[CHAPTER V.]

The Storming of the Town—A Description of the Assault—Capture of the Malakoff and Redan—Am left on the Field Wounded—Our Loss, the French Loss, and the Enemy’s Loss—The Spoil—The Aspect of the Interior of the Town after the Siege—Napoleon’s Opinion as to the Source of England’s Strength—Letter of 14th Sept., 1855.

SEBASTOPOL STORMED.

We fell in at 9 a.m.; a dram of rum was issued to each man as he stood in the ranks; all hands had previously been served with two days’ rations. There were in our ranks a great number of very young men, who had not much idea of the terrible work that lay before them; but there were others who knew only too well, having helped to unfurl the Standard of Old England, in conjunction with that of France, on the Heights of Alma, the 20th September, 1854; who had routed the enemy on the heights of Inkermann, and had had near twelve months’ hard wrestling with the foe—and no mean foe either; men who had proved themselves on many a hard-fought field worthy the name of Britons, for neither the storms of autumn, nor the snows of winter, nor the heat of a July sun, neither the sword nor bayonet, nor the musketry fire could subdue them. Although backed by a countless host, the Russians could not withstand “the astonishing infantry,”—which had not degenerated from their forefathers, who had stormed the bloody parapets of Badajoz, San Sebastian, and Ciudad Rodrigo, and England might well be proud of them; and I can say it was a pleasure to look upon and attend to the wants of such cool, determined men.

Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noble Briton,
Whose blood is fetch’d from fathers of war-proof.
Shakespeare.

We were about to face the enemy in deadly conflict once more. The defence of Sebastopol had raised the Russians in the estimation of the bravest of the brave, and their Sovereign and country had no reason to regret entrusting that defence to their hands.

Before I proceed to describe the assault, I would point out that Sebastopol had for the first time in military history, since powder had been invented, defied the united fire of some 900 guns of the largest calibre, exclusive of mortars, which had been directed on the devoted city from early morning of the 5th September. When the final bombardment opened, the very earth trembled beneath the terrible crash. It was grand, but awful. But after it the enemy’s batteries looked as strong as ever. We might apparently have gone on bombarding until now. The Redan and Malakoff appeared to be much stronger than when we first looked at them, although no fewer than 1,600,000 shot and shell had been hurled at them. I say again, the Russian nation might well be proud of the manner their army had defended that fortress. At last cold steel had to do what artillery had been baffled at. If my readers are at all acquainted with military history, they will know that large breaches have invariably been made by artillery fire in the enemy’s fortifications before ever the “dogs of war” were let loose at them. But no breach was made in the fortifications of Sebastopol.

After remaining for a short time under arms, we marched off about 9·30 a.m. There was no pomp or martial music, no boasting; but all in that mighty throng moved with solemn tread to the places that had been assigned them; all, both old and young, seemed to be determined “to conquer or die.” The older hands were very quiet, but they had that set look of determination about them that speaks volumes.