fresh batteries took the place of those which had suffered most
heavily by the fire of our guns, and the fight raged as fiercely as
ever. Still, the boys had no fear of the final result. The French were
fairly engaged now, and from their distant camps fresh columns of
troops could be seen streaming across the plateau.
Upon our allies now fell the brunt of the fight, and the British,
wearied and exhausted, were able to take a short breathing-time. Then,
with pouches refilled and spirits heightened, they joined in the fray
again, and, as the fight went on, the cheers of the British and the
shouts of the French rose louder, while the answering yell of the
Russians grew fainter and less frequent. Then the thunder of musketry
sensibly diminished. The Russian artillery-men were seen to be
withdrawing their guns, and slowly and sullenly the infantry fell back
from the ground which they had striven so hard to win.
It was a heavy defeat, and had cost them 15,000 men; but, at least, it
had for the time saved Sebastopol; for, with diminished forces, the
British generals saw that all hopes of carrying the place by assault
before the winter were at an end and that it would need all their
effort to hold their lines through the months of frost and snow which
were before them.
When the battle was over, Captain Peel returned to the point where he
had left the midshipmen, and these followed him back to the camp,
where, however, they were not to stay, for every disposable man was at
once ordered out to proceed with stretchers to the front to bring in
wounded.
Terrible was the sight indeed. In many places the dead lay thickly
piled on the ground, and the manner in which Englishmen, Russians, and
Frenchmen lay mixed together showed how the tide of battle had ebbed
and flowed, and how each patch of ground had been taken and retaken
again and again. Here Russians and grenadiers lay stretched side by
side, sometimes with their bayonets still locked in each other's
bodies. Here, where the shot and shell swept most fiercely, lay the
dead, whose very nationality was scarcely distinguishable, so torn and
mutilated were they.
Here a French Zouave, shot through the legs, was sitting up,
supporting on his breast the head of his dying officer. A little way
off, a private of the 88th, whose arm had been carried away, besought
the searchers to fill and light his pipe for him, and to take the
musket out of the hand of a wounded Russian near, who, he said, had
three times tried to get it up to fire at him as he lay.
In other cases, Russians and Englishmen had already laid aside their
enmity, and were exchanging drinks from their water-bottles.
Around the sand-bag battery, which the Guards had held, the dead lay
thicker than elsewhere on the plateau; while down in the ravine where
Cathcart had led his men, the bodies of the 63d lay heaped together.
The sailors had, before starting, fill their bottles with grog, and
this they administered to friend and foe indiscriminately, saving many
a life ebbing fast with the flow of blood. The lads moved here and
there, searching for the wounded among the dead, awed and sobered by
the fearful spectacle. More than one dying message was breathed into
their ears; more than one ring or watch given to them to send to dear
ones at home. All through the short winter day they worked, aided by
strong parties of the French who had not been engaged; and it was a
satisfaction to know that, when night fell, the greater portion of the
wounded, British and French, had been carried off the field. As for
the Russians, those who fell on the plateau received equal care with
the allies; but far down among the bushes that covered the hillside
lay hundreds of wounded wretches whom no succor, that day at least,
could be afforded.
The next day the work of bringing in the Russian wounded was
continued, and strong fatigue parties were at work, digging great
pits, in which the dead were laid those of each nationality being kept
separate.
The British camps, on the night after Inkerman, afforded a strong
contrast to the scene which they presented the night before. No merry
laugh arose from the men crouched round the fires; no song sounded
through the walls of the tents. There was none of the joy and triumph
of victory; the losses which had been suffered were so tremendous as
to overpower all other feeling. Of the regiments absolutely engaged,
fully one-half had fallen; and the men and officers chatted in hushed
voices over the good fellows who had gone, and of the chances of those
who lay maimed and bleeding in the hospital tents.
To his great relief, Jack had heard, early in the afternoon, that the
33d had not been hotly engaged, and that his brother was unwounded.
The two young officers of the 30th, who had, a few hours before, been
spending the evening so merrily in the tent, had both fallen, as had
many of the friends in the brigade of Guards whose acquaintance he had
made on board the "Ripon," and in the regiments which, being encamped
near by the sailors, he had come to know.
Midshipmen are not given to moralizing, but it was not in human nature
that the lads, as they gathered in their tent that evening, should not
talk over the sudden change which so few hours had wrought. The future
of the siege, too, was discussed, and it was agreed that they were
fixed where they were for the winter.
The prospect was a dreary one, for if they had had so many discomforts
to endure hitherto, what would it be during the next four months on
that bleak plateau? For themselves, however, they were indifferent in
this respect, as it was already known the party on shore would be
shortly relieved.
CHAPTER X.
THE GREAT STORM
Two days after the battle of Inkerman, the party of sailors who manned
the batteries before Sebastopol were relieved by a fresh set from on
board the men-of-war. Some of those who had been away at the front
returned on board ship, while others, among whom was Jack Archer, were
ordered to join the camp at the marine heights above Balaklava, to
fill the places of some men invalided on board ship.
The change was, in some respects, an agreeable one; in others, the
reverse. The position was very high and exposed to wind; but, on the
other hand, the men, being able to obtain materials at Balaklava, had
constructed warm shelters. The ravines below were well wooded, and
they were consequently enabled to keep up cheerful fires; whereas at
the front the supply of fuel barely sufficed to cook the food, and was
almost useless for any purposes of warmth. There was far less
privation here, for Balaklava lay within twenty minutes' walk, and
stores of all kinds could be bought on board the ships. There was,
too, an entire absence of the heavy and continuous work in the wet
trenches. The great drawback to the position was, indeed, the absence
of excitement and change, and the quiet seemed almost preternatural
after the almost continual boom of cannon at the front.
Jack was pleased to find his chum Hawtry on duty at the height.
"This is a grand view, Hawtry," he said, as he stood at the edge of
the cliff the morning after his arrival.
Below at his feet lay a great fleet of transports. To the left the
cliffs stretched away, wild and precipitous, rising to heights far
greater than the point at which they stood, some 600 feet above the
sea. On his right the hill sloped gradually down to the old Genoese
castle, and then sharply to the harbor, in which lay several
men-of-war. In Balaklava, lines of wooden huts had been erected for a
hospital, and their felt-covered roofs contrasted with the red tiles
of the Tartar houses, and with the white walls and tower of the
church. Along the valley at the foot of the harbor long lines of
arabas and pack-animals, looking like mere specks from the point where
the lads were standing, could be seen making their way to the front;
while seven miles distant, on the plateau above Sebastopol, rose, like
countless white dots, the tents of the Allied Army. Turning still
farther round, they saw the undulating plain across which the light
cavalry had charged upon the Russian guns, while standing boldly
against the sky was the lofty table-land extending from above the
village of Inkerman, right across the line of sight to the point known
as Mackenzie Heights, from a farm belonging to an Englishman situated
there. On these heights were encamped a large body of Russian troops.
"It's a splendid view, Dick," Jack Archer said; "but," he added,
turning to look at the fleet of transports again, "I shouldn't like to
be on board one of those ships if it came on to blow. It must be a
rocky bottom and no holding-ground."
"That's what every one is saying, Jack. No one can make out why they
don't let them all go inside. Of course they could not all unload at
once, but there is room for them to shelter, if laid in tiers, as they
would be in a crowded port. Yes, if we get a storm, and they say in
the Black Sea they do have terrific gales during the winter, I fear we
shall have a terrible business here."
Two days later they had a taste of what a storm in the Black Sea was.
On the afternoon of Friday, the 10th, the wind got up, blowing
straight into the bay. Very rapidly the sea rose. As dusk came on the
sailors on the marine heights gathered on the edge of the cliff, and
looked anxiously down upon the sea. Already great waves were tumbling
in, dashing against the foot of the cliff, and sending clouds of spray
half-way up to the old castle, 200 feet above them. The ships were
laboring heavily, tugging and straining on their cables. From the
funnels of the steamers volumes of black smoke were pouring, showing
that they were getting up steam to keep the screws or paddles going,
and relieve the strain upon their anchors.
"I wouldn't be aboard one of them craft," an old sailor said, "not for
enough money to find me in grog and 'bacca for the rest of my life. If
the gale gets stronger, half them ships will be ashore afore morning,
and if they do, God help those on board!"
Happily the storm did not increase in violence, and when morning broke
it was found that although many of the vessels had dragged their
anchors, and some damage had been done by collisions, none had gone
ashore. The knowledge, however, of how heavy a sea got up in a gale of
even moderate force, and how frightfully dangerous was the position of
the vessels, would, it might be thought, have served as a lesson, but
unhappily it did not do so. The naval officer who was in charge of the
harbor was obstinate, and again refused the request of the masters of
many of the transports that the shipping might all be allowed to enter
the harbor. He refused, and upon him is the responsibility of the
terrible loss of life which ensued. On the 14th the wind again began
to rise, and the sailors, as night came on, looked over the sea.
"We are going to have a bad night of it again," the officer in command
of the post said, as he gazed seaward. "It looks as wild a night as
ever I saw. Look how fast the scud is flying overhead. Last week's
gale was a stiff one, but, unless I'm mistaken, it will be nothing to
that which is upon us."
Louder and louder roared the wind, till men could scarce keep their
feet outside shelter. The tents shook and rocked. Men could hardly
hear each other's voices above the storm, and even in the darkness of
night the sheets of foam could be seen dashing up to the very walls of
the castle.
Jack Archer and Dick Hawtry, who with two other midshipmen occupied a
tent, sat listening awe-struck to the fury of the gale. There was a
gust fiercer than usual, accompanied by a crack like the sound of a
pistol, followed by a stifled shout.
"There's a tent down!" Hawtry exclaimed, "and I shouldn't wonder--"
He did not finish, for at the moment the pole of their own tent broke
asunder like a pipe, and in an instant the four were buried beneath
the folds of the canvas. With much shouting and laughter they
struggled to the entrance and made their way out. Half the tents were
already levelled to the ground, and ten minutes later not one remained
standing. The midshipmen crowded into the turf huts which some of the
officers had had erected. Scarcely had they entered, when there was
the boom of a heavy gun.
"I thought so," Dick Hawtry said. "There's the first of them. How many
more will there be before morning?"
The door opened, and a sailor put in his head.
"Gentlemen, the captain says you are to turn out. He's going to take a
party down to the castle with ropes."
In a few minutes a hundred men mustered, and moved down the hill. So
fierce was the gale that, during the squalls, it was impossible to
keep themselves on their feet, and all had to lie down till the fury
of the gust had passed. It was pitch dark, and they groped rather than
made their way along. Fast now, one after another, came the sound of
the signal guns.
"There must be a dozen of them adrift," Dick shouted into his friend's
ear during one of the lulls. "God help them all; what will become of
them? A ship would be dashed to pieces like an eggshell against these
cliffs."
When they reached the lowest point of the cliff, the party were halted
and told to lie down and keep themselves in readiness, in case their
services should be required. The officers struggled forward to the
edge, and tried to see what was going on down in the bay below; but
little could be seen, save the mighty sheets of spray, as the waves
struck the cliffs. Here and there in the wild waters they fancied
occasionally that they could see the dark forms of the ships, but even
of this they could not have been certain, save for the twinkling
lights which rose and fell, and dashed to and fro like fire-flies in
their flight. Now and then the flash of a cannon momentarily showed
some ship laboring in the trough of the mountainous sea.
