The British Expedition to the Crimea

by Sir William Howard Russell

It was not above an hour's ride on a bad day, and yet at the end of two hours I had not only not arrived, but I could not make out one of the landmarks which denoted an approach to it. Tents, and hill-sides, and jutting rocks, all had disappeared, and nothing was visible above, around, below, but one white sheet drawn, as it were, close around me. This was decidedly unpleasant, but there was no help for it but to ride on, and trust to Providence. The sea or the lines would soon bring one up. Still the horse went on snorting out the snow from his nostrils, and tossing his head to clear the drift from his eyes and ears; and yet no tent, no man—not a soul to be seen in this peninsula, swarming with myriads of soldiery.

A LUCKY ESCAPE.

Three hours passed!—Where on earth can I be? Is this enchantment? Has the army here, the lines of trenches, and Sebastopol itself, gone clean off the face of the earth? Every instant the snow fell thicker and thicker. The horse stopped at last, and refused to go on against the storm. A dark form rushed by with a quick snarling bark—it is a wolf or a wild dog, and the horse rushed on afrighted. The cold pierced my bones as he faced the gale, now and then he plunged above the knees into snow-drifts, which were rapidly forming at every hillock and furrow in the ground; a good deep fallow—a well or pit—might have put a speedy termination to one's fears and anxiety at a moment's notice.

My eyes were bleared and sore striving to catch a glimpse of tent or man, and to avoid the dangers in our path. Suddenly I plunged in amongst a quantity of brushwood—sure and certain signs that I had gone far astray indeed, and that I was removed from the camp and the wood-cutter. The notion flashed across me that the wind might have changed, and that in riding against it I might have shaped my course for the Tchernaya and the Russian lines. The idea of becoming the property of a Cossack picket was by no means a pleasant ingredient in one's thoughts at such a moment. Still what was to be done? My hands and feet were becoming insensible from the cold, and my face and eyes were exceedingly painful.

There was no help for it but to push on before nightfall. That would indeed have been a serious evil. There was a break in the snowdrift, and I saw to my astonishment a church dome and spires which vanished in a moment. I must either be close to Kamara or to Sebastopol, and that the church was in either of those widely separated localities. The only thing to do was to bear to the left to regain our lines, though I could not help wondering where on earth the French works were, if it was indeed Sebastopol. I had not ridden very far when, through the ravings of the wind, I heard a hoarse roar, and could just make out a great black wall rising up through the snow. The position was clear at once. I was on the edge of the tremendous precipices which overhang the sea near Cape Fiolente! I was close to the Monastery of St. George. Dismounting, and leading my horse carefully, I felt my way through the storm, and at last arrived at the monastery. A Zouave was shooting larks out of a sentry-box; he took my horse to the stable, and showed me the way to the guardhouse, where his comrades were enjoying the comforts of a blazing fire.

Having restored circulation to my blood, and got the ice out of my hair, I set out once more, and a Zouave undertook to show me the way to head-quarters; but he soon got tired of his undertaking, and having first adroitly abstracted my Colt's revolver out of my holster, deserted me on the edge of a ravine, with some very mysterious instructions as to going on always "tout droit," which, seeing that one could not see, would have been very difficult to follow. By the greatest good fortune I managed to strike upon the French wagon train, and halting at every outburst of the tempest, and pushing on when the storm cleared a little, I continued to work my way from camp to camp, and at last arrived at Head-Quarters, somewhat before four o'clock in the afternoon, covered with ice, and very nearly "done up." It was some consolation to find that officers had lost themselves in the very vineyard, close to the house, and that aides-de-camp and orderlies had become completely bewildered in their passage from one divisional camp to another.

The Russians during the night made a slight demonstration against us, thinking that the sentries and advanced posts might be caught sleeping or away from their posts. Their usual mode of conducting a sortie was to send on some thirty men in advance of a party of 500 or 800, in loose skirmishing order. These men advanced stealthily, en tirailleur, up to the line of our sentries and pickets, and felt their way cautiously, in order to ascertain if there was a weak and undefended point for the advance of the main body. If the firing was slack, the latter immediately pushed on, rushed into the trenches, bayoneted as many as resisted, and, dragging off all the men they could get as prisoners, returned to the town as rapidly as possible. Any man, however weak, can rush across a landing into the nearest room, and do damage in it before he is kicked out. The French were so close to the Russians, they might be said to live next door to them. The latter could form in a small body, under cover of their works, at any hour in the night, and dash into the works ere our allies could get together to drive them back again. Some thirty-five men advanced upon the sentries stationed in front of Major Chapman's batteries (the left attack), but were perceived and challenged. They replied "Ruski!" and were fired upon. The Riflemen in the pits in front of these lines gave them a volley, and the Tirailleurs retreated. It was strange they should have given such a reply to the sentries' challenge, but the men all declared that the Russians used the word, which would seem to be the Russians' notion of their own name in the English tongue.

Next day the sun came out, the aspect of the camps changed, and our French neighbours filled the air with their many-oathed dialogues and snatches of song. A cold Frenchman is rather a morose and miserable being, but his spirits always rise with sunshine, like the mercury of a thermometer. In company with two officers from the head-quarters camp, I had a long inspection of Sebastopol from the ground behind the French position, and I must say the result was by no means gratifying. We went up to the French picket-house first (la Maison d'Eau or Maison Blanche of the plans), and had a view of the left of the town, looking down towards the end of the ravine which ran down to the Dockyard-creek, the buildings of the Admiralty, the north side of the harbour, and the plateaux towards the Belbek and behind Inkerman. As the day was clear one could see very well through a good glass, in spite of the dazzling effect of the snow and the bitter wind, which chilled the hands so as to render it impossible to retain the glass very long in one position. The little bridge of boats from the Admiralty buildings across to the French side of the town was covered with men, who were busily engaged passing across supplies, and rolling barrels and cases to the other side of the creek, showing that there was a centre of supply or some kind of depôt in the Government stores behind the Redan, and opposite to the fire of our batteries.

A PEEP AT SEBASTOPOL.

Several large lighters, under sail and full of men, were standing over from side to side of the harbour, and dockyard galleys, manned with large crews of rowers all dressed in white jackets, were engaged in tugging flats laden with stores to the south-western side of the town. A tug steamer was also very active, and spluttered about in all directions, furrowing the surface of the water, which was scarcely "crisped" by the breeze, so completely was the harbour landlocked. The men-of-war, with their large white ensigns barred by a blue St. Andrew's cross flying from the peak, lay in a line at the north side, the top-gallant yards and masts of two out of four being down; a two-decker with bare topmasts lay on the south side, with her broadside towards the Ville Civile; and the white masts of three vessels peered above the buildings of the town further away on the right towards Inkerman.