Chapter VIII

THE TRUTH FROM A RUSSIAN--PARABLE OF THE
STOAT AND THE WILD CAT--DAY-DAWN OF THE
MEMORABLE FIFTH.

"Remember, remember
The fifth of November--
Gunpowder, treason, and shot."

Cut out the word "treason" from the last line, and the old-fashioned Guy Fawkes doggerel does very well as a heading for this chapter.

Guy Fawkes had intended to blow up the Houses of Parliament, I believe--that is if my memory serves me aright. Well, reader, boys like you and me don't take much note of politics, do we? For my own part, I think golf is far better, or that grandest athletic game in the world, curling. But politics--faugh! it is cold work, and insincere besides. Didn't Carlyle say something about a House (give it a capital letter, printer, for goodness' sake)--about a House wherein six hundred jackasses bray? So that, as jackasses are plentiful enough--the human sort, I mean--everywhere, the loss of six hundred in a House could very soon be got over. But how about the six hundred hero-hearts that took part in the memorable charge of the Light Brigade at Balaklava, so few of whom came back to tell the tale?

Give me the hero, I say, and you may do what you please with your politicians and your members of Parliament, hundreds of whom have no more heart and brains than the snow-man which my bairnies are at this moment setting up on the lawn out yonder, and are of just as little use.

This is a digression, is it? Call me to order, then; but I shall digress if I choose, and after a wild fight like Balaklava, and with another still more awful battle hanging over my head, it is no wonder that I should want a very brief breathing-spell. Well, where can men breathe better, I should like to know, than on the ocean wave? So let us get afloat again, if only for a day.

Look at her there, on this bright morning in late October, bobbing and courtesying to every dark-blue wave that goes singing past her dark sides--our own bonnie _Gurnet_ once again. There is a spanking breeze blowing; the wake astern of her is hardly any length at all, for the rippling, racing seas soon obliterate every bubble. There is life, there is health in this jolly breeze; it braces one up, pulis one together, till there isn't a loose tendon or nerve anywhere about one's whole system.

Six bells in the morning watch, but Midshipman Mackenzie is on deck already, and walking the quarter-deck with Sturdy. Rapidly fore and aft they tread, sometimes beating their gloved hands to instil a little extra glow into them, sometimes stowing them away in the outside pockets of their uniform reefing jackets. The ship has been cruising off Odessa, but is now making all sail south for the port of Balaklava.

"What is that out yonder on our weather-bow?" says Jack.

"A sail, and a Russian, too," replies Sturdy, after a squint through his glass. "Wonder what the dickens she wants in our Black Sea. Come, we'll luff, and see what her game is. Can we carry a bit more canvas?"

"Yes, sir, lots, if you ask me."

"Then I think I'll crack on."

At eight o'clock the sail sighted became a chase. She had put about, and was going full before the wind. As fleet as an ocean greyhound was she, so the good _Gurnet_ had to get up steam, for the wind began to fail.

An hour after breakfast the _Gurnet_ was near enough to fire a shot over her, then another, but with no effect.

"Give her one now," cried Captain Gillespie--"straight."

"Ay, ay, sir," replied the gunner.--"Now, lass," he said, patting the breach of the great pivot-gun--"now, lass, it's you and me."

The gunner wasn't particular about his grammar.

Brr-rr-rang! Hurr-rsh! The great shot tore clean through the Russian's mizzentop, and brought rigging, mast, and sail down, and these hung about her like a broken wing on a badly-shot wild duck. She hove to now smartly enough.

Sturdy and Dr. Reikie boarded her with an armed boat. It was humane to let "Auld Reikie" go in the boat, for there might be blood about or broken bones.

"Bravo, sweetheart!" said the gunner to his pet as the boat went speeding away.

Sturdy was in a temper. The skipper of the barque came up bowing and scraping, as ungainly-looking a heap of old clothes, Sturdy thought, as ever loafed along a ship's deck. Our brave first lieutenant hadn't enough Russian to bless himself with, so he stuck to plain English--very plain English, for he exploded thus,--

"Why the Harry didn't you haul your rotten old foreyard aback before? Think we want to expend good shot and shell over a lubber like you?"

The Russian skipper had a mouth like a haddock, and now he seemed to smile all the way down to his short and "gurkie" neck. He made a rush aft a little, and pulled out a black bottle and a cracked tumbler. He half filled it, laughed, and nodded towards the _Gurnet_, and drank it off. Then he half filled it again, and held it towards Sturdy.

"Ha! ha!" he said joyously, "she is a very goot schnapp."

Even Sturdy smiled now; but he bluntly refused the "very goot schnapp," and went straight to business.

"What is your beastly ship's name?"

"Ah yes. Goot!" Here the skipper proceeded to pour the liquor back cautiously into the bottle; but spilling a drop or two to begin with, he evidently thought it would be a saving to swallow it. "Huh!" he cried, with water in his eyes.

"Your ship's name, sir!" roared Sturdy, stamping his foot, and laying a hand upon his sword. "Name and cargo?"

"Yes, yes. Goot. Ha! ha! My sheep's name is _Skrrovotchstriarrky_. Loaded I am with cloves."

"Cloves!--What do you think the fellow means, doctor?"

"Clothes, I believe," said Reikie.

"Clothes? Certainly, it must be that."

Sturdy felt pleased now. Part of the cargo was had on deck. The doctor was right. Truly a glorious cargo--stockings, gloves, blankets, jackets, boots! All had been made, apparently, to fit Greenland bears Never mind, they were warm.

So a prize crew was put on board under command of Sub-Lieutenant Fitzgerald, _alias_ Lord Tomfoozle. Then all sail was set, and away south went the _Gurnet_ with her prize.

But a stranger had come on board from the barque--namely, a Russian gentleman and his daughter, a rather pretty young lady, to whom, with her maid, Captain Gillespie at once gave up his cabin.

This Russian gentleman himself was singularly communicative and remarkably free and candid. He spoke about the war, and in very good English; and what is more, he spoke the truth.

He told the officers about Balaklava first. They had not heard of it before.

"It was a well-fought field," he said, "but hardly a battle. No; Alma was a battle. I was there; I was on Telegraph Hill. Ah! how well your fellows fought. But your French--bah! they are only fit to sell tape and ribbons. Soldiers! no, no, not now, and never will be again. But you and your allies made the grand mistake in not seizing Sebastopol when you could have done so."

"It isn't too late yet, _mon ami_," laughed the captain. "We're going to take Sebastopol, and we shan't leave one stone standing on top of another."

"My friend, do not think it cruel of me to speak the truth. The fruits of your Alma which your Highlanders won, your Raglan permitted to escape. Your bombardment was a waste of good gunpowder. The part your ships took in it made us laugh."

"He laughs best," said Sturdy, "who laughs last."

"True; and it will be the Russians. Listen. You are going to Balaklava. Before you reach that port a battle will be fought that shall decide the war--fought, and won by us. Ah, you may smile, but it is true. Already is the proud Eagle of Russia sweeping down from the north. There are armies on the way that will crush you if you were twice as strong and great. You fight as fights the stoat when the wild cat has seized her--a long, red, and vicious line; but strength triumphs at last--the stoat dies. Where will you be when our armies reach the Chersonese (the Upland)? The weight and strength of our thousands will cause even proud Britain to rock and reel, till, backward hurled across the plains, vainly supported by lazy Turk and gassy French, our artillery and wild horsemen will sweep you out of existence. With nothing to fall back upon except the bleak sea-shores, your defeat will mean annihilation, for you will die sword in hand, we doubt not. The few of you who are taken prisoners will return to your defeated and degraded nation sadder and wiser men. Your fate will be a lesson to the world, and it is but the fate that God in his justice hangs over all pirates and adventurers."

Sturdy laughed again.

"Your parable of the stoat and the wild cat," he said, "is not inapt. But don't forget, my friend, that we have Russia now by the neck just as the stoat had the cat. The stoat holds on; so shall we. It is life or death, for verily this is a war to the dagger's hilt."

* * * * *

There was a good deal of blunt and honest truth in what that Russian prisoner said; and even while he spoke, the hordes of the enemy were coming down on us from the north, and it would soon be decided whether they or we should gain a battle, the loss of which would be for them defeat, but for us disaster and degradation as a nation.

There was much anxiety, nevertheless, on board the _Gurnet_; for, laugh as Sturdy might at the bold, almost bragging Russ, neither he nor any one else could deny that the danger to our arms was now very extreme.

"What will they say in England," said Captain Gillespie to Sturdy a day or two after the Russian had told them of the reinforcements pouring into the Crimea from the north--"what will they say in England if we are beaten?"

"Ah, what indeed, sir? But though the crisis is coming, we'll get over it. It really seems to me, however, that we should smash Menschikoff and his general Liprandi before the other army arrives."

Let us now return, to the field, reader.

If we take the Russian Todleben as our best authority--and he was no mean one; very fair, I think, though he does blab out truths that are not over palatable to burly John Bull--the forces to be marshalled against us at Mount Inkermann were most formidable.

Listen. The allies, including seamen and marines, were barely 65,000; and Menschikoff had an army of 115,000 to confront us with, not counting seamen.

Of the Russians who were actually engaged in the great fight, General Soimonoff commanded 20,000 inside Sebastopol, and General Pauloff had 16,000 on the hills above and beyond Tchernaya. These would combine, and independent of fifty guns in bastions or batteries, they would have eighty or more field-guns.

Then there was the great force of Liprandi, that we had hurled back from the valley of Balaklava, which lay on the Fedioukine heights, from the hills they had captured from the Turks to the Tchernaya valley.

The Russians, therefore, had a terrible army, and if praying could have done it, they would have conquered us.

We prayed as much and probably as sincerely as they did, though not with the same show and ceremony. God is the judge of what is right, however, and He who heareth in secret can openly reward.

A glance at the plan we have given will give the reader a rough notion of the lie of the land on which the memorable battle of Inkermann was fought.

Kinglake devotes a whole volume to a description of the fight. It is unlikely any one will read so much about it. The world moves far too fast, and the coming of every fresh event obscures the memory of those that went before.

Menschikoff's general orders were like the mist that at one time of the morning enveloped the land--somewhat hazy. There was this much to be said for them, however--each general was free to interpret them as he pleased. Whether this was to the advantage of the cause is not so plain.

Anyhow, Soimonoff and Pauloff were to lead the main attacks, and Gortschakoff and Sebastopol were to help and support.

But this wasn't quite all; for Menschikoff had not left the former-named generals quite so free a hand as what I have said may lead you to suppose. These two officers were ordered to _unite_, or effect a junction as it is termed; and having done so, General Dannenberg was to command the two.

* * * * *

Just three days before the battle, to his inexpressible joy, Jack Mackenzie was sent on shore with an escort of marines, including the sergeant, Paddy O'Rayne, and the doctor himself, from Balaklava, where the _Gurnet_ had arrived. Jack had to march straight to head-quarters with a letter from Captain Gillespie reporting the news he had heard of the excessive business of the Russians up north, and of the speed they were making to send along reinforcements before the bad weather came on.

If the services of the marines and the two officers were needed, they were to remain.

Jack had therefore an opportunity of once more seeing the gallant 93rd, who were, as usual, spoiling for a fight, and also taking a hurried luncheon in his cousin's tent.

Balaklava had been temporarily fortified by Sir Colin, in his own slap-dash but soldierly fashion.

"I hope," said Jack to Dr. Reikie, "that we won't be sent back."

"I'm sure _I_ won't be, man," said the doctor. "I fear, Jack, that surgeons will be more needed than even middies."

"Never mind, old man," said Jack, laughing; "we middies may sometimes make work for doctors to do."

But neither Jack nor the surgeon and marines were sent back--in truth, some of the red-jackets, poor fellows, never went back--so that honest Dr. Reikie, surgeon and naturalist, and his bold friend Jack, burning for honour, glory, and epaulettes, were present at the battle.

Now let me remind you that General Soimonoff was inside Sebastopol with his army, and that his orders were to issue therefrom near the mouth of the Careenage glen or ravine (_vide_ plan), and effect a junction with Pauloff, who was to march his army from the heights beyond Tchernaya, across the causeway and the bridge over the river, and so meet and unite with the former. In fact, Menschikoff seemed to have known very little at all about the chasm or ravine with its inaccessible sides, and gave his orders as if it hadn't existed.

As for our forces, we had the Second Division, 3,000 men, lying ready to meet the wild cat. On the Victoria ridge was Codrington's Brigade, and with it marines--Dr. Reikie and Jack with his men both got stationed here; near to them was the Naval Battery, with its one gun--the others had been withdrawn where they could be used in the siege-batteries.

Codrington's forces and the marines numbered only 1,500, or rather less.

About 1,000 yards to the rear of our Second Division were the sturdy Guards, 1,400 or nearly.

Buller's Brigade stood on a slope adjoining Codrington's, and the Third and Fourth Divisions were on the heights behind our siege-batteries; while two miles in the rear of the Second Division, Bosquet's French troops were placed around the south and east sides of the Upland.

Before day-dawn of this memorable fifth of November, Soimonoff, disregarding altogether the orders to join Pauloff, left Sebastopol, crossed the Careenage Ravine, and climbing the northern heights of Mount Inkermann, drew himself up in battle array.

Then the fight might have been said to commence.