It had been arranged that the ships of the Admirals should occupy the centre of the bay, thus dividing the two armies. Had this determination been carried out, the landing might have been effected with the least imaginable difficulty; but the French Admiral, with an exclusive attention to his own branch of the allied force, which subsequent events of the campaign paralleled, thought proper to anchor his vessel at the extreme right of the bay, thus throwing the vessels into considerable confusion. One transport was grounded, and several fouled in their endeavours to get into their proper positions. In an incredibly short space of time, however, order was restored; and, under the energetic superintendence of Sir Edmund Lyons, the steamers and transports commenced to discharge their living freights. The sea was literally covered with boats, laden with soldiers in their varied uniforms, and bearing rations for three days, every article that could possibly be dispensed with being left in the ships. Those who landed first marked out with flags the spots to be occupied by each division and regiment; and the sailors, standing knee-deep in the water, lent hearty assistance to those who were less amphibious than themselves. Nothing could exceed the delight of the sturdy seamen, as they lifted their red-coated compatriots from the boats, and placed them dry-footed on the shore; or lent a hand, with more zeal than knowledge, to disembark the horses. Frequently, a noble charger, startled by the novelty of his situation, would roll into the water, half a dozen ancient mariners clinging to his mane or tail, and sharing his immersion,—emerging at length, dripping with brine, but in a high state of jollity at having rescued their steed, and overwhelming him with caresses of a nautical fashion, as they soothed his fears or indulged him with a short trot on terra firma. The two or three Cossacks who had watched our landing now deemed it prudent to withdraw, though not until a few shots had warned them of the prowess of the English riflemen, and one of their number had received a compliment from Major Lysons, of the 23rd, which would probably render his sitting in the saddle, or elsewhere, exceedingly inconvenient for some time to come. It so chanced, however, that even these few Cossacks were very nearly inflicting a heavy blow on the English army, by the capture of one of its most distinguished officers. Sir George Brown, general of the Light Division, had no sooner landed, than with characteristic daring he mounted his horse, and advanced alone to gain a view of the surrounding country. He had ridden some distance, and had closely approached the retreating party, quite unconscious of their neighbourhood, when he was suddenly astonished by the unwelcome apparition of three ferocious horsemen, lance in hand, in full career towards him, and at but a few yards’ distance. Sir George, who was almost unarmed, was too old a soldier to mistake rashness for courage, and wisely considering the odds too great, discreetly put spurs to his horse and galloped off, followed by his Cossack pursuers. A few of our men had fortunately, however, followed in the steps of their leader, and when they saw his danger, hastened to the rescue. Half a dozen levelled rifles proved too strong an argument for the valour of the Russian horsemen, and they, in their turn, made a precipitate retreat. Sir George Brown rejoined the main body, and proved, when the time came, that he could attack as bravely as he could retire discreetly.
By the time when the approaching darkness rendered it necessary to suspend operations for the day, 20,000 English, with thirty-six guns, and numerous horses, had been landed, and the French in about equal force. Our men had left their tents in the ships, and officers and common soldiers were alike unprovided with means of shelter. Their rations consisted of provisions for three days; and in this respect, those high in command shared with their less distinguished followers. As night closed in, torrents of rain began to descend, and in a brief space of time, the narrow strip of land on which they stood, bounded on the one side by the sea, and on the other by a salt lake, was a dismal swamp. Wrapping themselves in their blankets, which were thoroughly soaked in a few minutes, the men lay down in the mud, and endeavoured to sleep. A moderate, and not very luxurious supper of cold pork, washed down with a single sip of rum, was their first meal in the Crimea; and then, officers and men strove to drown in slumber the wretched aspect of affairs which thus initiated their invasion. Sir De Lacy Evans was fortunate enough to possess a tent, which some considerate member of the veteran’s staff had contrived to bring on shore. An old cart, the property probably of some Tartar peasant, frightened from his accustomed labour, made, when overturned, a canopy such as royalty seldom couches beneath; but under its welcome shelter the Duke of Cambridge pressed, no doubt for the first time, the bare earth. The French were better provided. They had contrived to land a considerable number of tents; and, moreover, many of their regiments were supplied with the little tentes-abris, a portion of which was borne by each soldier; and several of these parts could be united into a small tent, sufficiently commodious to afford some protection from the severity of the weather.
How little can the home-keeping public realise the feelings which must have been predominant in the bosoms of the men during that melancholy bivouac! Soldiers are, perhaps, less sensitive to hardships and exposure than civilians; and probably comparatively callous to the finer sentiments. But it is scarcely possible to conceive that, out of 60,000 men, lying on the bare earth in an enemy’s country, there would be many who would not be keenly alive to the emotions their situations would naturally suggest. Physically depressed by a day of extreme toil, poorly fed, and drenched by the descending torrent, the past would be inevitably present to their imaginations, and with the past the probable future. Many men will march dauntlessly to the cannon’s mouth, and show no signs of fear, but with cheerful voice, and light step, dash through the enemy’s fire, and over the bodies of the dead. But in the stillness of the night, when no excitement warms his blood, the bravest will be despondent, and the strong man be moved with emotions as keen as those which agitate the breasts of the tender woman or the sympathetic child. Oceans rolled between them and all they had learned to love and value. No hand so rough but had been pressed by some other hand on the day of departure; no nature so fierce and ungentle but had softened into a better manhood as the cliffs of England receded from the view. And now they lay through the long hours of that miserable night, striving vainly enough to drown their remembrances in sleep, and gain renewed strength and courage for the morrow—the morrow that might bring death, and certainly imminent dangers. Before them lay an unknown land—a future of deadly uncertainty. Battles were to be fought, shot and steel to be encountered; and who could tell who were destined to lie in the obscurity of death on that foreign soil, and who to bear the tidings back to thousands of melancholy homes?
Thus was passed the night of the 14th of September, the anniversary of the death of the great Duke of Wellington, who, two years before, ended his career amid the universally expressed sorrow of a great people. He was, we had fondly hoped, the last great representative of the military glory of this country. A new era had been, we believed, initiated, in which the arts of peace supersede the operations of war. And now, but two years after the conqueror of Waterloo had looked for the last time upon the world, an English army had landed upon the shores of a hostile territory, and was commencing a warfare of which no man could see the termination, and which bade fair to involve every nation of Europe. The chosen champion of England’s military glory was quiet in his tomb; but his companions, pupils, and successors were prepared to emulate his deeds, and strike as vigorously for the honor of their country, and the maintenance of the freedom of Europe.”
CROPREADY, BATTLE OF.—Fought between the forces of Charles I of England and the Parliament, June 6th, 1644. It was a drawn battle; for both sides, in their respective accounts, claim the victory.
CRUSADES.—The holy wars, waged by the Christians, to wrest the Sepulchre of Christ and Jerusalem, from the hands of the Saracens, continued for many years, and no important results were derived from them as regards territorial acquisition, but they had an immense effect in civilizing the west countries of Europe. There were three principal ones.
CUDDALORE.—India.—Possessed by the English in 1681. Reduced by the French, 1758. Recaptured two years afterwards by Sir Eyre Coote. Taken again in 1781. Besieged by the British under General Stuart in 1783.
CUIRASS.—A covering for protecting the body of cavalry from the weapons of opponents. The French had a body of soldiers covered with them.
CULLODEN, BATTLE OF.—Fought April 16th, 1746, between the Pretender and the Duke of Cumberland. The Scots lost 2500 men, while the English lost only 200. A writer thus describes the battle:—
“Thus far the affairs of the rebel army seemed not unprosperous; but here was an end of all their triumphs. The Duke of Cumberland, at that time the favourite of the English army, had been recalled from Flanders, and put himself at the head of the troops at Edinburgh, which consisted of about 14,000 men. With these he advanced to Aberdeen, where he was joined by several of the Scotch nobility, attached to the house of Hanover; and having revived the drooping spirits of his army, he resolved to find out the enemy, who retreated at his approach. After having refreshed his troops at Aberdeen for some time, he renewed his march, and in twelve days he came up to the banks of the deep and rapid river Spey. This was the place where the rebels might have disputed his passage, but they lost every advantage in disputing with each other. They seemed now totally void of all counsel and subordination, without conduct, and without unanimity. After a variety of contests among each other, they resolved to wait their pursuers upon the plains of Culloden, a place about nine miles distant from Inverness, embosomed in hills, except on that side which was open to the sea. There they drew up in order of battle, to the number of 8000 men, in three divisions, supplied with some pieces of artillery, ill manned and served.