Chapter VI

THE FIRST GREAT BOMBARDMENT--SHIPS _VERSUS_
FORTS--POOR BOY HARRIS--"TELL 'EM I DIED LIKE A
THOUSAND O' BRICKS."

The bold young hockey-player ran on and on; first as hard as he could fly, then only in a swinging sort of trot that he felt he could keep up long enough. Once or twice he lost himself, but soon got on the track again. He was guided now as much by a glare in the sky--which he knew must be the French camp--as by the rough tracks through the bush.

And long before he came near the camp he was hailed by the outpost sentry. Jack answered in very questionable French but in a very short time he was telling the story of his adventures to Marshal Canrobert himself.

Yes, this general was now in command of the French forces, and poor St. Arnaud was dying. He had turned faint some days before, and fallen off his horse. The moment they saw him the doctors had given him up for lost. He was plague-stricken.

Early next morning Jack was in the British camp, and had delivered his message and handed over the wallet. This contained important letters from Menschikoff himself, but whether they were of any utility or not I cannot say, only Lord Raglan complimented Jack very highly indeed, and even found time in a letter he sent back to Admiral Lyons to recommend our young hero for promotion.

Lord Raglan offered Jack an escort back, but this was politely but pluckily declined.

"One man, my lord"--the reader will note that Jack talked of himself as a man--"one man can move along more quickly and make less noise than half a dozen."

His lordship laughed in his good-natured, fatherly way, and gave in.

After this, Jack saw and shook hands with Sir Colin Campbell.

"Man, you're a birkie,"* said Sir Colin. "I like you. Don't be rash, though. Study war, if study it you must, as an exact science. Not that 'go' and 'movement' don't count, for they do. Before the battle you must be a lynx; during the fight you may be a bull. Good-morning. Good-luck to you, lad. We may meet again."

* "Birkie," a brave young fellow.

"Well, I declare!" cried stalwart young Llewellyn, who had his left hand in a sling. "Why, you turn up at the oddest times and in the drollest ways. By this and by that, Jack, I am glad to see you. But how haggard and hungry you look! Come and have breakfast. Grant will be glad to see you. My arm? Oh, nothing, only a chip of a Russian shell tore my coat."

"And tore the flesh?"

"Only a little. Come on. And what made you take this adventure in hand?"

"Why, Llew I took it in hand just to please mother and sister, and the old lady, and--"

Jack blushed.

"Ah, you old rascal, I do believe you'll end by marrying Tottie.* But I am told she will soon not be Tottie but Tott-o. She is growing tall and very pretty."

* The termination _ie_ in Scotch means "small;" it is also "endearing." The termination _o_ means "great" or "large:" thus we say, man, mannie, man-o.

"She always was. Well, I'm so pleased we've met again."

"Yes; where next, I wonder?"

"Oh, at Balaklava. We're going to help you to batter the place down."

"Batter it down we must not. That must be our seaport, Jack Mackenzie."

* * * * *

Jack reached the admiral's ship in safety, but not without a further adventure. This was only part of the last, however. For sitting against a tree, and looking very faint and weak, was the very Russian he had shot.

Jack shared his water with him, and bound up his wound, which was through the right biceps. Then he left beside him a portion of the food he had brought for himself, and hoping his friends would speedily find him, went trotting off once more.

* * * * *

The question whether or not Sebastopol could have been carried by assault during the last days of September is one we need not pause to consider now, but Cathcart was in favour of it, and even the clever Russian, Colonel Todleben, one of the historians of the war, admits that the assault might have been successful.

It was on the Upland to the south of Sebastopol that most of the fighting and suffering would now take place, or around it.

The town and harbour of Balaklava itself had soon fallen into our possession, and the allies were encamped on the plateau above it (_vide_ plan), formerly called the Chersonese, and now, as I have said, "the Upland."

An attack on the north side of Sebastopol, you will perceive, was never seriously contemplated, though Todleben had made every preparation to repel it.

Early in the morning of the second of October, the women, children, and non-combatants left Sebastopol, with as much of their goods and chattels as they could conveniently carry. A dreary journey away north lay before them, but it was imperative. War knows no sentiment where her interests are concerned. Bellona is indeed a stern mistress. But thus relieved, the great and wise engineer, Todleben, found himself quite unshackled in the defence. The mere drones had left the great hive, and so he bent all his energies to strengthening the works and forts.

Balaklava itself was but a very insignificant place indeed, but it would gain importance henceforward, and be the base of our supplies.

The "town" of Balaklava and its old ports had very quickly been silenced by a few shots from one of our ships; and when our army appeared on the heights, we found that communication with the fleets was already open.

But having taken it, we were graciously permitted by the French to retain it, and with it the right side of the allied line. I believe that in those days the French could see as far through a milestone as most people. Anyhow, with Balaklava and the right we chose much sorrow, and an amount of suffering to our troops that not even the pen of Kinglake has overdrawn.

* * * * *

A glance or two at the plan (p. 294) will give the reader as good an idea of Sebastopol's outer and inner harbour as pages of text can.

The following brief sentences, however, from the pen of General Sir Edward Hamley, K.C.B.,* may be read with interest:--"The roadstead of Sebastopol is a creek about four miles long from the point where it breaks, nearly at right angles, the coast-line to its extremity where the Tchernaya flows into it. It maintains a great depth throughout, even close to the shore. On the points that mark the entrance stood two forts--that on the north named Constantine; on the south, Alexander.

* This gentleman's succinct and clever book, "The War in the Crimea." Lecky and Co., publishers.

"After entering the roadstead ...... and about a mile from the entrance, the inner or man-o'-war harbour ran for a mile and a half into the southern shore. On the two points that mark this inlet stood two other forts, Nicholas and Paul. On the west shore of this inner creek stood the city of Sebastopol.

"The plateau or plain where the allied armies stood--the Upland--was marked off from the Tchernaya by a wall of cliff, which, following up that stream southward for about a mile from its mouth, turns round south-west and defines the valley of Balaklava, passing about a mile north of that place, and joining the sea-cliffs."

The Malakoff, the Redan, and Mamelon are all seen on the plan.

The French had the left of the Upland, and made the inlets near Cape Kherson, called Kazatch and Kamiesch Bays, their base; and the latter was speedily filled with their shipping, which landed their tents and stores on a temporary raft. There was around this bay quite a town of tents. Moreover, the French made a well-paved road from it all along the rear of their division, facing Sebastopol. It will be seen, therefore, that our Gallic allies knew how to make themselves snug.

The Upland is divided from south to north by the great ravine, separating the French and English at first, but afterwards taken possession of by the French siege-corps.

The plan shows where the cliffs sweep round to the north of Balaklava, and these the French fortified.

Crossing the great ravine, you would have found first the Third and Fourth English Divisions, then the Light Division, with, on its right, the Careenage Creek; and on the other side of this ravine the Second Division, looking towards the Inkermann heights, and in its rear the First Division, about a hundred yards back, and also resting its right on the rocky edge of the Upland.

One vulnerable point in the British line was the valley of Balaklava. A reference to the plan will show the Woronzoff Road, which goes to the left up the cliff and thence to Sebastopol. Another branch of this road goes on to M'Kenzie heights, and away north and west towards Southern Russia. This road ought to have been strongly fortified from Balaklava to the Upland. As it was, the Russians could get to Balaklava out of reach of the guns on the edge of the Upland, and we must descend to the valley to repel them.

On the north-east of Balaklava were the heights of Kamara, and a row of heights crossed the valley from here to the Upland. On these some works were made carrying twelve-pounder guns and manned by Turks. Below these heights, and between them and Balaklava harbour, the 93rd Highlanders were posted. Marines--over a thousand, with guns brought from the ships--were placed to the right of the harbour on the heights, while cavalry were also stationed below the cliffs of the Upland, and not far from the Highlanders.

* * * * *

The siege of Sebastopol was now begun in earnest, under the supervision of Burgoyne. The French, taking advantage of a stormy night, threw up their first trench on Mount Rodolph. This was 1,100 yards in length. Then on the next two nights we opened our first on Green Hill and Mount Woronzoff. Although the Russians by their cannonade succeeded in doing considerable mischief to our trenches by day, at night they were repaired and pushed on. On the 16th these were ready and mounted for siege.

* * * * *

It was agreed that a simultaneous attack should be made by land and sea, although the strength of the great stone forts did not appear very promising for our wooden ships. The proposal emanated from Lord Raglan, and Admiral Dundas gave a kind of unwilling consent to it.

The fifteenth of October was a big and a busy day with the fleets, for a great naval conference assembled, and boats were flying from ship to ship, busily enough, with officers in cocked hats, and in their "war-paint," as Dr. Reikie called it.

Sturdy and his friend Jack Mackenzie watched the scene with great interest from the deck of the saucy _Gurnet_.

"What do you think of it, sir?" said Jack.

"Think of it! think of what?"

"Why, our chance of success against the forts?"

"Humph!" said Sturdy. "What would you think of a man who tried to break a cocoa-nut by shying rotten pears at it?"

"Why, I'd think him a fool."

"Well, our admiral is--ahem!"

I am not going to say whether it was Dundas or Lyons that Sturdy referred to, though I think I know. Anyhow this honest sailor had a habit of saying just exactly what he thought.

"Ah, well," said Jack, somewhat dolefully, "I suppose there won't be much chance of my winning my epaulettes during the bombardment."

"Humph!" again grunted Sturdy. "I don't know about epaulettes; but if a Russian shell or a bigger shot than usual catches us between wind and water, it'll be a halo you'll soon be wearing, instead of epaulettes, lad."

The first great cannonade, then, between our land forces and Sebastopol began on the seventeenth of October, as early as half-past six. The bombardment, the great fight betwixt trench and fort, was fearful, and lasted for four hours--a perfect _feu d'enfer_.

We--the British--silenced Malakoff Tower and damaged other Russian works. But the French were far less successful; for about ten o'clock the magazine of Mount Rodolph was exploded by a Russian shell, killing and wounding nearly a hundred men, and by half-past ten the batteries of the French were completely silenced.

Our guns, however, kept on: we not only silenced the batteries round the Malakoff, but by three o'clock we had partly destroyed the parapets of the famous Redan, blowing up a magazine, with a loss to the Russians, as we afterwards discovered, of over a hundred men. We had avenged the poor French therefore.

The calamity, however, which they had fallen under prevented the intended assault on the Flagstaff Bastion, which they were to have made side by side with us. Compared with the French, our losses in this bombardment were but slight--under fifty in all--while in killed and wounded the Russians lost over a thousand.

* * * * *

But alas for Jack Mackenzie's hopes of glory either in the shape of epaulettes or a halo--by the way, though, I do not think that he was particularly anxious about the halo; he said he didn't want to be caught out in his first innings--for neither our own bold ships nor those of the French effected anything worth speaking of, although in all they had brought 1,100 guns into action. The Russians lost but 140 men, the French over 200, and our fleet 320.

"I told you," said Sturdy to Jack, when the _Gurnet_, with the rest of the ships, had been withdrawn--"I told you we would be beaten. A beastly waste of gunpowder, I call it, and honest fellows' lives."

How very busy the Russians had been that night may be inferred from the fact that the dawn of the eighteenth day of October saw their breaches repaired, more guns mounted, and all the effects of the terrible bombardment entirely effaced.

On the twenty-third of October, the _Gurnet_ being round at Balaklava, Dr. Reikie received from the trenches, among other wounded, our old friend the boy Harris. He had belonged to Peel's naval brigade, and very gallantly he had fought. Before the fighting had commenced, some weeks indeed, he had been one of the very merriest among our blue-jackets who helped to tow the guns up to the heights.

He had been cut down by a piece of shell which completely carried away his right arm. He had begged very hard to be sent on board the _Gurnet_, and although the surgeon who attended him believed from the first the case was hopeless, he had yielded to his request. He was placed under the awning in a hammock amidships.

"Ah!" he said, "I can die a kind o' easy now. Bother my wig, though, I should have liked to have seen the last of it. Ain't there any hope, doctor, sir?"

Dr. Reikie shook his head.

"I'll sit up with you," he said, "and---see."

"Ah yes, I understand."

He lay still for a few minutes. Then he asked for his ditty-box--a small box possessed by every young sailor in which to keep his trinkets and valuables.

"Doctor, sir," he said, "you'll send this little box to my mother and father, won't you? Here is the old couple. I'll keep this as long as I last. Tell them that I died like a thousand o' bricks."

That was his last joke. He fell quietly to sleep with the little case containing his parents' portrait on his breast.

He never woke again.