Chapter V

A WALK ACROSS THE BATTLE-FIELD--GHASTLY
SIGHTS--BRAVE SURGEON THOMPSON OF THE
44TH--JACK'S STRANGE ADVENTURE.

So much for the glory of war; how about its ghastliness?

Ah! well, the glory, I suppose, is abiding; the ghastliness is soon hidden in the grave.

But oh, reader mine, is it not dreadful to read that on the very night that followed the battle men were sickening and dying with cholera in numbers as great as before?

It is no wonder, methinks, that as I write that sentence, tears that I fain would repress make dim the lines before me. Because I know something of the horror that cholera brings in its train, and the agony, despair, and suffering--a suffering so great that many times and oft the surgeon breathes a prayer of thankfulness to Heaven when his patient's eyes are closed in death. And, horrible to relate, even after death cramps and spasms sometimes come on, so that the ignorant would believe that the subject had once more come to life.

We naval and army surgeons are called non-combatant officers. Heaven help us! we have as many dangers, in ship or field, to encounter, as the men who, sword in hand, march at the head of their companies; and when the field is won our work is only beginning. And they, the so-called combatants, get nearly all the glory.

After the battle of Alma, fain would some of the generals have had their troops come down and bivouac beside the river, for sake of the water. But that plucky old soldier Raglan must have them sleep on the heights, in the field they had covered with glory--and dead.

The men were for the most part tired to excess, war-worn, and thirsty, yet seeming to want sleep more even than water, which they felt too far gone to drag uphill.

Llewellyn and Grant had escaped without injury, and together, in the cool of the evening, they strolled down to the river's bank. As far as the stripping of the wounded (which takes place after European battles by the ghastly hordes that hover in the rear intent on plunder) was concerned, it was conspicuous only by its absence. But here was a sight that caused the blood of those two young men almost to curdle with horror.

There were many men lying, or even sitting, dead, in the very position they had assumed just before the messenger of death came singing towards them. Many were lying on their backs, with arms upstretched as if appealing to Heaven for help or mercy. Llewellyn and his friend were standing near a corpse which lay in this position, with the musket across the chest, when their own surgeon came up.

"No," said the latter, with a sad kind of smile; "that man passed away painlessly, and at once. His arms are but outstretched as if still holding his gun."

Here was a headless trunk. Blood and brains had been spattered over the clothes and faces of other men who also had been killed. Here a dead body, with both legs torn off and flung to a distance. Here another, with one arm lying by its side, broken perhaps; the other, but a shattered and bloody stump, held aloft. Both eyes were open, and the face had a scared and awful look.

But for one dead man that Llewellyn saw there were at least a dozen wounded, and those for the most part lay sick and uncomplaining, as still almost as the dead. Or they would simply try to raise themselves on their arms and plead for a little water; sometimes the words would be but a whisper. Even as they did so it was no uncommon thing to note a spasm of agony come over the face, and a jerk to one side, then hands that drooped and eyes half shut, and gradually the placidity of death.

There were some wounded men dying even as the doctor bent over them.

Llewellyn tried to raise one poor fellow, whose whole shoulder had been torn away by part of a shell, and who seemed struggling to sit.

"Can I do anything for you?" said the young officer.

"Yes: tell her to come, and bring baby. I want to see baby. Where is the light?"

Ah! indeed, where was the light? His head drooped like a wounded bird's, the spirit fled, and Llewellyn laid him gently back.

Some of the faces of the wounded were so disfigured, so shot away I might call it, that they were fearful to behold. Some, they said, had scarcely mouths to eat or drink with, the lower jaws being carried clean away. Faces these were to live in one's dreams for ever and aye.

But enough of this picture--enough of the ghastliness of war.

The allied armies, who, some say, might have marched directly into Sebastopol on the day after their great victory, did not resume their advance until the 23rd.

The wounded of the enemy had at first been in great distress, and when our army went on, Dr. Thompson, assistant-surgeon of the 44th, volunteered to stay behind and look after them. And his servant, M'Grath, stayed also.

Thus was this brave fellow left behind in an enemy's country with 500 wounded Russians. An act like this surely speaks for itself, and tells of the true heroism and kind-heartedness which combined seem to belong specially to the medical staff of our army. The doctor and his servant, I may add, had neither tent nor accommodation of any kind.

The story of the doctor's heroism ends briefly thus:

The wounded were dying on his hands day after day, and he and M'Grath struggled hard to bury them; but when, on the 26th, Captain Lushington of the _Albion_ and his blue-jackets arrived, they had to remove about forty dead before they could reach the living. These latter were nearly all carried on board ship, when a force of the enemy appeared, and they were obliged to abandon their task. The Russian wounded were sent under flag of truce to Odessa.

* * * * *

There was much disappointment shown among the officers of Llewellyn's regiment when it was found that they were not to follow up the victory on the day after it, and march right to attack the northern forts.

Perhaps no one was more disappointed than Sir Colin Campbell, though he did not show it.

Neither Grant nor Llewellyn Morgan, however, took any pains to conceal their chagrin.

"May we ask what it means, sir?" Llewellyn took the liberty of saying. "Does Lord Raglan--"

"Hush, my young friend, hush!" said Sir Colin. "Lord Raglan is bold enough to have gone on even last night, but Marshal St. Arnaud thinks the armies are too tired."

"Too tired!" cried Grant. "Confound the fellow, let him speak for his own troops. They may be tired, tired looking on--it was all they did; but we fought, and will fight again."

"Yes, true; and if I were commander-in-chief, St. Arnaud should not rule me. I'd leave him to rest. But, my dear fellows, we must obey; obedience is a duty--when expedient."

The last words were spoken _sotto voce_, and more to himself than to the junior officers.

But Grant and Llewellyn smiled. They smiled heartily.

All along the route to the river Belbek, the arms and accoutrements, the dead and the struggling wounded, showed how complete the rout of the Russians had been, and how great their haste to escape.

At the mouth of the Belbek river the Scots Greys and another regiment were disembarked, and soon after the march was resumed.

Meanwhile, Menschikoff, who was an able tactician, sunk seven ships of war across the harbour mouth of Sebastopol, thus preventing our vessels from getting in, while those of his ships safely inside could pour a deadly fire upon the northern forts should they be attacked.

It is said by some that Lord Raglan consulted his chief engineer, Sir John Burgoyne, as to the feasibility of such an attack. This is denied by others.

However, a grand flank march was now determined upon, and a reconnaissance in some force was sent onwards to M'Kenzie's Farm, the army following on. The march was continued now to Traktir Bridge on the Balaklava road.

On the banks of the river our troops bivouacked for the night, and soon after, from the light in the sky, it was evident the French had occupied the M'Kenzie heights that we had just left.

Menschikoff, strangely enough, had passed our army without knowing it, within five miles or less of M'Kenzie's Farm. In fact, many of his last waggons, containing baggage, were captured. Still he did not know we were making that historical flank march. He was on his way to the upper part of the river Belbek, with the intention of keeping open the communications with Southern Russia, and receiving reinforcements. Cathcart's division, I wish you to note, had been left to cover the rear of our march, and to send the sick and wounded on to the mouth of the Katcha, where they would be embarked on the French and British ships.

Now the object of this flank march was to seize Balaklava town, and it was desirable that our ships should co-operate there with us.

And it is just here that I wish to tell you about Jack Mackenzie's adventure--that is, his first real adventure on Crimean soil.

The _Gurnet_ was a handy little craft, and consequently had all kinds of work to do.

Bold Dr. Reikie was as busy as busy could be, and though he had to take many a cargo of sick to the large ships or transports, luckily enough the cholera had not yet broken out on board of this gunboat.

Both he and Jack were ashore at the mouth of the Katcha when Admiral Lyons wished to open up communication with Lord Raglan, now on the Tchernaya. Who would volunteer to take a message? Many would; but our brave hero Jack was recommended by Captain Gillespie, who was loud in the young fellow's praises.

"You feel confident you will succeed?"

"No doubt of it, sir," said Jack boldly. "I'm young, sir, and active. I'm also an excellent hockey-player, and not too tall."

The admiral laughed.

"As to hockey," he said, "I don't know if that be any recommendation. Well, I will trust you, and you must bring an answer as soon as possible without killing yourself."

"Good-bye, doctor," said Jack, when he was ready for the march. "I'm so glad. I'll see Cousin Llewellyn too, if he is not among the slain."

"Good-bye, old man. _Bon voyage_. You're a lucky dog. Don't come back with your head under your arm, and your promotion is certain."

Jack determined to make a record. He took no arms with him save a revolver and his dirk. To support his strength, the provision he made was simple in the extreme--namely, a couple of ship biscuits and a bottle of water. The biscuits were so full of weevils that he wouldn't want for fresh meat anyhow.

He started in the afternoon, and in less than two hours he had reached the Belbek. He had crossed hill and dell and grassy slope very much as the crow flies; but having reached the river, he went onwards up the banks. He must strike the trail of the allied armies, for if he lost the road it would be indeed a poor record he should make.

After striking the trail of the army, he crossed the river by a ford. The river looked rather deep, but if the worst came to the worst he could swim. The water did look deep though, so he did what many a Scotsman has done before him: he partially undressed and waded through bravely. After getting inside his clothes again, he sat down to rest, and to munch a biscuit. The sun was getting very low, however, so he soon got up and hurried on again. He had six miles to go before he could reach M'Kenzie's Farm, and nearly the same distance before he came to the British camp on the Tchernaya. But what was that to a young fellow like him, and a hockey-player to boot? The path he followed now was very rough. He hugged the waggon tracks.

The country was a wooded or at least a bush-covered one, but all silent and deserted. When night fell it found him still struggling on, and he knew by the stars that the road was now taking him more inland. When he came near a hill at last, he left the trench, and climbed it to have a look around. What a scene! Far away beneath him glinted the lights of Sebastopol harbour, doubled and tripled as they sparkled on the water; and still farther off was the darkness of the star-lit sea itself. But yonder in the south-east a moon was struggling with a bank of clouds, low down on what appeared to be a woody horizon.

Jack was preparing to descend and resume his journey, when not far in his rear he heard voices. He had barely time to get into hiding under a friendly bush, when four men, evidently Russian soldiers, passed almost close by him. Jack afterwards learned that, like himself, these men had come from the Belbek, but from the upper regions thereof. In fact they were emissaries from Menschikoff, on their way to Sebastopol to obtain news as to the whereabouts of the invaders.

Jack was glad enough when they had passed. But, lo, they had not gone twenty yards away when they threw themselves on the ground to rest. Then they proceeded leisurely to light a fire.

As this burned up, Jack crept further back under the shadow of the bush--a species of dwarf yew--lest his face or figure might be seen. He was so close to them that he could hear every word they said. As, however, they spoke in the Russian language, this was not of much advantage to Jack.

Probably I myself am no born linguist, though I can manage to bless myself in two or three tongues; but the Russian, whenever I attempted it, always seemed to loosen all my teeth.

The greybacks had laid down their arms, and proceeded to make themselves very comfortable indeed. They had their toes towards the fire and pipes between their teeth--the stalks of the pipes at all events. Now and then they laid aside their pipes to stuff their maws with coarse bread. Then they made many applications to black bottles, and seemed to get jollier every minute.

When these fellows laughed, they opened great black cavernous mouths, and threw their legs straight out in front of them, as if afraid of the cramp. No wonder that the very night-birds screamed and flew flapping away from the neighbouring trees at the sounds.

More and more bottle! more merriment!

Jack greatly feared they were going to make a night of it, but did not dare to stir.

Further applications of the bottle; then one fellow volunteered a song.

Neither words nor music appealed to Jack, who was hoping the man would choke. The melody--save the mark!--was like the rattling of a lot of pebbles in a frying-pan. The words were a kind of Irish stew or pan-hagglety of German, Chinese, Turkish, and Sanscrit, with a little Gaelic and broad Scotch thrown in to give it smoothness.

But now from a wallet the soldier who seemed in command drew forth some papers. He looked at and counted them, then put them carefully away again. They appeared to Jack to be plans, and he at once formed the daring resolve of possessing himself of them by hook or by crook.

Jack hoped it would be by hook.

The sergeant placed the wallet on the moss behind him, and very handy for Jack.

Then the sergeant had another drink. The man next him said something while he drank; upon which, without for a moment taking the bottle from his lips, the officer let out from the shoulder with his left, and the soldier rolled back on the moss. The others guffawed, and the boisterous merriment continued.

Jack was getting uneasy, for time was important, and it was now well on in the night.

As he was moving round a little to ease his position, his hand rested on a stone of considerable size. This might come in handy, he thought, so he rolled it towards him.

The men, after another drink or two, turned quiet. They seemed to doze. But they had drawn their rifles quite close up to their knees in readiness.

Presently they appeared to be talking Russian through their noses. Jack allowed them to snore for fully ten minutes. Then he slowly arose.

The fire had burned rather low. The stars away in the west burned very brightly, but the moon cast no shadow. Clutching the big stone, and making sure his dirk and revolver were handy, Jack stalked out into the open, listening like a thief at every step.

He could have brained the sergeant with the stone he carried, but he had no wish to do that.

Nearer and nearer!

He was just about to pick up the wallet, when one man awoke with a growl like that of a wolf.

There was no more time for ceremony.

Jack imitated the Highland slogan, and with all his might he dashed the stone into the dying embers. Dust and fire flew in all directions.

Jack flew also.

It was time.

But he had that wallet safe enough.

For a moment the men's energies seemed paralyzed. Speedily they recovered, however, and took up the running, firing after Jack at random.

The country had become more open, and when our hero looked about presently, there was but one man in pursuit. The others had been shaken off.

Luckily for Jack, who, hockey-player though he was, felt almost pumped out, the moon gave a little more light just then. He stopped. On came the man with a hoop of rejoicing; but Jack's revolver rang out twice, sharp and clear on the night air, and the pursuer rejoiced no more. He threw up his arms, and fell fiat on his face.

Jack grasped revolver and wallet still more firmly and ran on.