It was in that ride back, when a large body of grey-coated lancers rode down upon their flank, and the Russian artillerymen rallying to their guns fired indiscriminately into the mass of English and Russians, that the other Balaclava Crosses were won.
Major John Berryman, the most distinguished of the seven heroes of the Charge who were awarded the decoration, has told the story of his exploit himself, told it modestly and simply as becomes a brave man, but we can fill in the details of the picture for ourselves as we read.
At the time of the Charge Berryman was Troop-Sergeant-Major in the 17th Lancers, well known as “the Duke of Cambridge’s Own” and “the Death or Glory Boys.” In the last mad leap at the guns, the mare he was riding was badly hit, and he dismounted, when he found that he too had been wounded in the leg. As he stood debating in his mind whether or not to shoot the mare, Captain Webb, on horseback, came up. He also had been struck in the leg, and to his query as to what he had better do, Berryman replied, “Keep to your horse, sir, and get back as far as you can.”
Webb thereupon turned and rode back, while the sergeant-major, catching a loose horse, attempted to follow suit. But his new steed had its breastplate driven into its chest, and hardly had he mounted ere it fell to the ground. Giving up the idea of rejoining his regiment in the mêlée, he was making his way back on foot when he caught sight of Captain Webb, who had halted a little distance off, the acute pain of his wound preventing him riding farther.
“Lieutenant George Smith, of my own regiment,” says Berryman in his account, “coming by, I got him to stand at the horse’s head whilst I lifted the captain off. Having accomplished this, I assisted Smith to mount Webb’s horse and ride for a stretcher, taking notice where we were. By this time the Russians had got back to their guns and reopened fire. I saw six men of my own regiment get together to recount to each other their escapes. Seeing their danger, I called to them to separate, but too late, for a shell dropped amongst them, and I don’t think one escaped alive.”
Hearing him call to the lancers, Captain Webb asked Berryman what he thought the Russians would do. Berryman answered that they were sure to pursue, unless the Heavy Brigade came to the rescue.
“Then you had better consult your own safety, and leave,” said the captain.
Berryman shook his head. “I shall not leave you now, sir,” he replied, adding that if they were made prisoners they would go together.
Just at this moment Sergeant Farrell hove in sight, and at Berryman’s call he came over. The retreat of the Light Brigade from the guns was already beginning, and the confusion and danger was augmented by the onslaught of the Russian lancers, who had now ridden down upon the devoted remnant.
“I GOT HIM TO STAND AT THE HORSE’S HEAD WHILST I LIFTED THE CAPTAIN OFF.”—Page 22.
The position of the wounded officer and his helpers was indeed precarious. Bullets and shells were flying by them, and at any moment a Cossack lance might have laid them low. But neither Berryman nor Farrell hesitated or thought of saving his own skin. Making a chair of their hands, they raised the captain from the ground and carried him in this way for some two hundred yards, until Webb’s leg again became very painful. A private of the 13th Dragoons, named Malone, was requisitioned to support the officer’s legs, and another start was made.
The rear of the Greys was at last reached in safety, and here the sergeant-major procured a tourniquet which he screwed on to Webb’s right thigh (“I could not have done it better myself,” said the regimental doctor afterwards), together with a stretcher.
We will let Berryman take up the story himself at this point.
“I and Farrell now raised the stretcher and carried it for about fifty yards, and again set it down. I was made aware of an officer of the Chasseurs d’Afrique being on my left by his placing his hand upon my shoulder. I turned and saluted. Pointing to Captain Webb, but looking at me, he said—
“‘Your officer?’
“‘Yes.’
“‘Ah! and you sergeant?’ looking at the stripes on my arm.
“‘Yes.’
“‘Ah! If you were in French service, I would make you an officer on the spot.’ Then, standing in his stirrups and extending his right hand, he said, ‘Oh! it was grand, it was magnifique, but it is not war, it is not war!’”
This French officer was General Morris.
Resuming their task, Berryman and Farrell got the captain to the doctors, who discovered that the shin bone of his leg had been shattered. Farrell turning faint at the sight of the terrible wound, the sergeant-major was instructed to take him away, and this was the cause of bringing him near enough to the Duke of Cambridge and Lord Cardigan to hear the former say as he viewed the remnant that had come “through the jaws of Death, Back from the mouth of Hell”:—
“Is that all of them? You have lost the finest brigade that ever left the shores of England!”
And to Captain Godfrey Morgan, now Viscount Tredegar, who had led the 17th Lancers (thirty-four returned out of one hundred and forty), the Duke could only say, “My poor regiment! My poor regiment!”
Sergeant Farrell and Private Malone, as was only fitting, also received the Cross for Valour.
I have given the account of the brave deed of Berryman and his companions at some length, because it is, to my mind, one of the most signal acts of devotion in the chronicles of the V.C. A very large proportion of those who have won the Cross distinguished themselves in the attempt, successful or otherwise, to save life, and there is no act that is more deserving of our fullest admiration. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
There were other lives saved in that death-stricken valley that day besides Webb’s. Captain Morris, who led a troop of the 17th Lancers, was taken prisoner by the Russians after a desperate encounter, but managed to escape in the confusion. Grievously wounded and on foot, for his second horse had been shot under him, he struggled towards the British lines, until from sheer exhaustion he fell beside the dead body of his brother-officer, Captain Nolan.
It is stated that the two officers, knowing the peril that faced them, had each left in his friend’s charge a letter to be sent home if he fell and the other survived. These letters were found in the breasts of the two as they lay side by side.
Captain Morris, however, was luckily still alive. To his assistance promptly came Sergeant-Major Charles Wooden of his own regiment, who pluckily stood by his body until he saw a surgeon. The latter, who proved to be Surgeon Mouat of the 6th Dragoon Guards (now Sir James Mouat, K.C.B.), promptly went over to the wounded man, and despite the heavy fire that was being kept up, dressed his wounds as coolly as if he had been in the operating-room. His skill stopped the hemorrhage, which undoubtedly saved the captain’s life, and for this, as well as for getting the wounded man back to safety, the brave surgeon in due course got his V.C. Sergeant-Major Wooden was decorated at the same time.
One other man of the 17th Lancers who distinguished himself in this historic charge was the regimental butcher, John Veigh. Hearing that the dash for the Russian guns was to be made, he left his work in his bloodstained smock without seeking permission, borrowed a sabre, and rode through the valley with his comrades. “Butcher Jack” cut down six gunners and returned unhurt, still smoking the short black pipe which was in his mouth when he joined in the ride.
The two remaining Balaclava Crosses were awarded to Private Samuel Parkes, a Light Dragoon, and Lieutenant Alexander Robert Dunn, of the 11th Hussars.
Parkes’ exploit was a courageous rescue of Trumpet-Major Crawford, who, on being thrown helpless to the ground by his horse, was furiously attacked by a couple of Cossacks. Himself unhorsed, he fearlessly bore down upon the cowardly Russians, and plied his sword with such vigour that he sent them flying. The two were attacked again by a larger party of Cossacks, but Parkes maintained such a sturdy defence that he was only subdued when a shot struck his sabre out of his hand. He and Crawford were made prisoners, and not released until a year later.
Lieutenant Dunn had the distinction of being the only officer of the Light Brigade to win the V.C. When Sergeant Bentley of his regiment fell behind in the dash back to safety, and was quickly set on by three Russians, the lieutenant turned his horse and rode to his comrade’s aid. Dunn was a less powerful man than Parkes, but he sabred two of the Cossack lancers clean out of their saddles and put the third to flight.
Subsequently Lieutenant Dunn rescued a private of the Hussars from certain death in similar circumstances. He survived the Crimean War and rose to distinction in the service, but his career was cut short all too soon by an accident in the Abyssinian campaign.
CHAPTER IV.
THE CRIMEA.—THE HEROES OF INKERMAN.
The fierce battle on the plateau of Inkerman, in the early morning of November 5th, 1854, was the most desperate engagement of the whole war. It has, indeed, been described as “the bloodiest struggle ever witnessed since war cursed the earth.” The sixty thousand Russians who made a sortie out of Sebastopol were able through the heavy mists that hung over the field to take the British force of eight thousand men by surprise, and the fight at once became a hand-to-hand encounter rather than a pitched battle.
To call Inkerman the “soldiers’ battle” is to give our brave fellows who fought that day no more than their due. There was scant time for any plan of operations to be formed; as the guardsmen—Grenadiers, Coldstreams, and Scots—turned out of their tents at the warning bugle call it was to face immediately an enemy already entrenched behind battery and redoubt which belched forth shell and grape-shot incessantly. With bayonets fixed they went forward at the charge to silence those terrible flame-mouthed cannon and drive the Russians from battery and rifle-pit, and once among the foe British pluck could be relied on to carry the day.
What deeds of daring were done in the mist-shrouded glades and dells of Inkerman, in the valley and on the heights that commanded the British position, can never be fully chronicled. We know, however, how some of our gallant soldiers bore themselves, for in that titanic struggle acts of signal bravery were performed that were remembered afterwards and deemed worthy of recognition.
Charles McDermond and Thomas Beach, privates, made themselves conspicuous in saving the lives of two officers who were lying on the ground wounded and at the mercy of Russians, who never hesitated to kill a disabled man. So, too, did Sergeant George Walters of the 49th Regiment, who was more than a match for half a dozen Russians when Brigadier-General Adams got cut off. All three won their V.C.’s that day.
Of Lieutenant Mark Walker, of the 30th (Cambridgeshire) Regiment, a striking story is told. From out of the fog his men saw a great mass of Russians, two battalions strong, advancing towards them. They were ordered to open fire, but their rifles were wet and useless. Seeing this, Walker called on his men to fix bayonets and follow him, and, running forward, leaped over the low wall behind which the regiment had been lying hidden. This was enough for the 30th. With a wild cheer, they followed his lead, and flinging themselves impetuously against the enemy, a mere handful as they were, they actually sent the greycoats flying.
For this dashing feat, which turned what must have been an inevitable defeat into a victory, the lieutenant was mentioned in despatches and awarded the Cross. In after years he wrote himself General Sir Mark Walker, K.C.B.
But it was at the Sandbag Battery, whence the Russians had directed a deadly fire upon our troops, that perhaps the most brilliant feat of arms was performed. The Sandbag had the distinction of being fought for more than any other battery at Inkerman, changing hands several times, until at last it was held by the Grenadiers.
After the seventh fight round its parapet, the Russians succeeded in driving back their besiegers, and, exulting over their achievement, danced and sang with joy. This exasperated the guardsmen to fresh fury, and when Sir Charles Russell, their Captain, called on his men to follow him, the Grenadiers, followed by some Coldstreams and Fusiliers, sprang forward to storm the position. This time they were successful, driving the Russians before them.
How fierce was the contest will be understood when I mention that the guardsmen’s ammunition having run short, the men seized hold of stones and rocks and hurled these at their foes. The Russians responded in like manner until, as Sir Charles said in a letter home to his mother, “the air was thick with huge stones.”
Although the British were once more in the Battery, the worst was not yet over. Many bold Russians still hung on the parapet wall, or clung to the embrasures, firing down on those inside. The guardsmen, indeed, found that they were in a kind of trap, and cries of “Charge them!” arose. Then a soldier standing by Sir Charles Russell spoke up.
“If any officer will lead us, we will charge,” he said.
Up sprang Sir Charles, revolver in hand. “Come on, my lads!” he cried. “Come on! Who will follow me?”
The first to respond to their gallant captain’s call were Sergeant Norman and Privates Palmer and Bailey. Into the face of the opposing Russians the four dashed. Sir Charles’ revolver missed fire the first time, but pulling the trigger again he shot his man. At that moment a hand fell on his shoulder and the private behind him said, “You were nearly done for, sir.”
“Oh no,” answered the captain; “he was some way from me.”
The soldier indicated another Russian who had come up at Russell’s back. “His bayonet was all but in you when I clouted him over the head,” he said grimly.
Sir Charles saw how close he had been to death’s door. “What is your name?” he asked.
“Anthony Palmer, sir,” was the reply.
“Well, if I live through this you shall not be forgotten,” said Sir Charles; and he duly kept his promise, Palmer being made a corporal the next morning. He received the Victoria Cross for this act later on, when the Order was instituted, his name being among the first to be submitted.
Side by side Sir Charles Russell and Palmer (poor Bailey had already been killed, and of Norman there is no further mention) fought their way to a part of the ledge on the right, where they joined a small company of Grenadiers under Captain Burnaby. Here the fight waged more fiercely than ever, Burnaby especially distinguishing himself and winning the V.C. time and time again, though he never received it. The rush of the guardsmen was not to be withstood, and the Russians were eventually forced back.
Sir Charles was awarded the V.C. for this exploit at the Sandbag Battery, receiving it at the hands of his Queen in Hyde Park, three years later. He might have treasured another souvenir of the fight, also, in the shape of a long, black-stocked Russian rifle, which he tore from the hands of a soldier and kept until the end of the day.
Another officer of the Grenadiers who won similar distinction at the Sandbag Battery was Lieutenant-Colonel the Honourable Henry Percy (afterwards, Lord Percy). A number of his men at one time charged too far and became surrounded by the enemy. To add to their peril, they were without ammunition. Colonel Percy, coming to their assistance, successfully extricated them from this dangerous position and led them to where they could obtain cartridges. Just before this he had charged alone into the battery, only being repulsed by a great stone that struck him senseless to the ground.
Other eyes than those of his own men were upon him, the Duke of Cambridge himself noting the action and having some warm words of commendation to say afterwards.
There are one or two other Inkerman Crosses the stories of which remain to be told.
Lieutenant Henry Hugh Clifford won the right to add V.C. to his name by a deed of unusual daring. While in charge of a company of the Rifle Brigade he saw that a strong body of Russians was deploying to take one of our regiments in the rear. Without waiting to obtain an order to move from his position, he called to his men to follow him, and charged boldly into the midst of the Russians.
Clifford outdistanced his men by several yards, being mounted while they were on foot, and the consequence was that he found himself alone in the enemy’s ranks. The fierceness of his onslaught, and the belief on the Russians’ part that a troop of cavalry was behind him, gave him momentary advantage. The enemy wavered, and the Rifle Brigade men coming up at the charge, they soon after surrendered.
It was cut and thrust for Clifford while he was engaged on all hands at once, but in the thick of the fight he managed to save the life of a private in addition to protecting his own.
The exploit of Lieutenant Miller of the Royal Artillery bears some resemblance to the foregoing. An advancing body of Russian infantry bore down upon his gun battery when he was without any support. One last round was fired, and then bidding his men “Draw swords and charge!” he rode out under the hail of bullets straight into the enemy’s midst. The gunners followed to a man; some armed with swords, others with ramrods, and one of them—a famous boxer—relying only on his fists, with which he was seen to lay many a Russian low!
The greycoats got possession of the guns, for desperately as the artillerymen fought they could not stay the enemy’s advance, but it is satisfactory to know that the battery was retaken not long after and fought again by Miller and his gallant men.
Yet another hard fight at the guns took place at a battery where Sergeant-Major Henry was in charge. When the Russians were upon them, he and a private named Taylor drew their swords and made a desperate defence. Taylor was soon slain, however, together with nearly all the other gunners, and Henry badly wounded. A bayonet pierced his chest, another pinned him in the back, and he sank to the ground.
As was their wont, the Russians continued to strike at the helpless man as he lay at their mercy, the result being that when some time later Henry was rescued and found to be alive he had no fewer than twelve terrible wounds! He lived, however, to wear his Cross for Valour with his fellow-artilleryman, Miller, and to rise to the rank of captain.
CHAPTER V.
THE CRIMEA.—WITH THE SAPPERS AND MINERS.—IN
TRENCH AND RIFLE-PIT.
The battle of Inkerman was the last great battle of the Crimean campaign fought round Sebastopol. The rest of the story of the long siege is one that deals with the heroic if unobtrusive work of the “sappers and miners,” the Royal Engineers, those “handy men” of the Army; with the tale of the trenches and rifle-pits, wherein men carried their lives in their hands night after night; with sudden sorties in the dead of night or the mists of early dawn; and with desperate attempts at storming the outworks of the great Russian fortress, the Redan, the Mamelon Tower, and the Malakoff.
Such a siege would have taxed to the utmost the powers of any army, but when we remember how its difficulties were added to by the severity of the Russian winter and the hardships under which our brave soldiers laboured through sickness and for the want of clothing and other necessities of life, we must account it a truly marvellous achievement.
Sir William Russell, who was the Times correspondent in the war, fearlessly spoke his mind on the scandalous mismanagement that prevailed, and from his vivid letters we know how too often the stores ran out, how the hospital accommodation was insufficient, and how but for the exertions of Florence Nightingale and her band of devoted nurses we should have lost far more than the 24,000 men who died from cholera and other diseases, or were killed by the enemy’s bullets.
Of those days and nights in the trenches Lord Wolseley can speak from experience, for as a young engineering officer he saw some stirring service before Sebastopol. The loss of his right eye, and a long scar on his left cheek, bear witness to one thrilling night’s work in an advance sap. He was out and about again, however, as soon as possible, for every man that could stand up was needed.
It is Lord Wolseley’s boast that, apart from the time he spent in hospital, he was never absent from the trenches at night except on one memorable occasion. This was when he and a brother-officer made a hasty Christmas pudding together, compounding it in a hollowed-out shell, with a shot for pestle. The “very bad suet” which they got from Balaclava, or the fact that the pudding had to be devoured ere it was half boiled, may be accounted sufficient explanation for the young officer’s breakdown. “At about twelve o’clock,” he says pathetically, “I thought I was going to expire.”
In giving the record of the V.C. heroes who won glory in the long months that elapsed between the battle of Inkerman and the fall of Sebastopol, we may well begin with the Royal Engineers, the popular “Mudlarks,” whose proud mottoes are “Ubique” (everywhere) and “Quo Fas et Gloria ducunt” (where right and glory lead). Eight of the many Crosses to their credit were gained in the Crimea. Let us see in what manner these were won.
William J. Lendrim (or Lindrim, for his name is found spelt both ways), Corporal No. 1078, R.E., had three dates inscribed on his Cross, February 14th, April 11th, and April 20th, 1855. On the first occasion he was sent to do sapper’s work in a battery that was held by a hundred and fifty French Chasseurs. A hot fire from the Russian guns had wrought dreadful havoc among the gabions and raked the trenches, but Lendrim, assuming command of the Frenchmen, quickly set to work to repair the damage. With utter disregard for self, he was here, there, and everywhere at once, replacing a gabion where it had been struck down, digging in the trench and shovelling up earth round the weak places. Lendrim’s coolness and plucky example saved that battery from demolition, as the French officer in charge of the Chasseurs very properly noted in his report.
His second exploit was to mount the roof of a powder magazine that had caught fire and, under a perfect hail of bullets, extinguish the flames. This was a danger to which batteries were particularly liable, the live shells and fire-balls that dropped among them soon setting the basket-work of the embrasures and other inflammable parts in a blaze. I shall have something more to say about the “heroes of the live shell” before this chapter is ended.
The third date on our brave sapper’s Cross, April 20th, recalls a very daring feat on his part. Out among the rifle-pits, in the open, some Russians had erected a screen of brushwood, barrels, and sailcloth, behind which they thought themselves well secure. A party of British sappers who lay all night in a trench thought otherwise. In the darkness, just before dawn, a dozen of them, prominent among whom was Lendrim, dashed out and with bayonets fixed charged the rifle-pits and destroyed the screen.
We come now to the eventful 18th of June, in the same year, when a desperate assault was made on the Redan, the while the French stormed the Malakoff, some distance to the right. With a column of sailors and soldiers that formed one of the attacking parties were Lieutenant Graham and Sapper John Perie of his own corps. They had scaling-ladders and sandbags with them, but these were not wanted after all, for the terrific fire that poured down on the open ground before the fortress walls made it impossible for the work to go forward.
Even then men were found willing, nay anxious to try, and scores of redcoats dotted the rocky ground between the last trench and the abattis. But it was a hopeless task—a wanton waste of valuable lives. Very reluctantly Graham, who had taken command, ordered his men to retire.
While, in the security of the trench, they waited for the Russian fire to diminish, the lieutenant once more showed of what stuff he was made. There was a wounded sailor lying out in front, calling piteously for help. An officer of the Naval Brigade heard him first, and asked for another volunteer to assist in bringing the wounded man in.
“I’m with you,” cried Graham, springing up instantly; “And I too,” added John Perie. And out they ran on their noble errand of mercy, succeeding in the task without being hit.
Both the lieutenant and the sapper were awarded the Cross for their bravery. The former, as everyone knows who has read the history of the Egyptian War, became the famous General Sir Gerald Graham, the victor of El Teb and Tamai. He died in 1899.
No reference to that disastrous assault on the Redan would be complete without mention being made of Colour-Sergeant Peter Leitch, V.C., also of the Engineers. Like his fellow-sapper, Perie, he was attached to a ladder-party which shared the fate of defeat. At the foot of the fortress the little party was held in check by the pitiless fire of shot and shell. Men dropped on all sides, for there was no cover.
There were the scaling-ladders to be placed, however, and Leitch came forward to take the lead. Leaping into the ditch, he pulled down gabion after gabion from the enemy’s parapet until sufficient had been secured to make a caponnière, filling them with earth and placing them to afford shelter to his comrades. It was a heroic task, and many a wound did he receive until he was finally disabled, but he had the satisfaction of knowing that he had done his duty well.
Nor does this conclude the record of the gallant “Mudlarks.” I might tell a stirring story of how Lieutenant Howard Crauford Elphinstone (afterwards a Major-General and a K.C.B.) did great deeds in that same affair of the Redan, rescuing with the party of volunteers he led no fewer than twenty wounded men, and winning the French Legion of Honour in addition to the Cross for Valour. But I have only room now to speak of one more, John Ross, Corporal No. 997.
Of the three acts of gallantry of which the dates are graven on his Cross, two were performed for daring sapping operations in what were termed the 4th and 5th Parallels. In the darkness of night he and his men worked like moles, quietly but swiftly, connecting (in the first instance) the 4th Parallel with a disused Russian rifle-pit, the line of cover thus formed giving the attacking party a tremendous advantage when morning broke and the fight was renewed.
It was highly dangerous work from first to last. Every few minutes shells and fire-balls from the Russian guns, which kept up a constant cannonade throughout the night, would fall in their midst, and unless these were promptly extinguished the havoc wrought was considerable. But through it all they plied their spades bravely and set their earth-filled gabions in position, Ross himself doing the greater part of this latter hazardous work.
His third notable exploit bears date September 8th, of the same year, 1855. The last assault on the Redan by the allied troops had been made, but with what results was not known. Ominous loud explosions startled the still night air every now and then, and the British and French troops held back uncertainly, waiting for the enemy’s next move.
The cessation of the Russian cannonade and musketry fire, however, led many to think that the greycoats had abandoned their position, even if only temporarily. Among those of this way of thinking was Corporal Ross. Leaving the trench of the 5th Parallel, where he was working, he set off alone across the intervening ground to see if his suspicions were correct. It was ticklish work, he knew, for the flashes of the explosions in the huge fortress lit up the plain vividly, and his figure showed up an easy mark for any Russian sharpshooter who remained on the watch. But he kept on until he reached the abattis, when clambering up to the nearest embrasure he wormed his way in.
The place was empty. Only a dismantled gun and the débris caused by a well-aimed shell greeted his eyes. Having made certain that he had not been deceived, Ross hastened back to the lines to spread the news. A party was at once formed to make another inspection of the Redan, Ross accompanying it and leading the way into the fortress, which was found absolutely deserted.
The Redan was forthwith occupied by our men, but the siege was now practically over. The Russians had retired to the north side of the harbour, evacuating the town.
So much for the “Royal Sappers and Miners”; we shall meet them later in a warmer clime, in India, doing their duty as faithfully and performing deeds every whit as heroic as any they did in the bleak wastes of the Crimea.
The heroes of the trenches and rifle-pits appeal especially to the imagination. The long vigil of the sentries as they paced to and fro while their comrades slept or worked in the trench at their back was an ordeal well calculated to try the nerves of even seasoned soldiers. A goodly proportion of the guardsmen, riflemen, and others who were detailed for this hazardous work were under fire in this campaign for the first time in their lives, but we never read that they flinched from the task imposed upon them.
However worn and weary the sentry might be, after a long day of digging and hauling sandbags, he knew he had to exert the utmost vigilance while on guard. Under cover of the darkness it was a favourite pastime with the Russians to make sorties in little parties of three and four from the fortress, in the hope of surprising the harassed sappers as they took a brief and well-earned rest.
So came three Russians one bitterly cold December night in 1854 to a small outlying picket of the 7th Royal Fusiliers. Private Norman, on single sentry-go, caught sight of the grey figures creeping stealthily towards him. Firing his rifle to sound the alarm, he rushed forward and leaped boldly into the trench where the enemy had taken cover. Two he seized and held prisoner, conducting them back to the British lines, but the third escaped. The plucky Fusilier got the Cross for this action when the time came to reckon up those who were most worthy of the honour.
But to narrate the several exploits of the heroes of the trenches is to tell much the same story over and over again. A score or more of gallant fellows—Moynihan, Coleman, Alexander, McWheeney (who was never absent for a single day from his duties throughout the war), and others—braved the Russian fire to dash out into the open and rescue from certain death some wounded officer or private who lay exposed on the field. The V.C. was often earned many times over by these.
Only a few stand out from the rest by reason of some special feature, such as Private John Prosser of the 1st Regiment, who, seeing a rascally soldier wearing the Queen’s scarlet in the act of deserting to the Russian lines, jumped out of his trench and chasing the fugitive under a heavy cross fire collared him and brought him back to camp—and, let it be hoped, swift justice. For this, and for rescuing a wounded comrade later on, Prosser gained his V.C.
There were, too, the “heroes of the live shell” to whom I made reference some pages back. Sergeant Ablett, of the Grenadiers, with Privates Strong, Lyons, Coffey, McCorrie, and Wheatley, received the decoration for this act of valour. Plump into the trench in which each delved dropped a fizzing shell, and without a moment’s hesitation the plucky fellow lifted it up and flung it over the parapet, to burst more or less harmlessly outside.
Sergeant Ablett’s shell fell right among some ammunition cases and powder barrels, and but for his prompt action a terrible explosion would have taken place with much loss of life. In Wheatley’s case the stalwart private attempted first to knock out the burning fuse, but failing to do this he coolly dropped his rifle and disposed of the unwelcome intruder with his hands.
Of the dashing sorties upon the Russian rifle-pits pages might be written. I have only space to tell of one such. It may well serve as characteristic of all. Privates Robert Humpston, Joseph Bradshaw, and R. McGregor of the Rifle Brigade are my heroes.
Far out on the Woronzoff Road, near some formidable quarries that had served the Russians well, was a strongly protected rifle-pit whence sharpshooters directed a deadly fire against a battery in process of formation by our men. It was essential that this “wasps’ nest” should be silenced.
Humpston particularly chafed over the seeming impossibility of doing this, and at last proposed to two comrades (Bradshaw and McGregor) that they should “rush” the pit. The two agreed, being much enraged, it is said, by the recent sniping of a bandsman who was a special favourite.
Accordingly, without asking for the leave which they knew would be denied them, the three stole out of camp one morning before daybreak, and crept unobserved towards the death-dealing pit. When within a few yards of it they gave a wild cheer and charged straight at the surprised Russians.
It was bayonet work, stab and thrust wherever a greycoat showed. How many they killed between them is not recorded, but the rifle-pit was cleared once for all and its destruction accomplished.
All three privates were awarded the Victoria Cross, and Humpston, as the leader, received prompt promotion, together with the sum of £5.
Before closing this chapter and passing on to tell of the Crimean naval Crosses, I cannot refrain from noting just two daring deeds that gained the V.C. for two gallant gunners during the operations before Sebastopol. They are written large in the annals of the Order.
Gunner and Driver Arthur, of the Royal Artillery, was in an advanced battery at an engagement near the Quarries, when the 7th Fusiliers fighting near by him ran out of ammunition. Arthur promptly volunteered to supply them, and although he had to cross repeatedly an open space on which a hot fire was concentrated, he carried the ammunition stores to the waiting men. But for his assistance the Fusiliers must have had to abandon the position they had captured.
Equally dashing was Captain Dixon’s defence of his battery. The latter was wrecked by a shell which, bursting in the magazine, blew it up and destroyed five guns, besides killing nearly all the gunners. It was a great event for the Russians, who cheered and danced with joy at the result of the shot.
But they counted without Dixon. The sixth gun of the battery, although half buried in earth, was still workable. With some help he got the gun into position again, loaded and sent an answering shot hurtling into the enemy’s battery, much to their surprise and discomfiture.
And it is to Dixon’s lasting glory that he worked that single piece until darkness ended the duel. The chagrined enemy peppered him without cessation throughout the rest of that day, but he bore a charmed life. The artillery captain rose to be a Major-General in after years, with C.B. after his name besides the letters V.C., while France honoured him by creating him a Knight of the Legion of Honour.
CHAPTER VI.
THE CRIMEAN CROSSES OF THE NAVY.
The record of our Bluejackets afloat and ashore in the Crimean War is one of which the senior service has good reason to be proud. While the siege of Sebastopol was in its early stages a British fleet sailed up to the Baltic, but without achieving much result, though a second expedition succeeded (in 1855) in doing considerable damage to the fortress of Sveaborg. At the same time another fleet harassed the enemy in the Black Sea and the Sea of Azov. On land the Naval Brigade did yeoman service at Inkerman, and in the protracted fighting around Sebastopol.
“Handy Man Jack” has never missed an opportunity of going ashore to have “some shooting with them redcoats,” in our big and little wars. From the days of Nelson, when they slung their 24- and 18-pounders on to Diamond Rock, to the recent Boer War, he has proved himself a rare fighter, quite as efficient with rifle and bayonet as his brother-in-arms. And the way he handles his field-guns must be the envy of the artillery.
In the history of the V.C. the Navy not only figures very prominently but enjoys the proud distinction of having the first Cross for Valour placed to its credit. The senior winner of the decoration is Rear-Admiral C. D. Lucas, R.N., and the scene of his exploit was Bomarsund, in the Baltic.
While the bombardment of this port of the Äland Islands, which are situated just off the coast of Finland, was being carried on by our warships under Admiral Napier’s command, a live shell suddenly dropped on to the deck of H.M.S. Hecla. It was a moment of frightful suspense for every one on board who watched the grim messenger of death fizzing there within a few yards of them. But there was one man on deck who saw what to do.
Acting-mate Lucas, on duty near one of the guns, promptly ran forward and with iron nerve picked up the shell, dropping it instantly over the ship’s side. The burning fuse sputtered out in the water, and the shell sank harmlessly to the bottom.
Captain Hall, his commander, brought the plucky deed under the notice of Admiral Napier, who, in writing to the Admiralty about the young sailor’s bravery, trusted that “their Lordships would mark their sense of it by promoting him.” This recommendation was acted upon, Lucas being at once raised to the rank of lieutenant. When later on the Victoria Cross was instituted the young officer’s name figured duly in the Gazette.
Two other sailors who gained the V.C. for similar actions were Captain William Peel, the dashing leader of the Naval Brigade, and Chief Gunner Israel Harding of H.M.S. Alexandra, also a Crimean veteran.
Whole pages might be written about Captain Peel’s exploits. All the time the naval men were engaged with the troops round Sebastopol he was ever to the fore, leading forlorn hopes and fighting shoulder to shoulder with his soldier comrades whenever opportunity offered. At Inkerman, at the fierce attack on the Sandbag Battery, he was in the thick of it, and again at the Redan assault.
Peel loved danger for danger’s sake. There was no risk that daunted him. At the attack on the impregnable Shah Nujeef, at Lucknow, in the Indian Mutiny, two years later, he led his gun detachment right up to the loopholed walls, which were crowded with rebel sharpshooters. He behaved, said Sir Colin Campbell, “very much as if he had been laying the Shannon alongside an enemy’s frigate.”
It was Peel who first demonstrated the practicability of fighting with big guns in the skirmishing line. “It is a truth, and not a jest,” he once wrote home, “that in battle we are with the skirmishers.” The way in which the sailors handled their great ship’s cannon, 8-inch guns, 24-pounders, and the like, was marvellous. A military officer, in a letter that was written at the front, gives an interesting reminiscence of the Naval Brigade. “Sometimes in these early days of October 1854,” he says, “whilst our soldiery were lying upon the ground, weary, languid, and silent, there used to be heard a strange uproar of men coming nearer and nearer. Soon the comers would prove to be Peel of the Diamond with a number of his sailors, all busy in dragging up to the front one of the ship’s heavy guns.”
In a future chapter we shall meet again this intrepid son of Sir Robert Peel, the great statesman, winning glory and renown under Campbell and Havelock. For the present I must confine myself to his career in the Crimea.
The most notable of the three acts, the dates of which are inscribed on his Cross, was performed in October 1854, at the Diamond Battery which some of the Naval Brigade were holding. The battery needing fresh ammunition, this had to be brought in by volunteers, for the horses of the waggons refused to approach the earthworks owing to the heavy Russian fire.
Case by case it was carried in and stacked in its place, and right into the midst of it all, like a bolt from the blue, dropped a shell. Peel jumped for it like a flash. One heave of his shoulders and away went the “whistle-neck” to burst in impotent fury several yards off—outside the battery’s parapet.
The second date on his Cross notes the affair at the Sandbag Battery, where he joined the Grenadier officers and helped to save the colours from capture. On the third occasion when his bravery was commended for recognition he headed a ladder-party in that assault on the Redan in which Graham and Perie won such distinction.
In this attack the gallant captain was badly wounded in the head and arm, a misfortune which was the means of gaining the V.C. for another brave young sailor. From the beginning of the war Midshipman Edward St. John Daniels had attached himself to Captain Peel, acting as the latter’s aide-de-camp at Inkerman. During the battle he was a conspicuous figure, as, mounted on a pony, he accompanied his leader about the field.
In the Redan assault he was still by Peel’s side, and caught him as he fell on the glacis. Then, heedless of the danger to which he was exposed, he coolly set to work to bandage the wounded man, tying a tourniquet on his arm, which is said to have saved Peel’s life. This done, he got his chief to a place of safety.
Daniels did another plucky action some months earlier, when he volunteered to bring in ammunition from a waggon that had broken down outside his battery. The fact that the waggon became immediately the target for a murderous fire from the Russian guns weighed little with him. He brought in the cartridges and powder without receiving a scratch, and the battery cheered to a man as the plucky little chap scrambled over the parapet with his last armful.
Along with Peel and Daniels must be named that popular idol William Nathan Wrighte Hewett, known to his messmates as “Bully Hewett.” He was nearly as picturesque a character as his commander.
At Sebastopol, the day following Balaclava fight, Hewett (he was acting-mate at the time), fought a great long-range Lancaster gun that had been hauled up from his ship, H.M.S. Beagle. The gun drew a determined attack on its flank from a very large force of Russians, and orders were sent to Hewett by a military officer to spike the gun and abandon his battery. The odds were too overwhelming.
In emphatic language the young sailor declared that he’d take no orders from anyone but his own captain, and was going to stick to his gun.
The other “Beagles” were quite of his opinion. In quick time they knocked down a portion of the parapet that prevented the huge Lancaster bearing on the flank and slewed the piece round. Then, loading and firing with sailorly smartness, they poured such a hot fire into the advancing horde of Russians that the latter beat a retreat.
They used the big gun with great advantage at Inkerman, but the young mate’s splendid defence of his battery was enough by itself to win him a well-deserved V.C. Hewett died eighteen years ago, a Vice-Admiral and a K.C.B.
A page or two back I mentioned Israel Harding, chief gunner, as a third naval hero of the live shell. It was many years after the Crimean War that his opportunity came, but his exploit may well be noted down here.
Harding was a gunner on board H.M.S. Alexandra, when, in July 1882, Sir Beauchamp Seymour (afterwards Lord Alcester) with his fleet bombarded Alexandria. On the first day of the action (the 11th), a big 10-inch shell from an Egyptian battery struck the ironclad and lodged on the main deck. The alarm was raised, and at the cry “Live shell above the hatchway!” Harding rushed up the companion. There was luckily a tub of water handy, and having wetted the fizzing fuse he dumped the shell into the tub just in the nick of time.
As in Lucas’s case, promotion quickly followed with the gunner, while the V.C. was soon after conferred upon him. The shell, it may be of interest to note, is now among the treasures of her Majesty the Queen.
So many naval heroes call for attention that I must hurry on to speak of Lucas’s comrades in the Baltic who also won the coveted decoration.
There was Captain of the Mast George Ingouville, serving in the Arrogant. On the 13th of July 1855, the second cutter of his vessel got into difficulties while the fleet was bombarding the town of Viborg. A shell having exploded her magazine, she became half swamped and began to drift quickly to shore. Observing this, Ingouville dived off into the sea and swam after the runaway. He was handicapped with a wounded arm, but being a strong swimmer he reached the cutter just as it neared a battery. With the painter over his shoulder he struck out again for the Arrogant, and towed his prize safely under her lee.
At about the same time a gallant lieutenant of Marines—now Lieut.-Col. George Dare Dowell, R.M.A.—did much the same thing. When a rocket-boat of the Arrogant was disabled he lowered the quarter-boat of his ship the Ruby, and with three volunteers rowed to the other’s aid. Dowell not only succeeded in saving some of the Arrogant men, but on a second journey recaptured the boat.
It was a lieutenant of the Arrogant, however, who eclipsed both these deeds, brave as they were. The exploit of John Bythesea and his ship’s stoker, William Johnstone, on the Island of Wardo, reads more like fiction than sober fact. This is the story of it.
Early in August of 1854 Lieutenant Bythesea learned from a reliable source that some highly important despatches from the Tsar, intended for the General in charge of the island, were expected to arrive with a mail then due. At once he conceived the daring idea of intercepting the despatch-carrier and securing his valuable documents. His superior officers thought the project a mad one when he first broached it, but Bythesea would not be gainsaid. The thing was worth trying, and he and Johnstone (who had volunteered his services) were the men to carry it through with success. In the end he had his way, though when the two plucky fellows quitted the ship on their hazardous errand their shipmates bade them good-bye with little expectation of ever seeing them again.
The lieutenant and the stoker had disguised themselves very effectively in Russian clothes, and managed to get to land safely. Here they learned from their informant, a Swedish farmer, that the mail had not yet arrived, but was expected at any hour. When darkness fell, therefore, the two Englishmen found a good hiding-place down by the shore, and commenced their vigil.
This was the evening of the 9th of August. It was not until the 12th that the long-awaited mail came to land. For three whole days and nights they had not ventured from their concealment, save once or twice when the vigilance of Russian patrols had forced them to take to a small boat and anchor about half a mile off the coast.
On the morning of the 12th, Johnstone, who spoke Swedish fluently, learned from the friendly farmer that the mail had arrived, and was to be sent to the fort that night. Great caution was to be observed, the farmer added, as it was known to the Russians that someone from the British fleet had landed. At dark, therefore, the two took up their position at a convenient spot and awaited the coming of the mail-bags. In due course they heard the grating of a boat’s keel on the beach. A few Russian words of command were given, and then sounded the tramp of feet on the road that led up to the military station.