“The moon was at its full, and showed every object as if by the light of day. Facing me was the valley of Inkerman, with the Tchernaya, like a band of silver, flowing gracefully between the hills, which, for varied and picturesque beauty, might vie with any part of the world.
“Yet I shall never recall the memory of Inkerman valley with any but feelings of horror; for round the spot from which I surveyed the scene lay upwards of five thousand bodies.
“Some lay as if prepared for burial, and as though the hands of relatives had arranged their mangled limbs; while others again were in almost startling positions, half standing or kneeling, clutching their weapons or drawing a cartridge.
“Many lay with both their hands extended towards the sky, as if to avert a blow or utter a prayer; while others had a malignant scowl of fear and hatred. The moonlight imparted an aspect of unnatural paleness to their forms, and as the cold, damp wind swept round the hills and waved the boughs above their upturned faces, the shadows gave a horrible appearance of vitality; and it seemed as if the dead were laughing, and about to rise. This was not the case on one spot, but all over the bloody field.”
The whole of the 6th (the day after the battle) was devoted to the sorry task of burying the dead. A council of war was held, presided over by Lord Raglan, at which it was determined to winter in the Crimea, and orders were issued accordingly.
Large reinforcements were demanded both by Lord Raglan and General Canrobert, which, with considerable promptitude, have been despatched by their respective governments, and many of them are already on the spot.
In the period which has elapsed since the battle of Inkerman no battle has been fought. The usual routine of siege operations has gone on; sorties have taken place from the besieged city, both upon the French and English lines, which have, in every instance, been victoriously repulsed. But a more formidable enemy than the Czar of all the Russias has taken the field against the Allies. Winter, with his chilling aspect and freezing breath, accompanied by his suite of sleet and storm, and hurricane and snow, has made his appearance more terrible than for many a year past. At times all operations have been suspended; the trenches filled with water, and many a shivering form has laid itself down without even the comfort of a plank between it and the dripping earth to dream of home and to die. The sufferings of such are known only to Him who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.
On the 14th November, one of the fiercest storms known within the memory of man burst over the Black Sea. Off Balaklava, where the cliffs are steep and abrupt, eight transports became total wrecks, and every soul on board but 30 perished.
A magnificent new steamer, the “Prince,” of 3,000 tons burden, having arrived but a few days previously from England, and landed in safety the 46th regiment, was obliged to anchor outside in consequence of the crowded state of the harbor. The hurricane took her unawares, and was so severe that her cables parted; the roaring surf tossed her like an egg-shell upon the rocks, and the next instant nothing but a wreathing mist could be seen hanging over the spot where her noble timbers lay buried. Out of 150 souls on board, but six were saved. Her cargo was invaluable at that particular time, and consisted of a great portion of the winter clothing for the troops, including 40,000 suits of clothes, and large quantities of shot, shell, and medical stores. Altogether, 18 British and 12 French ships were lost at Balaklava.