The battles of the world

by J. Douglas Borthwick

Meantime the French had driven back the Russian left wing upon the main body, and now brought to bear, with deadly effect, their guns upon the retreating foe; and the second and third divisions of our army arrived upon the scene. The victory was complete: a great army, in a position of immense strength, had been ignominiously defeated, in less than three hours, by the sheer valour of English and French soldiers. True, we had paid dearly for our victory; but the annals of the British army do not record a nobler achievement.

We were unable to pursue the fugitives—our cavalry was too weak in numbers to be detached from the main body of the army: had we been stronger in that branch of the service, the victory of the Alma might have been equivalent to the conquest of the Crimea. We afterwards ascertained that Sebastopol was emptied of its garrison to strengthen the army, and had we been in a position to follow the retreating forces, we might have inflicted a blow on Russian strength from which it would not in all probability have soon recovered; as it was, the Allies remained masters of the field, and the defeated Menschikoff fled towards Baktchi-Serai, leaving behind him, according to his own admission, 1,762 dead, and 2,720 wounded. Russian assertions are not the most trustworthy, especially when the circumstances are unfavourable to themselves, and the probability is that the loss was really much greater. The English had 353 killed, and 1,612 wounded, many of whom afterwards died of their injuries. Our allies lost 256 killed, and 1,087 wounded.

On the bloody field reposed the victors when that day’s dreadful work was done: amid the dead and dying—the lifebreath painfully passing from the lips of wounded friend and foe—some of our bravo fellows, pillowed on their knapsacks, slept a fitful sleep; some crept among the heaps of dying, searching for friend or brother, and some supported the drooping head and administered a draught of water to the fevered lips of wounded comrade or dying enemy. The fight was over, the lust of blood satisfied, and all the better qualities of manhood, mercy and forgiveness, appeared beneath that setting sun. Sometimes, as they stooped to assist a dying enemy, the Muscovite, trained to treachery, with a final effort, would discharge a pistol at their heads; and then the old war spirit was once more aroused, and with clubbed musket, or deadly bayonet, the malevolent Russian was sent to his account. The sailors, who had watched the progress of the battle from the ships, when they saw that victory was ours, swarmed ashore, and hurried to the scene of strife. There they bore the wounded to the surgeon’s quarters, and to the ships, with the tenderness of women. Little drummer-boys might be seen among the prostrate heroes, comforting and rendering assistance with a care and zeal beyond their years. A fatigue party was ordered on service to bury the dead; and the surgeons, with bare arms and splashed with blood, strove by their skill and energy to alleviate the sufferings and save the lives of the poor fellows brought to them.

A frightful spectacle was that hill-side of the Alma, on the evening of the renowned 20th of September, 1854. England’s best and bravest lay dead, their pale faces lit by the setting sun: some retained the expression of that intense energy which bore them fearlessly to the mouths of the Russian guns; some, with faces calm and beautiful as an infant’s, seemed peacefully sleeping, and smiling as they slept: others, with limbs contracted, and features frightfully distorted, bore witness to the fierce agonies of the death-struggle. Russian and English and French lay commingled, as they fell in the deadly struggle; and among the heaps of corpses, many in whom the spark of life yet lingered, lay miserably groaning, or faintly crawled with shattered limbs, in search of help. Some of the bodies were headless, the brains scattered around the bloody trunk: and others were so frightfully mutilated that it was difficult to recognize any trace of humanity. While some of our men helped to bear the wounded from the field, and bury the corpses of the slain, others hovered about, and plundered the dead of clothes, arms and such matters as could be carried away; the sailors especially were active in securing trophies of war. Russian orders and crosses, Russian arms, and even the black bread from the soldiers’ knapsacks, were eagerly sought; the boots were real prizes, and the seamen, who would heartily lend a hand to succour a wounded comrade, or even a foe, had no delicacy in appropriating the clothing of the dead. An expeditious mode of measurement, by which they secured the articles which would best fit, caused some amusement, even at such a time. Jack, seating himself at the feet of a dead Russian, placed the sole of his foot against that of the corpse; if they agreed in size, the boots were at once appropriated; if otherwise, the critical mariner proceeded to another selection.

For two days the armies remained upon the field; had they marched at once, it is more than probable, nay, almost certain, they might have entered Sebastopol with but little resistance. Marshal St. Arnaud wished to make an immediate advance; but Lord Raglan refused to leave his wounded untended on the field. Though possibly we ultimately lost by this delay, we can scarcely blame a general who showed such a fine humanity even among the horrors of warfare. Our English courage is of the old chivalric sort—we fight as men, for great principles, not for the lust of conquest: our soldiers are every one a treasure of immense value, rightly used, not to be cast away to perish when their first use is passed. Human life is to Englishmen intensely sacred: we cheerfully lay it down when demanded, and in proportion do we honour and cherish those who have perilled it in our cause. A single life wilfully sacrificed for a mere strategical advantage would have been a stain on our English honour, which we should not speedily have forgiven.

At early morning, on the 23rd of September, the Allies turned their backs on the memorable heights. Two men, strong and unwounded, remained upon the field, and watched their departure; and in all that proud array, flushed with victory, there were none who bore more heroic hearts. Upwards of 200 wounded Russians still lay upon the field; and Dr. Thompson, surgeon of the 44th regiment, and his servant, volunteered to remain, and administer to their wants. Every moment increased their loneliness and their danger; for predatory bands of Cossack horsemen still hovered around the scene, against whose revengeful lances the plea of mercy and Christian charity would have been but an ineffectual shield; and yet these two brave men quailed not in their mission, and many a dying foe had his last pangs soothed, and parting agonies alleviated, by the ministrations of these good Samaritans of peace.”

ALMANZA.—This battle was fought, April 4th, 1707, between the confederate forces under the Earl of Galway, and the French and Spaniards, commanded by James Fitzjames, Duke of Berwick, the illegitimate son of James II of England, when most of the English were killed or made prisoners of war, having been abandoned by the Portuguese at the first charge.

ALMEIDA.—This was an important position, as a frontier town of Portugal, in the Peninsular war. Massena laid siege to it August 15th, 1810, and the governor capitulated August 27th following. The French crossed into Spain, leaving a garrison at Almeida, blockaded by the British, April 6th, 1811. It was evacuated by the French, May 11th, of the same year. In the end Wellington compelled Massena to retire from Portugal, but the route of the French was tracked by horrid desolation.

ALNEY.—This was rather a single combat than a battle, between Edmund Ironside and Canute the Great, in sight of their armies. The latter was wounded, when he proposed a division of the kingdom, the south part falling to Edmund, A.D. 1016; but this prince having been murdered at Oxford, shortly after the treaty, according to some by the treachery of Aldric Streon, Canute was left in the peaceable possession of the whole kingdom, A.D. 1017.