We expected opposition to our landing; but, as light-draught vessels could easily command and cover the landing, no Rooskies appeared to oppose us. We soon had our army ashore on a sandy beach not many miles from Kertch itself. Next day, while we were on the line of march, my uncle, Lord Clarence, happened to be in close conversation with Sir Edmund Lyons, when the Commander-in-Chief, suddenly observing me near at hand, called me up, and said, “Here, youngster: can you talk French?” On my answering “Yes,” he said, “Go at once and find the French General in Command” (pointing me out the direction in which I should find him), “and tell him that I wish the English Jack to be hoisted alongside the Tricolour as soon as that fort is captured. Mind and say so very civilly and in your best French.” Off I ran as fast as my legs would carry me across the plain. Singling out what appeared to me to be a body of French Staff-Officers, I asked the first among them to point me out the General in Command. Luckily, that potentate was among the bunch of officers. I felt nervous and shy; but, mustering up courage, I stood, cap in hand, delivering my orders. To my horror, he seemed to demur, and asked me a heap of questions before he at last consented and desired me to inform the Admiral that his wishes should be carried out. I had been told to bring back an answer; but for the life of me I could not find the Commander-in-Chief for a long time. However, when I did find him he seemed pleased. He said, “I see the Union Jack is up alongside the French flag. Well done, my boy! What’s your name, and who is your father? Tell your Commander I am much pleased with you.” I did feel proud.
There was no opposition at Kertch, and that evening part of the troop bivouacked in the town and suburbs.
Whether they resulted from the pent-up life of the soldiers and sailors, or from the mere longing for a spree, I do not know; but the looting and breaking into cellars, and the consequent trouble, were very discreditable. I supposed it was one of the horrors of war. Among other officers, I was sent ashore next day to patrol the streets with a strong picket, and endeavour to keep the inhabited houses free from molestation. I took many disorderly men of both armies prisoners, as well as lusty Jacks of the Fleet. However, fair and square looting seemed to be winked at. Our mids went ashore, and bagged no end of cases of champagne. On a subsequent occasion my respected uncle did not scruple at having a wretched old piano taken on board the Princess Royal by way of enabling his dear little nephew to keep up his music! We lay some little time off Kertch while our gun-vessels and launches of the Fleet were employed playing wholesale destruction of grain and stores in the Sea of Azov; and they had some sharp fighting into the bargain.
I used to land occasionally, and in strolling about the camps came across old friends that I did not even know to be attached to the army before Sebastopol. Two of them were old cricketing friends: so, no doubt, we got on the noble game and cricket grounds many miles away.
On the 24th of May the Fleet weighed—or part of it, bound to a very strongly fortified place, Anapa, where we expected heavy fighting. Splinter netting was got up; masts and yards were struck; everything was made ready for an attack. Next morning, when approaching this place, the Hannibal, line-of-battle ship, was sent on ahead to look out and report by signals whether the forts were ready for us. To our dismay (I thought so then), we found the forts evacuated, and partly blown up. They were excessively strong, and stood on a very commanding position on high cliffs. We should have had our work cut out to subdue them. How bloodthirsty the middies were! I suppose I was too young to realise the horrors of a naval action, and of seeing our decks strewn with killed and wounded. I never could understand why the Russians blew up and deserted the place. On landing, soon after anchoring, we could readily observe the strength of the place. Some of the works were blown up, and the guns were spiked or taken away—possibly buried. Leave to land was granted; but on no account were we to enter the forts—for fear of slow matches and explosions.
We fraternised with some very picturesque Circassians. I longed to buy some of their accoutrements, which they seemed ready and willing to sell; but, alas! I had no money with me. However, a happy thought struck me. I happened to be wearing a new pair of duck trousers. Thinking that I might tempt them with the shiny brace buttons, I went round a corner and cut the trinkets off. The effect was magical, and enabled me to purchase some of the cartouche-cases in which they carried their powder slung round their waists, or sewn into their rough coats across their chests. They say that exchange is no robbery. The aphorism was well illustrated. Soon we were back again to our old anchorage off Sebastopol, feeling that we had had a wild-goose chase. Indeed, we were all beginning to be weary of not having the chance of distinguishing ourselves from on board our respective ships. Luckily, my uncle was of an enterprising nature. He formed an idea that it would be a good thing to worry the forts by firing into them after dark. To do this, it was necessary to have leading lights on the coast, so as to guide the ships in at night; and these he placed on the sea-coast on the extreme left of the French position.
The Admiral lent him a paddle-sloop, the Spitfire, commanded by an able officer, one Spratt; and for several nights I accompanied my uncle while the operations were going on. Our only danger was that we might be discovered by the Russian guard-boats that were always prowling about outside the harbour mouth. Somehow, they never saw us. After a week’s work at placing the lights, everything was in readiness for the night attack. The lights were very ingeniously placed, showing different colours on different bearings; and when on these bearings we knew our approximate distance from the fort at the harbour’s mouth.
On the night of the 16th of June the Miranda frigate, commanded by Captain Lyons, supported by rocket boats, was sent in to attack the forts. Unfortunately, the enemy got his range—owing to the illumination caused by the rockets, which lit up the whole scene. Poor Lyons was killed, and there was considerable loss besides, and the incident ended in being somewhat a failure. The intention of these night attacks was to worry the enemy, and keep the sailors and gunners down at the forts instead of their assisting in the siege batteries up at the front.
Next night, that of the 17th of June, came our turn in the Princess Royal. My Captain begged to be allowed to go in alone, so as not to attract the fire of the forts by too great a display of firing, such as that of the previous night. Of course, this sort of affair under cover of darkness makes it a mere question of luck whether we should be sunk, or seriously mauled, or escape scot-free. The enemy could fire at random only. We were not blessed in those days with search-lights: in fact, there was nothing to give the enemy a clue to our distance, and they could not lay their guns with any certainty: whilst, we being directed to fire in broadsides only, there would naturally be no continuous firing to assist their gunners in laying the guns.
We cleared for action at 9 P.M. that evening, hove in our cable, and awaited the signal to weigh. How wearisome each half hour seemed! We longed to have the business over. We waited and waited the signal; but half hour after half hour passed, and nothing happened. So we could only lie down at our guns and take a snatch of sleep—or make the attempt, at any rate. I wonder what many of us thought over during those weary half hours, and whether our minds were far away? Not a light was allowed. All was still, and in utter darkness. The only light to be seen on board was in the binnacle compass on the poop. I recollect well running up and down constantly to the poop to find out the latest news, and convey it below, because at one time we began to despair of the attack coming off that night.