The British Expedition to the Crimea

by Sir William Howard Russell

Parting scenes—Extent of the Armada—Life at sea—Waiting for orders—Slow progress—The shores of the Crimea—Anchorage.

THE arrangements for the conveyance of the troops to their destination were of the largest and most perfect character; and when all the transports were united, they constituted an armada of 600 vessels, covered by a fleet with 3000 pieces of artillery.

Although, at first sight, this force appeared irresistible, it could not be overlooked that the enemy had a large fleet within a few hours' sail—that in using our men-of-war as transports, we lost their services in case of a naval action—that our army had suffered much from illness and death, and that the expedition had something of uncertainty, if not audacity, in its character—all that was fixed being this, that we were to descend at the Katcha, beat the Russians, and take Sebastopol.

Writing at the time, I said—"I am firmly persuaded that the patience of people at home, who are hungering and thirsting for the news of 'the Fall of Sebastopol,' will be severely tried, and that the chances are a little against the incidents of its capture being ready by Christmas for repetition at Astley's. It is late, very late, in the year for such a siege as there is before us, and I should not be surprised if we are forced to content ourselves with the occupation of a portion of the Crimea, which may become the basis of larger and more successful operations next year."

Few but our generals, admirals, and some old officers, troubled their heads much about these things, except a few notorious old grumblers. The only persons who were dejected or melancholy were those who were compelled to stay behind. Such vast establishments as had been created at Varna for the use of our army could not be broken up without many fragments remaining, and these fragments must be watched. There were, besides, the poor invalids in the hospitals, the officers and men in charge of them and of various regimental stores, of depôts, of commissariat supplies, the commissariat officers themselves—in fact, the guardians of the débris which an army leaves behind it, all melancholy, and lamenting their hard fate. The most extravagant efforts were made by some of the officers on whom the lot fell to remain, in order to evade so great a calamity.

At the last moment many an aching heart was made happy by an order from head-quarters. The women of several of the regiments who had mournfully followed their husbands to the beach, and rent the air with their wailings when they heard they were to be separated from those with whom they had shared privation and pestilence, were allowed to go on board. It was found that no provision had been made for their domicile or feeding. A camp of women!—the very idea was ludicrous and appalling; and so, as they could not be left behind, the British Andromaches were perforce shipped on board the transports and restored to their Hectors.

In the course of (Monday) September 4th, six English men-of-war and four French men-of-war left Varna Bay, and from morning to evening not an hour passed that some six or eight transports did not weigh anchor and steer away to the northward to the rendezvous at Baltschik. Sir Edmund Lyons, who had charge of the arrangements connected with the expedition, was busy all the day on board his flagship communicating with the shore and with the fleet.

The signal for starting was very anxiously expected, but evening closed in on the bulk of the English flotilla still anchored in the waters of Varna, and for the last time, perhaps, in the history of the world, the echoes of its shores were woke up by the roll of English drums, and by the music of the bands of our regiments, which will, in all probability, never re-visit these ill-omened lands. As the sun set and shot his yellow rays across the distant hills, the summit of which formed our camping grounds, and lighted up the flat expanse of rolling vapours above the lake, one could not but give a sigh to the memory of those who were lying far away from the land of their fathers—whose nameless graves are scattered in every glade and on every knoll in that unkindly Mœsian soil.

However, the morrow came, and with it life and motion. A gun from the Admiral! Signals from the Emperor, the seat of power of the Admiralty agents! The joyful news throughout the fleet that we were to weigh, and to get off to our rendezvous in Baltschik as soon as we could. Many sailing transports were already stealing out to the southwards under all light canvas, in order to get a good offing. All the steamers were busy, clothing the bay and the adjacent coast with clouds of smoke as they got up steam, through which, as it shifted, and rose and fell, and thinned away under the influence of a crisp, fresh breeze, one could see the town of Varna, all burnt up and withered by fire, its white minarets standing up stiffly through the haze, its beach hemmed by innumerable boats, its be-cannoned walls, the blanched expanse around it of hill and plain, still thickly dotted with the camps of the French.

EXTENT OF THE ARMADA.