For the third time our fire was opened along the whole range of positions on the 6th of June. At half-past two o'clock on that day 157 guns and mortars on our side, and above 300 on that of the French, awoke from silence to tumult.
ATTACK ON THE QUARRIES.
The two armies—one might say the four armies, but that the Turks and Sardinians were not expected to take a very prominent part in the trench-work and assault—were in strength equal to any achievement, and in spirits ever chiding the delay, and urging that one touch of the bayonet which made all the world scamper. If the strategic necessity pointed to some more decisive action this time, so, on the other hand, the intention of going beyond a vain cannonade was tolerably plain. Our fire was kept up for the first three hours with excessive rapidity, the Russians answering by no means on an equal scale, though with considerable warmth. On our side the predominance of shells was very manifest, and distinguished the present cannonade in some degree even from the last. The superiority of our fire over the enemy became apparent at various points before nightfall, especially in the Redan, which was under the especial attention of the Naval Brigade. The Russians displayed, however, plenty of determination and bravado. They fired frequent salvos at intervals of four or six guns, and also, by way of reprisals, threw heavy shot up to our Light Division and on to the Picquet-house-hill. After dark the animosity on both sides gave signs of relaxing, but the same relative advantage was maintained by our artillery. It was a sultry day, with the dull mist of extreme heat closing down upon the valleys, and with no air to rend away the curtain of smoke which swayed between the town and our batteries; and at night flashes of lightning in the north-east made a counter-illumination on the rear of our position.
A still and sluggish atmosphere, half mist, half gunpowder, hung about the town in the early morning of June the 7th, and the sun enfilading the points of view from the horizon, telescopes were put out of joint. The Redan, however, which rose up boldly in front of the hills that sloped from Cathcart's Mound, gave some evidence of having yielded to rough treatment, the jaws of its embrasures gaping, and its fire being irregular and interrupted.
At nine a cool, strong breeze sprang up, and continued throughout the day. The whole range of fire from right to left became visible in a bright sun, that for once was not scorching. The enemy either could not or would not keep up a very vigorous reply. All the early part of the day we had the work very much to ourselves.
About eleven o'clock a shell from the Russians exploded a magazine in our eight-gun battery, and a yell of delight followed. Very slight harm resulted—one man was killed, one wounded, and a few scorched a little. As the day wore on, it leaked out that the double attack would probably commence at five or six P.M. An immense concourse of officers and men was gathered on Cathcart's Hill, and along the spines of the heights which wind towards Sebastopol. The fire on our side assumed a sudden fury about three o'clock.
Between five and six o'clock Lord Raglan and his staff took up a position on the edge of the hill below the Limekiln, where it commanded our four-gun battery, and looked straight into the teeth of the Redan. About half-past six the head of the French column came into view, as it climbed to the Mamelon. A rocket was thrown up, and instantly our men made a rush at the Quarries. After one slight check they drove out the Russians, and, turning round the gabions, commenced making themselves snug; but the interest was so entirely concentrated upon the more exciting scene, full in view upon the right, that they had to wait a good while before attention was directed to their conflict.
BRILLIANT FIRING.
The French went up the steep to the Mamelon in loose order, and in most beautiful style. Every straining eye was upon their movements, which the declining daylight did not throw out into bold relief. Still their figures, like light shadows flitting across the dun barrier of earthworks, were seen to mount up unfailingly—running, climbing, scrambling up the slopes on to the body of the work, amid a plunging fire from the guns, which did them as yet little damage. As an officer, who saw Bosquet wave them on, said, "They went in like a clever pack of hounds." In a moment some of these dim wraiths shone out clear against the sky. The Zouaves were upon the parapet, the next moment a flag was hoisted up as a rallying-point and defiance, and was seen to sway hither and thither, now up, now down, as the tide of battle raged. It was seven minutes and a half from the commencement. Then there came a rush of the French through the angle, where they had entered, and momentary confusion outside. Groups were collected on the hither side in shelter. But hardly had the need of support become manifest, and a gun or two again flashed from the embrasure, than there was another run in, another sharp fight, and this time the Russians went out spiking their guns. Twice the Russians made head against the current, for they had a large mass of troops in reserve, covered by the guns of the Round Tower; twice they were forced back by the onsweeping flood of French. For ten minutes or so the quick flash and roll of small arms declared how the uncertain fight waxed and waned inside the enclosure. Then the back door, if one may use an humble metaphor, was burst open. The noise of the conflict went away down the descent on the side towards the town, and the arena grew larger. It was apparent by the space over which the battle spread, that the Russians had been reinforced. When the higher ground again became the seat of action,—when there came the second rush of the French back upon their supports, for the former one was a mere reflux or eddy of the stream,—when rocket after rocket went up ominously from the French General's position, and seemed to emphasize by their repetition some very plain command, we began to get nervous. It was growing darker and darker, too, so that with our glasses we could with difficulty distinguish the actual state of affairs. There was even a dispute for some time as to whether our allies were going in or out of the work, and the staff themselves were by no means clear as to what was going on. At last, through the twilight, we discerned that the French were pouring in. After the interval of doubt, our ears could gather that the swell and babble of the fight was once more rolling down the inner face of the hill, and that the Russians were conclusively beaten. "They are well into it this time," says one to another, handing over the glass. The musket flashes were no more to be seen within it. There was no more lightning of the heavy guns from the embrasures. A shapeless hump upon a hull, the Mamelon was an extinct volcano, until such time as it should please our allies to call it again into action. Then, at last, the more hidden struggle of our own men in the hollow on the left came uppermost. "How are our fellows getting on?" says one. "Oh! take my word for it, they're all right," says another. And they were, so far as taking the Quarries was concerned, but they had nevertheless to fight all night.
As it grew dark our advanced battery under the Green-hill made very pretty practice by flipping shells over our men's heads at the Russians. From the misshapen outline of the Quarries a fringe of fire kept blazing and sparkling in a waving sort of curve, just like a ring of gas illuminating on a windy night; the attempt to retake them out of hand was desperately pushed, the Russians pouring in musketry, which caused us no small loss, and as it came up the gorge, contending with the fresh wind, sounded in the distance like water gulped simultaneously from a thousand bottles.