Chapter X

THE AWFUL GALE--IN CAMP BEFORE SEBASTOPOL--LETTERS
FROM HOME.

Few, if any, of our Crimean heroes are likely to forget the terrible gale of hurricane force that came raging from the south on the fourteenth day of November.

Jack Mackenzie and Dr. Reikie were still stationed on shore, where they were to remain till the close of the war.

The _Gurnet_ had been to Varna on special duty--luckily for her--and just one day at sea on her return voyage, when early in the morning it came on to blow. It was Sturdy's watch at the time, and even at six bells it was dark--dark, and dirty as well; and several times when the lieutenant looked at his watch by the glimmer of the binnacle lamp, he thought it must surely have stopped. It was cold too, bitterly cold; and though it had fallen calm about the middle watch, it now began to blow again, while a weight seemed to lie on the cloud-laden air that oppressed every one on board. The glass, too, boded no good; and not knowing what might happen, the lieutenant thought it his duty, even before calling Mr. Fitzgerald and his watch, to close-reef top-sails and set a storm-jib.

Hardly had he done so before the hurricane came down on the ship, with a force that for a time seemed to threaten her with destruction.

Sturdy himself could not remember ever being afloat in a more terrible storm. And the strength of it had come on with the suddenness of a white squall in the Indian Ocean. For a short time he tried to keep the course, but speedily found that the best thing he could do was to lie to. The _Gurnet_, however, was a strong little craft, and so long as there was plenty of sea-room neither Captain Gillespie nor his lieutenant feared anything.

Considering everything, the vessel was not driven so far out of her course after all, nor had steam been got up until the violence of the cyclone--for cyclone it was--had passed away.

Just two days after this the _Gurnet_ was at anchor near Balaklava harbour, and her officers then found that the destruction caused by the storm was fearful to contemplate.

The _Gurnet_ could scarcely have made her way into the harbour itself, had it been desirable to do so, owing to the quantities of wreckage that floated about and filled it. Even when Sturdy landed on duty, the boat had a difficulty in getting through. It was pitiful to see those boxes of stores, but above all the trusses of hay--irretrievably damaged by the salt water--floating in the sea. Sturdy got news of the storm here in Balaklava before he went on to the front. Of ships or vessels of one sort and another no less than twenty-one had been wrecked, and ten more damaged. The saddest thing of all was the total destruction of the fine steamer _Prince_, which was laden with a splendid cargo of everything that could be of use to our poor troops in enabling them to stand the rigours of the winter as they lay before Sebastopol. Stores of ammunition too were lost.

So much for the destruction of life and valuables along the shore. But when our good lieutenant at last found himself on the Upland and near our camps, he opened his eyes in astonishment. Here were misery and wretchedness past description. I said "near our camps," but near to the places where our camps had been would be more in accordance with facts.

The wind and the rain together had weighted and blown down the tents in every direction; scattered them wholesale, indeed, in every direction. Neither food, fire, nor shelter therefore remained for the men. Poor fellows who had been working in the trenches returned tired and weary, to lie down, hungry and cold, literally in the mud and slush.

Snow, too, had fallen, to make matters worse, and ground that had been hard and solid before was now little better than a mire.

The first to meet Sturdy after his return from the general's quarters was Dr. Reikie, and with him was his servant Paddy O'Rayne.

"Why," cried the doctor in his broadest Doric, "wha wad hae thocht o' seein' you here, Sturdy man? A sicht o' you is guid for sair een [sore eyes]."

"I know you are tired, poor Auld Reikie," said Sturdy as they shook hands.

"What way that, man?"

"Because when you're tired you always talk broad Scotch; secondly, because you don't seem to have shaved for a week; and thirdly, because you're as dirty as any old tramp."

"Ah! goodness help us, Sturdy," replied the doctor, "it is tramp, tramp all day and all night here. I haven't had my shoes off since the hurricane, nor poor Paddy here either; and as for Jack, he's working in the trenches now with the naval brigade at the big guns. And when he comes back, after he has a mouthful of food, he just sets to and helps me. Man, it's a comfort to have friends around you in a time like this. Look, see, I've got the hospital tents a kind of rigged again. But, dear Sturdy, I declare that if I were to tell you one-half of what my poor sick and wounded have suffered these last two or three days, it would bring tears to your eyes, rough old sea-dog though you are."

"Terrible!"

"Ay is it, Sturdy. Myself and the other doctors were getting a nice lot of things stored away for the patients. But, man, the tents were blown down, and the food and stores and lint and bandages all destroyed. When we got the tents off the creatures, we found dozens dead in bed; and from the rest, with their poor wounded limbs and necks and heads, the very blankets were torn by the strength of the gale. Sturdy, my friend, it's the truth I tell you: only those of the wounded that are deid and awa' [dead and gone] are to be envied. I won't ask you to come to the hospital, the sichts are far ower sickenin'. Talk o' the glory o' war! Man, it's yonder under those drippin' tents you could see all its ghastliness."

"And is cholera still raging?"

Reikie pointed to a wretched apology for a tent at some distance from the rest.

"Look for yoursel', Sturdy."

Two and two in single file, each pair with a ghastly burden between them, fully eighteen men were marching away from the camp.

"It's burial-time, that's all," said Reikie, then abruptly changed the subject. "Do you see those men yonder scattering themselves over the Upland?"

"Yes; and they don't seem unhappy. Where are they off to?"

"They are going to dig roots for fuel, then light their fires if they can. They are running to keep themselves warm; they are laughing and chaffing to keep up each other's hearts. Ah! there are no soldiers like the British."

"Poor beggars!" said Sturdy, "Why, we were never so badly off as that even at sea, Reikie."

"Well, how we are to get through the dismal winter the good Lord only knows, my friend."

* * * * *

Things grew ten times worse in the British camps before very long.

I have no desire to draw a harrowing picture of the sufferings of our soldiers and sailors, but the reader should know a little of what war is at its worst. Though most of the poor men that languished in pain and misery through the next two or three months before Sebastopol are dead and gone, one feels pity even now when thinking of their wretchedness, and one feels burning with anger also to think that the greater part of all they underwent might have been prevented by ordinary care and good management on the part of those who held the reins of authority at home.

Sturdy paid another visit to the front in December. Again he met Reikie, but this time in Balaklava, and with him were Jack Mackenzie, and a few marines to carry back stores. Both the surgeon and Jack had burdens to bear.

"Well," said Jack, "how do we look this time?"

"You look old and worn, Jack, I assure you. I'm sorry for you. How about your honour and glory, lad?"

Jack shook his head somewhat sadly, then burst into a merry laugh.

"O Mr. Sturdy, that is all to come. At present, I must admit, we are just pretty miserable, you know."

"Well, your cheeks look pretty hollow, anyhow."

"The best proof that I can give you," said Jack, "that we are not living in clover is, that the doctor here has ceased to look for specimens in his idle moments."

"Idle moments!" laughed the surgeon. "A lot of those we have. O Jack, Jack, I believe you would have your joke if we were taking you to the grave to bury you.--Been down for stores," he continued, in reply to a question of Sturdy's. "Yes, Sturdy, I've had to fight, too, for all I've got. But, man, the suffering of my poor fellows is so dreadful that--hang me if I wouldn't steal for them."

It wasn't often that honest Reikie made use of a questionable word; and as the tears stood in his eyes as he spoke, I think we must forgive him.

"I've been giving it to the fellows here all round," he added, "right and left, but I don't think it did much good."

Jack laughed heartily.

"No, Mr. Sturdy, it did no good, because it was all in broad Scotch."

"I'd no time to speak English. But, dear Sturdy, I could save hundreds, and the other doctors more, if we had only medical comforts and stores. Man, it would draw tears from a nether millstone to hear the poor fellows beggin' for a little soup or sago. Jack can tell you of the sufferings his men undergo in the trenches. My place is with the sick."

"And mine too," said Paddy O'Rayne. "And it's meself that belaves that my master here is killing himself for the want av slape, sorr, and I wish you'd spake to him. Faith, it would be the sorrowful day for us all if he was kilt entoirely. As for staling, sorr," he added, "I've tried it meself, so the surgeon shouldn't soil his sleeves."

"Yes," laughed Reikie, "I must say that Paddy does find a bit on the sly sometimes."

"Thrue for you, doctor, sorr; but it isn't always stolen it is. There was the other day, you know, when just across the lines that pony was shot with a bit of a shell: who had a better roight than our patients to it? But sure the loife was barely out av the baste when he was surrounded wid Frenchies, and if I hadn't learned to twirl a good shillalah in ould Oirland, it's sorra a hind leg av that pony I'd have had at all. 'Git off wid ye,' I cried, 'ye durty frog-atin' spalpeens!' They didn't understand a word I said; but troth they felt the whacks all the same. Well, sorr, as I was staggerin' back wid my beautiful hind leg av pony, who should I meet but a squad o' blue-jackets. 'Hullo, Paddy!' says one, 'down wid your leg; it's share and share alike.' But bless you, sorr, when I tould them the mate wasn't for myself at all, and that I'd just been after staling the leg av a horse to make a drop av beef-tea for the sick, sure they left in a body, and wouldn't have touched a morsel to save their lives; and it's nothing but the blessed truth I'm telling you, sorr."

"Talking about horses, Sturdy," said Reikie, "man, their sufferings are terrible! I don't think there are five hundred alive in the camp now, and these are only kept together by their skins. They used to have to come all the way down here for forage; but now if there was forage for them they couldn't carry it. We've had frost and snow on the Upland, and after every extra cold night, Sturdy, we have extra bodies to bury next day, both men and horses."

"And it's never a burial the horses get ayther," said Paddy, "and never a much the men, poor, dear sowls."

"But here come our fellows with the scanty stores," said Reikie.--"Now, Jack, we're ready for the march."

On their way up they were met by Llewellyn and a party of Highlanders returning from the army head-quarters, where they had been with biscuit.

Llewellyn halted his men, and gave the doctor and his party a hearty welcome.

It would have been difficult to say which looked in the sorrier plight, Jack's marines or Llewellyn's Highlanders. Both had high cheek-bones now, telling of want of sleep and scanty fare; but many had cheeks that were touched with a hectic flush, eyes all too bright, and the ringing cough that spoke of fever within. Death had already marked them for his victims. But Death had been so busy of late that he hardly knew where to turn.

The Highlanders' legs were red and bleeding round and above the knees. When a kilt gets wet, the greater part of the moisture sinks to the lower part; and when this is frozen, it always cuts. Their shoes or boots were holed, their stockings too, and some had bare cut feet bound round with rags.

But during the short time that the two parties halted, the privates became very friendly, and food was freely "swapped" for morsels of tobacco.

"So you see," said Llewellyn, "my Highlanders are pack-horses now. We carry siege material as well as biscuit and food; for, Mr. Sturdy, we are going to have another go at the Russians before long. The Redan and Barrack Battery are both to be taken in fine style."

"Well, I wish you luck, Llewellyn."

"It is fighting we want," said the young soldier. "Bother it all, our fellows might as well have stayed at home and ploughed the fields, as come here to play at being pack-horses and shore porters."

"Good-bye till we meet."

"Good-bye, good-bye."

Jack and his party were some distance off, when Llewellyn ran after them.

"Jack, old cousin," he said, "a mail-boat has just come in; I've seen the signal. Now for letters from home."

I think the news with which Jack's cousin had hurried after them lightened every heart in that little party, and so they struggled on, talking gaily enough till they reached the Upland. Sturdy insisted on carrying his share of the medical stores; and indeed he was the hardiest and strongest man of the lot.

The road to-day, Dr. Reikie told the lieutenant, was even less cut up and sticky than usual. "Sometimes, man," he said, "the mud is so deep and tenacious that it sucks the very boots off the poor soldiers' feet--a perfect quagmire."

On their way to the front, Sturdy, hardy sailor though he was, was sickened at the horrible sights he saw on each side of the road. There were men lying there whom it was impossible for the time to assist, struck down with cholera or dysentery on their way back with their bundles from Balaklava.

There were horses dying, horses dead, skeletons of bullocks, some wholly exposed, some half buried, and here and there skeletons even of men, protruding from their all too shallow graves; and although the winter air to-day was crisp and keen, and snow lay on the hillocks that had not been trodden, the stench that filled the air was at times almost unbearable.

Pitiable sight, too, were the Turks whom they met, and who salaamed as they passed, albeit they were carrying their dead on stretchers, or even on their backs, to be buried in one common grave down near to Balaklava.

* * * * *

Sturdy, at his own request, was permitted to spend a few days in camp and in the trenches, so he soon found out something of the terrible life our poor fellows had to endure there.

Badly fed, clothed in rags, with at night scarcely a blanket to cover them from the rain or melting snow, that poured in through the tattered tents; hardly any fuel; no means of cooking their scanty rations; on night duty or day duty, on the march, or under fire in the drains called trenches,--was it any wonder that even those who were not killed or wounded were dying day by day, like braxied sheep, as Dr. Reikie put it?

I am glad, indeed, to drop the curtain over this part of my story, for horrors like these are but little to my taste.

The scene changed as far as our principal heroes were concerned, when one evening Reikie met Sturdy.

He had a letter in his hand.

"We are off," he said.

"Who are off, and off what?"

"Why, your ship is ordered to Scutari, with a cargo of sick for hospital there. I am going in charge of them. _You_ are ordered to join the _Gurnet_ at once, and I myself have ordered Jack to come with us."

"Jack isn't sick?"

"No; but Jack has been working too hard, and he isn't well, so I've recommended the change."

The transport of the sick and wounded to Balaklava was in itself a sad and terrible picture.

I do not know whether it would not have been even more humane to permit them to die in the mud of the hospital tents.

Sturdy shuddered as he looked at those poor mummies of men, that were gently lifted in their blankets and placed on horseback--the poor horses themselves staggering under the weight.

There was little complaining heard from the pallid sufferers: many seemed even dying as they were hoisted to the backs of the steeds.

Some moaned, others showed by their faces that they were suffering agonies of pain; and although their messmates were as gentle with them as if they had been sick infants, every now and then one could hear such expressions as--"Gently, Jack, gently!" "Mind my leg, Bill!" "Yes; now I'm easier, thanks, thanks!"

These last words were indeed spoken by a poor soldier of the 77th, whose head drooped back the very next moment--the man was dead.

The march to Balaklava of Dr. Reikie's detachment of sick was far more sad than any funeral procession ever seen.

The movements of the horses, gingerly though the poor wise brutes tried to step, as if sensible of the weary load they had to bear, caused the wounded to moan and groan; but many lay with closed eyes as if dead, while others, horrible to relate, were attacked by fits of wild delirium on the march, and had to be held down by force.

Then the horses often slipped, and more than one fell.

As gently as possible the men were lifted off on their arrival at Balaklava, and conveyed on board the _Gurnet_.

Here Reikie made them all as comfortable as circumstances would permit.

But do not think, reader, that their sufferings were ameliorated when the _Gurnet_, after considerable delay, got off to sea. No, it was increased tenfold; for these sick were packed on the decks side by side, with hardly room for the attendants to step between.

Alas! the attendance they got was but little, though every one, from the doctor downwards, tried to do what they could for them.

To their other miseries were added all the horrors of sea-sickness; for a storm had come on, and although the vessel was under steam, she made all too little headway. She shipped seas at times, or the spray dashing inboard cold and white soaked the wretched patients to the skin.

Next day, however, the sea went down, and the sun shone out; but many were dead, and with scant ceremony and short service were lowered over the side, to float or sink, for there was no shot that could be spared to carry them to the bottom.

Scutari at last!

The word passed from mouth to mouth along the decks, and the poor fellows who heard it smiled in hopefulness. Now they would have rest, they believed; now they would be safe, and soon get well. Then ships would bear them back once more to their own far-off homes in well-beloved England.

But for Jack that name Scutari had a charm it could possess for none of the others.

Those letters from home had brought good news to many, but to no one more than to Jack Mackenzie. For his sister, whom he had not seen for so many long years, was coming out to Scutari as a nurse. His mother, too, was well, and so were his cousins and Uncle Tom.

There was also a precious little missive from Violet--that is Tottie. Well, I should not like to call it a love-letter. What do little girls of twelve know about such a thing as love, except for ice-cream and chocolate drops? This letter was not even grammatical, the spelling was somewhat original, and the caligraphy just anyhow. But Jack--well, I won't tell you.

Then there was that letter from Drumglen, so orthodox, so prim, that, as he read it, the old grandam herself seemed to be sitting there before our hero in her high-backed chair. But the letter was affectionate enough for all that; so on the whole Jack was happy.