Chapter XLV: The Battle of the Tchernaya

The noise the men were making attracted the attention of all within hearing, and before the procession had got far several officers came toward them to see what was the matter. Foremost among them was Colonel Norreys, recovered in health, and promoted to the command of the regiment.

Barrymore, saluting, told the colonel who they were escorting, and in another moment Colonel Norreys was wringing Jack’s hand.

‘My dear Blair,’ he said, ‘it is to you and Barrymore that I owe my life. I ought to have died if any man ought on that fatal day; how I managed to cheat the doctors I don’t know. Your conduct in the affair was reported with Barrymore’s; but we all feared you had been killed.’

‘I have been a prisoner all the time, sir,’ said Jack.

‘You must tell me all your adventures; but first I must introduce you to the other officers, nearly all, alas! strangers to you, but all of whom have heard of your exploits.’

The colonel then turned to Linham. ‘Welcome back to you, too, sergeant,’ he said; ‘it will seem something like old times to see your familiar features in the ranks again.’

‘Ha, hum! sir, you do me honour,’ and Linham saluted with the precision of an automaton.

Jack did his best to get away from the congratulations and flattering speeches of his officers, most of whom, as the colonel had said, were new to the regiment, consequently strangers. Hardly had he succeeded before his hand was clutched in a firm grasp, and turning, he saw--could he believe his eyes?--Will Hodson, staring at him with an eye suspiciously dim.

‘Jack!’

‘Will!’

‘I thought you were dead.’

‘I’ve mourned you for months.’

‘Thanks to you, dear old chap, I’m alive. I was almost done when I got aboard at Balaclava; but the warmth and comfort did me good. I went back again after getting to Scutari. Oh the horrors of that place, Jack! Nothing that we heard about it came up to the reality. But there was an angel just arrived there, Miss Nightingale, from England. She was beginning to get the place into some sort of order, and I was lucky in coming under her notice. Two months it was before I was able to get back to duty; but I never should at all had it not been for her.’

Jack and Linham were taken possession of by Barrymore and those men who had been in the charge, and were the lions of the hour. They were soon assigned quarters, new uniforms were served out to them, and they resumed their regimental duties.

They found a tremendous difference in the camp. Large drafts had come out for the regiments that had served through the war, and many regiments had arrived to whom Alma, Balaclava, and Inkermann were but names. The cavalry had received such large drafts that they were almost new regiments. Huts had sprung up, and the men had more clothing than they knew what to do with.

In June, fur coats, blankets, and woollen caps had arrived in thousands. The uniforms of the new arrivals were clean and smart, the men again looked more like soldiers than navvies, hundreds of remounts had been procured. The 10th Hussars and 12th Lancers had arrived from India and the Carbineers from England. There was an abundance of good food, an almost unlimited supply of war material, the hospital arrangements had been vastly improved, the health of the whole army was very good; and lastly, and most wonderful of all, a railway had been constructed between Balaclava and the camp!

These things were so amazing that it took Jack and Linham some days to believe it all. They heard about the assault of the Malakoff, and the determined, but unfortunate attack on the Redan in June. This was sad news; but sadder still was the news of the death of the gallant, the kindly, the warm-hearted Lord Raglan.

Bitterly mortified at the attempt of the Government to make him a scapegoat for their own gross mismanagement, he had worried in secret. The failure of the attack on the Redan and the death of a very dear friend and brother-officer, working on a constitution already weakened by the tremendous strain of the war, had caused an illness of which he died calmly and quietly on June 29th.

The honour paid to his remains on their removal to the vessel which was to convey them to England spoke of the esteem in which he was held by the army. English, French, Sardinians, even the Russians themselves, paid the highest respect to his memory.

Sergeant Linham seemed very depressed after his return to the regiment. ‘Here we are, Jack,’ he said, ‘stuck just in the same place; only it’s all so different. The officers are different, the men different, even our very uniform’s different, and what’s the use of it all, ha, hum! I want to know?’

Jack tried to cheer him up; but it was clear the sergeant was fretting, and it was evidently over the loss of his old comrades. There was, besides, another cause that made him downhearted that Jack did not know of till later--his wounded leg was causing him great pain and inconvenience.

About the middle of August spies brought in word that the Russians were going to make a great effort to raise the siege, and consequently the Allies were kept on the alert.

Jack’s squadron was moved down to Balaclava, close to the newly arrived Sardinian contingent, being brigaded under Jack’s old colonel, who had returned from England, having quite recovered.

Every morning at an hour before daybreak they paraded, and on the 16th, soon after they assembled, the sound of heavy firing on their front showed them that the Russians were attacking. The firing got heavier, and as day began to dawn the English cavalry were moved off down the very valley along which they had made their famous charge.

‘I wonder whether this is going to be another Balaclava,’ said Jack to Barrymore.

‘Don’t speak of that day,’ said the regimental; ‘I can never bear to think of it.’

Presently the cavalry came in sight of the Tractir Bridge, which was being held by French infantry. These were attacked by huge masses of Russian infantry and artillery, and were driven back, but rallying, they retook the bridge at the point of the bayonet. The Russians again routed them; but with indomitable gallantry the French once more attacked and drove the Russians across the river.

‘Well done, French!’ cried Jack.

But the Russians were in overwhelming numbers, and for the second time they took the bridge and the heights above it, and began to advance on Balaclava itself.

Things were looking serious, and the gallant Scarlett, now commanding the English cavalry, prepared his brigade for action. The Russians had quite sixty squadrons, and it was confidently expected that the cavalry would be heavily engaged. Seeing the enemy’s cavalry advancing from Tchorgoun towards the river, Scarlett moved his glittering squadrons forward.

Jack’s squadron was on the right, and the men tightened their hold on their bridles and gripped their lances, expecting every moment to be charging the enemy. In this they were, however, disappointed, being retreated behind a Sardinian outpost. Rising ground hid them from the Russian cavalry, and presently General de la Marmora, the Sardinian commander-in-chief, with his gay staff, cantered along between the English and the Sardinians, as though making for the plain beyond the rising ground.

General Scarlett was talking to Colonel Norreys when suddenly several squadrons of Russian Hussars were seen to have swept round on the right flank behind some hills, and were driving in at a gallop between the English cavalry and the Sardinian staff. The danger of the Sardinians was seen at once, and General Scarlett, in a few brief words to Colonel Norreys, bade him charge. The squadron sprang forward, the charge rang out, and the Lancers were racing at top speed, so as to get between the Russians and the Sardinian staff.

The Russian Hussars seeing the Lancers coming brought up their right shoulders so as to face the oncoming horsemen; then once again showed the curious hesitancy which seemed natural to them. With a crash the Lancers met them, riding them down and scattering them like chaff.

Jack drove his lance right through the body of a Hussar, and lost it. In an instant he had his sword in his hand and was aiming a blow at an officer dressed in a magnificent white uniform, when, glancing at his features, he recognised Count Pauloff. With a cry he withdrew his arm and swept by. Next minute the Russians were in full retreat, the count unhurt among them. Half-an-hour afterwards the battle was over, the Russians defeated, and the French and Sardinians in pursuit.

The Russians lost between five and six thousand men, and they realised once and for all that though they might be in overwhelming numbers they were no match for the Allies in the open field.