This visit of Russia's great general to Sebastopol would have been called by sailors an inspection.
The only marvel is that, after the ghastly sights he witnessed therein, he did not, if only out of pity for the poor, brave defenders, give up the place at once.
The city proper had been demolished, houses were in ruins, public buildings destroyed, whole streets reduced to chaos. Dismounted guns could not be replaced even at night, owing to the fire of our mortar batteries; the embrasures could not be repaired; nor could the parapets that, cracked and broken, lay in the ditches, be rebuilt. But, worst of all, the poor wounded men that had fallen by day had to lie amidst heaps of slain till night permitted their being removed. It is needless to say that the hospitals were crowded with sick and wounded; for the death-rate at that time, from shot and shell and sickness, must have been from 700 to 800 every day.
And in spite of all this, Gortschakoff determined to re-garrison with half his army from M'Kenzie heights, and defend the works to the very last extremity, as "the only honourable course that remained to him."
The last words are the tactician's own. And yet he knew that in—at the outside—six weeks' time he must succumb, and yield up Sebastopol. So these tactics were surely unwise; nor was Gortschakoff's resolve in accordance with true honour.
I need say nothing about the saving of life that the capitulation of Sebastopol, just after the battle of Tchernaya, would have effected to the allies. The Russian general could not have been expected to think of these, except to wish them utterly annihilated. But what I do say—and I believe that my young readers will agree with me—is that, in abandoning the great fortress at this time, Gortschakoff could have sheathed a sword of honour; while, by continuing the contest, the sword which he finally sheathed was one incrusted with murder.
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The bombardment was now continued, and erelong the Malakoff tower and the works adjoining were silenced.
Our trenches were difficult to work, and their advancement towards the Redan was soon put an end to by the rocks. As the French soil was soft, they had worked up to within about forty yards of the Malakoff. Further they could not get.
It was now agreed at a council of war that the time had come for the final and grand assault. That chosen by Pelissier for the advance of the French was exactly at noon, at which hour he knew the relief of the works he had to take was always carried out—one garrison being first marched out, and then the other or fresh one marched in. At noon, therefore, the Malakoff would have fewer defenders.