Chapter VI

HARDSHIPS BEFORE SEBASTOPOL--THE BATTLE OF INKERMANN.

The cold winter began now to set in, and houseless and homeless was the position of the British. Our clothing was getting thread-bare, our firewood all cut up and consumed, and no prospects of anything arriving to relieve our wants. Still, however, we pressed the siege, and defended our position around Sebastopol. Dysentery, that awful scourge, broke out, and scarcely any who were attacked survived. Raw pork and hard biscuit were greedily devoured. Our ration of rum we found very nourishing; and had it not been for this useful drop of spirits I believe my bones would have been left bleaching on the rocks of Balaclava; but when I partook of a little of this medicine, I could crack a biscuit and swallow a small bit of the raw pork.

It now appeared evident that the Russians were determined to try another of our positions, and drive us into the sea. Such was the idea they formed when their legions prepared to attack our position on the heights of Inkermann. At this battle they were led by the Emperor’s sons, and, animated by their presence, they were confident of success. But did they carry out their object? Never! although well plyed with spirits to arouse them to the fierceness of the wild bear, so numerous in their country. They again found they had to deal with the British soldier, who never requires stimulants to arouse his courage: his courage is engraven on his heart.

The Highland Brigade could not remove from the important position occupied by them, and so took no part in the battle of Inkermann. A strong Russian force of thirty thousand were continually hovering around us.

Early on the morning of Sunday, the 5th November, the Russians made the attack on the British position, the most of our troops being then in the trenches. The enemy came on yelling like demons, and attacked the handful of British encamped on the heights of Inkermann. Aroused from their slumber, they met the foe in mortal conflict--a hand-to-hand combat. The struggle to obtain possession of the heights was desperate. The brave and gallant Earl of Cathcart fell leading his men. General after general was cut down; still, the British kept their ground against so great odds. The Guards’ ammunition being expended, they took their fists, and implanted a number of severe marks on the countenances of the enemy. General Bosquet, with about 8,000 Frenchmen and a supply of ammunition, arrived. The battle was renewed, and the Russians fell fast. The British drove them off the heights at the bayonet’s point, and were again undisputably the conquerors. Such was the desperate battle of Inkermann, one of the hardest-fought fights of the war: it lasted the whole day, and there were upwards of 10,000 Russians killed and wounded. Our own losses were very heavy; and the victory of Inkermann was purchased at a great sacrifice.

The Russians then left us for some time unmolested in our position. The siege was going on but slowly; our cattle were dying daily; starvation and cold were causing sad havoc amongst our horses; the road leading from Balaclava to Sebastopol was strewn with dead horses; numbers of our men were frost-bitten; hunger and nakedness were staring us in the face.

The 14th of November came, and along with it a terrible storm. Vessels with clothing and provisions for the army foundered in the storm, and all were lost. Our tents were blown in the direction of the Russians, and they had the honour of wearing some of our clothing. A more disastrous affair than this could not have happened. If we were in a bad condition before the storm, we found ourselves fully worse after it. The plains of Balaclava were covered with snow, and homeless and houseless was the position of the British soldier. The few canvas tents that yet remained were utterly useless, tattered, and torn. The sharp, piercing wind of dark November came whistling through our thread-bare garments, and our thin and ghastly frames told us how much we suffered. Fuel was out of the question, and fires were very rarely seen; yet, the Cossacks, right opposite us, had their fires lighted, as we could see the smoke curling upwards from their camp; and as it is very often remarked among ourselves at home, “where there’s reek there’s also heat,” so we came to the conclusion that those Cossacks of the Don, who were only about one mile distant from us, must be comfortable in comparison to what we were. Well, a few of us thought upon a plan, and a very dangerous one it was, yet we were determined to carry it out, let the consequence be what it might. We knew that the enemy in front of us had logs of firewood piled up a short distance to the right of their camp, in the direction of the little village of Kadikoi; and we also knew that their position in that direction was weakly guarded, or, in other words, not strengthened by sentries. This much we well knew by our weary and lonely watch during the dreary months that we already spent on the heights of Balaclava. Our plan was then laid out in this manner: We were to form a party of about fifty volunteers, headed by a brave officer, and, if possible, to get over unseen by the enemy to where the firewood lay, and this done, every man, when he got his load, to return in silence. The night at last arrived when we were to carry out our dangerous plan. It was very dark, and we waited in silence for our brave leader. At last he came; and after giving every man his orders, we examined our rifles, saw that all was ready and in good order, and went silently along, determined every man to bring his “junk” of wood, or perish in the attempt. As we crawled in breathless silence along the bottom of the rugged rocks that stretch from Balaclava past the little village of Kadikoi, we could distinctly hear the Cossack sentry mutter some old national ditty to himself as he silently went his rounds, little dreaming how close we were to his post. So we wished him to continue his ditty until we should accomplish our difficult task. We kept well to the right in case of the alarm being given, when, of course, all would then be up with us. After circumnavigating a little, we at last arrived at the firewood--every man determined to do his best. I took up a piece of wood, and, unmolested, returned to camp, very glad that I now had the prospect of at least once more enjoying a cup of hot coffee and a piece of “Sandy Campbell” boiled. The little band arrived one after another, and our brave officer congratulated us upon our success, and for our heroic spirit and undaunted courage. The following morning the Russians must have felt stung by so daring a feat.

The siege was nearly at a stand-still. As the winter passed over, things began to look a little more cheerful; fresh troops were arriving from England; a scanty supply of stores was coming occasionally; the warm weather was beginning to revive us, and we found ourselves getting stronger; the railway from Balaclava to Sebastopol was in progress, and things were taking a better turn; vessel after vessel came to the harbour with a supply of something to the army; we were again regaining our soldierly appearance; our army was increasing, and the time was not far distant when we would be able to make an assault upon Sebastopol; but a sad calamity befell us at this time. Our Commander-in-chief, Lord Raglan, died--a man beloved by all who knew him, and a faithful and just servant to his Queen and country--although he was lightly spoken of at home by some who never saw the Crimea, nor understood his position there. We were kept very busy at this time bringing shot and shell up to the front, and pressing on the siege. The summer was now getting well on, and the troops were in good spirits, eagre for the capture of the city. At last the time came when we were to assault it. The storming party was told off and the day fixed; scaling-ladders, &c., were got ready. The Redan was the point of our attack; while the French were to fall upon the Malakhoff. Our first assault failed, and we were repulsed with great loss. Still Sebastopol remained with the enemy. Nothing daunted, we continued bombarding the town, and pushing our works closer and closer, sorties night after night taking place in the trenches. We were always able to defend our position, and very often had the advantage over the enemy in these night attacks. We were getting so well acquainted with this kind of work, that latterly we thought no more of going to the trenches than to a field-day. The Russians, not satisfied with former defeats, were determined to try one other effort to get possession of Balaclava; but they were baulked in this as in former attempts. This was the battle of the Tchernaya, fought on the 15th of August. The brunt of the battle fell on the French and Sardinians. There was also a battery or two of English artillery. The Russians were again utterly routed. This was the last time that the enemy tried to overthrow us in the field. They could never gain any advantage over us, although always superior both in infantry and cavalry. It was often proved in the field, and in many sorties during the Crimean war, that the British soldier was superior in courage, and the sufferings and hardships which he had to undergo during this eventful struggle, showed that in patient endurance he was at least equal to any other soldier in Europe. Sebastopol still held out against us, and our works were advancing rapidly. The time was again drawing nigh for a final assault upon the city. The French were already within a few hundred yards of the great Malakhoff; and we ourselves were making rapid progress in our advance upon the Redan. The Highland Brigade was ordered down to Kamara, a place about six miles in advance of Balaclava, and eight miles distant from Sebastopol. We found the Sardinians already encamped at this place, along with some French and Turks. We were once more united together, and exchanged civilities as usual; but we found the Sardinians proud and jealous--nothing in their nature like the spirited and gay Frenchman. The Sardinian had his dagger always concealed about his person, and in any altercation that took place would use it on the least provocation. Not so with the British or French: the English soldier with a manly spirit would retaliate by leaving the mark of his fist in a very conspicuous part of the countenance. Our engineers, finding the siege progressing so favourably, decided at once upon an assault on the town. The final bombardment was to open on the 4th of September, and continue until the 8th. On that day, at twelve noon, we were to make an assault upon Sebastopol--that city which for the past eleven months was the scene of so much carnage, and where perished many of the renowned heroes of Alma, Balaclava, and Inkermann. We were resolved to take it or perish in the attempt.