Czytaj książkę: «A Gallant Grenadier: A Tale of the Crimean War», strona 8

Chapter Eight.
Lost in the Crimea

“Bustle up, you boys! Put your kit together, Tony, as quickly as you can, for we are off at last!” cried Phil excitedly, on his return one morning from the tent which had been set apart for the orderly-room clerks. “I have great news for you.”

“What is it? Out with it, Phil!” came in a chorus from the nine men who shared the tent with him. “A move at last! Hurrah! We’re all precious tired of this place. Is it Russia we’re off to?”

“No, not that, but Varna,” answered Phil. “We sail to-morrow, I have been told, and with the French march against the Russians. It will be the opening scene of a grand campaign, for I hear they are besieging Silistria, in the province of the Danube.”

“Then all them yarns about the Crimea, or whatever they calls it, and taking Sebastopol, is all wrong ’uns,” exclaimed Tony, with disgust. “Never mind, boys. I expects Silistria’s better than that. It’ll be warm at any rate; at least that’s what people say; and I shall be precious glad, for if there’s anything that upsets me, it’s freezing cold weather, and that’s what we’ll have in the Crimea.”

“Anything’s better, I reckon, than sticking in this here place,” chimed in another. “What have we been doing? Simply drilling day and night, it seems, and eating our rations. Wasting time, I calls it. Then every chap has been sick. See how many of our poor fellows has died. Let’s get out of this, I says. Anything’s better than sitting still.”

There was a grunt of assent from all, for disease had already picked out many victims from amongst the men of the combined armies, and inaction amongst a number of troops living in more or less confined quarters had already had disastrous results. Accordingly the move to Varna was hailed with delight, and the men of the Guards embarked with feelings of unmixed pleasure.

Arrived at Varna, a picturesque spot on the sea-coast, they found the French already there, and other troops arriving daily. Not long afterwards a French force set out to march towards Silistria, but with terrible results. Cholera had dogged their footsteps from Marseilles, and seven days after leaving the coast this dread disease attacked the two divisions under General Canrobert with malignant fury, bringing no less than 7000 of the unfortunate men to an untimely end. It was an awful example of sudden death, for in three days the divisions crawled back into Varna more disorganised and downhearted than if they had sustained a terrible defeat.

“It is terrible!” exclaimed Phil when the news reached him; “and worse still to think that the epidemic may come into our camps. If it does, God help us! for thousands will die. Remember our rule, Tony, no fruit. It is the most dangerous article of food at present, and has already killed many by causing dysentery. So beware of it, as you value your life.”

Indeed, so certain was this, that the men were warned against over-indulgence in fruit and vegetables, and the regimental doctor earnestly advised all to boil any water before drinking it. In spite of the warning, however, many were too thoughtless or too careless to heed it, and scarcely had the shattered ranks of the French crawled into Varna when cholera broke out amongst the British. Of these there were some 22,000, whilst the bulk of the garrison was composed of 50,000 French and 8000 Turks. As if by the hand of the Destroying Angel the dread scourge spread through the camp, striking down men on every side, irrespective of race, creed, or age. Hundreds died, and the hospitals were filled to overflowing. As for the still hale and hearty, they went about silently, and as if fearing to laugh or sing, for on all sides their comrades were dying. Instead they stared moodily at one another with wide-open eyes which seemed to ask: “How much longer will this misery last? When will our turn come to fall victims to this dreadful scourge – this terrifying sickness which strikes silently and unawares, and yet so surely and so fatally that he upon whom its grip is fastened can scarcely hope to see the light of another day?” Phil often asked himself these questions.

“The doctor has called for volunteers to nurse the sick,” he said one morning as he sat in the tent and looked at his comrades, whose numbers were already sadly diminished.

“What? Volunteers to nurse them with cholera!” exclaimed one in awe-struck tones.

“Yes, to nurse the cholera patients.”

“He’ll never get any – never!” said the man moodily. “It’s bad enough to know it’s here amongst us. But who’s going to run against it if he’s able to keep away? It’s like shooting yourself.”

“There’s risk certainly,” remarked Phil calmly, “but the doctors take it, and so do their orderlies; and after all, one must die some day. Won’t any of you fellows volunteer?”

No answer was returned, though Tony looked up at his friend with a frightened, half-guilty face, and then, like his comrades, stared moodily at the ground.

“Well, good-bye, in case!” said Phil shortly, and stepped out of the tent.

“Here, what’s this you’re doing, Phil?” gasped Tony hurriedly, following him, and looking searchingly at him as if to read his inmost thoughts.

“I’m going to help, Tony. The men are dying like flies, poor fellows! and the hospital staff is simply overwhelmed. Volunteers are asked for, and I’m one. At any other time I wouldn’t dream of it, but now it’s different. Besides, this inaction is too trying, and I feel that I must have something to occupy my thoughts.”

“Don’t say no more, mate, I’m with yer,” Tony blurted out, flushing red with shame and grasping his friend’s hand. “It’s just what a chap like you would do, and I’m blowed if I don’t come along too.”

It was a desperate undertaking for Tony, for, like all uneducated people, he had a far greater dread of cholera than others better informed. But his friend’s decision was enough for him, and, swallowing his fears with a gulp, he wiped the perspiration from his forehead and followed Phil to the hospital.

“There, it’s not half so bad as you imagined, and, for the matter of that, not nearly so serious an undertaking as I thought,” said Phil, some two weeks later, as he and Tony sat on the door-step of the hospital, taking a little fresh air after their unpleasant work.

“No, ’tain’t as bad, but it’s trying,” remarked Tony thoughtfully.

And he was right. It had been trying work. Gifted with considerable common sense and a fair education, Phil had rapidly picked up the duties of a nurse sufficiently well to be able to render real help to his comrades who were suffering from cholera, and was now in charge of a large ward, with Tony to help him. And together they had worked day and night, relieving one another, and earning the praise of doctors and patients alike.

“You shall never regret this sacrifice,” said the doctor gratefully. “I have already mentioned you to the colonel; and be sure, when honours are given at the end of the campaign, you will not be overlooked. I know what it means to you, and that you would far rather face the guns of the Russians than this disease.”

“It’s not so bad, now we’re used to it, sir,” said Phil; “but I own I’d far rather be in the fighting-line; not so much because I fear the disease, as because it is so distressing to see all these poor fellows die in agony.”

“Right, lad, right! I know what it means,” the doctor answered, with a sigh. “But, thank Heavens! the epidemic is abating.”

By the middle of August there was a considerable decrease, though the fleet was suffering severely in spite of having severed its connection with the shore. A week later the number of cases was infinitesimal compared with what it had been, and in consequence arrangements were pushed forward for another move.

“We shall go to the Crimea this time,” said the doctor, who seemed to have taken quite a fancy to Phil, and often indulged in a chat with him. “Austria has moved 50,000 or more of her troops down Silistria way, and the Russians have raised the siege and retired. Now we are going to show them that war cannot be commenced with impunity on such trivial grounds. It is supposed to be a secret, but Sebastopol will undoubtedly be our object, and we shall endeavour to destroy it.”

It was evident to all, in fact, that something was in the wind. A huge fleet of East Indiamen and other craft assembled off Varna to act as transports, and immense barges were prepared for the reception of artillery. Stores, too, stood in enormous stacks down by the shore, and everything pointed to a change of quarters.

The news of a possible move spread like fire through the camp, and at once the spirits of the soldiers rose. Despair gave way to cheerfulness, and whistling and singing were again to be heard. At last came the orders to embark, and on September 4th the British fleet, which stretched away to the horizon, set sail for an unknown port, and with an agreement to meet the French and Turkish vessels en route. It is unnecessary to detail the vexatious dallying and delay that occurred. Had fixed plans been drawn out before the departure from Varna, the allied armies could have reached the Crimea and landed upon its shores in three days, but nothing had been arranged. The fleets sailed hither and thither aimlessly, it seemed, and finally anchored, while a party was sent forward to reconnoitre. The natural result was that the Russians suspected that a descent was contemplated upon Sebastopol and at once prepared for emergencies, entrenching the landward face of the town and fortress, which till then was almost devoid of batteries and fortifications.

But at last something was decided, and at daybreak on September 14th the huge fleet of transports, now joined by French and Turks, dropped anchor off Lake Saki, near Eupatoria, some 34 miles from Sebastopol.

The boom of a gun at once echoed along the shore, followed by a puff of smoke from a port-hole of the French flagship. At once a boat shot away from her stern and made for the beach.

“Ah! the beggars!” exclaimed Phil. “They will be the first ashore. Why does not our general send a boat to race them?”

“Plenty of time, mate,” growled Tony, no more pleased than his friend to see their dapper allies to the front. “We’ll show ’em yet; see if we don’t.”

All eyes were fixed on the boat. It ran gently on to the beach, its crew sprang out, and within a few minutes a flagstaff was erected, and the tricolour run up to the accompaniment of a shrill “Vive l’Empereur!” faintly heard across the water.

“Yes, shout if yer like,” cried Tony in disgust. “See how we’ll show yer. It don’t take much to put up a flag there on the shore, but wait till it comes to planting it in a fort; we’ll be there with yer, and p’r’aps show yer the way.”

“Come, come,” laughed Phil. “It’s all your jealousy. The French are a brave nation and can fight; though I’m glad to think that we have always beaten them. Ah! there goes another gun, and see, they are disembarking.”

“Yes, so they are; but look away over there,” exclaimed Tony, pointing to the shore, where on an upland plateau, above the lake, some two hundred yards from the sea, stood five shaggy-looking ponies with figures seated on their backs holding long lances in their hands.

“Cossacks!” remarked Phil. “They are watching us. It seems strange that the Russians have made no preparations to oppose our landing, but I suppose they were quite uncertain as to the exact spot we should hit upon.”

Transferring their attention from the figures on the shore to the French fleet, they watched, not without some amount of envy, the rapid disembarkation of the soldiers. But very soon another gun boomed out, and boats dashed from the British men-of-war towards the transports.

“Now our turn has come,” remarked Phil. “Come along, Tony. We’ll get our kit strapped on, and then we shall be ready at any moment.”

“Pass the word along there for Corporal Western,” sounded across the deck at this moment; and, hastily making his canteen fast, Phil shouldered his Minié rifle and stepped up to the adjutant.

“Take two men,” the latter ordered, “and mount guard over the boxes of ammunition. You will land with them and see them safely stacked out of reach of the water, and remain in charge of them till you are relieved.”

“I understand, sir,” said Phil, saluting smartly by bringing his disengaged hand across to his rifle and striding away.

“Tony, I want you,” he said, “and we’ll take Sam Wilson as well. We’re to mount guard over the ammunition.”

It was the first really responsible charge that Phil had had entrusted to him, and he felt proud of it. Taking Tony and Sam with him, they stacked the boxes which had just been hoisted from the hold, and while one strode up and down in front, the other two sat down and waited for the order to disembark. Soon it came, and the men, who had fallen in, two deep, slowly filed to the gangways.

It was a difficult undertaking to disembark so many, but with the help of the sailors the greater part of the work was completed by nightfall.

“By Jove, it’s really grand to see how those Jack Tars work,” remarked Phil. “They have made no end of trips to the shore already, and here they are preparing to tow us.”

Honest Jack indeed worked like a slave. As if to show his comrade-in-arms what he could do, and that he was master on the sea, he handed each soldier down into the boats as tenderly as if he were a child, remarking: “Now sit down there, matey. It’ll soon be over, and this here swell’s simply nothing;” or, “Hang on to that there ladder with yer eyebrows. Yer ain’t used to these monkey tricks, and I’ve seen a better man than you let go and get a sousing.”

Thomas Atkins listened to it all good-humouredly, and took his place obediently, while the sailors pulled the heavy boats and flats ashore.

Phil and his charge were taken in a special boat, and on landing the boxes were carried up and stacked in the centre of the camp selected for the Grenadier Guards. By this time the wind had risen, and rain had commenced to fall.

“It looks like raining all night, Phil,” said Tony ruefully, staring up at the heavy clouds. “It’s a fine look-out for us, for there ain’t a single tent amongst us.”

“Then we’re no worse off than our officers, Tony. I see, though, that those Frenchies are housed under tiny tents they call ‘tentes d’abri’. Why shouldn’t we make a kind of hutch with these boxes. One of us must do sentry-go outside, of course, but the other two may as well keep dry, and for the matter of that there are sufficient boxes to make a regular hut big enough to lie down in, and high enough to cover the sentry.”

“Lummy, that’s a cute dodge!” cried Tony. “We’ll fix it up at once. Come along, Sam; lend a hand before this rain goes through us.”

The boxes were heavy, but within a quarter of an hour quite a respectable house had been formed, with a blanket for a roof, and the opening turned away from the wind. Into this two of them crept, while the third stood on guard under the covering. By this means, while everyone else in the British lines spent a miserable night, and was drenched to the skin, Phil and his comrades escaped the rain, and awoke in the morning refreshed by a good sleep.

Phil was not relieved from his charge, but, with the two men helping him, remained on guard all the following day, when a native cart, called an “araba”, was provided for the carriage of the ammunition, and he was informed that he would be in charge of it, and must see to having it loaded before the troops marched.

“A precious nice game,” snorted Tony, when he heard the order. “Here we are, stuck right in rear of the troops, in charge of a few boxes of ammunition. Why couldn’t someone else have been chosen?”

“Don’t you grumble,” replied Phil severely. “We have a responsible charge, and for all we know we may have even more fun and adventure than the others. Now it’s your turn for sentry-go, so out you get. You can grumble there to your heart’s content.”

Tony departed abashed, and Phil and Sam looked on at the debarkation, which still continued. By the 17th all were ashore, save the sick, of whom there were still a large number. Even to a veteran soldier it was indeed a most interesting sight to see the huge allied army assembled on the upland slopes above the lake. In the distance the Turks, sitting contentedly and composedly in their tents; the French, like so many ants, bustling hither and thither and busily superintending the mid-day meal; and the lines of the British, now provided with tents for the few days before they marched from the shore.

It was a large force, and as many regiments were to make themselves for ever famous in the course of the campaign, it will perhaps be advisable to explain how our army was divided.

In chief command was Lord Raglan, an officer who for many years had lived a peaceful life, and had therefore little, if any, experience of warfare. His army consisted of six divisions, each made up of several regiments and commanded by a brigadier, or in some cases divided into two portions under different leaders.

The Light Division consisted of the 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade, 7th Fusiliers, 19th Regiment and 23rd Fusiliers, under Major-general Codrington, and the 33rd, 77th, and 88th Regiments, under Brigadier-general Buller.

The First Division, under the Duke of Cambridge, included the Grenadier Guards, the Coldstream and Scots Fusilier Guards, now the Scots Guards, with Major-general Bentinck in command, and the 42nd, 79th, and 93rd Highlanders, fine brawny sons of the heather, under Brigadier Sir C. Campbell.

The Second Division comprised the 30th, 55th, and 95th Regiments, under Brigadier-general Pennefather, and the 41st, 47th, and 49th, under Brigadier-general Adams.

The Third Division, under Sir R. England, was composed of the 1st Royals, 28th, 38th, 44th, 50th, and 68th Regiments, commanded by Brigadiers Sir John Campbell and Eyre.

The Fourth Division, under Sir George Cathcart, consisted of the 20th, 21st, and 63rd Regiments and of the 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade. The 46th and 57th Regiments, which were to form part of it, had not yet arrived, but were en route from England.

The Cavalry Division, under Lord Lucan, was divided into a light brigade, under Lord Cardigan, which was made up of the 4th light Dragoons, the 8th and 11th Hussars, the 13th Dragoons, and the 17th Lancers; and the Heavy Cavalry Brigade, in command of Brigadier-general Scarlett, which comprised the Scots Greys, 14th Dragoon Guards, 5th Dragoon Guards, and 6th Dragoons, the first regiment not having yet put in an appearance.

It was indeed an immense force, and of course needed a huge commissariat train to feed it.

On the 18th the allied armies moved out of camp towards the Alma, the French being on the right, next the coast-line, and supported there by the guns of the fleets, while the brigade of Guards marched in rear. Phil took his place behind his regiment, and, slinging his rifle, acted as driver of the araba, while Tony and Sam trudged along on either side.

“It won’t be long now before we hear guns,” he remarked cheerfully from his elevated perch on top of the ammunition-boxes. “The Cossack fires were only a couple of miles in front of us last night, and it is scarcely likely that we shall be allowed to advance far without opposition. So look out for squalls, you fellows.”

“It’s what we’ve come for, mate,” Tony replied with a shrug of his broad shoulders, “but it strikes me as we’ll have to be looking out for trouble with this here old cart afore long. This wheel won’t stand much of this kind of jolting.”

The roads were indeed in places extremely rough, and a foot or more deep in mud after the recent rains and the trample of the troops in advance.

“Didn’t I tell yer so,” cried Tony a moment later, as the araba sank almost axle-deep and stopped abruptly. “Whip up them horses, Phil, or we’ll get left behind.”

Phil promptly applied the whip, but to no effect, and before the cart was again set in motion by the united efforts of his comrades and the horses, they had lost a considerable amount of ground. Then, to their intense vexation, one of the animals stumbled, and, falling upon the shaft, snapped it in two.

“What a misfortune!” exclaimed Phil, surveying the wreck. “But we are in charge of this ammunition, you fellows, and must bring it through. It is getting dark already, so I expect the troops will soon be halting. Lend a hand, both of you, and we’ll splice this break, and catch the regiment up later on.”

“You’ll have to unload first, mate,” Tony answered. “This weight is too much for one horse to keep up while we’re mending, and besides, we’ll get the job done in half the time if we take ’em both out and empty the cart.”

Accordingly all three set to work and lifted the heavy boxes out. Then the horses were unharnessed, and with a length of rope and a batten of wood a shift was made to mend the break.

“That will do, I think,” said Phil at last, surveying the work with satisfaction. “Now in with the animals, and let us get along as quickly as possible. We must be a couple of miles behind the troops, but fortunately the road is clear, and though it is a dark night we ought to reach them without trouble.”

Once more they set out on the road, and were congratulating themselves on the fact that they were close to the camp, when Tony called a halt.

“What are them coves over there?” he asked, pointing ahead to a collection of camp-fires, in front of which mounted figures were flitting. “If them ain’t Russians, I’m a Frenchie.”

“They look remarkably like Cossacks, I must say, Tony,” replied Phil anxiously. “Stop here a few moments while I go forward and make certain.”

In another minute he had disappeared in the darkness. Walking boldly forward for three hundred yards he then judged it wise to observe some caution, and, stooping low, crept forward on the turf at the roadside, which completely muffled his footsteps. Suddenly a figure loomed up in front of him, followed by another, and, flinging himself on the ground, Phil crawled behind a growth of low bush and hastily hid himself from view.

“There, Petroff,” he heard a harsh voice say in Russian, “that is your post. Remain there till you are relieved. If these pigs of Englishmen advance this way gallop back and warn us. See that you do not sleep, my man, or as the Czar, our master, lives, I will hang you to the nearest tree.”

“Excellency, your orders shall be obeyed,” the Cossack trooper answered humbly, and then, as his officer rode off, swore in a low but audible voice.

“Hang me to the nearest tree!” he muttered angrily. “Ah! Will he! Wait, your most noble excellency. Who knows how soon a bullet shall put an end to your threats, and should it come from behind instead of from these foreign pigs, then – ah, well! the fortune of war.”

The man gave a stamp, as if to show his hatred, and, turning his horse, led it back a few paces. Phil at once rose to his feet and took to his heels in the direction of the cart.

“We have lost our way,” he said, on rejoining his friends. “I cannot imagine how it has happened, but perhaps the British camp lies in a hollow, and we have mistaken the Russian fires for theirs. We evidently went off to the left, and now we must keep to the right.”

Whipping up the horses, they pushed on once more, but two hours passed and still there was no sign of the camp.

“We’re lost, that’s what it comes to,” said Tony calmly. “What shall we do, Phil? Seems to me ’tain’t no use going ahead like this, for we shall be into the middle of the Russian army before long.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, Tony. I think we had better stop here for to-night, and start again at daylight. We’ll take the horses out and tie them on behind. No smoking, you fellows, and keep as quiet as you can. A match might lead to our capture, and we don’t want to see the inside of a Russian prison so early in the campaign.”

“Then, if we’re stopping here, I vote we prepare for the worst,” said Tony. “Supposing daylight shows us Cossacks all round, we sha’n’t stand a chance. It won’t take no more than an hour to build a wall with these boxes, and it may come in useful, for it’s better to lie behind cover and fire than stand out in the open.”

“That’s a good idea, Tony, and we’ll see to it,” agreed Phil readily. “Now all together and get these horses out. Tie them with a long rope. In that way they will get a feed of grass, and as for water, there is plenty of dew falling to quench their thirst.”

An hour later a wall some six feet long had been built close alongside the cart, leaving room for Phil and his friends to lie between it and the wheel. Then, having done all that was possible, they ate a portion of the three days’ rations which each carried in his haversack, and, wrapping themselves in their blankets, lay down to sleep, one of their number, however, being left seated upon the boxes to keep guard.

Three hours later, when Phil’s turn came for duty, the sky was already brightening in the east, and he waited anxiously for daylight. Gradually the dawn lit up the sky, chasing the dark clouds away, and finally banishing the grey mist which hung like a pall over the ground. Phil looked round in search of the British, but there was not a sign of them. A moment later a shout from behind attracted his attention, and turning, his heart leapt into his mouth at the sight of five wild-looking Cossack horsemen spurring their wiry ponies towards the cart, with their long lances already lowered and ready for the charge.