It will ever redound to the credit of Lord Cardigan, that in this, his first meeting of the enemy in force, he was most anxious to lead the Light Cavalry to battle, even before our reserves had come in sight; but Lord Lucan, by a rapid communication with Lord Raglan, decided that, not knowing the strength or position of the enemy, it was better to wait until the main body came up, and bivouacked, ere we made an attack. Several of our men were badly wounded, and five or six horses were killed by the Russian gunners, who had got our range and made beautiful practice. At last, however, a battery of six and nine-pounders came up at a gallop, and instantly opened fire. “Whiz,” “ugh,” “rippety tip,” went the balls, some ricocheting and sending up clouds of dust as they danced over the intervening space. The Cossacks ceased yelling when many of them were knocked over, horses and all, like nine-pins, and the remainder scampered off to their lines like frightened sheep. Meanwhile the main body of our army were fast coming up, and forming in order of battle to repel a general attack, should one be made. A shell, however, which was so directed as to burst in the centre of an advanced column of the enemy’s infantry, settled their business, for limbering up their guns in great haste they quickly retired, and one of our sergeants (O’Brien Kennedy, a Tipperary man) remarked, that although they appeared to “care but little for cannon-balls, they did not relish bullocks’ hearts stuffed with thunder and lightning.”
Only one feeling pervaded our brigade that night, which was regret at not being allowed to meet the Russian cavalry hand to hand, and stirrup to stirrup. This little skirmish was always designated amongst us as “that affair of the Bouljanak;” but as we dismounted and patted our horses’ necks, we rejoiced that we were fairly up with the enemy. Without laying ourselves open to the charge of vain boasting, there was not a man of us who collected round our bivouac fires that night, who did not resolve that those “yelling Cossacks” should be “skivered” when we were permitted to meet them sword to sword and man to man. It afterwards transpired, from the statements of prisoners and spies, that no less than five regiments of cavalry were in reserve behind the “yelling Cossacks;” therefore it was, perhaps, as well that the recall was sounded, or the story of the “Young Dragoon” might not have been written.
Soundly our grand army slept that night on the cold ground, and thousands awakened only to march forth to certain death up the heights of the Alma. Passing over the events that occurred on the morning of the day on which the battle of Alma was fought, which was spent by our generals in arranging the army in the order of battle to meet the enemy, and beard him in his own earthworks, I now bring my readers to the banks of the river Alma, called a river, but in reality only a brook, which most of our horses could have cleared at a jump, even in its widest part. Our brigade was held in reserve, as, if the infantry should suffer a reverse and be obliged to retire from the hill over the brook on to the plain, we were ready to play our part on that ground. Onwards the army advanced in a vast extended line, so as to prevent the enemy from descending the heights in front and outflanking us. The French were disposed so as to march on our extreme right, in order to attack the enemy’s left, who occupied a position which, from its steepness, was difficult to approach; but to our army was assigned the hardest fighting—namely, the forcing of the enemy’s centre and right. The whole face of the hill as far as the eye could reach was swarming with squares of infantry intermixed with earthworks thrown up on the slopes, over which peeped the muzzles of muskets ready to deal death and destruction to our dauntless infantry.
As we neared the banks of the stream, towards the right of the Russian position, we noticed myriads of Cossacks, supported by a large force of dragoons wearing helmets, who, when they observed us, descended the hills and boldly crossed the stream. This time we quite expected to meet them, but we were again disappointed, as a battery of our artillery was at once pushed forward and placed between us and glory.
A clump of houses and haystacks had been set on fire some distance to our left, the smoke of which was intended to hide the enemy’s cavalry from the view of our generals, and so enable them to charge upon the left flank and rear of our infantry, just at the moment the latter forded the river. But the artillery, before mentioned, with our brigade ready to dash among them, effectually kept them at bay. During this time the enemy had opened fire on our right, and very soon it extended over the whole length of our line. The infantry were ordered to lie down, and while our artillery replied well to the enemy’s fire, we sat on our horses passive observers of all that occurred. An occasional shot dropped in the midst of us, and many rolled harmlessly among our horses’ legs. Not a hundred yards from where we formed up was Lord Raglan and staff: the commander-in-chief was evidently getting very anxious, as he continually interrogated an aide-de-camp as to something that was passing on the extreme left of the enemy’s position.
At length Captain Nolan came up at a tearing gallop. “They are over, my Lord!” said he: then followed a hurried, conversation among the staff, and after a short interval the welcome order was given to the infantry to rise and advance.
By this time it was ascertained that not only were the French over the river, as Captain Nolan had stated, but they were hard at it, climbing the heights and engaged hand to hand with the enemy. Not a moment was to be lost; a splash, a scramble along the whole line, and in a few brief moments British bayonets were introduced to the ribs of Russian soldiers. The Highland brigade being nearest to us, we were enabled to watch their every movement, as well as the excitement consequent upon our position would allow, for we were constantly threatened by the demonstrations of the cavalry on our left. We saw the kilted heroes march at quick time up that deadly incline as steadily as if on parade, and the infantry on their right (as far as we could see for the smoke) followed their example. It appears, however, from the reports of those actually engaged, that the Light Division, being too impetuous, got into some disorder, owing to their being in advance of the main body, and they consequently suffered heavily.
Sir George Brown, who commanded this division, rode in the front of them on a grey horse, and led them on at too fast a pace, for which he nearly paid the penalty with his life, for his horse was shot under him, and a terrible fire being concentrated upon this part of our line, the gallant Light Division was awfully cut up. Onward, however, swept the main bulk of that army, the majority of whom were composed of men who had never been in action before. We could distinctly see at intervals, through the dense columns of smoke, as the fire gradually receded from the base up the slopes and finally died out at the crest of the hill, the belching forth of the musketry from the earthworks as our men neared one ridge after the other. A puff of smoke, a long stream of fire, and down came our men in heaps, but plenty remained to avenge their death. A wild “hurrah,” and over the crest of the earthworks they leaped with their bayonets at the charge, followed by a deadly hand-to-hand struggle within the earthworks.
This order of advance, and successive storming of what may almost be termed batteries in position, was unparalleled in the history of war, but it was successful in every instance; for the enemy were either driven from every earthwork, or bayoneted on the spot: yard by yard, inch by inch, they retired up the hill, and were finally driven beyond their last rallying point, a confused, defeated, and humiliated army, flying with their chief, Prince Menschikoff, in the direction of their stronghold, Sebastopol.
In this action the enemy left all their cannon, and upwards of 6000 men dead, wounded, and prisoners, in our hands. Our loss in killed and wounded was estimated at little less than 4000 men. Our own dead, as also the Russians, were buried, and all our wounded were sent on board the fleet, but hundreds of wounded Russians were left in the places where they lay.