And now a severe misfortune was impending over the British army. It was about to lose its beloved Commander-in-Chief. On the 23rd, Colonel Calthorpe from headquarters wrote to his friends in England that every one was more or less out of spirits. "Lord Raglan is, perhaps, the most cheerful of any one, considering how much he has had lately to worry and annoy him. But at the same time, I fear that it [the failure of the 18th] has affected his health. He looks far from well, and has grown very much aged latterly." He fell ill seriously on the 26th, but no one, not even the doctors, thought that he was sick unto death. He grew no better, but he slept well, watched over by his staff and Dr. Prendergast. On the 28th he seemed so much better to some of the medical men that they were about to quiet the anxiety in England by sending a message to that effect by telegraph; but Dr. Prendergast was doubtful, and a dubious message was sent. In the afternoon the Field Marshal became visibly worse, but it was not supposed that death was so near him. At four o'clock the truth burst upon all—he was dying. His staff, his nephew, Colonel Somerset, General Simpson, General Airey, and Colonel Lord George Paget gathered round his bed, and the principal chaplain came, and read and prayed. Gradually, quietly, in a holy calm, that noble spirit ebbed away, so peacefully that it was scarcely possible to tell the moment when he ceased to be. At five-and-twenty minutes to nine in the evening of the 28th of June, an end had come to the earthly career of the British Commander-in-Chief. He died in his bed, but he died, like a knight of old, with his harness on. His remains were conveyed to England in the Caradoc. She arrived at Bristol on the 24th of July, and landed her sad burden, which was conveyed through a town in mourning to Badminton; and there, on the 26th, in a quiet village church, surrounded by a group of living comrades, who had fought beside him under the Great Duke more than half a century before, the remains of Lord Raglan, a fine man but second-rate soldier, found their last resting-place.
RECONNAISSANCE OF FRENCH CAVALRY IN THE BAIDAR VALLEY. (See p. [114].)
CHAPTER VIII.
THE REIGN OF VICTORIA (continued).
Changes in the Allied Camp—Advance upon the Malakoff and Redan—Attempt to raise the Siege—Prince Gortschakoff determines to Attack—The Allied Camp on the Tchernaya—Gortschakoff's Reinforcements—The Russian Plan—The Allies partially surprised—Read's Precipitation—Check of the Russian Attack—The French Counter-stroke—Gortschakoff changes his Front—A last Effort—The Battle is won—Allied Losses—Progress of the Siege—The French sap towards the Malakoff—The British Bombardment—The Covering Army—The Allies on the alert—Combats before the Malakoff—The Crisis arrives—Gortschakoff secures his Retreat—Council of September 3rd—Plan of Attack—The Last Bombardment—The Hour of Attack—Disposition of the Allied Troops—The Russians—The Signal—Assault of the Malakoff—Description of the Works—MacMahon and Vinoy—Failures upon the Curtain and Little Redan—MacMahon is Impregnable—Failure to take the Redan—Evening—Gortschakoff's Retreat—End of the Siege.
GENERAL JAMES SIMPSON succeeded to the command of the British army, and General Barnard became Chief of the Staff. Captain Keppel succeeded Captain, now Admiral, Sir Stephen Lushington in the command of the Naval Brigade. Sickness also drove home Sir Richard England, and Sir William Eyre took the 3rd Division. Lieutenant-General Markham, coming from India (there was a clamour for the appointment of Indian officers), succeeded to the 2nd Division, and Sir William Codrington to the Light Division. In the French camp there had been some changes. General Canrobert was recalled to France. General Bosquet reassumed the command of the French troops on the right, and General Herbillon, as senior officer present there, commanded the French on the Tchernaya.
The great object of the Allies was now to press as closely as possible to the body of the place. The French had begun to see distinctly that the Malakoff was the key of the whole defences on the eastern side, and that, with the fall of that redoubt, the town and the western side would be untenable. Accordingly, they continued with vigour the works of approach begun after the capture of the Mamelon. They descended the eastern slope of this hillock, burrowing in the ground where the soil was soft, planting gabions and piling up sand-bags, and using blasting powder where it was hard and rocky. Day after day the space between the Mamelon and Malakoff showed signs of their labours; the works on the Careening Ridge were extended and strengthened; and the whole front protected by being tied together by a connecting parallel. But the loss of men was very great. The fire of guns and mortars, although not heavy, was constant, and the shells, flung with low charges from a short distance, burst in the parallels and batteries, and among the working parties, with destructive effect. The labour required was prodigious; for every approach had to be protected by traverses from an enfilading fire. The watchful eyes of Todleben were never turned from the works of the Allies, and as fast as they projected a new approach, he found means of taking it in flank or raking it from his side. Unseen mortars, far in the rear, sent their shells into the Allied works. The steamers were still active, and, although they were frequently fired at, yet they were rarely, if ever, hit. Then the fire of musketry was incessant, and so from shell, and shot, and bullet the soldiers in the trenches lost numbers night and day. The British were quite unable to work the rocky soil in front of the Quarries. They pushed out but a little way under an irregular but searching fire of shells, flung in clusters of eight or ten and sometimes twelve at a time. The engineers were chiefly engaged in enlarging and strengthening the works, and in placing a still heavier armament in the batteries. The British loss was also very large—between thirty and forty men per diem were put hors de combat.