Gallon were lifted up in strong arms and soon conveyed out of danger; but Jack swooned from loss of blood on the way, nor did he recover till he found himself lying on his back, his face and head wet, while somebody held & water-bottle to his lips.
AS Jack gazed up and saw Sergeant Barrymore bending over him, his thoughts went back to that Sunday afternoon, nearly eighteen months ago, when once before he had lain beside a river, with Sergeant Barrymore tending him. Then with a rush came back the recollection of the skirmish.
‘Poor Tom!’ said Jack, ‘was he saved after all?’
‘Yes, and is still alive, thanks to you. He is being attended to by the doctors; but whether he’ll live or not I can’t say. But we’d best get you along to the doctor and have your cut properly bandaged.’
Putting up his hand, Jack found his head was tied up in a pocket-handkerchief.
‘Your cap saved you,’ said the sergeant, ‘else that slice above the ear would have been serious.’
Jack had also received a prick from a lance on his thigh, which, though bleeding profusely, was not very painful. He, however, insisted on remaining at his duty, and with Barrymore’s help went on to their camping-ground.
Will was loud in his praises of Jack’s gallantry. ‘You ought to get your commission,’ he said. ‘If some blessed officer had done what you’ve done he’d have got a step in the regiment, half-a-dozen letters after his name, and I don’t know what all.’
‘Never mind, Will, old boy; get me a drink of coffee from somewhere, and any one can have the letters and the promotion.’
Pearson and Brandon had just succeeded in roasting some green coffee-beans, and soon Jack had a pannikin of the hot beverage, to which a little drop of rum had been added. The drink did Jack much good and he soon felt better. In the evening he went up to the hospital-tent with Will and inquired about Tom Gallon.
The gray-headed, kind-eyed Scot who was regimental surgeon shook his head. ‘He may live,’ he said; ‘but his soldiering days are over. His left arm ‘s smashed and must come off above the elbow, and he’s got a nasty dig in his back. Providing we can keep off fever, he may pull round; but I’m afraid’——-
‘Poor Tommy!’ said Jack. ‘I should like to see him once, doctor, before it’s too late.’
‘Impossible; any excitement would be fatal. By the way, are you the trumpeter who saved him?’
‘I stood by him till our men returned.’
The doctor shook Jack warmly by the hand. ‘You performed a brave deed,’ he said. ‘I heard of the affair from Captain Norreys, who’s bringing it to the notice of Lord Raglan. But what’s wrong with your head?’
Jack replied that he had received a slight cut, which the doctor insisted upon dressing, besides the prod in his leg, making Jack relate how he had saved Gallon the while.
That night the army was encamped in order of battle, for it was expected the Russians would make a night-attack. They were known to be quite close and in great strength, part of which they had revealed in their attempts to draw the British cavalry into an ambush. The troops piled arms and were warned to be ready to turn out at an instant’s notice. Extra strong vedettes and outposts were posted; but Jack’s regiment was fortunate in not being called upon to supply either.
They were encamped just behind the village of Bulganak, Lord Raglan passing the night in a posthouse close to the bridge. From the English lines the camp-fires of the enemy, seeming endless in number, could be plainly seen, and all knew that even if they went through the night without an attack the next day would see them engaged in a big battle, for the Russians barred all further progress towards Sebastopol.
The night passed peacefully, however, and before dawn, without sound of trumpet or drum, the French and English got under arms. Little time was taken over breakfast, the last meal many hundreds of the gallant fellows were fated to eat; then the troops began to take up their position for the advance. But it was some time before the army got on the move. When they did, Jack, who with his regiment still marched on the left flank, saw large bodies of Cossacks and other cavalry on the hills and ridges, and the sight of burning villages and homesteads showed the Allies that the Russians were pursuing their old tactics of destroying everything as they retired before their enemy.
The advance was across gently undulating country towards a range of steep heights, ending near the sea in great cliffs, some hundreds of feet high. With one or two protracted halts in between, the Allies towards midday had approached to within about a mile and a half of these heights, and there another long halt was made while the English right got into touch with the French left.
Jack could see at the base of the cliffs the river, with the knolls, ridges, and gullies beyond it. The opening in the hills through which the road to Sebastopol ran was also visible. A commanding height, which Jack afterwards learnt was the Kourgane Hill, stood out plainly. Several small villages were visible on the Russian side of the river, between the sea and the Kourgane Hill, and cottages and farmhouses were scattered about.
The practised eye of the soldier could discern across the river large bodies of cavalry on the move, while enormous masses of gray-coated infantry were amongst the slopes and ravines, the whole position simply bristling with field-batteries and howitzers. In front of the Kourgane Hill a great redoubt, armed with fourteen guns of heavy calibre, had been erected, and this was the ‘key’ of the Russian position. Around this it was fated that the fiercest fighting of the day was to take place.
Sergeant Linham had approached Jack, and he looked grimly at the strong position. ‘Ha, hum!’ he said, ‘many a man will lose the number of his mess before those heights are carried; but we shall do it.’
Just then the dense blue-uniformed masses of French infantry were seen moving forward to attack the Russian right. They advanced with a deal of dash, artillery supporting them. Soon a tremendous cannonade was in full progress, and the English line was halted till the French had achieved their object.
Presently the English again moved forward, and the objects on the other side of the river became plain. It was then about one o’clock, the day was hot and cloudless; the sun shone down on what, had they not been advancing in the grim reality of war, would have been a glorious spectacle. Arms glittered, plumes waved, colours fluttered. Scarlet-coated light infantry, fated to bear the brunt of that day’s fighting, sombre-clad Riflemen, kilted Highlanders, bearskinned Guards, gaily braided artillerymen—all moved forward in the most beautiful order. No haste, no uncertainty; everything staid, orderly, majestic. Arrived within about a mile of the river, the British regiments began to deploy, and with the utmost coolness and precision moved forward for attack.
Presently a boom was heard from the position in front of Jack’s division, and a round-shot came ripping across the river. Another and another followed, and soon a tremendous cannonade was opened on the English. Jack felt a sort of tightening of his heartstrings as the thunder of the artillery began; but the feeling of nervous anxiety died away when he saw with what absolute indifference to danger our gallant infantrymen deployed under a heavy fire.
The Lancers were dismounted and a field-artillery battery was passing them on its way to the front when the reins suddenly dropped from a driver’s hands; he gave a sort of gasp, and then fell heavily on the ground.
‘Sunstroke,’ said Sergeant Barrymore, who was close by Jack, and running to the artilleryman he turned him on his back and dragged him away from the wheels of the guns. As he did so, the front of the man’s tunic was seen to be wet with blood. A splinter of shell had struck him in the heart! He was the first Englishman killed that day, and Sergeant Barrymore, new to war, went silently back to his horse.
Presently the Lancers were ordered to mount, and a further advance was made till they were pretty close to the river. Musket and rifle balls began to hum over their heads, and they were again dismounted. From the spot where Jack was he could obtain a very good view of the field, and, his heart throbbing wildly, he gazed upon the fascinating scene. The round-shot were now causing considerable execution, and the regiments of the Light Division were ordered to lie down. Here a terrible trial of passive endurance awaited them. Round-shot tore through them, shells exploded over them, while a shower of bullets pinged and buzzed about them. Casualties were frequent, but the gallant fellows, few of whom had ever been under fire before, bore their trial bravely. They laughed and joked, and as they watched the dread guns which were spreading death and destruction amongst them they began to distinguish their different sounds. Then men were heard remarking, ‘Look out, Bill, here’s Shrieking Eliza coming again!’ or ‘There goes Barking Tom!’
Every now and then a mighty blast of wind would sweep by a soldier, the earth would receive a shattering shock, and what one instant was a living soldier would next be a shapeless mass. His comrades would rise and gently carry his remains to the rear; then resume their places. This went on for a terrible time, till even the iron nerves of the British soldiers began to feel the strain.
‘We ain’t afraid of dying,’ said a man of the 33rd to his captain; ‘but we’d like to have a smack at they Rooshians. Lead us on, sir; lead us on.’
‘Steady, men—steady,’ was the reply; ‘we shall get our chance directly.’ And the intrepid officers would walk up and down in front of their companies to inspire confidence in the men.
The British were waiting till the French had effected the turning movement; but they were in difficulties, and time passed slowly. The Light Division began to murmur; a lull took place in the battle. Affairs seemed critical.
Lord Raglan and his staff rode up and down the line, the round-shot ploughing up the ground all round them. The commander-in-chief looked anxious. At last he made up his mind to advance.
At that time the village of Bourliouk was set in flames, which caused much confusion, as it was impossible for the English to cross the river for a space of two hundred yards on either side of the burning mass. The smoke also blotted out that part of the field from the view.
Nothing, however, could daunt the British. A staff-officer, the impetuous Nolan, in his resplendent Hussar uniform, was seen to gallop along the lines of the Light Division, saying a few words to each commander. Then the regiments sprang to their feet—the 7th, 23rd, and 77th—dressed their ranks, and with a front of two miles and a depth of only two men marched grandly down the slope.
The cavalry gave them a tremendous cheer. But the light infantry made no sound; the joyous light of battle was in their eyes, their blood was aroused. They were going to close with the enemy, they would soon be at grips with him, it was enough. As they neared the river the guns of the greater part of three field-batteries, a battery manned by sailors, the light guns of the lesser redoubt, and the fourteen guns of the great redoubt, opened with shot and shell upon them. Sixteen battalions of infantry in front and four on each flank poured in a terrific musketry-fire, and a perfect inferno of iron whizzed around them.
‘God help them!’ cried Jack, his heart wrung at the sight; ‘mortal men can never face such a fury of destruction.’
Brandon, fired by the sight, turned to Jack and quoted:
The advancing regiments reached the river, into which they boldly plunged. Some were only up to their knees; some sank at once to their armpits; some had to abandon their arms and swim for their lives; while others, alas! sank, and were seen no more. The surface of the water was literally lashed into foam by the iron and leaden hail that swept into it; but with a rush the British were across and sheltered for a moment by the steep banks from the murderous fire of the Russians. Then, headed by their officers, they scrambled up the incline. All formation was lost, and the men of the different regiments got mixed together as they charged up the slope towards the batteries. As they crowned the ridge, a mob of desperate, fearless men, showers of grape and canister mowed its way through them, literally cutting lanes in the crowded masses, while the infantry on their flanks poured in volleys at point-blank range. Still they advanced, every foot of the way being marked with slain or wounded men.
The gallant Fusiliers, 7th and 23rd, smitten sorely, reeled like drunken men; but still they went on, led by the gallant Lacy Yea. The General had but one idea—to lead his division right up to the fiery jaws of the guns belching death and destruction around. He was well in front, a conspicuous figure in his cocked hat and mounted on his gray Arab, waving his sword and encouraging his men.
Ah! he’s down; his horse is killed! In a moment he is again on his feet, waving his sword and crying, ‘I’m all right, 23rd! Be sure I’ll remember this day!’
The red-coats opened a rapid fire upon the masses of gray-coated Russians, who began to waver; those behind the breastwork were soon seen in retreat. They did not like the light in the eyes of the British lads. Then the bayonets were levelled, a great cheer went up, and the gallant ‘Light Bobs’ went at the great redoubt. The Russians were stricken with terror; before the foremost red-coats got amongst them they had limbered up their guns and were seen dragging them away. The British gave a yell and raced forward, swarmed up the escarpment, leaped through the embrasures, and in a moment were in amongst the enemy, bayoneting the artillerymen.
One Russian driver was urging with whip and spur his black horses to carry off the last gun. An officer of the 23rd rushed forward, seized the bridle, and stopped the horses. The driver slipped from the saddle and bolted. Gun and horses were captured; the latter to serve in our black battery, the former to be sent to England as a trophy.[3]
The remains of the Light Division were in possession of the famous great redoubt; but the Guards and Highlanders had not advanced to support them, and they were isolated. The dense masses of Russians, seeing this, halted, then turned back.
The Light Division was in a critical position. This could be seen much more plainly from the British side of the river than from the Russian, on account of the numerous dips, ravines, and gullies among which our infantry lay.
Lord Lucan, in command of the cavalry, observed with great anxiety the critical position of the remnant of the Light Division. To add to his consternation, he saw an immense mass of cavalry, fully three thousand strong, wheeling slowly round from the south-eastern slopes of the Kourgane Hill, as though in readiness, when the Russian infantry had driven the red-coats from the redoubt, to charge down upon them and annihilate them. Under these circumstances the cavalry commander determined to take a decisive step. Without orders from Lord Raglan, he decided to cross the river, advance to the support of the Light Division, hold the hordes of Russian cavalry in check, and if necessary to charge them.
He mounted his brigade and rode up to Major Willett, commanding Jack’s regiment. ‘I am going to advance across the river,’ he said; ‘your regiment will lead. Send word to Lord Raglan of what I am doing. I shall myself lead the advance.’
Major Willett saluted with his sword. ‘Cornet Leland,’ he said, ‘gallop to Lord Raglan and tell him the cavalry brigade is crossing the river to the assistance of the light infantry division which is threatened on the flank with an overwhelming mass of cavalry.’
Captain Norreys, possessing the advantage of having seen war-service, spoke to Major Willett. ‘I should send three or four men,’ he said. ‘It is doubtful if any one man would get through such a fire-zone; but, out of several, one is almost sure to.’
‘Well thought of, Norreys,’ said the major.—‘Mr Leland, take three men, and whoever gets through will deliver the message.’
‘Barrymore,’ said the cornet, ‘follow me with Blair and Pearson.’
Jack’s heart leapt at these words, and with a touch of the spur he made Dainty bound from her place in the ranks. He settled himself in the saddle.
‘Thank goodness we’re going to do something at last!’ he said to Pearson. ‘If we once get in the thick of it we’ll have a go at some of those Russian beggars before we retire;’ and next moment he was swinging along, under a heavy fire, behind Cornet Leland and Sergeant Barrymore, on their way to find Lord Raglan.
THIS quest was not of the easiest, for Lord Raglan had been riding along every yard of his four miles of frontage. When last seen by the cavalry he had been almost in the centre of the line, and thither the Lancers made their way, passing the Guards and Highlanders lying down among the vineyards and gardens.
Presently they rode into a very fury of shot and shell, and their danger was as great from the British as from the Russians. They got by in safety, however, when they had to make a detour to pass the still-blazing village of Bourliouk.
The Second Division, in the midst of a terrific fire, was then gallantly attempting to ascend the heights. Cornet Leland learnt that Lord Raglan had crossed the river, and with a word to his men turned and dashed into the stream. Sergeant Barrymore put his horse at the water, but the animal shied and almost threw his rider. Pearson dashed by and followed his officer; then Barrymore and Jack splashed into the water. A regular hail of bullets flew round them, and when they were about half-way across Sergeant Barrymore’s horse was struck and immediately rolled over, carrying his rider with him. The sergeant’s foot was entangled in his stirrup and he was in danger of drowning; but Jack managed to seize his pouch-belt, and, turning his horse round, dragged him to the bank again.
At that moment a staff-officer came dashing across the river, and was passing Jack and Sergeant Barrymore when he suddenly uttered a loud cry and dropped from the saddle. Jack ran up to him as he lay on the ground and found him pale and bleeding. He was either a colonel or brigadier, and seemed a man of some importance.
‘I’m struck,’ he gasped, tearing at his tunic, from which a paper was sticking.
‘Can I help you?’ said Jack.
‘Yes, yes,’ said the poor officer—‘quick! I’m af-afraid—shall faint. Take paper—Sir Colin—Colin—Campbell, Guards and High—High’——
‘To cross at once?’ suggested Jack, guessing what the wounded staff-officer was trying to say.
The poor fellow had just strength enough to nod his head, and then Jack seized the paper, and leaping into his saddle galloped back through the storm of missiles to where the Guards and Highlanders were forming for the advance.
Jack knew the stern, rugged features of Sir Colin Campbell, and riding up to him gave both the message and the letter.
‘Ay, ay, I know as well as any one can tell me the necessity to advance,’ said the gallant Scotsman. ‘If the Light Division had kept their formation and not run away with themselves we should have been close behind them now. But how is it you bring me this message? Are the staff all down?’
Jack explained the circumstances, and Sir Colin said, ‘Remain where you are till you have seen us cross the river, then return and report to Lord Raglan.’
Sir Colin had carefully selected the spot where his regiments were to cross, and he led them himself.
First came the 42nd, the gallant Black Watch, whose last war-service had been at Waterloo, when, clinging to the stirrups of their countrymen, the Scots Greys, they had charged upon the French, shouting, ‘Scotland for ever!’ Then the 93rd Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders, who had covered themselves with glory in the Peninsula; and, lastly, the 79th, the stern fighting Cameronians, whose band had played the Lancers into Portsmouth.
The Guards, those giants from the Metropolis, led by the Duke of Cambridge, marching with a contemptuous indifference to the bullets flying round them, were already in the river when the Highlanders, with their flowing tartans and nodding Highland bonnets, their faces aglow with the fierce joy of the warrior about to grapple with his foe, dashed into the river.
Moving more quickly and in perfect order, the Highlanders, with much less loss than the other regiments, gained the vineyard on the opposite bank, where, as they marched, they snatched handfuls of grapes to quench their burning thirst.
Having seen the division cross, Jack galloped off to find Lord Raglan and report. He put Dainty at the river at the spot where the staff-officer had crossed, and, penetrating into the Russian lines, he rode on, getting higher and higher, till presently, in front of him, he saw on a knoll commanding a view of the Russian army Lord Raglan and the headquarter staff. Just behind them were Cornet Leland and Pearson.
Jack galloped up and delivered his message. The one-armed veteran looked at the trumpeter. ‘I see them now advancing,’ he said, ‘and gallantly are they doing it.’ He again put his glasses to his eyes and looked over the field on which the battle raged.
Jack rejoined Cornet Leland and looked round him. He could see the massive column of Russians opposing the English advance, and behind them dense bodies of gray-coated reserves.
A French aide-de-camp came galloping up to Lord Raglan. ‘My lord, my lord!’ he cried in great agitation; ‘we are terribly outnumbered, we are surrounded, we are lost!’
Lord Raglan smiled in his courteous way. ‘I will spare you a battalion,’ he said; and gave the necessary order. He then gazed long at the Russian flank, suddenly exclaiming, ‘Now, if we had a couple of guns here!’
Cornet Leland heard the words, and, immediately saluting, he cried, ‘Will you allow me to carry the message for you, my lord?’
‘Certainly, and then rejoin your regiment with your men; the fewer mounted men here the less likely we shall be to attract attention.’
‘Follow me!’ cried Cornet Leland to Jack and Pearson, and immediately he galloped off.
On through the hail of bullets again, across the river, and away to where Turner’s battery of Horse Artillery were doing grand work. Cornet Leland explained what was wanted, and at once the battery started. At a gallop, which threatened to overturn the nine-pounders, they made for the ford across the river. On their way one of the wheelers was killed and the leading gun came to a halt. Instantly the traces were cut, and, leaving the dead horse, on they went again. It was a tremendous struggle to get the guns up the steep bank, Jack and the others dismounting and pulling round the spokes till the perspiration poured off the men. Then on again over the steep, rugged ground till they reached the knoll. Only two guns had arrived, and the gunners had been left behind. The officers dismounted, unlimbered, and laid the guns themselves.
They were pointed at the flank of the causeway batteries. The first shot failed, so did the second, but the third exploded right over the Russian battery and struck a tumbrel, which exploded with a tremendous roar. A few more shots followed, and then the Russians were seen limbering up and retiring.
‘Hurrah!’ cried several officers, ‘they are off!’
Cornet Leland and his men then departed to find their regiment. As they got near the great redoubt they saw the remnants of the gallant 7th Fusiliers still maintaining a great struggle with overwhelming masses of gray-coated infantrymen in glittering spiked helmets.
The great mass came slowly, very slowly, forward with levelled bayonets as though to charge; but the Fusiliers, in groups and clusters, with no sort of formation, kept firing into them, losing heavily themselves, but doing much more execution. The sight was so fascinating that the Lancers stayed to watch it—stayed till the heroic resolution of the Fusiliers infused such terror into the hearts of the stricken Russians that with a kind of wailing cry they broke and retired, but only to form again.
Farther on the Scots Fusilier Guards had advanced and been repulsed; the Grenadiers and Coldstreams, with a proud mien, were advancing, though they were being mowed down in long swathes. They literally staggered before the storm of shot, and an officer approaching Sir Colin Campbell said, ‘The brigade of Guards will be destroyed; ought it not to fall back?’
To which the stern old General replied, ‘It’s better, sir, that every man of her Majesty’s Guards should lie dead upon the field than that they should now turn their backs upon the enemy!’
There was no need for fear, however. The blood of the English was up; all they kept clamouring for was to be led forward.
The Grenadiers and Coldstreams engaged six battalions of the celebrated Vladimir and Kazan regiments, and after firing for some time advanced and with the bayonet-point put them to flight. The time for the Highlanders had arrived. Sir Colin said a few words. ‘Be steady!’ he cried; ‘fire low! Now, men, the army will watch us; make me proud of my Highland Brigade.’
Sir Colin rode in front of the 42nd. Before him was the redoubt from which the Light Division, spite of heroic resistance, had been driven. Heavy columns, till now hardly engaged, faced him. With three battalions Sir Colin was about to engage twelve.
Swiftly, almost silently, the Highlanders seemed to glide up the hill. Sir Colin’s charger was killed; he mounted another horse, and continued to lead his men. The advance was quickened, the men firing as they went; the columns swept on, the formation being echelon of regiments, the 42nd leading, the 93rd next, the 79th last.
Tremendous and ear-splitting volleys burst from the Highlanders and the Guards, very different from the sputtering fire maintained by the Light Division earlier in the day. The Russians seemed enveloped in fire, and ever the men in the bearskins and those in the tossing Highland bonnets advanced.
Presently they met, and Guards and Highlanders got to work with the bayonet. The Russians stood a minute; then, with another sorrowful wail like the cry of a strong man defeated, they broke and retired. A tremendous cheer burst from the hitherto silent Guards and Highlanders, the advantage was pressed hard, the retreat was turned into a rout, and the Russians ran, while a fury of lead poured into them and smote them down.
Meanwhile the two guns on the knoll with Lord Raglan had been augmented by a battery, and these opened a tremendous fire on the retreating Russians. Other batteries crossed the river, and frightful execution was done.
The heights of the Alma were won, the greatest battle since Waterloo had been fought, and the Allies were triumphant.
‘Hurrah, the day is ours!’ cried Cornet Leland; ‘let us rejoin our regiment.’ And putting spurs to their horses in ten minutes they were with the Light Cavalry Brigade.
One of the first to welcome Jack was Sergeant Barrymore, who, wet through as he was, had managed to rejoin his regiment. He was mounted on the horse of a trooper who had been wounded. A few words of congratulation passed, then the advance was sounded.
By squadrons the different regiments advanced, and increasing the pace to a trot they reached the crest of the hill in front of them. They were escorting a battery of artillery, which on mounting the crest opened fire on the retreating Russians. Numbers of stragglers, many of them officers of rank, were seen in the dip before them, and the ground being practicable for cavalry, Lord Lucan formed his squadrons into column and ordered them to pursue and capture as many as they could. The delighted troopers shot forward, and soon a good many prisoners were made.
Jack’s troop and a troop of the 11th Hussars came upon a large body of the defeated Vladimir regiment, covering the retreat of a number of officers, and, extraordinary sight, several carriages. With a shout the troopers charged forward, when the Russians delivered a volley which emptied one or two saddles; then the troopers were in amongst them; but there was no more fight left in the Russians, who immediately threw down their arms and surrendered.
Some score of Lancers and Hussars went off after the carriages, and several officers of rank were captured. Jack was passing on when he heard a piercing shriek, and, turning, beheld an extraordinary sight. A carriage drawn by four horses had been galloping off when some Hussars spurred after it, threatened the driver with their swords unless he stopped, and then dismounting had opened the carriage door.
A young, handsome girl, beautifully dressed, jumped from the carriage, when a Hussar, poking in his head, called to his comrade, and together they dragged out an officer in a gorgeous white uniform, over which he wore a silver cuirass. The officer, on being taken, had drawn a pistol and fired at the Hussar, who promptly raised his sword to run the Russian through. It was this which had caused the young lady to shriek.
Seeing what was happening, Jack made Dainty leap to the spot, and holding up his hand he cried out to the Hussar, ‘Don’t strike, man; don’t you see the Russian is wounded?’
‘He ain’t so badly wounded that he didn’t try to blow my head off!’ cried the Hussar, still angry.
The girl had seen Jack’s upraised hand, and without understanding what he said, guessed he was pleading for the Russian’s life.
‘Oh monsieur, monsieur!’ she cried in French, which language Jack spoke fluently—‘oh monsieur, save my brother!’ and she ran forward and clung to Jack’s stirrup.
‘I will try,’ said Jack, without looking at her; ‘but he must yield himself prisoner.’
Jack rode up to the officer, whom he now saw was very young, and cried, ‘Monsieur, deliver up your sword; you are my prisoner.’
‘I am wounded, as you see,’ said the officer with a slight curl of the lip, ‘or I would die rather than surrender.’
‘It is the fortune of war,’ said Jack, receiving the sword, which he handed to the Hussar, saying, ‘He is your prisoner, comrade.’
‘Keep him,’ said the Hussar; ‘I don’t want him.—Come on, Dick!’ he cried to his comrade. ‘Mount again; there’s plenty to be done yet!’ and away they went.
Jack had dismounted, and the girl threw herself at his feet, thanking him profusely.
‘Oh my brother would have been killed!’ she cried; ‘a thousand thanks, Monsieur le Soldat.’
Jack looked embarrassed. ‘Your brother is my prisoner,’ he said, ‘and I must take him to my officer; but you, mademoiselle, what are you doing here? You had better get into your carriage and depart. We do not make war on women.’
‘Oh monsieur, I came out with others from Sebastopol to see the battle. We were told the English and French would be driven into the sea. My brother was on the staff of Prince Mentschikoff, and he was shot through the leg. He is Count Pauloff, lieutenant in the Emperor’s Chevalier Guards. If he is prisoner I remain with him.’
‘That is so,’ said the officer, who was lying on the ground, raising himself on his elbow. ‘Irma will remain with me to nurse me.’
At that moment the trumpets were heard sounding the recall over and over again, and Jack, surprised, was about to obey.
‘I will help you back into your carriage,’ he said to Count Pauloff; ‘tell the driver to follow our troop.’ With the aid of the coachman the count was laid inside, when Sergeant Barrymore came riding up to Jack.
‘Mount and follow me, Blair,’ he said; ‘orders have been received that we retire at once. No prisoners are to be taken; all are to be released.’
‘But this chap is a count, and an A.D.C. to Prince Mentschikoff.’
‘Can’t help it if he’s the Emperor himself. Let him go and follow me.’
In a few words Jack explained to the astonished count that he was free, though the young officer could hardly believe it. He and his sister began to thank Jack most profusely, and would not allow him a minute in which to explain they had nothing to thank him for.
He was about to mount when the count tore a small gold cross from round his neck. ‘Keep this in remembrance of one who will be ever grateful to you,’ he said. ‘If ever it is in my power to repay you rely upon me,’ and he handed the cross to Jack.
As Jack took it the count seized his hand. ‘You are not an officer, I see,’ he said; ‘but you have the manners of a gentleman. Adieu, brave soldier! you should wear golden epaulets!’
Jack shut the door of the carriage, into which the lady had jumped, and the Russian driver, at a word from her, whipped up his horses and followed his countrymen, while Jack and Sergeant Barrymore trotted off to join their comrades.
The Russians fired one solitary gun, their cavalry made some show of covering their retreat, and the battle was ended.
Another honour had been added to Britain’s roll of glory!
NIGHT had fallen upon the slopes of the Alma. The British army had encamped on the ground it had won, and hundreds of camp-fires flickered on the field.
Round one, Jack, Will, Sergeant Linham, Pearson, and Brandon were sitting. They were all moody and silent. A great battle had been fought, a great victory had been won; but there was no jubilation in their hearts.
Darkness fortunately hid from them the terrible sights by which they were surrounded, but it could not shut out the sounds. Groans and cries and moanings for water were heard from all sides, and the lanterns bobbing about in different parts of the field showed where the doctors and ambulance-men were busy. For hours Jack and Will had wandered over the field, taking water to the wounded and often helping to place some shattered hero in a more comfortable position till the doctors—or death—should come to him.
Later, they had eaten their ration of pork by the camp-fire, and now they sat gloomily looking into the flickering flames.
Pearson sucked moodily at his pipe. ‘Hearts will be sore in England when the news of this day’s work is known,’ he said presently.
‘Ay, and hearts will be glad,’ growled Sergeant Linham; ‘the cry of the orphans will be drowned in the shouts over the victory. And so it ought to be. We’re soldiers, aren’t we, and it’s our trade to kill or be killed? Our relations know this, and must expect some of us to go.’
‘That’s true,’ said Pearson.
‘And I want to know,’ said the sergeant, taking his pipe from his mouth—‘I want to know what difference does it make whether we go now, on the field of battle, or in a few years’ time in some hospital? Now, I want to know that.’
No one answered Linham, and, his beak-like nose looking more aggressive by the flickering light of the fire, he continued, ‘It’s better to die a soldier’s sudden death than to lie in bed for weeks like a mangy cur. A soldier’s death is a glorious one, though many a life was thrown away to-day.’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Pearson.
‘Bad leading,’ said Linham solemnly; ‘we’ve been too long at peace. Our Generals are the bravest men on earth; but the way the poor Light Bobs were mishandled, charging up the hillside in a mob, and then left unsupported! Bah, we didn’t fight like that in India!’
Again there was a silence, so Sergeant Linham, knocking the ashes from his pipe, wrapped his cloak round him. ‘It would have been different if our old General that the colonel and I served under in India had been here. Now, I want to know what you think he’d ha’ done. I want—to—know’—— A faint snore finished the sentence. The sergeant had fallen asleep, an example which the others tried to follow; but they found it a difficult task.
Fresh to the horrors of warfare, they could not get the recollection of the terrible sights they had seen out of their minds, and when at last they did drop into fitful slumbers it was only to go through again in their dreams the terrors of the day. It was a positive relief to Jack when, long before dawn, reveille aroused him.
Orders were received that some squadrons of cavalry should at once try and get in touch again with the enemy and find out where he was and what he was doing. Without bite or sup the Lancers mounted and moved off in the darkness. The road was easy to follow. Arms, accoutrements, and dead or wounded men strewed the way. They had not got very far when daylight overtook them, and advancing with great caution they accelerated their pace.
Helmets, shakos, greatcoats, arms of every description littered the ground, and the practised eye of Captain Norreys told him that it had been a panic-stricken crowd which had passed along there a few hours before.
As the sun came out the men got cheerier and threw off something of the depression which seemed to have fallen upon them. They left the road and crossed the undulating grass-covered plains that led up to the heights. Several times during the early morning small parties of Cossacks had been seen; but these, on observing the British troops, turned and galloped off as if for their lives.
Presently the reconnoitring cavalry came in sight of the defeated Russian army, which had evidently encamped for the night on a river which the English afterwards found was named the Katcha. It was clear that the alarm had been given, for on the north side of the river cavalry and artillery could be seen trotting rapidly away, while strings of infantry and baggage all mixed up together streamed along after them. The troops still on the British side of the river were straining every effort to get across, for it was plain they imagined the handful of Lancers they saw was but the advanced guard of the British army.
On the little bridge a terrible jam had taken place. Men, horses, wagons were all mixed up in an inextricable mass, and it was clear to Jack that the army beneath him was only a panic-stricken mob. Men could be seen using whips, officers the flats of their swords, while a confused murmur of voices ascended to the hills. Hundreds of Russians, throwing away the heaviest part of their kit, could be seen dashing into the river and wading across, joining their countrymen on the other side in their mad rush for Sebastopol. The Alma had been a terrible lesson!
Captain Norreys with one or two other officers dismounted and surveyed the scene through their glasses.
Jack was holding their horses.
His captain looked long and earnestly at the scene below him, then said in regretful tones, ‘What a mistake we’re making, lying inactive on the Alma with a beaten foe but a few miles from us! With a dozen squadrons and a horse-battery I’d engage that not one of those Russians ever entered Sebastopol.’
The reconnoitring party ate the rations they had with them, and, having seen the last of the Russians cross the bridge, returned to their camp. They found every one available busy tending the wounded and burying the dead—English, French, and Russian—and a melancholy task it was. In the battle fell 5709 Russians, 2002 British, and 560 French. As Jack rode over the battlefield he closed his eyes to shut out the terrible sights.
The sailors from the vessels were invaluable, and handled the wounded with all the gentleness of women. Many of the poor fellows had to be carried fully four miles to the shore; but despite that more than a thousand were got aboard.
In regimental orders that day there were several surprises for Jack. He found he was promoted corporal ‘for distinguished service rendered at the skirmish on the Bulganak,’ and Sergeant Linham was to be ‘acting trumpet-major,’ while Trumpet-major Joyce was named as orderly to Lord Raglan.
This was very pleasant news to Jack, and that day he took an opportunity of sending home a few lines; telling his mother of the battle and assuring her of his safety, informing her of his promotion but making no mention of the gallant deed by which he had earned it. ‘It’s the first step on the ladder,’ said Jack to himself that night as he surveyed his corporal’s stripes. ‘If ever I live to get home I hope to add a third stripe to these two.’
JACK was heartily glad when, on the third day after the battle, the dead having been buried and the wounded conveyed aboard ship, the forward march was continued.
There had been delays, caused partly by the unreadiness of the French, and partly by the vacillating policy of Marshal St Arnaud, the French commander, a conceited man of mediocre ability, who was even then, poor fellow, dying of disease.
Jack’s officer, Captain Norreys, had been appointed on Lord Lucan’s staff, much to the regret of the troop, who regarded him with the greatest confidence and respect.
‘I’m glad to leave that battlefield behind,’ said Jack to Linham as they rode along.
‘Leave that behind to find another,’ growled the sergeant, who was not in the best of humours; ‘and mayhap the next you won’t leave behind. You’ll stay on it, or under it.’
Without seeing an enemy, the cavalry descended to the valley of the Katcha, where they had seen the panic-stricken troops from the Alma, and there they halted. The village was extremely pretty; the homely, vine-clad cottages had gardens then full of bloom in front and rear; well-filled orchards adjoined the gardens, and the troopers ate their fill of grapes, pears, peaches, and apricots. On entering the cottages, signs of Russian barbarity were met on all sides—furniture smashed, pictures slashed and ripped, boxes and cupboards ransacked, and so on.
The main body of the British army bivouacked that night on the Katcha; but the cavalry pushed on five miles farther, to the Belbeck, where they passed the night more or less uncomfortably, having to stand to their horses for two hours owing to a false alarm.
In the morning it was found that several of the Hussars’ horses had broken away from their lines, and these had doubtless been the cause of the alarm. Soon after daylight an officer arrived from Lord Raglan, and he and Lord Lucan remained some time in conversation.
Then the cavalry started upon that daring ‘flank march’ which the ineptitude of the dying French commander-in-chief had almost forced Lord Raglan to adopt. The advance was led by an experienced officer said to know the country. A horse-battery and a battalion of Rifles accompanied the cavalry, who marched with flankers thrown out. On account of having to keep pace with the Rifles the advance was very slow, the road, which was bad and often exceedingly steep, leading through a dense forest. A narrow lane was supposed to lead to a spot known as Mackenzie’s Farm, and this lane was to be left for the artillery and cavalry, the infantry forcing their way in any sort of order through the forest.
The men were in high spirits and laughed and chatted gaily as they rode along, chaffing the sturdy Rifles and bidding them ‘put their best leg foremost.’ After a march of some miles a halt was made, and Jack, who with his troop was near the head of the column, saw a staff-officer and several of the 8th Hussars busy talking together. The lane branched into two parts, one going straight on, the other going to the right.
‘Ha, hum!’ snorted Sergeant Linham, ‘come to a stop I suppose. I’ll bet they don’t know which road to take.’
This seemed to be the case, for the staff-officer was seen to gallop along one branch, being absent some time. When he returned more talk ensued, and then the troops were put in motion again, going straight on. The horse artillery, however, being some distance in the rear, did not advance along the same lane as the cavalry, but followed the other, and, as it turned out, the correct one.
The road the cavalry was pursuing got narrower and more rutty as they advanced through densely wooded country, and presently a trumpet rang out the halt.
‘What’s up, I wonder?’ said Jack to Pearson. ‘We can’t have lost our way, can we?’
‘We can do anything,’ said Sergeant Linham, riding up. ‘I shouldn’t wonder if we were to come plump upon the Russian cavalry just by accident like—ha, hum! Now, I want to know what’s the use of’——
‘D Troop, prepare to dismount! Dismount!’ cried Cornet Leland; and the men gladly availed themselves of the opportunity of stretching their legs.
Larry, whose troop of the 8th was not far behind Jack’s, came up to seek his friend.
‘Bedad, we seem to be playing a game of hide-and-seek,’ he said. ‘It’s thinking I am that a bite and a sup would be welcome now.’
‘True enough, Larry; but I’ve only half a biscuit left, and my water-bottle’s empty,’ said Jack.
‘Ditto for me,’ said Larry.
The men were told they could ‘stand easy,’ and several wandered off a little way among the trees. Larry and Jack walked towards a spot where wild-flowers were growing in great luxuriance; and, plucking some of these, they wandered farther on till they had got some distance from their regiments.
Presently they came in sight of two tall pine-trees with thin trunks, and they looked at these, then at each other, then both burst out laughing.
‘Bedad, I wonder whether yer thoughts is the same as mine?’ laughed Larry.
‘I was thinking it was years since I climbed a tree,’ said Jack.
‘And never since I left the dear ould counthry have I rivalled the monkeys,’ said the impetuous Irishman. ‘Jack darlint, I’ll race yez up to the top, and the last one up shall stand the other a dhrink of porter the first toime we ever set foot in a canteen again.’
‘Done!’ said Jack, and in a few moments Lancer and Hussar had doffed headdress, sword, and instruments, and were climbing for dear life.
Larry went up as nimbly as a monkey, and out-stripped Jack.
‘Hurroo,’ he cried, ‘I’ve beaten yez!’
‘You have, Larry,’ panted Jack; ‘I give you best. But what a fine view we can get from here! Why, there’s the edge of the forest, and the road, and’——
‘Howly Moses, look there to yer left!’ cried Larry, almost dropping from his perch in his excitement.
‘Russians and baggage!’ gasped Jack, as he gazed down into the road on which Larry’s eyes were fixed.
There, sure enough, was a long line of wagons, all