The third date on our brave sapper’s Cross, April 20th, recalls a very daring feat on his part. Out among the rifle-pits, in the open, some Russians had erected a screen of brushwood, barrels, and sailcloth, behind which they thought themselves well secure. A party of British sappers who lay all night in a trench thought otherwise. In the darkness, just before dawn, a dozen of them, prominent among whom was Lendrim, dashed out and with bayonets fixed charged the rifle-pits and destroyed the screen.
We come now to the eventful 18th of June, in the same year, when a desperate assault was made on the Redan, the while the French stormed the Malakoff, some distance to the right. With a column of sailors and soldiers that formed one of the attacking parties were Lieutenant Graham and Sapper John Perie of his own corps. They had scaling-ladders and sandbags with them, but these were not wanted after all, for the terrific fire that poured down on the open ground before the fortress walls made it impossible for the work to go forward.
Even then men were found willing, nay anxious to try, and scores of redcoats dotted the rocky ground between the last trench and the abattis. But it was a hopeless task—a wanton waste of valuable lives. Very reluctantly Graham, who had taken command, ordered his men to retire.
While, in the security of the trench, they waited for the Russian fire to diminish, the lieutenant once more showed of what stuff he was made. There was a wounded sailor lying out in front, calling piteously for help. An officer of the Naval Brigade heard him first, and asked for another volunteer to assist in bringing the wounded man in.
“I’m with you,” cried Graham, springing up instantly; “And I too,” added John Perie. And out they ran on their noble errand of mercy, succeeding in the task without being hit.
Both the lieutenant and the sapper were awarded the Cross for their bravery. The former, as everyone knows who has read the history of the Egyptian War, became the famous General Sir Gerald Graham, the victor of El Teb and Tamai. He died in 1899.
No reference to that disastrous assault on the Redan would be complete without mention being made of Colour-Sergeant Peter Leitch, V.C., also of the Engineers. Like his fellow-sapper, Perie, he was attached to a ladder-party which shared the fate of defeat. At the foot of the fortress the little party was held in check by the pitiless fire of shot and shell. Men dropped on all sides, for there was no cover.
There were the scaling-ladders to be placed, however, and Leitch came forward to take the lead. Leaping into the ditch, he pulled down gabion after gabion from the enemy’s parapet until sufficient had been secured to make a caponnière, filling them with earth and placing them to afford shelter to his comrades. It was a heroic task, and many a wound did he receive until he was finally disabled, but he had the satisfaction of knowing that he had done his duty well.
Nor does this conclude the record of the gallant “Mudlarks.” I might tell a stirring story of how Lieutenant Howard Crauford Elphinstone (afterwards a Major-General and a K.C.B.) did great deeds in that same affair of the Redan, rescuing with the party of volunteers he led no fewer than twenty wounded men, and winning the French Legion of Honour in addition to the Cross for Valour. But I have only room now to speak of one more, John Ross, Corporal No. 997.
Of the three acts of gallantry of which the dates are graven on his Cross, two were performed for daring sapping operations in what were termed the 4th and 5th Parallels. In the darkness of night he and his men worked like moles, quietly but swiftly, connecting (in the first instance) the 4th Parallel with a disused Russian rifle-pit, the line of cover thus formed giving the attacking party a tremendous advantage when morning broke and the fight was renewed.