The Powers of Europe and Fall of Sebastopol

by A British officer

The enemy were, as yet, all unconscious of the design of our general, and the dark array of the British moved slowly and silently forward. Every heart was full; for, although now unusual quiet reigned, every one knew that it was but the prelude to that hour when death, in its most terrible and ghastly forms, would be dealt on every side. In one short half-hour the signal was to be given,—nay, even that little time was lost. A lighted carcass was thrown up from the castle, and fell at the very feet of the men in the third division, casting a lurid and glaring light for yards around. The wild shout of alarm, the hurried tones of the signal-bells, and the tumultuous rushing of the soldiers, proclaimed that our array was discovered. Not a moment was to be lost. “Forward, my men, forward!” passed from rank to rank. One wild, long, deafening shout, responded, and then the besiegers dashed onward. In a moment a circle of fire seemed to surround the doomed city.

MOSCOW

Our own division, under charge of General Kempt, had crossed the narrow plank that constituted the bridge over the Rivillas, under a heavy fire of musketry, and then, re-forming, ran hastily up the rugged hill, to the foot of the castle. Scarcely had we reached the walls, when our brave general fell, severely wounded. His faithful aides-de-camp carried him from the field; and, as they were passing to the trenches, he met General Picton,—who, hurt by a fall, and unprepared for the advance of the signal, had been left in the camp,—hastening onward. A few hurried words passed between them, and General Picton ran on, to find his brave soldiers already ascending the heavy ladders they had placed against the castle walls. And well might those men be called brave, who dared attempt to ascend those ladders, in spite of the showers of heavy stones, logs of wood, and bursting shells, that rolled off the parapet,—regardless, too, of that ceaseless roll of musketry, that was telling with such fearful precision on their flanks,—forgetting, apparently, that, even should they live to reach the top, they could scarcely hope to survive the shock of that formidable front of pikes and bayonets that rose to meet them. Deafening shouts echoed on every side, as the besieged endeavored to throw down those heavy ladders; and these were answered back by the groans of the dying, and the shrieks of the soldiers that were crushed by their fall. Yet, not for a moment daunted, those behind sprang on to the remaining ladders, and strove which first should meet the death that seemed inevitable. But their courage was fruitless. Every ladder was thrown down, and loud shouts of victory ran along the walls. But the British, though foiled, were not subdued. They fell back a few paces, and re-formed. Colonel Ridge then sprang forward, and, seizing a ladder, placed it against the lowest part of the castle wall, loudly calling to his men to follow. Officer Canch succeeded in placing another beside him, and in an instant they were fighting upon the ramparts. Ridge fell, pierced with a hundred wounds; but, ere his assailants had time to strike again, those ladders had poured their living load into the castle, and, step by step, were its brave defenders forced, fighting, into the street. Here a reinforcement induced them to pause, and a hard-fought conflict ensued. But their assistants came too late,—the castle was ours.

While these events were passing at the castle, more terrific, more maddening, if possible, was the contest at the breaches. Just as the firing at the castle commenced, two divisions reached the glacis. The flash of a single musket from the covered way was the signal that the French were ready, and yet all was still and dark. Hay packs were thrown hastily into the ditches, and five hundred men sprang down the ladders, which were placed there, without any opposition. Why was this ominous stillness? But the assailants had hardly time to ask, when a bright light shot up from the darkness, and revealed all the horrors of the scene. The ramparts were crowded with dark figures and glittering arms, while, below, the red columns of the British were rushing on, like streams of burning lava. A crash of thunder followed that bright light, and hundreds of shells and powder-barrels dashed the ill-fated stormers into a thousand atoms. One instant the light division paused, and then, as if maddened by that terrific sight, they flew down the ladders, or leaped into the gulf below. A blaze of musketry poured its dazzling light into the ditch, as the fourth division came up, and descended with equal fury. But the enemy had made, at the bottom of the ditch, a deep cut, which was filled with water. Into this snare the head of the division fell, and more than a hundred men were drowned. Those behind checked not an instant, but, turning to the left, came to an unfinished intrenchment, which they mistook for the breaches. It was covered in a moment; but, beyond it, still lay a deep and wide chasm, between them and the ramparts they wished to gain. Confusion necessarily ensued, for the assailants still crowded on, until the ditch was full, and even then the press continued. Not for one moment ceased the roar of the musketry upon those crowded troops, and the loud shouts of the enemy, mingled with the din of bursting grenades and shells. The roaring guns were answered back by the iron howitzers from the battery, while the horrid explosions of the powder-barrels, the whizzing flight of the blazing splinters, and the loud commands of the officers, increased the confusion. Through all this the great breach was at length reached, and the British trusted that the worst was over; but, deep in those ruins, ponderous beams were set, and, firmly fixed on their top, glittered a terrible array of sword-blades, sharp-pointed and keen-edged, while ten feet before even that could be reached, the ascent was covered with loose planks, studded with sharp iron points, which penetrated the feet of the foremost, and sent them rolling back on the troops behind.

Behind these sword-points, the shouting Frenchmen stood rejoicing in their agony, and poured in their fire with ceaseless rapidity; for every man had a number of muskets, and each one of these, beside the ordinary charge, was loaded with a cylinder of wood, full of leaden slugs, which scattered like hail, when discharged. Hundreds of men had fallen, and hundreds more were dropping; but still the heroic officers rushed on, and called for new trials. Yet, there glittered the sword-blades, firm, immovable; and who might penetrate such a barrier? Yet, so zealous were the men themselves, that those behind strove to push the forward ranks on to the blades, that they might thus themselves ascend on a bridge made of their bodies; but they frustrated this attempt by dropping down, for none could tell who fell from choice, and who by the effect of that dreadful fire, and many who fell unhurt never rose again, crushed by the crowd. For a little while after the commencement of this terrible attack, military order was preserved; but the tumult and noise was such, that no command could be distinctly heard; and the constant falling and struggling of the wounded, who sought to avoid being trampled upon, broke the formations, and order was impossible. Yet, officers of all stations would rush out, and, followed by their men, make a desperate assault on that glittering steel, and only fall back to swell the pile of dead and dying. Two hours were spent in these vain efforts, and then the remaining soldiers turned sadly and slowly away; for they felt that the breach of the Trinidad was, indeed, impregnable. An opening still remained in the curtain of the Santa Maria bastion, and to this they directed their steps; but they found the approach to it impeded by deep holes and cuts, and their fearfully lessening numbers told how useless the attempt would be. Gathering in dark groups, they leaned despairingly on their muskets, and looked with sullen desperation at the ramparts of the Trinidad, where the enemy were seen, by the light of the fire-balls which they threw up, aiming their guns with fearful precision, and tauntingly asking, “Why they did not come into Badajos?” And now, unwilling to be finally conquered, Captains Nicholas and Shaw, with fifty men, collected from all regiments, made one more desperate attempt to reach the Santa Maria breach. Already had they passed the deep cuts, and toiled over two-thirds of the dangerous ground, when a discharge of musketry levelled every man, except Shaw, to the earth. Nicholas, and a large proportion of the rest, were mortally wounded.

After this, no further attempt was made; and yet the soldiers would not retire, but remained passive and unflinching, under the fire of the enemy. It was now midnight. Already two thousand brave men had fallen, when Wellington, who was watching the progress of the attack from a height close to the quarries, sent orders that the troops should retire and re-form for a second assault. But so great was the confusion, that many of the officers did not receive the orders, and so endeavored to prevent the soldiers from leaving, which occasioned many deaths.

But the gallant defenders of Badajos, although successful at the breaches, found that there was no time to look idly on. The whole city was girdled by fire. The third division still maintained its ground at the castle; the fifth were engaged at the Pardaleres, and on the right of the Guadiana, while General Walker’s brigade was escalading the bastion of San Vincente. This brigade had stolen silently along the banks of the river, the noise of its ripple having drowned the sound of their foot-steps until they reached the barrier gate. Just then the explosion took place at the breaches; and by its light the French sentinels discovered their assailants. In an instant, a sharp musketry was opened upon them. The Portuguese troops, panic-struck, threw down the scaling-ladders which had been intrusted to them; but the British snatched them up, and reared them against the walls, which, in this place, were thirty feet high. Unfortunately, the ladders were too short, and this placed them in a most perilous and uncomfortable position. A small mine was sprung beneath their feet, adding its quota to the fearful number of the dead; beams of wood and shells, fraught with living fire, were rolled upon their heads, while showers of grape from the flanks swept the ditch, dealing death-blows thick and fast on every side. But, fortunately for our troops, the reinforcement to assist in the defence of the castle was just at this time called for, and a part of the walls lower than the rest was left unmanned. Three ladders were hastily placed here, but they were still too short. But British valor and ingenuity soon overcame this difficulty. A soldier, raised in the arms of his comrades, sprang to the top; another followed. These drew their comrades after them, and soon, in spite of the constant fire which the French kept up, they ascended in such numbers, that they could not be driven back. Dividing, on their entrance, one-half entered the town, while the other, following the ramparts, attacked and won three bastions. Just as the last was yielding, General Walker fell, covered with wounds. A soldier, who stood near him, cried out, “A mine! a mine!” At that word, those troops which had crossed the strong barrier, whom neither the deepness of the ditch nor the height of the wall could appal, who flinched not a moment at the deadly fire of the enemy, shrank back at a chimera of their own raising. Their opponents saw their advantage, and, making a firm and deadly charge, drove them from the ramparts. But, before the French had time to rejoice in their victory, a reserve, under Colonel Nugent, made its appearance, and the fleeing soldiers returned, and soon gained the field.

The party who had entered the town at the first attack on San Vincente pursued their way through the streets. They met with no opposition, however. All was still and silent as the grave, and yet the streets were flooded with light, and every house illuminated. Sounding their bugles, they advanced to the great square of the town, but still met no enemy. All was bright and still, except that low murmurs were heard from behind the lattices, and occasionally a shot was fired at them from under the doors. Hence, leaving the square, they repaired to the breaches, and attempted to surprise the garrison, by attacking them in their rear. But they found them on the alert, and were soon obliged to return to the streets. But the English were now pouring in on every side, and the brave defenders of the ramparts and the breaches turned to defend their homes. A short and desultory fight followed. Generals Viellande and Phillipon, brave and determined to the last, were both wounded; and, gradually falling back, they retreated, with a few hundred soldiers, to San Christoval, where they surrendered to Lord Fitzroy Somerset. Then loud shouts of victory! victory! resounded through the streets, and found its joyful echo in many hearts.