With the Connaught Rangers

by Edward Herbert Maxwell

As we returned to the camp from Shegog’s funeral, one of my brothers-in-arms said he felt very unwell. We cheered him up as well as we could, but as the night went on he became really ill, and, in the morning, our surgeon passed my tent, and said, ‘Mackie has got cholera.’

The regiment was preparing to proceed on the march to Varna, for we had nearly reached our destination, and our chief, Shirley, proposed that Mackie should be left till later in the day—under charge of a guard—but, as he decided to accompany the battalion, a stretcher was made as comfortable as possible for him, and he was carried by some men of his company. On approaching Varna, he asked them to lower him down to the ground, which they had no sooner done than poor Mackie expired.

Our embarkation at Varna was effected without difficulty. Our vessel, which was towed by a steamer, formed one of that magnificent fleet of men-of-war and transports that covered the Black Sea for miles. When night came on, the scene was marvellous to look upon; light after light shining in the far distance over the calm sea. Sometimes the sea resembled a large harbour full of vessels at anchor, then it assumed the appearance of long streets in some vast town, but all was silent, and filled our minds with awe.

The light division landed at Old Fort in the Crimea. There was no opposition from the Russians, not one of whom was visible, except some Cossacks on a distant hill. We marched only a few miles from where we had disembarked, and halted in what appeared to be a stubble-field, but, as darkness had come on, it was difficult to know where we were. While we were in this state of perplexity, it began to rain. I was dressed in, I believe, the identical coat in which I had appeared at the Tuileries ball, which was uncomfortable for even a drawing-room, but quite unsuited for a wet night in a ploughed field. For hours the rain continued, and we were all wet through. The men, in the morning, managed to light a fire, and one of them brought me a mug of hot rum and water, which was most delicious. What kindly fellows these private soldiers were in those by-gone days! I daresay they are the same now, but I only testify to what they were then, from my experience of them.

In a day or two we got our tents and were comparatively comfortable. One night some firing was heard, which was taken up by the whole line of sentries. What an excitement it was! Stevens and I shared the same tent, sleeping on the ground, without light of any kind, in total darkness. When the hurly-burly began—the buglers sounding the alarm, followed by the assembly—we both jumped up, and struggled to get our shakoes, which, of course, had hid themselves. Scrambling in the dark, our two heads came bang against each other, and nearly floored us both, but at length, after a fall over the tent ropes, we reached my company. One of our staff-sergeants was an excitable man. It is reported of him that on that night he rushed about with a drawn sword in a most frantic way, and nearly knocked over a bugler, who, seeing this wild man rushing at him, fell on his knees, exclaiming, in terrified accents,

‘Spare me, spare me, I’m a frind!’

This was our first scare in the Crimea, and was caused by some horses having got loose and surprised the sentries.

The story of the Crimean War has been told so often that I am not going to inflict the oft-repeated tale on my friends, but only mention a few facts which are not universally known.

It was the day before the battle of the Alma, when one of my brother officers was taken very ill with symptoms of cholera. There was a small house, I think a post-house, near our bivouac, and my friend took refuge there. He had not been long established in these humble quarters when a staff officer came and informed him he was sorry he must turn him out, but that Lord Raglan’s head-quarters had been fixed there, and that his lordship was then approaching.

Lord Raglan came up during this conversation, and, on being informed of the case, insisted that my brother officer should remain undisturbed where he was, had a chair brought in to make him more comfortable, and, later in the day, with his one hand, carried a bowl of soup to my suffering friend, and this was on the night before the battle of the Alma. Lord Raglan showed in many acts what a kind heart was his. Later, when the siege of Sebastopol was progressing, Nat Stevens and I were sitting in our closed tent, enjoying a fire. Nat was an inventive genius, and had found an old funnel lying about, and had made a kind of a chimney, through which escaped some of the smoke, that was caused by a few damp roots burning in a very primitive fire-place. We were actually weeping for joy, as a great deal of smoke refused to leave us. It was snowing heavily outside the tent, when a voice was heard shouting. With many exclamations of disgust Nat opened the tent. A figure on a horse, all alone, was barely visible in the snow.