After breakfast Jack was sent with a letter to the officer commanding Lord Raglan’s escort. The commander-in-chief had left Balaclava and taken up his quarters in a snug farmhouse surrounded by vineyards and outbuildings, and situated about four miles from the town. Jack, having delivered his letter, was told to wait, which he was very willing to do, for he got a splendid view of the bombardment. He could see the Lancaster and the mortar batteries in the right and left attacks, and the French away on the left. The Russian gunners were plainly visible in their batteries, and they were maintaining a tremendous fire; while, from the harbour, shot and shell from the six hundred pieces of cannon on the French and English fleets poured in their fire upon Sebastopol.
The sight was grand—magnificent; the noise simply appalling. It seemed as if Sebastopol must crumble into dust beneath the fury of shot hurled into it; but although nine batteries were destroyed the enemy still kept up a powerful resistance.
Presently the fire, as though by mutual consent, slackened on both sides; then it broke out again with renewed fury. Suddenly a tremendous explosion took place in one of the French batteries. Guns, carriages, parts of the embrasures, and upwards of a hundred men were blown to fragments. A magazine had been exploded. The Russians yelled with joy, and could be seen jumping on to their parapets, waving rammers in the air. The fire of the English batteries, though, soon gave them something else to think about; but the fire of the French batteries slackened and soon their guns were almost silent. The French men-of-war, however, fired more furiously than ever, and so it went on till towards midday a second magazine was exploded in the French lines.
Soon afterwards a tremendous explosion took place in the centre of Sebastopol, doing immense damage, and later on the Redan was almost shattered by a similar explosion, and so the awful duel went on till night, when both sides ceased from sheer weariness.
The Allies had a loss together of about three hundred men, but they did infinitely greater damage to the Russians, amongst others killing their gallant defender, Korniloff. After that, day by day, an almost incessant duel was kept up, the big guns roaring and thundering from morning till night. Men were killed in the batteries and in the trenches daily, the latter being most difficult to dig in the hard, stony ground. The earth for gabions and sandbags had to be carried from a distance in baskets to the place required, an arduous and dangerous work.
But more deadly by far than the shot and shell of the enemy were the ravages of the cholera, and in the first three weeks before Sebastopol the army lost more men and officers than had fallen at the Alma—a terrible toll.[4] Balaclava was crowded with invalids; hundreds were sent away daily to Scutari; yet more and more came, till they had to be left dying in the streets for want of accommodation.
Among the victims was St Arnaud, the French commander-in-chief, who was succeeded by General Canrobert, a much abler man.
The ‘Death or Glory Boys’ suffered with the others, and the regiment was only a shadow of its former self. Captain Norreys being on the staff, and Major Willett ill at Balaclava, Captain Wintle was in command.
‘What’s the use,’ growled Linham one morning when, after the usual hour of standing under arms, the cavalry had been dismissed for breakfast—‘what’s the use of bringing cavalry to a place like this I want to know?’
‘Just to give you something to grumble at, Jimmy,’ said Sergeant Barrymore.