CHAPTER LVIII

NAVAL BRIGADE

[Sidenote: 1855. July 3.]

A report going that George King, commanding _Rodney_, 74, whose crew, she having no steam power, had been landed with the Naval Brigade, was about to invalid. It occurred to me that nothing could be done afloat with a dual command, and that if George King would, with Admiral’s approval, exchange ships, I might stand a chance of seeing more service on shore than afloat. Mine was a selfish idea. If ever a man was proud of, and happy in, his ship it was myself.

Consulted my kind friend Admiral Sir Edmund Lyons, who required time to consider. My brother officers decidedly disapproved. Dined early with Houston-Stewart to attend later the embarkation of the remains of Lord Raglan, deeply lamented, on board the _Caradoc_, Commander Derriman. It was an imposing but sad spectacle.

The Admiral having approved of the exchange, allowed _Acre_ to be shifted into Kazatch Bay. Now it was settled, a sinking of the heart came on at the idea of removing myself from the good fellows with whom I had been serving.

[Sidenote: July 7.]

I had promised Lady Churston, Sir Robert Newman’s sister, to remove his remains from “a green field through which ran a small stream by the stump of a tree.”

This was my only description. To Cathcart’s Hill, however, I had sent a party from the _Rodney_, early, with the necessary implements to work through granite, and when about it to make a grave large enough to hold two. It took me hours to find the place. At last I examined a space occupied by 3000 Turkish soldiers without a particle of green on it. Stumps of two small trees, a quarter of a mile apart, caused me to think they could not now be standing unless fed by water.

We had not far to dig. I had prepared a coffin large enough to hold that in which poor Newman might have been buried. But, alas! we found only bones, rats had been at work. The only thing that made me believe I had the right remains was a pair of brown silk socks. All we could collect was carefully arranged, and the coffin screwed down: the Union Jack spread over it.

[Sidenote: July 9.]

Rode to the artillery camp at Balaklava, and obtained from the officer in charge a corporal and a six-horse limber waggon, on which the coffin was placed.

With my smart corporal we rode through the camp on our five or six mile journey. Among others we met Honourable William Colville of Rifle Brigade; he was a good draughtsman, and kindly dismounted, taking from his sabretasche pencil and paper, and made a sketch of this cavalcade for me to send to Newman’s sister.

[Illustration: _Sketch by Col. Hon. W. Colville._

_Jack, to newly-arrived subaltern, “Sorry I can’t obleege you with a horse, but I have a quiet dromedary I can sell you.”_]

[Sidenote: July 10.]

After breakfast read commission on board _Rodney_, King reading his on board _St. Jean d’ Acre_. Sad day for me. In the evening escorted Mrs. Williams on board _Europa_ for passage to Scutari. Dined with Charlie Talbot on board _Algiers_.

[Sidenote: July 11.]

Early dinner in Wardroom. Pretended to be going to _Rodney_, and so avoided taking leave of my good fellows. Young Harry Stephenson and Thompson transferred to _Rodney_.

[Sidenote: July 12.]

Dined with General Barnard, who had just been appointed Chief of Staff.

[Sidenote: July 13.]

Dined with General Simpson, now Commander-in-Chief, and reminded him of our meeting at his mess when he commanded the 29th at Mauritius in 1829, I then a mid of the _Tweed_.

[Sidenote: Letter to M. S. July 14.]

Find our Jacks queer fellows; they deal in horses or anything else, and as soon as they come out of the trenches they are all over the soldiers’ camps, doing work for the officers, repairing tents and that sort of thing, receiving part payment in grog, and then share it with the first “soger” they meet.

I avoid too many restrictions, as long as men appear at the 10 A.M. muster, properly dressed, with their arms cleaned and correct, with correct numbers of the men and battery they have to relieve. They are then dismissed, and find their own way by trenches or over the open. In a body they are pretty sure to draw the enemy’s fire.

[Sidenote: In Camp, July.]

In our camp we are tolerably comfortable. My tent is pitched on a patch of ground on the edge of a hill. There is a long open avenue in front, on either side are the tents of the officers and seamen, which they decorate in the most fantastic way. All sorts of devices for weathercocks, etc. The shells that annoy us most are those that burst in the air. We are very close to one another in some places, but I expect we shall soon shut the Russians up, as they fire very wild when fired at; our fellows are as steady as ever; the more casualties, the more jokes are cracked!

In front of our batteries, between us and the Redan and Malakoff Towers, are the trenches, and the Quarries, formerly a Russian position--taken by us before Inkerman, at present held by the guards and other troops. While no particular bombardment is going on, our orders are, to watch the enemy’s batteries, and only fire on them when they fire on our advanced parties in the trenches, so that the soldiers are, in a measure, partly under our protection. In this way we get some pretty shooting. A shell from the Redan bursts over our soldiers in the trenches; bang goes an 8-inch shell from the sailors’ battery, generally right into the embrasure, from which the mischief came. Another shell reaches them from our Left Attack. The French, too, take it up and pop one into them from the Mamelon, and then for the next half-hour a general scrimmage takes place, exciting to a degree. A very little precaution teaches you to know, by every gun that the enemy fires, whether they are shot or shell. The shot we do not care for. I saw one of our Jacks make a low bow to a shot that he saw coming directly at him: at the right moment he bobbed his head, and it passed about a foot above his body. There are small hollow places on ground above our batteries in which sailors are employed making gabions: having expended their materials the bluejackets were amusing themselves by running at one another with the gabions over their heads, when an enemy’s shell exploded without serious damage to any one. Most of the shot strike the parapet and throw a cloud of dust, dirt, and small stones into our batteries. Each day I have been so covered that you could not have told the proper colour of my dress. The shot are very good fun, but the shells are beastly things from which it is difficult to escape. They are no respecters of persons. On Sunday a man was killed by the fragments of a shell while he was sitting in the supposed most secure place inside the entrance to one of our magazines.

[Illustration: _Sketch by Col. Hon. W. Colville. 1855.

In Rear of the Lancaster Battery_]

Wenny Coke goes into the trenches to-night, and to-morrow I shall be in our batteries all day and will give such a dusting to any Russian battery that has the impudence to molest my favourite Fusiliers. I am going to take grub, and have invited Wenny to dinner in the deepest part of his trench. Had I had time, I could fill a quire with the absurdities of the soldiers as well as sailors, who have given many a good laugh. Directly little Harry heard of my appointment, he got leave and galloped up to my tent.

[Sidenote: July 15.]

Visited our right division in trenches. Thompson performing divine service in open air to the Naval Brigade; “Little Harry” with him. A man killed while sitting in the battery reading his Bible.

[Sidenote: July 16.]

Among arrivals from home in Balaklava was a cargo of ice for use of Naval Brigade hospitals. For some unknown reason doctors objected to receive ice in the hospitals! After my superiors afloat had been supplied, the Commander of the Naval Brigade came in for a share. We were not far from the French headquarters. I sent a couple of blocks to General Pellissier, who invited me to _déjeuner_. He had clever fittings with green branches, etc., for luxury and comfort reminding me of Vauxhall gardens in bygone times. Dined with General Barnard.

[Sidenote: Letter to H. F. S. July 18.]

Wenny Coke in the trenches last night bowled over by a spent round. On visiting his tent I found him cheery, but round shot don’t touch gently. I was about to sit on a fur coat, rolled up near the head of his bed, when he called out, “Don’t sit there, Uncle Harry. A cat from Sevastopol came out last night and dropped nine kittens in the sleeve!”

Shepherd, one of the petty officers of the _St. Jean d’Acre_, had conceived the idea that he could, single-handed, blow up a man-of-war in Sevastopol harbour. The contrivance appeared simple enough. I had already taken him with his apparatus to the Admiral, who was amused and approved, leaving the time for the experiment to me. The plan was this. To prepare a light iron case a foot long by eighteen inches, with a loop at each end. The case to be fitted with a Bickford’s fuse, which burns under water. A sort of canvas duck punt was to be fitted to exactly hold the case amidships. The after part was to hold one sitter, who could easily steer with a canoe paddle without noise. The Russians had been in the habit of sending three or four thousand men across the entrance end of the harbour. The night fire of war-ships had so inconvenienced this passage of their transport boats, they shifted the line of their passage higher up the harbour.

The dark night for our expedition arrived at last. The spot for embarkation was only separated by a spur of land covered by thick scrub and bush, but the darkness of the night enabled our guide to take us to the water. At half-past twelve the punt left the rough slips and was immediately lost to sight, nor was there the slightest sound. At the expiration of three hours nothing had occurred, and there were signs of daybreak. With us was Colonel St. George Foley, attached to General Pellissier’s staff. We were within range of the Russian sentries, and had to creep through scrub and bushes until we were inside the French lines: we soon commenced on our refreshments. I was distressed at having helped to lose poor John Shepherd--as, if caught, he would be shot as a spy. St. George Foley was put out at the loss of his horse, servant, and haversack. My coxswain, who, I think, had been washing his mouth out, was sent in search among an acre of gun carriages, waggons, etc., and returned, announcing to Foley that “The beggar was gone, but had left his painter.” Poor Foley applied for explanation. Painter was a rope spliced in a ring in the bow of a boat, and most likely the horse had slipped his head out of halter and gone home--the servant losing no time in following. In fact, all during the night the white light of shells had been flying over our heads from three different Russian batteries at a French mortar battery. Great was my delight an hour after my arrival in camp to hear of Shepherd’s safe return. The plucky fellow had pulled past and between a number of Russian steamers, and was within 400 yards of the three-deckers, when a whole string of Russian boats pushed off from the western shore to convey troops across.

For an hour he lay in his little punt hoping for an opening to pass through. Daylight came and he had not time to return the distance to where we were; he therefore struck at once for Careening Bay, one side of which he knew was in the possession of the French. Lord Charles Paget’s plan of night attack had caused the Russians to change the route for conveying reliefs across.

[Sidenote: July 19.]

On returning from batteries got news of Lushington’s promotion and my appointment to the command of the Naval Brigade! Lucky dog that I am!

[Sidenote: July 20.]

Early ride to Kamiesch and breakfast with the Admiral. Kind and confidential chat.

[Sidenote: July 21.]

Assumed command of Naval Brigade: Prince Victor of Hohenlohe, A.D.C.; Rev. Josiah Thompson, Chaplain; forage allowance for five horses.

Early morning, a cavalry corporal with two orderlies at my tent door. Reported myself at headquarters.

[Sidenote: July 22.]

Sunday, divine service in open air. Visited Right Attack and Quarries with Sir Harry Jones; dined with him.

[Sidenote: In the batteries of Naval Brigade, July 23.]

Instructions from headquarters to prepare for a sortie, and that I had better communicate with the General at the Quarries. The day was far advanced: a storm brewing. Had an experienced and good officer in Captain Moorsom, who had been in the Naval Brigade from the beginning. Of course Moorsom opened a sharp fire on the Russian batteries, which eventually drew part of their fire off our advanced trenches. He knew the bearings of the Russian forts on which our batteries could tell best. Could not do better than leave him in charge, while I went to the quarries for further instruction. Storm commencing, shifted into pea-jacket and jack-boots, sword and cap. Rain fell heavily. Zig-zags being on the slope, I was soon washed out and took to the open. Dark, too, came on with the storm; lost my way, but knew by descending, and the constant discharge of musketry, I must come to our own troops--which I did; but no one could hear or attend to me. I knew not the way. Took to the right. Came on the Guards, whom I knew by their bearskins; they were equally busy. It was no use pulling their coats; the thunder of guns and muskets rendered one’s voice equally useless, so crept on. The storm began to break. Laid hold of a soldier’s coat and bellowed to him. He bellowed “sergeant,” who bellowed me what my name was. When I told him, he said: “That lie won’t do. I know Captain Keppel of the Grenadiers. You must come to our officer.” I pleaded inability to walk further. Another bearskin on my left! No alternative. The storm and sortie were over.

By the time we reached the officers, they were enjoying a little rest as well as refreshment. One of them asked the sergeant: “What have you there?” “A prisoner, sir.” After a while there was a laugh. Most of them knew and had made me out.

With the assistance of grog and a feed I got back to my tent, but the sun was well up. The kind Lord Rokeby pretended to be angry, and offered that if I attended the camp, the Brigade should march past me; but I don’t think my poor father, had he been alive, would have recognised me in my trench costume.

[Sidenote: Letter to M. S. July 28.]

Our batteries are getting so close to the enemy’s that casualties are frequent, and the Naval Brigade gradually reducing, without a chance of recruiting, except in officers, whose vacancies are replaced from the Fleet. Although they hear, afloat, the jokes played, when the time comes they forget. Our chief battery on the left is at the foot of a hill, and a favourite mark for the enemy’s shells. The fuses burning in the air are often heard before the shells are seen. We have trained look-out men who know by the sound about where the shell was likely to drop. They call out, “Right,” “Left,” “Front,” “Rear,” when those present rush to any point they fancy, dodge close to a gun carriage, or jump through the embrasure, and so risk a Russian bullet.

The favourite resort was the magazine passage, cut out of the hill with a bend in it. The first there, the best chance. The new arrival affords the best sport, and is prepared for. The dirtiest stretcher, on which some bleeding body had lately been carried, is at hand. The shell bursts; the new arrival is struck behind the ear by moist clay, is immediately seized, laid on the dirty stretcher, carried off, without resistance, by bearers to the zig-zag cutting and upset into the ditch, which generally holds water. Of course he is received with cheers, and watches anxiously for the next newcomer. Dined yesterday with the Commander-in-Chief at headquarters and met our War Minister, the Duke of Newcastle; I have established a mess-room, where we meet at supposed dinner at eight o’clock. Most of my time is passed in the batteries.

[Sidenote: July 30.]

Visited Left Attack. Found remains of the gallant Colonel Norcott’s horse and servant just killed by the same shot. He always rode this white charger in front of his rifle regiment. Mail in. Letter from First Lord, Sir Charles Wood, informing me of my having the Good Service Pension. Visited hospital in Cossack Bay and Admiral Freemantle.