CHAPTER LX
THE REDAN
[Sidenote: 1855. Extract from letter home, Sept. 1.]
Our allies are not yet ready for the next and, I trust, final assault; their sap appears to touch the edge of the Malakoff. We, too, are not ready, being in want of ammunition. We are all anxious that something should be done, as we know not when to prepare for winter quarters. If the Malakoff falls, it must naturally be followed by that of the remaining works of the enemy. On the south side we shall advance somewhat nearer to our work. The Russians, too, appear to be preparing for a move. They have established a bridge across the harbour and are fast removing their goods and chattels. Everything leads us to suppose that the winter will not find us in our present position. The enemy will contest every inch of ground. We do not, on our side, grow wiser from experience. The other night our working party on the Right Attack was surprised and some taken prisoners by a small body of Russians who made a sortie. Officers have over and over again been surprised and taken prisoners while planting their advanced sentries at night by Russians lying concealed in the shrubs and grass. A little more care would have prevented this. My silly fellows unnecessarily expose themselves in spite of warnings and examples.
We have two casualties; besides, an amateur youngster from the _Curaçoa_ must mount the parapet and borrow a sergeant’s musket, to take a shot at a Russian. This young Gambier mounted on the top of the parapet, had a _Miniè_ ball through his thigh in a moment. One of my “Rodneys” got shot through the head yesterday, having gone outside the embrasure to pick up sticks to cook his dinner. Yesterday our bluejackets acted a play in the open air. Stage, the side of a hill; a ballet dancer did Taglioni to perfection. The Duke of Newcastle dined at our mess. Never enjoyed better health: lots of excitement and plenty to do. In fact I have knocked up in succession all my staff, viz. my A.D.C., secretary, and the stout Padre, “Thomas.” But I must not crow till out of the wood.
[Sidenote: Sept. 4.]
Dined with Rokeby, meeting John Dugdale Astley, Scots Fusilier Guards, returned with wound cured, and others. Was going to write a line; an unusual rattle of musketry announced a sortie. Galloped to our batteries, found them blazing away. The attack was on our right on the French, who, being well prepared, gave the Russians a dressing. I have not heard to what amount.
I must beg allowance of my readers for difference of expression in the “Right” and “Left” Attack. Naval Brigade batteries faced Sevastopol, while the military maps faced inland.
The moon was rising, and the outlines of hills, forts, and figures showing. In each trench, standing up with musket in hand, were several rows of our soldiers ready to jump at a call in support of those further in advance, or to attack should the French have driven the Russians back in that direction. But their attack had been on the Mamelon from the Malakoff. We were expecting and ready to repel a similar sortie from the Redan, but none came. When I reached the front Captain Pechell, only son of Sir George, Bart., R.N., had just been shot down with six men of the 77th. It is customary at night for each side to throw out sentries in advance directly it is dark enough to cover the persons so advancing. Just between the foot of the ditch outside the Redan and our advanced trenches there is a cave, the mouth of which faces towards the works on our right. Directly it is dark the object between the Russians and ourselves is to try which can first get possession of it. We have generally succeeded, but last night the officer of the 88th, who went to take possession, mistook his way. Pechell, who had been in it before, volunteered, but it was then too late, the Russians being in possession, and at same time entirely hid by the darkness of the cave; they allowed Pechell and his six men to approach near enough to make sure, and then potted them all.
[Sidenote: Sept. 8.]
A bombardment, in earnest, commenced at 6 this morning; at 11.30, the usual resting-time of the Russians, the French surprised and carried the Malakoff. Our attempt on the Redan was to follow the hoisting of the French flag on the Malakoff, which was too late for any further surprises. We could now see clearly what our Naval Brigade had to do. Leaving the higher batteries, I went down to our extreme left, on the real Right Attack, and found a fresh battery had been made during the night by engineers, and in charge of a young artillery officer. I had already been advised at headquarters that our men should leave their small arms behind. General Simpson may have heard that on a previous occasion, when the Naval Brigade were told off to carry the scaling ladders under the gallant Peel, directly they observed the slope of the Redan fortification they proposed to drop the ladders, saying they could get in better without them. After visiting the main batteries, where my most experienced hands were, I joined our later, extended battery. We made a bad beginning, inasmuch as our magazine was blown up, which rendered eight guns less effective.
The rush for the Redan had now commenced, and in the excitement our men wanted to draw the stakes out of the gabions, and to rush in. I noticed, on high ground to my left, the two Generals, Simpson and Gascoigne, one wounded in the head. Directly opposite, within 300 yards, was a Russian battery playing on our men; half the effect of our battery was spoilt by being unable to fire, except by dropping shots into the Russians opposite. Shortly after an A.D.C. came galloping, giving me an order to “cease firing.” Our soldiers were being mowed down, chiefly by grape shot. The young artillery officer had ceased firing. I ran to his small battery and inquired the reason. He, too, had received orders, same effect. I told him I had received the same, but on no account to cease firing, and offered to send as many spare hands as he could employ, which he accepted. The Russians used grape shot, which came hopping along, many of them stopping in the ditch in front of our battery. The bombardment was kept up till sunset. Augustus Fitzroy, whose battery was on our left, on returning to camp joined two of our officers who preferred the open. Before reaching his tent he was knocked over by a bullet, which must have come from the Redan; the Russians having returned to that end, which the gallant Windham had held.
[Illustration: _“Redan” Windham._]
Windham was one of my oldest friends; we were boys together and remained friends till his death, February 2, 1870, at the early age of fifty-nine. He was properly called the Hero of the Redan, for by his gallant bearing on that day he did much to retrieve our good name. Dead against the first attack himself, its numbers, place, etc. etc., he nevertheless led it in the most gallant manner, being first in the work--and after his three messengers had been disabled had the _moral_ courage to go back himself and solicit reinforcements.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Sept. 9.]
Early this morning visited Sir Colin Campbell; a few Highlanders had during the night crept into the Redan and found it deserted. On Sir Colin’s invitation we rode into the Redan by the salient angle. Horrors met us at every step. Two instances of faithful, but half-starved dogs were sitting on bodies, from which no coaxing could draw them. In a small hut on a table, leaning against the wall, was a Russian officer, looking smart in his uniform; on my speaking to him I found that he was dead. In the higher part noticed excavations and could trace wires for explosions. Sevastopol had been evacuated during the night--magazines blown up--town blazing--ships sank--others on fire. The Russians had put themselves on the safe side of the harbour by blowing up the east end of the floating bridge. Strolling about I found myself close to the ground floor of a hospital. On entering I was between two long rows of Russian soldiers, dead and dying, on broad wooden stretchers. I will not attempt to describe the horrors, but each body was in a position as if trying to escape. At the further end I found a young English officer in uniform who said he had been expecting us some time--he was wandering in his mind. A flag of truce was hoisted about noon. The Russians sent steamers to remove their dead and dying. One, the _Vladimir_, was commanded, I think, by Captain Etholin, who had done a gallant thing earlier in the war by capturing and taking into the harbour an English transport that had grounded in sight of our combined fleets. While the truce flag was up I moved three guns down to the edge of the harbour. When the Russian steamers had landed their dead and dying and returned to their moorings, in front of where we stood in a sort of hostile parade, one of the three Naval Brigade guns went off and smashed _Vladimir’s_ quarter boat. That same night we were building a screen, from behind which we could destroy any attempt at landing to interfere with our newly appointed Governor, Charles Windham. At midnight, superintending the work, I observed the _Vladimir_ make a move in our direction. Not a sound from on board. When she got near mid-channel, she stopped and gradually turned with her head up the harbour. When broadside on I gave the order to lie down behind our newly made screen, whereupon _Vladimir_ quietly settled herself at the bottom of the harbour, leaving nothing but the upper masts. It was from the foremast of that ship that all flags of truce and communications were made.
[Sidenote: Sept. 10.]
Word was sent to me that poor Augustus Fitzroy’s wound was considered mortal. Wrote to prepare his father for the sad event, and then to receive his last instructions. Poor dear, unlucky, gallant fellow. I had known the whole family from the time I had landed, as a skeleton boy, at the Cape of Good Hope in 1827. In pain I took down the items as he wished them to be disposed of: poor boy! They were but few. He was buried on Cathcart’s Hill with full military honours, in the grave next to Sir Robert Newman, which I had made big enough to hold two.
[Sidenote: Sept. 11.]
The inspection of the evacuated forts showed how destructive had been the fire of our batteries and how great a share the Naval Brigade had in the Fall of Sevastopol. It is an immense place, but there was not a spot where our shot had not penetrated. It was a sad spectacle; so precipitate had been the Russian retreat that they had cut off the communication by their bridge and left some 2000 wounded in barracks. Looking at the mastheads of their line-of-battle ships, and the still smoking ruins of their public buildings, I was in hopes that this would bring the war to a conclusion.
* * * * *
Naval Brigade ordered to prepare for re-embarking. Was frequently in the artillery camp arranging details.
One morning, in the Colonel’s marquee, we noticed a sailor coming from the town. As he was steering wildly, I thought it best to retire into the shade. The Colonel asked where he was from: if he had any loot. He replied he had not, and added, “To-morrow, I intends to ewacuate the Crimea.”