Well, the glory that Alma brought us was "real real," as a Yankee would say. I do not know exactly what the weight of glory is, nor am I acquainted with its exact value per square inch. Anyhow in this case the French praised us, and we patted and praised the French, while even the Russians allowed they had been fairly beaten—by force of numbers.
Had the Russians, however, defended the roads and passes, or obliterated them; had they used their cavalry and reserves, and not pulled away their guns, it is evident that our victory would have been a far more costly one to us, even if it had not ended in disaster.
At the time that Codrington's beaten regiments swept their supports—the Fusiliers—down the hill, it was touch and go.
Had not Colin Campbell with his brigade of heroes come in the nick of time, defeat, it seems to me, would have been ours.
If the Russians made mistakes, so did we. For there was an utter absence of concerted action, no unity of purpose, nor were the regiments in action supported as they should have been.
Ah! we shall hug the glory of Alma to our hearts all our lives nevertheless; for our gallant fellows—English, Irish, and Welsh, as well as Scots—were, in a manner of speaking, Johnnie Raws (I say it in no disrespectful way)—good soldiers, and clever in peace and on parade. But we had not been to war for forty years before, so I think we did very well, considering everything.
And to tell you the truth, reader mine, whenever I go along the Strand, or enter a club room, or pass the door of a great book emporium, or even clothier's shop, and see a straight, sturdy, grey-haired commissionnaire with a silver medal and a clasp or two on his breast bearing the sacred names of Alma, Inkermann, Balaklava, I feel very much inclined to lift my hat to him. Don't you?
CHAPTER V.
A WALK ACROSS THE BATTLE-FIELD—GHASTLY
SIGHTS—BRAVE SURGEON THOMPSON OF THE
44TH—JACK'S STRANGE ADVENTURE.
So much for the glory of war; how about its ghastliness?