The British Expedition to the Crimea

by Sir William Howard Russell

The extraordinary fineness of the weather all this time afforded a daily reproach to the inactivity of our armies. Within one day of the first anniversary of that terrible 14th of November, which will never be forgotten by those who spent it on the plateau of Sebastopol, the air was quite calm. From the time the expedition returned from Kinburn not one drop of rain fell, and each day was cloudless, sunny, and almost too warm. The mornings and nights, however, began to warn us that winter was impending. It is certainly to be regretted that the Admirals could not have undertaken their expedition against Kaffa, for the only ostensible obstacle to the enterprise was the weather, and our experience and traditions of the year before certainly suggested extreme caution ere we ventured upon sending a flotilla, filled with soldiers, on such an awful coast, even for the very short passage to Theodosia.

BOOK IX.

THE WINTER—POSITION OF THE FRENCH—THE TURKISH CONTINGENT—PREPARATIONS FOR THE NEXT CAMPAIGN—THE ARMISTICE—THE PEACE AND THE EVACUATION.

CHAPTER I.

Anniversaries—An Explosion—Casualties—Terrible Scene—Cause of the Catastrophe—Accident in the Redan—Samuel Goodram—Love of Fighting—Contrast between the Years 1854 and 1855—The Flank March—Mistakes in the first Instance—Russian Troops—The Sports of Sebastopol.

THE month of November would seem to have been ruled by some genius unfavourable to our arms. If it gave to us the glorious remembrance of a profitless and bloody victory, it also brought with it a day of disaster and gloom—the beginning of a long series of calamities. The first anniversary of that day passed away amid mutual congratulations and reminiscences, rendered all the more joyous by the contrast between the present and the past. We had beheld a spectacle of unusual splendour and grandeur, one indeed which no native of these isles has ever yet witnessed, so far as I am aware. On the 14th of November, 1855, the purity of the air—the health of the troops—the abundance of stores—the excellence of the roads—the quantity of hutting—the hospital accommodation—the fineness of the day—the beauty of the sky—the dryness of the soil—the prospects of the army—the bright-hued future: all these were contrasted by a myriad tongues in endless difference of phrase, coloured by many a recollection of personal suffering. There was no sorrow, no calamity could reach us now, and of all things which fate could grant us, most of all were we desirous of meeting that alone with which fate seemed to threaten us—an assault by the enemy. But, suddenly, up from the very centre of our camp, so that every ear should hear and every eye should see, rushed with such a crash as may forewarn the world of its doom, and with such a burst of flame and smoke as may never yet have been seen by man, except in the throes of some primeval eruption, a ghastly pillar of sulphureous vapour. It spread as it rose, bearing aloft for hundreds of yards men, horses, fragments of limbs, rocks, shells, and cannon-shot, and then extended its folds in writhing involutions, as though it were tortured by the fire within, raining them down over the astounded soldiery below! For a moment the boldest lost heart, and "the bravest held his breath." There was no safety in flight—the wings of the wind could not have left that dreadful shower of iron behind; and as one of the most collected and cool soldiers in the army said to me, "I had only presence of mind to throw myself on the ground and ask the forgiveness of God, and I received his mercy!" In fact, the effect resembled some great convulsion of nature. Many thought it was an earthquake; others fancied it was the outburst of a volcano; others, that the Russians had got hold of Lord Dundonald's invention, and that they had just given it a first trial. Indeed, one officer said to another, as soon as he recovered breath and could speak, "I say, that's a nice sort of thing, is it not? The sooner we go after that the better." He was persuaded the Russians had thrown some new and unheard-of instrument of destruction into the camp.

I was riding from head-quarters, reading my letters, and had just reached the hill, or elevated part of the plateau, at the time, and happened to be looking in the very direction of the park when the explosion took place. The phenomena were so startling as to take away one's breath. Neither pen nor pencil could describe them. The earth shook. The strongest houses rocked to and fro. Men felt as if the very ground upon which they stood was convulsed by an earthquake. The impression of these few moments can never be eradicated. One's confidence in the stability of the very earth was staggered. Suppositos incedimus ignes. What part of the camp was safe after such a catastrophe? The rush of fire, smoke, and iron, in one great pillar, attained a height I dare not estimate, and then seemed to shoot out like a tree, which over-shadowed half the camp on the right, and rained down missiles upon it. The colour of the pillar was dark grey, flushed with red, but it was pitted all over with white puffs of smoke, which marked the explosions of the shells. It retained the shape of a fir-tree for nearly a minute, and then the sides began to swell out and the overhanging canopy to expand and twist about in prodigious wreaths of smoke, which flew out to the right and left, and let drop, as it were from solution in its embrace, a precipitate of shells, carcasses, and iron projectiles. The noise was terrible; and when the shells began to explode, the din was like the opening crash of one of the great cannonades or bombardments of the siege. I clapped spurs to my horse and rode off as hard as I could towards the spot as soon as my ears had recovered the shock. As I rode along I could see thousands hurrying away from the place, and thousands hastening to it. The smoke became black; the fire had caught the huts and tents. General Windham overtook me, riding from head-quarters as hard as he could go. He was ignorant of the cause and locality of the explosion, and was under the impression that it was one of the French redoubts. Sir Richard Airey followed close after him, and General Codrington rode towards the fire a few minutes afterwards.

THE GREAT EXPLOSION.

On arriving close to the place, I saw that the ground had been torn up in all directions. The fragments of shell were still smoking, and shells were bursting around in most unpleasant proximity. Captain Piggott, in a short time, came up with the ambulances at a gallop, and urged the horses through the flames and amid the exploding shell in order to render assistance to the sufferers; and in this arduous duty he was manfully and courageously assisted by Surgeons Alexander, Muir, Mouat, and others. As we were all looking on at the raging fire, an alarm spread that the mill used as a powder magazine had caught fire. A regular panic ensued—horses and men tore like a storm through the camp of the Second Division. I did not escape the contagion, but, at my servant's solicitation, mounted my horse, and rode off like the rest. I soon came up to Colonel Percy Herbert, who was actively engaged in trying to get the men of his Division under arms, but he told me he could find neither drummers, buglers, officers, nor sergeants. The panic was soon over. The mill did not catch, though the roof and doors and windows were blown in. The officers, in the most devoted way, stripped, and placed 300 wet blankets over the powder inside just as the flames were raging behind the mill and at the side of it within 200 yards. Hundreds of rockets rushed hissing and bursting through the air, sheets of flame shot up from exploding powder, carcasses glared out fiercely through black clouds of smoke, and shells burst, tossing high in air burning beams of wood and showers of sparks, and boxes of small-arm ammunition exploded with a rattling report like musketry, and flew about in little balls of fire.

My reading in military matters is not sufficient to enable me to say, with any confidence, that there never was so terrible an explosion; but having witnessed and heard the explosions at Pavlovskaia and Kertch, at Oczakoff, of the French magazines on the 17th of October, 1854, and of the Russian forts on the 9th of September, 1855, I must say that, in volume of sound, in appalling effect, they were far exceeded in vehemence and grandeur by this tremendously abrupt and startling catastrophe. The quantity of Russian powder which went up was about 1,700 barrels, and there were about 800 barrels of French powder exploded in the three magazines. Each barrel contained about 100lb. weight of gunpowder, so that the total quantity which furnished the elements of this prodigious combustion cannot have been less than 250,000lb. But in addition to that enormous mass of powder there were vast mounds of shell, carcasses, rockets, and small-arm ammunition, contributing to the intensity and violence of the fiery blast.