings as the thunder of the artillery began; but the feeling of nervous anxiety died away when he saw with what absolute indifference to danger our gallant infantrymen deployed under a heavy fire.

The Lancers were dismounted and a field-artillery battery was passing them on its way to the front when the reins suddenly dropped from a driver’s hands; he gave a sort of gasp, and then fell heavily on the ground.

‘Sunstroke,’ said Sergeant Barrymore, who was close by Jack, and running to the artilleryman he turned him on his back and dragged him away from the wheels of the guns. As he did so, the front of the man’s tunic was seen to be wet with blood. A splinter of shell had struck him in the heart! He was the first Englishman killed that day, and Sergeant Barrymore, new to war, went silently back to his horse.

Presently the Lancers were ordered to mount, and a further advance was made till they were pretty close to the river. Musket and rifle balls began to hum over their heads, and they were again dismounted. From the spot where Jack was he could obtain a very good view of the field, and, his heart throbbing wildly, he gazed upon the fascinating scene. The round-shot were now causing considerable execution, and the regiments of the Light Division were ordered to lie down. Here a terrible trial of passive endurance awaited them. Round-shot tore through them, shells exploded over them, while a shower of bullets pinged and buzzed about them. Casualties were frequent, but the gallant fellows, few of whom had ever been under fire before, bore their trial bravely. They laughed and joked, and as they watched the dread guns which were spreading death and destruction amongst them they began to distinguish their different sounds. Then men were heard remarking, ‘Look out, Bill, here’s Shrieking Eliza coming again!’ or ‘There goes Barking Tom!’

Every now and then a mighty blast of wind would sweep by a soldier, the earth would receive a shattering shock, and what one instant was a living soldier would next be a shapeless mass. His comrades would rise and gently carry his remains to the rear; then resume their places. This went on for a terrible time, till even the iron nerves of the British soldiers began to feel the strain.

‘We ain’t afraid of dying,’ said a man of the 33rd to his captain; ‘but we’d like to have a smack at they Rooshians. Lead us on, sir; lead us on.’

‘Steady, men--steady,’ was the reply; ‘we shall get our chance directly.’ And the intrepid officers would walk up and down in front of their companies to inspire confidence in the men.

The British were waiting till the French had effected the turning movement; but they were in difficulties, and time passed slowly. The Light Division began to murmur; a lull took place in the battle. Affairs seemed critical.

Lord Raglan and his staff rode up and down the line, the round-shot ploughing up the ground all round them. The commander-in-chief looked anxious. At last he made up his mind to advance.

At that time the village of Bourliouk was set in flames, which caused much confusion, as it was impossible for the English to cross the river for a space of two hundred yards on either side of the burning mass. The smoke also blotted out that part of the field from the view.

Nothing, however, could daunt the British. A staff-officer, the impetuous Nolan, in his resplendent Hussar uniform, was seen to gallop along the lines of the Light Division, saying a few words to each commander. Then the regiments sprang to their feet--the 7th, 23rd, and 77th--dressed their ranks, and with a front of two miles and a depth of only two men marched grandly down the slope.

The cavalry gave them a tremendous cheer. But the light infantry made no sound; the joyous light of battle was in their eyes, their blood was aroused. They were going to close with the enemy, they would soon be at grips with him, it was enough. As they neared the river the guns of the greater part of three field-batteries, a battery manned by sailors, the light guns of the lesser redoubt, and the fourteen guns of the great redoubt, opened with shot and shell upon them. Sixteen battalions of infantry in front and four on each flank poured in a terrific musketry-fire, and a perfect inferno of iron whizzed around them.

‘God help them!’ cried Jack, his heart wrung at the sight; ‘mortal men can never face such a fury of destruction.’

Brandon, fired by the sight, turned to Jack and quoted:

‘He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours.

* * * * *

He that outlives this day and comes safe home
Will stand on tiptoe when this day is named.’

The advancing regiments reached the river, into which they boldly plunged. Some were only up to their knees; some sank at once to their armpits; some had to abandon their arms and swim for their lives; while others, alas! sank, and were seen no more. The surface of the water was literally lashed into foam by the iron and leaden hail that swept into it; but with a rush the British were across and sheltered for a moment by the steep banks from the murderous fire of the Russians. Then, headed by their officers, they scrambled up the incline. All formation was lost, and the men of the different regiments got mixed together as they charged up the slope towards the batteries. As they crowned the ridge, a mob of desperate, fearless men, showers of grape and canister mowed its way through them, literally cutting lanes in the crowded masses, while the infantry on their flanks poured in volleys at point-blank range. Still they advanced, every foot of the way being marked with slain or wounded men.

The gallant Fusiliers, 7th and 23rd, smitten sorely, reeled like drunken men; but still they went on, led by the gallant Lacy Yea. The General had but one idea--to lead his division right up to the fiery jaws of the guns belching death and destruction around. He was well in front, a conspicuous figure in his cocked hat and mounted on his gray Arab, waving his sword and encouraging his men.

Ah! he’s down; his horse is killed! In a moment he is again on his feet, waving his sword and crying, ‘I’m all right, 23rd! Be sure I’ll remember this day!’

The red-coats opened a rapid fire upon the masses of gray-coated Russians, who began to waver; those behind the breastwork were soon seen in retreat. They did not like the light in the eyes of the British lads. Then the bayonets were levelled, a great cheer went up, and the gallant ‘Light Bobs’ went at the great redoubt. The Russians were stricken with terror; before the foremost red-coats got amongst them they had limbered up their guns and were seen dragging them away. The British gave a yell and raced forward, swarmed up the escarpment, leaped through the embrasures, and in a moment were in amongst the enemy, bayoneting the artillerymen.

One Russian driver was urging with whip and spur his black horses to carry off the last gun. An officer of the 23rd rushed forward, seized the bridle, and stopped the horses. The driver slipped from the saddle and bolted. Gun and horses were captured; the latter to serve in our black battery, the former to be sent to England as a trophy.[3]

The remains of the Light Division were in possession of the famous great redoubt; but the Guards and Highlanders had not advanced to support them, and they were isolated. The dense masses of Russians, seeing this, halted, then turned back.

The Light Division was in a critical position. This could be seen much more plainly from the British side of the river than from the Russian, on account of the numerous dips, ravines, and gullies among which our infantry lay.

Lord Lucan, in command of the cavalry, observed with great anxiety the critical position of the remnant of the Light Division. To add to his consternation, he saw an immense mass of cavalry, fully three thousand strong, wheeling slowly round from the south-eastern slopes of the Kourgane Hill, as though in readiness, when the Russian infantry had driven the red-coats from the redoubt, to charge down upon them and annihilate them. Under these circumstances the cavalry commander determined to take a decisive step. Without orders from Lord Raglan, he decided to cross the river, advance to the support of the Light Division, hold the hordes of Russian cavalry in check, and if necessary to charge them.

He mounted his brigade and rode up to Major Willett, commanding Jack’s regiment. ‘I am going to advance across the river,’ he said; ‘your regiment will lead. Send word to Lord Raglan of what I am doing. I shall myself lead the advance.’

Major Willett saluted with his sword. ‘Cornet Leland,’ he said, ‘gallop to Lord Raglan and tell him the cavalry brigade is crossing the river to the assistance of the light infantry division which is threatened on the flank with an overwhelming mass of cavalry.’

Captain Norreys, possessing the advantage of having seen war-service, spoke to Major Willett. ‘I should send three or four men,’ he said. ‘It is doubtful if any one man would get through such a fire-zone; but, out of several, one is almost sure to.’

‘Well thought of, Norreys,’ said the major.--‘Mr Leland, take three men, and whoever gets through will deliver the message.’

‘Barrymore,’ said the cornet, ‘follow me with Blair and Pearson.’

Jack’s heart leapt at these words, and with a touch of the spur he made Dainty bound from her place in the ranks. He settled himself in the saddle.

‘Thank goodness we’re going to do something at last!’ he said to Pearson. ‘If we once get in the thick of it we’ll have a go at some of those Russian beggars before we retire;’ and next moment he was swinging along, under a heavy fire, behind Cornet Leland and Sergeant Barrymore, on their way to find Lord Raglan.