Chapter XXVI: Jack Receives His First Step

Night had fallen upon the slopes of the Alma. The British army had encamped on the ground it had won, and hundreds of camp-fires flickered on the field.

Round one, Jack, Will, Sergeant Linham, Pearson, and Brandon were sitting. They were all moody and silent. A great battle had been fought, a great victory had been won; but there was no jubilation in their hearts.

Darkness fortunately hid from them the terrible sights by which they were surrounded, but it could not shut out the sounds. Groans and cries and moanings for water were heard from all sides, and the lanterns bobbing about in different parts of the field showed where the doctors and ambulance-men were busy. For hours Jack and Will had wandered over the field, taking water to the wounded and often helping to place some shattered hero in a more comfortable position till the doctors--or death--should come to him.

Later, they had eaten their ration of pork by the camp-fire, and now they sat gloomily looking into the flickering flames.

Pearson sucked moodily at his pipe. ‘Hearts will be sore in England when the news of this day’s work is known,’ he said presently.

‘Ay, and hearts will be glad,’ growled Sergeant Linham; ‘the cry of the orphans will be drowned in the shouts over the victory. And so it ought to be. We’re soldiers, aren’t we, and it’s our trade to kill or be killed? Our relations know this, and must expect some of us to go.’

‘That’s true,’ said Pearson.

‘And I want to know,’ said the sergeant, taking his pipe from his mouth--‘I want to know what difference does it make whether we go now, on the field of battle, or in a few years’ time in some hospital? Now, I want to know that.’

No one answered Linham, and, his beak-like nose looking more aggressive by the flickering light of the fire, he continued, ‘It’s better to die a soldier’s sudden death than to lie in bed for weeks like a mangy cur. A soldier’s death is a glorious one, though many a life was thrown away to-day.’

‘How do you mean?’ asked Pearson.

‘Bad leading,’ said Linham solemnly; ‘we’ve been too long at peace. Our Generals are the bravest men on earth; but the way the poor Light Bobs were mishandled, charging up the hillside in a mob, and then left unsupported! Bah, we didn’t fight like that in India!’

Again there was a silence, so Sergeant Linham, knocking the ashes from his pipe, wrapped his cloak round him. ‘It would have been different if our old General that the colonel and I served under in India had been here. Now, I want to know what you think he’d ha’ done. I want--to--know’---- A faint snore finished the sentence. The sergeant had fallen asleep, an example which the others tried to follow; but they found it a difficult task.

Fresh to the horrors of warfare, they could not get the recollection of the terrible sights they had seen out of their minds, and when at last they did drop into fitful slumbers it was only to go through again in their dreams the terrors of the day. It was a positive relief to Jack when, long before dawn, reveille aroused him.

Orders were received that some squadrons of cavalry should at once try and get in touch again with the enemy and find out where he was and what he was doing. Without bite or sup the Lancers mounted and moved off in the darkness. The road was easy to follow. Arms, accoutrements, and dead or wounded men strewed the way. They had not got very far when daylight overtook them, and advancing with great caution they accelerated their pace.

Helmets, shakos, greatcoats, arms of every description littered the ground, and the practised eye of Captain Norreys told him that it had been a panic-stricken crowd which had passed along there a few hours before.

As the sun came out the men got cheerier and threw off something of the depression which seemed to have fallen upon them. They left the road and crossed the undulating grass-covered plains that led up to the heights. Several times during the early morning small parties of Cossacks had been seen; but these, on observing the British troops, turned and galloped off as if for their lives.

Presently the reconnoitring cavalry came in sight of the defeated Russian army, which had evidently encamped for the night on a river which the English afterwards found was named the Katcha. It was clear that the alarm had been given, for on the north side of the river cavalry and artillery could be seen trotting rapidly away, while strings of infantry and baggage all mixed up together streamed along after them. The troops still on the British side of the river were straining every effort to get across, for it was plain they imagined the handful of Lancers they saw was but the advanced guard of the British army.

On the little bridge a terrible jam had taken place. Men, horses, wagons were all mixed up in an inextricable mass, and it was clear to Jack that the army beneath him was only a panic-stricken mob. Men could be seen using whips, officers the flats of their swords, while a confused murmur of voices ascended to the hills. Hundreds of Russians, throwing away the heaviest part of their kit, could be seen dashing into the river and wading across, joining their countrymen on the other side in their mad rush for Sebastopol. The Alma had been a terrible lesson!

Captain Norreys with one or two other officers dismounted and surveyed the scene through their glasses.

Jack was holding their horses.

His captain looked long and earnestly at the scene below him, then said in regretful tones, ‘What a mistake we’re making, lying inactive on the Alma with a beaten foe but a few miles from us! With a dozen squadrons and a horse-battery I’d engage that not one of those Russians ever entered Sebastopol.’

The reconnoitring party ate the rations they had with them, and, having seen the last of the Russians cross the bridge, returned to their camp. They found every one available busy tending the wounded and burying the dead--English, French, and Russian--and a melancholy task it was. In the battle fell 5709 Russians, 2002 British, and 560 French. As Jack rode over the battlefield he closed his eyes to shut out the terrible sights.

The sailors from the vessels were invaluable, and handled the wounded with all the gentleness of women. Many of the poor fellows had to be carried fully four miles to the shore; but despite that more than a thousand were got aboard.

In regimental orders that day there were several surprises for Jack. He found he was promoted corporal ‘for distinguished service rendered at the skirmish on the Bulganak,’ and Sergeant Linham was to be ‘acting trumpet-major,’ while Trumpet-major Joyce was named as orderly to Lord Raglan.

This was very pleasant news to Jack, and that day he took an opportunity of sending home a few lines; telling his mother of the battle and assuring her of his safety, informing her of his promotion but making no mention of the gallant deed by which he had earned it. ‘It’s the first step on the ladder,’ said Jack to himself that night as he surveyed his corporal’s stripes. ‘If ever I live to get home I hope to add a third stripe to these two.’