Chapter 16
UNDER FIRE ON THE FATAL 18TH OF JUNE—BEFORE THE REDAN—AT THE CEMETERY—THE ARMISTICE—DEATHS AT HEAD-QUARTERS—DEPRESSION IN THE CAMP—PLENTY IN THE CRIMEA—THE PLAGUE OF FLIES—UNDER FIRE AT THE BATTLE OF THE TCHERNAYA—WORK ON THE FIELD—MY PATIENTS.
UNDER FIRE ON THE FATAL 18TH OF JUNE. BEFORE THE REDAN. AT THE CEMETERY. THE ARMISTICE. DEATHS AT HEADQUARTERS. LOW SPIRITS IN THE CAMP. PLENTY IN THE CRIMEA. THE PLAGUE OF FLIES. UNDER FIRE AT THE BATTLE OF THE TCHERNAYA. WORK ON THE FIELD. MY PATIENTS.
Before I left the Crimea to return to England, the Adjutant-General of the British Army gave me a testimonial, which the reader has already read in Chapter XIV., in which he stated that I had “frequently exerted myself in the most praiseworthy manner in attending wounded men, even in positions of great danger.” The simple meaning of this sentence is that, in the discharge of what I conceived to be my duty, I was frequently “under fire.” Now I am far from wishing to speak of this fact with any vanity or pride, because, after all, one soon gets accustomed to it, and it fails at last to create more than temporary uneasiness. Indeed, after Sebastopol was ours, you might often see officers and men strolling coolly, even leisurely, across and along those streets, exposed to the enemy’s fire, when a little haste would have carried them beyond the reach of danger. The truth was, I believe, they had grown so habituated to being in peril from shot or shell, that they rather liked the sensation, and found it difficult to get on without a little gratuitous excitement and danger.
Before I left the Crimea to return to England, the Adjutant-General of the British Army gave me a testimonial. The reader has already read it in Chapter XIV. He stated that I had “frequently exerted myself in the most praiseworthy manner in attending wounded men, even in positions of great danger.” Simply put, I was often “under fire” while doing what I believed was my duty. I do not wish to speak of this with any vanity or pride. After all, one soon gets used to being under fire. Eventually, it causes no more than temporary uneasiness. Indeed, after Sebastopol was ours, you might often see officers and men walking calmly, even leisurely, along and across streets exposed to enemy fire. A little haste would have taken them out of danger. The truth was, I believe, that they had grown so used to danger from shot or shell that they rather liked the feeling. They found it difficult to get by without a little unnecessary excitement and danger.
But putting aside the great engagements, where I underwent considerable peril, one could scarcely move about the various camps without some risk. The Russians had, it seemed, sunk great ships’ guns into the earth, from which they fired shot and shell at a very long range, which came tumbling and plunging between, and sometimes into the huts and tents, in a very unwieldy and generally harmless fashion. Once when I was riding through the camp of the Rifles, a round shot came plunging towards me, and before I or the horse had time to be much frightened, the ugly fellow buried itself in the earth, with a heavy “thud,” a little distance in front of us.
But leaving aside the major battles, where I faced considerable danger, I could hardly move around the camps without some risk. The Russians seemed to have buried large ships’ guns in the ground. From these guns they fired shot and shells over a very long distance. The shot and shells tumbled and plunged between the huts and tents, and sometimes into them. They moved awkwardly and were generally harmless. Once, as I rode through the camp of the Rifles, a round shot came plunging toward me. Before either my horse or I had time to be very frightened, the ugly fellow buried itself in the ground. It landed with a heavy “thud,” a short distance in front of us.
In the first week of June, the third bombardment of Sebastopol opened, and the Spring Hill visitors had plenty to talk about. Many were the surmises as to when the assault would take place, of the success of which nobody entertained a doubt. Somehow or other, important secrets oozed out in various parts of the camp, which the Russians would have given much to know, and one of these places was the British Hotel. Some such whispers were afloat on the evening of Sunday the 17th of June, and excited me strangely. Any stranger not in my secret would have considered that my conduct fully justified my partner, Mr. Day, in sending me home, as better fitted for a cell in Bedlam than the charge of an hotel in the Crimea. I never remember feeling more excited or more restless than upon that day, and no sooner had night fairly closed in upon us than, instead of making preparations for bed, this same stranger would have seen me wrap up—the nights were still cold—and start off for a long walk to Cathcart’s Hill, three miles and a half away. I stayed there until past midnight, but when I returned home, there was no rest for me; for I had found out that, in the stillness of the night, many regiments were marching down to the trenches, and that the dawn of day would be the signal that should let them loose upon the Russians. The few hours still left before daybreak, were made the most of at Spring Hill. We were all busily occupied in cutting bread and cheese and sandwiches, packing up fowls, tongues, and ham, wine and spirits, while I carefully filled the large bag, which I always carried into the field slung across my shoulder, with lint, bandages, needles, thread, and medicines; and soon after daybreak everything was ready packed upon two mules, in charge of my steadiest lad, and, I leading the way on horseback, the little cavalcade left the British Hotel before the sun of the fatal 18th of June had been many hours old.
In the first week of June, the third bombardment of Sebastopol began, giving the visitors at Spring Hill plenty to discuss. There was much speculation about when the assault would take place. Nobody doubted that it would succeed. Somehow, important secrets leaked out in various parts of the camp, secrets the Russians would have given much to know. The British Hotel was one of those places. Some such whispers were going around on the evening of Sunday, June 17, and they excited me strangely. A stranger who did not know my secret would have thought my behavior fully justified my partner, Mr. Day, in sending me home. Such a stranger would have thought me better suited to a cell in Bedlam than to running a hotel in the Crimea. I cannot remember ever feeling more excited or restless than I did that day. As soon as night had fully fallen, the same stranger would have seen me wrap up warmly, since the nights were still cold. Instead of getting ready for bed, I set off on a long walk to Cathcart’s Hill, three and a half miles away. I stayed there until after midnight, but when I returned home, I could not rest. I had discovered that many regiments were marching down to the trenches in the stillness of the night. At daybreak, they would be unleashed on the Russians. At Spring Hill, we made the most of the few hours left before dawn. We were all busy cutting bread and cheese, making sandwiches, and packing poultry, tongues, ham, wine, and spirits. Meanwhile, I carefully filled the large bag I always carried over my shoulder into the field. I packed it with lint, bandages, needles, thread, and medicines. Soon after daybreak, everything was packed on two mules in the care of my most reliable lad. With me leading the way on horseback, the little cavalcade left the British Hotel a few hours after sunrise on that fatal June 18.
It was not long before our progress was arrested by the cavalry pickets closely stationed to stop all stragglers and spectators from reaching the scene of action. But after a Blight parley and when they found out who I was, and how I was prepared for the day’s work, the men raised a shout for me, and, with their officer’s sanction, allowed me to pass. So I reached Cathcart’s Hill crowded with non-combatants, and, leaving there the mules, loaded myself with what provisions I could carry, and—it was a work of no little difficulty and danger—succeeded in reaching the reserves of Sir Henry Barnard’s division, which was to have stormed something, I forget what; but when they found the attack upon the Redan was a failure, very wisely abstained. Here I found plenty of officers who soon relieved me of my refreshments, and some wounded men who found the contents of my bag very useful. At length I made my way to the Woronzoff Road, where the temporary hospital had been erected, and there I found the doctors hard enough at work, and hastened to help them as best I could. I bound up the wounds and ministered to the wants of a good many, and stayed there some considerable time.
Before long, cavalry pickets stopped our progress. They were stationed close together to keep all stragglers and spectators from reaching the scene of action. But after a brief discussion, they learned who I was and how I had prepared for the day’s work. The men gave a shout for me and, with their officer’s permission, let me pass. I reached Cathcart’s Hill, which was crowded with non-combatants, and left the mules there. I loaded myself with as many provisions as I could carry. Then, with considerable difficulty and danger, I reached the reserves of Sir Henry Barnard’s division. The division was supposed to have stormed something, though I forget what. But when they found that the attack on the Redan had failed, they very wisely held back. There I found plenty of officers who soon relieved me of my refreshments. Some wounded men also found the contents of my bag very useful. At last I made my way to the Woronzoff Road, where the temporary hospital had been set up. The doctors were hard at work, and I hurried to help them as best I could. I bandaged the wounds of quite a few men and attended to their needs. I stayed there for a considerable time.
Upon the way, and even here, I was “under fire.” More frequently than was agreeable, a shot would come ploughing up the ground and raising clouds of dust, or a shell whizz above us. Upon these occasions those around would cry out, “Lie down, mother, lie down!” and with very undignified and unladylike haste I had to embrace the earth, and remain there until the same voices would laughingly assure me that the danger was over, or one, more thoughtful than the rest, would come to give me a helping hand, and hope that the old lady was neither hit nor frightened. Several times in my wanderings on that eventful day, of which I confess to have a most confused remembrance, only knowing that I looked after many wounded men, I was ordered back, but each time my bag of bandages and comforts for the wounded proved my passport. While at the hospital I was chiefly of use looking after those, who, either from lack of hands or because their hurts were less serious, had to wait, pained and weary, until the kind-hearted doctors—who, however, looked more like murderers—could attend to them. And the grateful words and smile which rewarded me for binding up a wound or giving cooling drink was a pleasure worth risking life for at any time. It was here that I received my only wound during the campaign. I threw myself too hastily on the ground, in obedience to the command of those around me, to escape a threatening shell, and fell heavily on the thumb of my right hand, dislocating it. It was bound up on the spot and did not inconvenience me much, but it has never returned to its proper shape.
On the way, and even here, I was “under fire.” More often than I liked, a shot would plow up the ground and raise clouds of dust, or a shell would whiz above us. Then those around me would cry, “Lie down, mother, lie down!” I had to throw myself on the ground with very undignified and unladylike haste. I stayed there until those same voices laughingly assured me that the danger was over. Sometimes one of them, more thoughtful than the rest, would come and help me up. He would hope that the old lady was neither hit nor frightened. Several times as I moved about that eventful day, I was ordered back. I confess that my memory of the day is very confused. I know only that I looked after many wounded men. Each time I was ordered back, though, my bag of bandages and comforts for the wounded served as my passport. At the hospital, I was most useful looking after the men who had to wait, in pain and exhausted. They had to wait either because there were too few hands to help or because their wounds were less serious. They waited until the kindhearted doctors could attend to them, although the doctors looked more like murderers. The grateful words and smiles I received for bandaging a wound or giving a cooling drink were a pleasure worth risking my life for at any time. It was here that I received my only wound during the campaign. Those around me told me to get down to escape a shell that threatened us. I threw myself down too hastily and landed heavily on my right thumb, dislocating it. It was bandaged on the spot and did not trouble me much, but it has never returned to its proper shape.
After this, first washing my hands in some sherry from lack of water, I went back to Cathcart’s Hill, where I found my horse, and heard that the good-for-nothing lad, either frightened or tired of waiting, had gone away with the mules. I had to ride three miles after him, and then the only satisfaction I had arose from laying my horse-whip about his shoulders. After that, working my way round, how I can scarcely tell, I got to the extreme left attack, where General Eyre’s division had been hotly engaged all day, and had suffered severely. I left my horse in charge of some men, and with no little difficulty, and at no little risk, crept down to where some wounded men lay, with whom I left refreshments. And then—it was growing late—I started for Spring Hill, where I heard all about the events of the luckless day from those who had seen them from posts of safety, while I, who had been in the midst of it all day, knew so little.
After this, I washed my hands in some sherry because there was no water. Then I went back to Cathcart’s Hill, where I found my horse. I heard that the good-for-nothing lad had gone away with the mules, either frightened or tired of waiting. I had to ride three miles after him. My only satisfaction was whipping his shoulders with my riding whip. After that, I made my way around, though I can hardly say how, to the far left of the attack. General Eyre’s division had been heavily engaged there all day and had suffered severe losses. I left my horse with some men and, with great difficulty and at considerable risk, crept down to some wounded men. I left refreshments with them. Then, as it was growing late, I set off for Spring Hill. There I heard all about the events of that unfortunate day from people who had watched from safe positions. I had been in the midst of it all day, yet I knew so little.
On the following day some Irishmen of the 8th Royals brought me, in token of my having been among them, a Russian woman’s dress and a poor pigeon, which they had brought away from one of the houses in the suburb where their regiment suffered so severely.
The next day, some Irishmen from the 8th Royals brought me a Russian woman’s dress and a poor pigeon. They gave them to me as a memento of my time among them. They had taken both from a house in the suburb where their regiment had suffered so severely.
But that evening of the 18th of June was a sad one, and the news that came in of those that had fallen were most heartrending. Both the leaders, who fell so gloriously before the Redan, had been very good to the mistress of Spring Hill. But a few days before the 18th, Col. Y—— had merrily declared that I should have a silver salver to hand about things upon, instead of the poor shabby one I had been reduced to; while Sir John C—— had been my kind patron for some years. It was in my house in Jamaica that Lady C—— had once lodged when her husband was stationed in that island. And when the recall home came, Lady C——, who, had she been like most women, would have shrunk from any exertion, declared that she was a soldier’s wife and would accompany him. Fortunately the “Blenheim” was detained in the roads a few days after the time expected for her departure, and I put into its father’s arms a little Scotchman, born within sight of the blue hills of Jamaica. And yet with these at home, the brave general—as I read in the Times a few weeks later—displayed a courage amounting to rashness, and, sending away his aides-de-camp, rushed on to a certain death.
But the evening of June 18 was a sad one. The news that came in about those who had fallen was heartbreaking. Both leaders who fell so gloriously before the Redan had been very good to the mistress of Spring Hill. Just a few days before the 18th, Col. Y—— had cheerfully declared that I should have a silver tray to serve things on. It would replace the shabby one I had been reduced to using. Sir John C—— had been my kind patron for some years. Lady C—— had once stayed at my house in Jamaica while her husband was stationed on the island. When he was recalled home, Lady C—— declared that she was a soldier’s wife and would accompany him. Most women in her position would have shrunk from such an effort. Fortunately, the “Blenheim” was held in the harbor for a few days beyond its expected departure. I placed in his father’s arms a little Scotsman, born within sight of Jamaica’s blue hills. Yet, even with his wife and child at home, the brave general showed courage that bordered on recklessness. I read in the Times a few weeks later that he sent away his aides-de-camp and rushed to certain death.
On the following day, directly I heard of the armistice, I hastened to the scene of action, anxious to see once more the faces of those who had been so kind to me in life. That battle-field was a fearful sight for a woman to witness, and if I do not pray God that I may never see its like again, it is because I wish to be useful all my life, and it is in scenes of horror and distress that a woman can do so much. It was late in the afternoon, not, I think, until half-past four, that the Russians brought over the bodies of the two leaders of yesterday’s assault. They had stripped Sir John of epaulettes, sword, and boots. Ah! how my heart felt for those at home who would so soon hear of this day’s fatal work. It was on the following day, I think, that I saw them bury him near Cathcart’s Hill, where his tent had been pitched. If I had been in the least humour for what was ludicrous, the looks and curiosity of the Russians who saw me during the armistice would have afforded me considerable amusement. I wonder what rank they assigned me.
The next day, as soon as I heard about the armistice, I hurried to the battlefield. I was anxious to see once more the faces of those who had been so kind to me in life. The battlefield was a terrible sight for a woman to witness. Yet I do not pray to God that I may never see such a sight again. That is because I wish to be useful all my life, and a woman can do so much amid horror and distress. It was late in the afternoon, I think not until half past four, when the Russians brought over the bodies of the two leaders of the previous day’s assault. They had stripped Sir John of his epaulettes, sword, and boots. Ah, how my heart ached for those at home who would soon hear of that day’s deadly events. I think it was the next day that I saw them bury him near Cathcart’s Hill, where his tent had been pitched. If I had been at all in the mood for humor, the looks and curiosity of the Russians who saw me during the armistice would have greatly amused me. I wonder what rank they thought I held.
How true it is, as somebody has said, that misfortunes never come singly. N.B. Pleasures often do. For while we were dull enough at this great trouble, we had cholera raging around us, carrying off its victims of all ranks. There was great distress in the Sardinian camp on this account, and I soon lost another good customer, General E——, carried off by the same terrible plague. Before Mrs. E—— left the Crimea, she sent several useful things, kept back from the sale of the general’s effects. At this sale I wanted to buy a useful waggon, but did not like to bid against Lord W——, who purchased it; but (I tell this anecdote to show how kind they all were to me) when his lordship heard of this he sent it over to Spring Hill, with a message that it was mine for a far lower price than he had given for it. And since my return home I have had to thank the same nobleman for still greater favours. But who, indeed, has not been kind to me?
How true it is, as someone has said, that misfortunes never come alone. Note: Pleasures often do. While we were feeling miserable over this great trouble, cholera was raging around us, killing people of all ranks. The cholera caused great distress in the Sardinian camp. I soon lost another good customer, General E..., to the same terrible plague. Before Mrs. E... left the Crimea, she sent me several useful things that had been kept back from the sale of the general’s belongings. At the sale, I wanted to buy a useful wagon, but I did not like to bid against Lord W..., who bought it. I tell this story to show how kind they all were to me. When Lord W... heard that I had wanted the wagon, he sent it to Spring Hill. He sent a message saying it was mine for far less than he had paid for it. Since my return home, I have had to thank the same nobleman for even greater favors. But who, indeed, has not been kind to me?
Within a week after General E——’s death, a still greater calamity happened. Lord Raglan died—that great soldier who had such iron courage, with the gentle smile and kind word that always show the good man. I was familiar enough with his person; for, although people did not know it in England, he was continually in the saddle looking after his suffering men, and scheming plans for their benefit. And the humblest soldier will remember that, let who might look stern and distant, the first man in the British army ever had a kind word to give him.
Within a week of General E’s death, an even greater calamity occurred. Lord Raglan died. He was a great soldier with iron courage, a gentle smile, and a kind word that always showed he was a good man. I knew him well by sight. Although people in England did not know it, he was constantly on horseback, looking after his suffering men and making plans to help them. Even the humblest soldier will remember that, however stern and distant others might seem, the highest-ranking man in the British army always had a kind word for him.
During the time he was ill I was at head-quarters several times, and once his servants allowed me to peep into the room where their master lay. I do not think they knew that he was dying, but they seemed very sad and low—far more so than he for whom they feared. And on the day of his funeral I was there again. I never saw such heartfelt gloom as that which brooded on the faces of his attendants; but it was good to hear how they all, even the humblest, had some kind memory of the great general whom Providence had called from his post at such a season of danger and distress. And once again they let me into the room in which the coffin lay, and I timidly stretched out my hand and touched a corner of the union-jack which lay upon it; and then I watched it wind its way through the long lines of soldiery towards Kamiesch, while, ever and anon, the guns thundered forth in sorrow, not in anger. And for days after I could not help thinking of the “Caradoc,” which was ploughing its way through the sunny sea with its sad burden.
While he was ill, I visited headquarters several times. Once, his servants allowed me to peek into the room where their master lay. I do not think they knew he was dying. But they seemed very sad and downcast, far more so than the man they feared for. I was there again on the day of his funeral. I had never seen such deep sorrow on the faces of his attendants. But it was good to hear that all of them, even the humblest, had a kind memory of the great general. Providence had called him from his post at such a time of danger and distress. Once again, they let me into the room where the coffin lay. I timidly reached out and touched a corner of the Union Jack covering it. Then I watched the coffin make its way through the long lines of soldiers toward Kamiesch. From time to time, the guns thundered in sorrow, not in anger. For days afterward, I could not help thinking of the “Caradoc” sailing through the sunny sea with its sad burden.
It was not in the nature of the British army to remain long dull, and before very long we went on gaily as ever, forgetting the terrible 18th of June, or only remembering it to look forward to the next assault compensating for all. And once more the British Hotel was filled with a busy throng, and laughter and fun re-echoed through its iron rafters. Nothing of consequence was done in the front for weeks, possibly because Mr. Russell was taking holiday, and would not return until August.
It was not in the nature of the British army to stay gloomy for long. Before long, we were as cheerful as ever. We forgot the terrible 18th of June, or remembered it only as we looked forward to the next assault making up for all. Once again, the British Hotel was filled with a busy crowd, and laughter and fun echoed through its iron rafters. Nothing important happened at the front for weeks, possibly because Mr. Russell was on holiday and would not return until August.
About this time the stores of the British Hotel were well filled, not only with every conceivable necessary of life, but with many of its most expensive luxuries. It was at this period that you could have asked for few things that I could not have supplied you with on the spot, or obtained for you, if you had a little patience and did not mind a few weeks’ delay. Not only Spring Hill and Kadikoi, which—a poor place enough when we came—had grown into a town of stores, and had its market regulations and police, but the whole camp shared in this unusual plenty. Even the men could afford to despise salt meat and pork, and fed as well, if not better, than if they had been in quarters at home. And there were coffee-houses and places of amusement opened at Balaclava, and balls given in some of them, which raised my temper to an unwonted pitch, because I foresaw the dangers which they had for the young and impulsive; and sure enough they cost several officers their commissions. Right glad was I one day when the great purifier, Fire, burnt down the worst of these places and ruined its owner, a bad Frenchwoman. And the railway was in full work, and the great road nearly finished, and the old one passable, and the mules and horses looked in such fair condition, that you would scarcely have believed Farrier C——, of the Land Transport Corps, who would have told you then, and will tell you now, that he superintended, on one bleak morning of February, not six months agone, the task of throwing the corpses of one hundred and eight mules over the cliffs at Karanyi into the Black Sea beneath.
Around this time, the British Hotel’s stores were well stocked. We had every imaginable necessity and many of life’s most expensive luxuries. There were few things you could have asked for that I could not supply on the spot. Or I could obtain them, if you had a little patience and did not mind waiting a few weeks. This unusual abundance extended beyond Spring Hill and Kadikoi to the whole camp. Kadikoi had been a poor place when we arrived. Now it had grown into a town of stores, with market regulations and police. Even the men could afford to turn up their noses at salt meat and pork. They ate as well as, if not better than, they would have in quarters at home. Coffeehouses and places of amusement had opened in Balaclava, and some held balls. These balls made me unusually angry because I foresaw their dangers for the young and impulsive. Sure enough, they cost several officers their commissions. I was very glad one day when that great purifier, Fire, burned down the worst of these places. The fire ruined its owner, a bad Frenchwoman. The railway was fully operational, the great road was nearly finished, and the old road could be traveled. The mules and horses looked so healthy that you would scarcely have believed Farrier C—— of the Land Transport Corps. He would have told you then, and will tell you now, about one bleak morning in February, less than six months earlier. That morning, he supervised the task of throwing the bodies of 108 mules over the cliffs at Karanyi into the Black Sea below.
Of course the summer introduced its own plagues, and among the worst of these were the flies. I shall never forget those Crimean flies, and most sincerely hope that, like the Patagonians, they are only to be found in one part of the world. Nature must surely have intended them for blackbeetles, and accidentally given them wings. There was no exterminating them—no thinning them—no escaping from them by night or by day. One of my boys confined himself almost entirely to laying baits and traps for their destruction, and used to boast that he destroyed them at the rate of a gallon a day; but I never noticed any perceptible decrease in their powers of mischief and annoyance. The officers in the front suffered terribly from them. One of my kindest customers, a lieutenant serving in the Royal Naval Brigade, who was a close relative of the Queen, whose uniform he wore, came to me in great perplexity. He evidently considered the fly nuisance the most trying portion of the campaign, and of far more consequence than the Russian shot and shell. “Mami,” he said (he had been in the West Indies, and so called me by the familiar term used by the Creole children), “Mami, these flies respect nothing. Not content with eating my prog, they set to at night and make a supper of me,” and his face showed traces of their attacks. “Confound them, they’ll kill me, mami; they’re everywhere, even in the trenches, and you’d suppose they wouldn’t care to go there from choice. What can you do for me, mami?”
Of course, summer brought its own plagues, and flies were among the worst. I will never forget those Crimean flies. I sincerely hope that, like the Patagonians, they are found in only one part of the world. Nature must surely have intended them to be black beetles and accidentally given them wings. There was no wiping them out, no reducing their numbers, and no escaping them by night or day. One of my boys spent almost all his time setting baits and traps to kill them. He used to boast that he killed a gallon of them a day. But I never noticed any real decrease in the trouble and annoyance they caused. The officers at the front suffered terribly from the flies. One of my kindest customers came to me in great distress. He was a lieutenant in the Royal Naval Brigade and a close relative of the Queen, whose uniform he wore. He clearly thought the flies were the hardest part of the campaign. To him, they mattered far more than Russian shot and shell. “Mami,” he said, “Mami, these flies respect nothing. Not content with eating my food, they set to work at night and make a supper of me.” He had been in the West Indies, so he called me by the familiar term used by Creole children. His face showed traces of the flies’ attacks. “Confound them, they’ll kill me, mami. They’re everywhere, even in the trenches, and you’d think they wouldn’t choose to go there. What can you do for me, mami?”
Not much; but I rode down to Mr. B——’s store, at Kadikoi, where I was lucky in being able to procure a piece of muslin, which I pinned up (time was too precious to allow me to use needle and thread) into a mosquito net, with which the prince was delighted. He fell ill later in the summer, when I went up to his quarters and did all I could for him.
Not much. But I rode down to Mr. B’s store in Kadikoi, where I was lucky enough to find some muslin. I pinned it up into a mosquito net. Time was too precious to use a needle and thread. The prince was delighted with the net. He fell ill later that summer, and I went up to his quarters and did all I could for him.
As the summer wore on, busily passed by all of us at the British Hotel, rumours stronger than ever were heard of a great battle soon to be fought by the reinforcements which were known to have joined the Russian army. And I think that no one was much surprised when one pleasant August morning, at early dawn, heavy firing was heard towards the French position on the right, by the Tchernaya, and the stream of troops and on-lookers poured from all quarters in that direction. Prepared and loaded as usual, I was soon riding in the same direction, and saw the chief part of the morning’s battle. I saw the Russians cross and recross the river. I saw their officers cheer and wave them on in the coolest, bravest manner, until they were shot down by scores. I was near enough to hear at times, in the lull of artillery, and above the rattle of the musketry, the excited cheers which told of a daring attack or a successful repulse; and beneath where I stood I could see—what the Russians could not—steadily drawn up, quiet and expectant, the squadrons of English and French cavalry, calmly yet impatiently waiting until the Russians’ partial success should bring their sabres into play. But the contingency never happened; and we saw the Russians fall slowly back in good order, while the dark-plumed Sardinians and red-pantalooned French spread out in pursuit, and formed a picture so excitingly beautiful that we forgot the suffering and death they left behind. And then I descended with the rest into the field of battle.
As the summer wore on, we were all busy at the British Hotel. Rumours grew stronger than ever that a great battle would soon be fought by reinforcements known to have joined the Russian army. I think hardly anyone was surprised when heavy firing was heard at dawn one pleasant August morning. It came from the direction of the French position on the right, by the Tchernaya. Troops and spectators poured towards it from all quarters. Prepared and loaded as usual, I soon rode in the same direction and saw most of the morning’s battle. I saw the Russians cross and recross the river. I saw their officers cheer them on and wave them forward with the greatest calm and bravery, until the officers were shot down by the score. At times I was close enough to hear excited cheers during lulls in the artillery fire, above the rattle of muskets. The cheers told of a daring attack or a successful repulse. Below me I could see what the Russians could not. Squadrons of English and French cavalry stood steadily in formation, quiet and expectant. They waited calmly but impatiently for a partial Russian success that would allow them to use their sabres. But that never happened. We saw the Russians fall back slowly and in good order, while the Sardinians with their dark plumes and the French in red trousers spread out in pursuit. They made such a thrillingly beautiful picture that we forgot the suffering and death they left behind. Then I went down with the others onto the battlefield.
It was a fearful scene; but why repeat this remark. All death is trying to witness—even that of the good man who lays down his life hopefully and peacefully; but on the battle-field, when the poor body is torn and rent in hideous ways, and the scared spirit struggles to loose itself from the still strong frame that holds it tightly to the last, death is fearful indeed. It had come peacefully enough to some. They lay with half-opened eyes, and a quiet smile about the lips that showed their end to have been painless; others it had arrested in the heat of passion, and frozen on their pallid faces a glare of hatred and defiance that made your warm blood run cold. But little time had we to think of the dead, whose business it was to see after the dying, who might yet be saved. The ground was thickly cumbered with the wounded, some of them calm and resigned, others impatient and restless, a few filling the air with their cries of pain—all wanting water, and grateful to those who administered it, and more substantial comforts. You might see officers and strangers, visitors to the camp, riding about the field on this errand of mercy. And this, although—surely it could not have been intentional—Russian guns still played upon the scene of action. There were many others there, bent on a more selfish task. The plunderers were busy everywhere. It was marvellous to see how eagerly the French stripped the dead of what was valuable, not always, in their brutal work, paying much regard to the presence of a lady. Some of the officers, when I complained rather angrily, laughed, and said it was spoiling the Egyptians; but I do think the Israelites spared their enemies those garments, which, perhaps, were not so unmentionable in those days as they have since become.
It was a terrifying scene, but why say so again? All death is painful to witness, even the death of a good man who dies peacefully and with hope. But death on the battlefield is terrifying indeed. The poor body is torn apart in horrible ways, while the frightened spirit struggles to escape. The still strong body holds it tightly until the end. Death had come peacefully enough to some. They lay with their eyes half open and a quiet smile on their lips, showing that their deaths had been painless. Others had been caught in the heat of passion. Death had frozen a look of hatred and defiance on their pale faces, a look that made your warm blood run cold. But we had little time to think of the dead. Our task was to care for the dying, who might yet be saved. The ground was thick with wounded men. Some were calm and resigned, others impatient and restless, and a few filled the air with cries of pain. All wanted water and were grateful to those who gave it to them, along with more substantial comforts. You could see officers and strangers visiting the camp riding around the field on this errand of mercy. And they did so even though Russian guns were still firing on the battlefield. Surely that could not have been intentional. Many others were there on a more selfish errand. Plunderers were busy everywhere. It was astonishing to see how eagerly the French stripped the dead of their valuables. In their brutal work, they did not always pay much attention to the presence of a lady. When I complained rather angrily, some of the officers laughed and called it spoiling the Egyptians. But I do think the Israelites spared their enemies those garments that, perhaps, were not so unmentionable then as they have since become.
I attended to the wounds of many French and Sardinians, and helped to lift them into the ambulances, which came tearing up to the scene of action. I derived no little gratification from being able to dress the wounds of several Russians; indeed, they were as kindly treated as the others. One of them was badly shot in the lower jaw, and was beyond my or any human skill. Incautiously I inserted my finger into his mouth to feel where the ball had lodged, and his teeth closed upon it, in the agonies of death, so tightly that I had to call to those around to release it, which was not done until it had been bitten so deeply that I shall carry the scar with me to my grave. Poor fellow, he meant me no harm, for, as the near approach of death softened his features, a smile spread over his rough inexpressive face, and so he died.
I tended the wounds of many French and Sardinian soldiers and helped lift them into the ambulances that came racing to the scene of battle. I was very glad to be able to dress the wounds of several Russians. In fact, they were treated as kindly as the others. One of them had been badly shot in the lower jaw, and neither I nor anyone else could save him. Without thinking, I put my finger into his mouth to feel where the bullet had lodged. In the agony of dying, he clenched his teeth around my finger so tightly that I had to call for help to free it. By the time the people around me freed it, he had bitten so deeply that I will carry the scar to my grave. Poor fellow, he meant me no harm. As death drew near and softened his features, a smile spread over his rough, expressionless face, and so he died.
I attended another Russian, a handsome fellow, and an officer, shot in the side, who bore his cruel suffering with a firmness that was very noble. In return for the little use I was to him, he took a ring off his finger and gave it to me, and after I had helped to lift him into the ambulance he kissed my hand and smiled far more thanks than I had earned. I do not know whether he survived his wounds, but I fear not. Many others, on that day, gave me thanks in words the meaning of which was lost upon me, and all of them in that one common language of the whole world—smiles.
I cared for another Russian, a handsome officer who had been shot in the side. He bore his cruel suffering with great courage. In return for the little help I gave him, he took a ring off his finger and gave it to me. After I helped lift him into the ambulance, he kissed my hand. His smile expressed far more thanks than I had earned. I do not know whether he survived his wounds, but I fear he did not. That day, many others thanked me in words I could not understand. All of them also thanked me in the one language common to the whole world: smiles.
I carried two patients off the field; one a French officer wounded on the hip, who chose to go back to Spring Hill and be attended by me there, and who, on leaving, told us that he was a relative of the Marshal (Pelissier); the other, a poor Cossack colt I found running round its dam, which lay beside its Cossack master dead, with its tongue hanging from its mouth. The colt was already wounded in the ears and fore-foot, and I was only just in time to prevent a French corporal who, perhaps for pity’s sake, was preparing to give it it’s coup de grace. I saved the poor thing by promising to give the Frenchman ten shillings if he would bring it down to the British Hotel, which he did that same evening. I attended to its hurts, and succeeded in rearing it, and it became a great pet at Spring Hill, and accompanied me to England.
I carried two patients off the field. One was a French officer wounded in the hip. He chose to return to Spring Hill and have me care for him there. When he left, he told us he was a relative of the Marshal (Pelissier). The other was a poor Cossack colt I found running around its mother. She lay dead beside her Cossack master, with her tongue hanging from her mouth. The colt was already wounded in its ears and front foot. A French corporal was preparing to give it its coup de grace, perhaps out of pity. I was only just in time to stop him. I saved the poor creature by promising the Frenchman ten shillings if he brought it down to the British Hotel. He brought it that same evening. I treated its wounds and managed to raise it. It became a great pet at Spring Hill and came with me to England.
I picked up some trophies from the battle-field, but not many, and those of little value. I cannot bear the idea of plundering either the living or the dead; but I picked up a Russian metal cross, and took from the bodies of some of the poor fellows nothing of more value than a few buttons, which I severed from their coarse grey coats.
I picked up a few trophies from the battlefield, but they were of little value. I cannot bear the idea of robbing either the living or the dead. But I picked up a Russian metal cross. I took nothing more valuable from the bodies of some of the poor men than a few buttons. I cut the buttons from their coarse grey coats.
So end my reminiscences of the battle of the Tchernaya, fought, as all the world knows, on the 16th of August, 1855.
This ends my recollections of the battle of the Tchernaya. As all the world knows, the battle was fought on August 16, 1855.