A.D. 1854–1855.

We now come to the siege which, if not the most important it has been our task to describe, must be the most interesting to our readers. No siege has ever been conducted under similar circumstances. Such have been the facilities of communication, and so effective and intelligent the means employed for collecting information, that the siege of Sebastopol may be said to have been carried on in the presence of the whole civilized world. It has been a living and an exciting panorama. When our ancestors, the Crusaders, were before Antioch or Jerusalem, their relations at home had no opportunity for mourning losses or celebrating triumphs, till time, by throwing all into distance, had weakened the pain or the joy of the intelligence received; whereas, in this case, there is no half-forgotten friend, no changed or decayed interests: all is moving, associated with us, and affecting us, as if the events were passing within the boundaries of our own seas.

May we not, then, ask, without entertaining less commiseration for the sufferings, or admiration for the deeds of the parties engaged, whether this circumstance does not heighten, or even, in a degree, exaggerate the effect of the events? The siege of Sebastopol is extraordinary and important in all ways; but the readers of this volume will find instances of deeper and more protracted suffering, and greater sacrifice of human life, than have been experienced there. Soliman II. lost 40,000 men in four days before Vienna! The want of water before Jerusalem produced infinitely more misery than the excess of it in the Crimea; and the allies have never experienced anything like real scarcity of food. No siege has ever been placed before the world in such vivid, such affecting colours. As a poem, the “Iliad” is doubtless pre-eminent above all such histories; but divest it, or the “Jerusalem Delivered,” of their poetry and their superhuman agencies, and they will hear no comparison with Mr. Russell’s extraordinary (I was about to use a much stronger word) correspondence with the Times: physically and mentally, no man could have been better calculated for the task he undertook. Collected in a volume, his letters will pass down to posterity in company with “Drinkwater’s Gibraltar,” the only work we remember that is worthy of the association.

With his graphic pictures fresh in the minds of every one, it is discouraging to attempt an account of this noble struggle, but as the “Great Sieges of History” would be incomplete without it, we must do as we did with that of Gibraltar, sketch slightly the early scenes, dwell principally upon the great catastrophe, drawing largely and gratefully upon a better historian than ourselves; and asserting occasionally our privilege of commenting upon what passes.

The first thing in this great expedition that strikes a reflective mind, is the facility of transport. Thought naturally travels back to the days when an army from Western Europe, on its way to Constantinople, was diminished by hundreds of thousands in the mere transit. Compare the march of Peter the Hermit, Walter the Penniless, and their countless hosts, with the passage of the gallant allies to nearly the same scene of action—want, fatigue, harassing enemies, and death,—with privations and inconveniences only felt from habitual ease and indulgence. But, perhaps, this very circumstance enhances the cheerfulness and courage with which the armies have encountered and passed through dangers and difficulties to which their previous life had not at all broken them in. Never, we believe, did an army better preserve its spirits; a gleam of sunshine, a scintillation of success, could always restore the Englishman’s hearty laugh, the Irishman’s humorous joke, the Scotchman’s sly, sniggering jeer, whilst not even weather or enemies could silence the music or the gaiety of the French.

Next to the consideration of the troops and the voyage, our attention is drawn to the matÉriel with which they were to work. Although the expedition was long debated, and at last delayed till too late a period of the year, we are forced to the painful conviction that the authorities at home threw this great stake without due forethought or knowledge. Their acquaintance with what they had to contend with was very imperfect, and their inattention to the probable wants of the troops and the defectiveness of many of the arms and implements were disgraceful; but this was soon remedied by our noble fourth estate: without “our correspondent,” Sebastopol would have proved even worse than a Walcheren.

On the 14th of September, the English and French hosts had become “an army of occupation” in the Crimea; the English troops amounting to 27,000, of which number not more than 1,000 were horse. And here, within four-and-twenty hours, the defects of the commissariat and the deficiencies of the medical staff were painfully felt. The disembarkation was effected with comparative ease, only attended with the usual confusion of such affairs, seasoned with the fun and spirits of the sailors, accustomed to paddle in the surf. On the 18th the armies proceeded towards the great point of their destination, and then, for the first time for five hundred years, the peoples of the two most enlightened, and in all ways most conspicuous nations of the world, marched side by side against a common enemy. The result was worthy of the union—the battle of the Alma was won, with a loss of 3,000 men, notwithstanding the vast superiority in numbers of the Russian cavalry. But we must confine ourselves to the siege; and we are not sorry to shun the description of a battle, as we quite agree with Mr. Russell, that “the writer is not yet born who can describe with vividness and force, so as to bring the details before the reader, the events of even the slightest skirmish.” Amidst alerts and skirmishes, whilst being awfully thinned daily by cholera, the allies marched upon and took possession of Balaklava. From this place they had a good sight of Sebastopol; and here, like Richard I., who got within a short distance of Jerusalem, but was unable to enter it, Marshal St. Arnaud, who commanded the French army, was obliged, by sickness, to leave for France, his goal in view.

The armies then prepared for besieging Sebastopol in due form. An opinion, almost amounting to a general one, prevails, that the allies ought to have taken advantage of the panic created among the Russians by their defeat upon the Alma, and have immediately proceeded against Sebastopol. We will not presume to say they certainly ought to have done so, but the calamities of the winter proved greater than any losses they would have sustained by such a spirited attack; and when we glance back at the captains of whom it has been “our hint to speak,” we do not see one who would not have made the bold attempt. The allied generals seemed to forget that whilst they were making preparations, they were affording opportunities for the enemy to effect much greater, because the latter were at home.

On the night of the 10th of October the British troops broke ground before Sebastopol, fifteen days after they had by a brilliant and daring march on Balaklava obtained a magnificent position on the heights which envelope Sebastopol on the south side, from the sea to the Tchernaya. And here again the advantage of being at home was evident; the Russians immediately commenced a severe and destructive fire, whilst the allies were not in a state to respond by a single gun before the 17th. On that day, however, they began with spirit. The besiegers soon found that the city was a very different place from what they had expected, and that they had to deal with brave, active, and persevering enemies, always on the watch to take advantage, and evidently commanded by skilful and enterprising officers. All ideas of a coup de main were over: they had before them a siege which would test every quality they possessed, either as men or soldiers.

The usual routine of extensive sieges went on, sometimes one side having the advantage, sometimes the other; the scene being occasionally varied by splendid attacks of the shipping. But, although the works of the allies gradually advanced, no decisive advantage was gained: the Russians knew the vast superiority of earthworks over every species of fortification, and were indefatigable with the mattock and spade. Towards the end of the month a great diminution in the numbers of the troops began to be felt; there was a steady drain, in one way or another, of from forty to fifty men a day. And in this awful state they had great cause of complaint of want of most necessaries, and particularly of the badness of the fusees, so important for their projectiles. Unless ours were a volume instead of a chapter, it would be impossible to follow the daily occurring interest of this struggle. In no siege have the opponents been better matched: failures, from accident, want of skill, or disparity of numbers, were frequent on both sides; but no instance of treachery, or deficiency of courage and endurance, disgraced either besieged or besiegers: the triumph will be the greater from being achieved over a brave, energetic, and indefatigable enemy. But, whilst viewing with heartfelt admiration and gratitude the almost superhuman exertions and exploits of the allied troops, a sad conviction creeps into the mind that these efforts were not always judiciously directed; that there was a deadening paucity of that military genius in the leaders, to which such gallant hearts would so nobly have responded if it had existed. A disciplined soldier is little more than a machine; in all battles his exertions are necessarily confined to his own immediate small sphere of action, and therefore all the courage, all the devotion that man is capable of, must lose their due effect if the general’s head do not well guide the soldier’s arm. Another chilling reflection likewise arises on reviewing the contest: the Russians have been, at least, quite as well commanded as the allies; and a despotic ruler has provided better for the comforts of his tools than a representative government has for those of the brave soldiers who were fighting for its principle.

By no instance, in the course of this siege, is the want of that indescribable something called genius more evident than in that glorious but lamentable day of the action of Balaklava. The firmness of the brave Scots, who stood “shoulder to shoulder,” unshaken by such a charge as infantry have seldom sustained—the charge of the heavy brigade, worthy of the guards who once received the command to “up and at ’em”—were eclipsed by the desperate onslaught of the light cavalry, which has secured immortality to the brave devotedness of British soldiers. But why were these invaluable lives sacrificed? Why, when every one of such men was worth a host, were these heroes “hounded” on to death, as a spectacle before two armies? The fault was not in the brave men, it was not in their officers; but, as fault there was, it must have been somewhere. We can fancy a Murat, the first sabreur in Europe, in the place of Lord Cardigan; we can believe that with the eye and judgment of a general, relying on his reputation, he might have refused to perform such a palpable and wanton sacrifice; but Lord Cardigan had not the reputation of a Murat to fall back upon; he is a rich nobleman, commanding a regiment for his amusement, and not a soldier of fortune who has gained his rank by his meritorious deeds. With the same spirit with which he would have accepted a personal challenge he led on his men to the charge; but that is not the spirit to which the fate of nations should be intrusted in the battle-field: great captains have not unfrequently obtained honour by remonstrance against rash orders, and sometimes by disobeying them altogether. But, whether the fault of the charge lies with Captain Nolan, Lord Lucan, or Lord Cardigan, we never can conceive how the order for it could have emanated from a general who was so placed as to have the position to be attacked, with its defences and defenders, all before his eyes as in a panorama! Whispers had permeated the armies that our light cavalry had not maintained the character it upon all occasions assumed; such feelings are common in large hosts, but no general should consent for the sake of jealous rumours to sacrifice one of the most efficient arms under his command.

Lamentable as was this affair, the day of Balaklava was, on the whole, advantageous to the besiegers; the purpose of the enemy to remove us from a most eligible position was defeated, and they had such “a taste of our quality” as taught them to respect, if not to fear us. The worst result was the awful diminution of a force in which we were before but too weak: of our brave cavalry, 387 were killed, wounded, or missing; and of horses, 520.

Very strangely, the Russians claimed as a great victory their taking of the guns of the redoubts from the poor terrified Turks; and, in their pride of heart, made, the next day, an attack, with 5,000 men, upon our right flank; but they were repulsed by the division under Sir De Lacy Evans, with the loss of 500 men.

The work in the trenches now became very trying to the men. From the first, the British army was deficient in numbers for such an undertaking. Severe labour, change of climate, unusual exposure exhausted them. The French, from their numbers, made more progress in the works, and our men were overtasked by an endeavour to keep pace with them. The guns, too, became shaky, from continual use. In this arm the Russians excelled us: their guns could bear much more frequent firing, from the excellence of the iron of which they are composed.

This is the first war in which the rifle has been employed to any extent, but its merits became so fully appreciated, that we have no doubt it will be generally adopted, and the soldier, instead of firing at random, will be trained so as to throw no ball away.

One feature of the Russian character has been very prominent in this great struggle—a brutal want of humanity. They partake of the attribute of their eastern origin, in the little value they attach to the lives of their own troops, provided they gain their end; and they have no particle of mercy for a fallen foe. In the mÊlÉe, arising from the rash Balaklava charge, they hurled the bolts of their artillery, indiscriminately on friends and enemies; and, after all contests, it was their invariable habit to bayonet the wounded French and English.

By the 30th of October, the position of the allies was rendered very much worse by the closing in upon them of the Russians in their rear. They might be said to be as much besieged in their lines as their enemies were in Sebastopol. But the sea is the Englishman’s constant source of comfort and relief; the port of Balaklava was theirs, and the sea on that side was free to them. The Russians removed every combustible part from their houses and buildings, so that, with the exception of flesh and blood, the allies had nothing to fire against but stone walls and mounds of earth. The most keen and active deer-stalker or chamois-hunter could not be more cunningly and anxiously on the watch for a shot than were the whole bodies of riflemen in both armies during the long siege. Great skill was likewise acquired in gunnery; a shot, a shell, or a rocket seemed sometimes to drop, like magic, À point nommÉ.

But now, as winter approached, the troops became sensible of the miseries of their situation, and of the culpable neglect of those who ought to have provided for their comforts. Things, which in England would have been cast to the dunghill, became valuable, and were sold at absurd prices: a tattered rug, 50s.; a pot of meat, 15s.; a sponge, 25s.; a half worn-out currycomb and brush, 20s.!

With bad weather, sickness, of course, increased, affecting equally French, English, and Turks; and, until the matter was forced upon the authorities at home by the Press, was not duly attended to. But what is still more strange, men there, upon the spot, were deaf to this imperative duty, and the eloquent Times correspondent says: “The authorities generally treat the medical officers with cool disrespect and indifference.” There is no portion of this siege that will descend to posterity on the page of history with more honour to us as a people than that displaying the ready and earnest sympathy felt by most classes at home for our suffering compatriots: the public voice thundered in the ears of officials, and forced them to their duty; individual charity, individual exertion, were instantly put forth; and woman! constant to her character of “a ministering angel,” forsook the home of comfort, and the bed of down, for the contaminated atmosphere of a military hospital, and attendance by the wounded soldier’s couch. We care not what may be the high-sounding title of the general who shall achieve the conquest of the Crimea, it will pale beside that of Miss Nightingale, the leader of the Sisters of Mercy.

At this period of the siege, spies, of a bold and artful kind, occasionally made their appearance in the allied camps. If the commanders had read our siege of Antioch, they might have followed the example of Bohemond: he roasted the bodies of some dead prisoners, and made it understood that the Crusaders served all spies in that manner; he cleared his camp of that dangerous kind of vermin, against whom, we must say, the allies were not sufficiently watchful. How eloquently does a passage of Mr. Russell’s account of the 4th of November bear out our frequently-expressed conviction of the incapacity of the leaders! He says: “Whenever I look at the enemy’s outworks, I think of the Woolwich butt. What good have we done by all this powder? Very little. A few guns judiciously placed, when we first came here, might have saved us incredible toil and labour, because they would have rendered it all but impossible for the Russians to cast up such entrenchments and works as they have done before the open and perfectly unprotected entrance to Sebastopol. Here has been our great, our irremediable error.” And when we look at the bitter consequences of that error, what can we say of the commanders by whom it was committed? In all ethics there is nothing so fallacious and injurious as the constantly-quoted “De mortuis nil nisi bonum;” it is deceptive as to the dead, it is disheartening to the good, and encouraging to the bad of the living. Lord Raglan was an amiable gentleman, well-versed, we dare say, in the routine of office; but by no means fit to head such an enterprise against such an enemy. But was not all the English policy, at starting, of this do-nothing character?

Of the same complexion was the disregard to Sir De Lacy Evans’ repeated representation of the insecurity of the position of the flank of the second division. But if the British general was deaf, the Russian commander was not blind, and this led to the attack which brought on the glorious battle of Inkermann—glorious to our brave troops, but certainly not creditable to the precaution of their commander. The Russian generals, on the contrary, seem to have exercised vast skill and discrimination. A great captain not only considers the battle itself in his plans, he provides for success by his preparations, and secures comparative safety in the event of defeat. Bonaparte’s tactics in that respect were his ruin: he said a general should think of nothing but conquering—so that whenever he was beaten, he never knew how to make a retreat. The Russian plans of attack were as perfect as possible, and nothing but the indomitable courage of our troops could have prevented their carrying into effect their threat of compelling us to raise the siege and driving us into the sea. Well-laid plans, brave men, in overwhelming numbers, immense artillery, superstition and brandy, with the presence of royalty, were all put in force against British strength, devotedness and courage,—and all failed. “The Battle of Inkermann,” says its historian, “admits of no description. It was a series of dreadful deeds of daring, of sanguinary hand-to-hand fights, of despairing rallies, of desperate assaults,—in glens and valleys, in brushwood glades and remote dells, hidden from all human eyes, and from which the conquerors, Russian or British, issued only to engage fresh foes, till our old supremacy in the use of the bayonet, so rudely assailed in this fight, was triumphantly asserted, and the battalions of the Czar gave way before our steady courage and the chivalrous fire of France.” The Russians fought with desperation, constantly bayonetting the wounded as they fell. They had orders, likewise, to aim at every mounted officer—thence the death of generals Cathcart and Strangways, and the number of killed and wounded officers of rank: Sir George Brown was among the latter.

The battle was won—but what again says the historian? “A heavy responsibility rests on those whose neglect enables the enemy to attack us where we were least prepared for it, and whose indifference led them to despise precautions which, taken in time, might have saved us many valuable lives, and have trebled the loss of the enemy, had they been bold enough to have assaulted us behind intrenchments. We have nothing to rejoice over, and almost everything to deplore, in the battle of Inkermann. We have defeated the enemy indeed, but have not advanced one step nearer towards the citadel of Sebastopol. We have abashed, humiliated, and utterly routed an enemy strong in numbers, in fanaticism, and in dogged resolute courage, and animated by the presence of a son of him whom they deem God’s vicegerent on earth; but we have suffered a fearful loss, and we are not in a position to part with one man.” In this grand struggle 45,000 Russians were engaged, and their artillery was relieved no less than four times. The MiniÉ rifle performed wonders on this day.

Sir De Lacy Evans was very unwell on board ship, but revived at the din of battle. He got on shore, and rode up to the front. And there, when the fight was over, he stood lamenting for the loss sustained by his division. One of his aides-de-camp was killed, another wounded; of his two brigadiers, Pennefather had a narrow escape, and Adams was wounded:—“and there lay the spot, the weakness of which the general had so often represented! It was enough to make him sad!” The siege of Sebastopol reminds us of the adventures of one of Dibdin’s sailors—

only the events are reversed. While the glories and the misfortunes of the 5th of November were still tossing in the minds or grieving the hearts of the allies, they were visited by a terrific hurricane, which gave them a complete foretaste of what they were to undergo during the winter. We would fain give our readers an extract of the sufferings endured by the armies; but, alas! we condensers are obliged to be satisfied with serving up dry facts,—we are not allowed space for anything that is interesting. And yet, in this case, we have nothing but our own dull labour to regret, as the exciting story is familiar to every Englishman or woman. We take this opportunity of begging our readers to place our omission of the various incidents of the siege to the same account: they would fill a volume, as sorties, attacks, bombardments, shelling, and rocket-flying were constantly going on:—but we are confined to a few pages. The sufferings of the men overworked in the trenches were extreme; and, sorry are we to say, the neglect of the “authorities” still continued as reprehensible as ever. But the presents from their home friends began to arrive, and the relief from the “Times fund” was extensive.

At the end of September the siege was practically suspended. All the troops had to do was to defend the trenches at night, and return shot for shot whenever the enemy fired; the Russians, in the meanwhile, taking advantage of every temporary lull to increase their internal defences.

“Rain and misery everywhere—the fortifications of Sebastopol strengthened—privations of the army—scarcity of food—impassability of the roads—disasters the results of apathy and mismanagement—indescribable horrors of the town and hospitals of Balaklava—the camp a wilderness of mud—pictures of dirt and woe—the Slough of Despond—misery effaces the distinctions of rank—painful reflections—mortality among the Turks—mode of burial—attempted surprises and skirmishes—dismal prospects.” Such are the heads of two chapters of the historian we follow,—and what more can we add to them? Are they not sufficiently eloquent? Do they not tell the story completely? And among all this, winter set in with severity: they had no means of getting up the huts sent them; it was as much as every man could do to provide his food. Some of the warm clothing sent from England went down in the Prince, some was burnt in a ship at Constantinople, and lighters full of warm great-coats for the men were left to be saturated with wet in the port of Balaklava, because no one would receive them without orders. Such an army, and in such a situation, was to be left to die of misery from “etiquette” and “service regulations.” “No one would take responsibility upon himself, if it were to save the lives of hundreds.”

With Christmas came little Christmas cheer or Christmas merriment—neither Christmas-boxes nor New Year’s gifts. They went from England, but the army did not receive them at the appointed season or in the hour of need. Whilst friends were despatching more than warm wishes to the Crimea, the “ill-fated army was melting away—dissolved in rain. On the 2nd of January, there were 3,500 sick in the British army before Sebastopol, and it is not too much to say that their illness was, for the most part, caused by hard work in bad weather, and by exposure to wet without any adequate protection.” The Russians not only opened their new year on the 12th of January with the usual ringing of bells and other gaieties, but with a tremendous cannonade and a spirited sortie. They were, however, expected, and were vigorously repulsed and driven back close to the town; so close, indeed, that had the allies been in sufficient force upon the point, they might have entered with them.

At this inclement season the Cossacks, in sheepskin coats and fur caps, mounted on their rough, wiry ponies, with deal lances and coarse iron tips, were much better able to keep their piquet-watch than our cavalry. Though brilliant in their charges throughout the campaign, our cavalry certainly played a more subordinate part than was expected of them. Before the introduction of railway travelling, we used to think the English, as a nation, the best horsemen in the world, though we never thought our military seat comparable with a Yorkshire seat; but this is an irrelevant question—beyond the famous charges, our cavalry are certainly not prominent in this great year’s campaign. On the 19th of January, the historian of the war makes this striking remark: “Except Lord Raglan, Lord Lucan, and Sir R. England, not one of our generals now remain of those who came out here originally: the changes among our brigadiers and colonels have been almost as great—all the rest have been removed from the army by wounds, sickness, or death—and so it is of the men.” What an eloquent and sorrowful comment is this upon the severity of the service! Would that we could say that was the only cause! Did we indulge in a description of the horrors of hospital and camp, we should leave no room for the glorious triumph.

The superior resources of the French, as regarded numbers, began now to be felt; ground was gradually relinquished to them, and the front, which it cost the British so much strength and health to maintain, was necessarily abandoned to the more numerous and less exhausted army. The French received reinforcements continually, whilst we, alas! were not dwindling, but being swept away: the grave and the hospital swallowed our brave men by thousands—between the 1st of December and the 20th of January 8,000 sick and wounded men were sent down from camp to Balaklava, and thence on shipboard!—from the battle of Inkermann to this period, 1,000 men of the brigade of guards had been “expended, absorbed, used up, and were no more seen!”

Every night was enlivened with a skirmish, and with sharp-shooting behind the parapets, and in the broken ground between the lines. The Russians, throughout, had plenty of men, with a superabundance of matÉriel—we have not space for a hundredth part of the cannonades, bombardments, fusillades, sharp-shooting, sorties, and all kinds of annoyances kept up by the enemy: in justice, it must be said, that no place was ever more earnestly, actively, and bravely defended. With the exception of a few instances of ferocious brutality, the Russians have proved an enemy worthy of our best and most valiant exertions.

Towards the middle of February, the earthworks on both sides had been so nearly perfected, that even the bombardment from mortars of great size produced but little apparent effect. The Russian force, in rear of the allies, was now estimated at 35,000 men: the allies were completely besieged; but “the sea, the sea” did not allow its brave rulers to perish.

At this time Lord Lucan was recalled; upon which circumstance we will not venture a comment, for fear of being seduced into a long discussion.

As soon as the 21st of February, the allies became aware of the immense labours being carried on by the Russians in the north division of the city, on the other side of the harbour. There were not less than 3,000 men employed in the works, and the correspondent of the Times then foretold the exact purpose for which they were preparing: they were securing themselves a place of retreat. They received almost boundless supplies, without the allies being apparently able to hinder them.

This siege was not unmarked by some of those occasional intercourses which teach men that, although opposed in deadly strife, they are human creatures. Now and then an hour’s truce, for the purpose of burying the dead, brought Russian officers out of the town, and civilities were exchanged. But there was certainly something rusÉ in the demeanour of these gentlemen, and doubtless the most observant were selected for the duty. There was nothing of that heartiness of mutual respect which has, upon similar occasions, distinguished French and English officers.

The railway, between Balaklava and the camp, now began to be in operation, and was a source of intense wonderment to the Cossack piquets.

The rifle-pits, which are no novelty in siege warfare, next became the objects of constant struggle. They were simple excavations in the ground, in front and to the right and left of the Malakoff tower, about six hundred yards from the works of the allies. They were faced round with sand-bags, loop-holed for rifles, and banked up with earth thrown from the pits. They were, in fact, little forts or redoubts, to act against the besiegers, armed with rifles instead of cannon. Each could contain ten men, and there were six of them. They were so well protected and covered by the nature of the ground, that neither English rifleman nor French sharp-shooter could touch them. Some of the severest fighting of the siege took place for the possession of these pits, which were peculiar objects of French interest, as being in front of their lines. On the 22nd of March our brave allies obtained three of these important holes, and immediately commenced a sharp fusilade against the Mamelon and Round Tower, from the sand-bags.

Towards the end of March, a happy change was effected for the besiegers: food became plentiful, and camp comforts were even superabundant; the officers were absolutely oppressed by the woolly kindnesses of their fair countrywomen, particularly as the ground was covered with crocusses and hyacinths, and the weather began to “wax warm.”

On the 9th of April, the long-expected second bombardment was opened simultaneously by the allies upon the defences of Sebastopol, amidst wind and torrents of rain, with an atmosphere so thick, that even the flashes of the guns were invisible. They were warmly responded to by the Russians.—Repeated complaints of the fusees of the British. By the 18th, however, the fire slackened on both sides: each seemed glad to avail themselves of a little respite.

On the 19th, a grande reconnaissance was made by the Turkish forces, assisted by the English and French. It was a picturesque march, answered all the intended purpose, and was a great relief to the monotony of the siege. Contests were daily and nightly taking place, each worthy of being made episodes in a great poem. “Deeds of derring-do,” of firm courage and devotion, were enacted in numbers by officers and men: the contest on both sides was truly “a strife of heroes;” but it must be left to the bards of future ages.

In these awful circumstances, the British army had again to complain of the authorities, whilst funds and individuals were sending stores of comforts they did not now want: the brave fellows were badly off for shells and fusees:—“there were no fusees for such shells as they had, and plenty of fusees for such shells as they had not.”

The French lines were now within a few hundred yards of the Mamelon, and our advanced parallel inclined towards the Round Tower. The progress was steady, but it was dearly bought: the Russians contested every inch of ground bravely. The abortive Kertch expedition took place early in May, and was said to result in nothing, from orders unfortunately received from Paris. The chagrin of Sir Edmund Lyons was so great as to produce illness. When this great siege shall take its due place in the page of history, bright will be the renown of this noble specimen of a British sailor. But for Sir Edmund Lyons, we might look throughout this war in vain for the successors to our Blakes and Nelsons—for the commanders of the true arm of our nation. Jack,—immortal Jack! has well maintained his character for dauntless courage, kindness of heart, devotedness, and whimsicality; but what is become of the race that used to lead him through “the battle and the breeze?”—with the exception of Sir Edmund Lyons, echo answers, “Where?” All honour to him!—a grateful people’s honour!

The Russian night-attacks were more frequent, but they were, in all cases, repulsed with loss, although well planned and bravely carried out. The principal disadvantage to the British arose from the havoc made among their best soldiers; the bravest would go to the front, and were the first victims. Races and cricket matches were got up—but, after a few trials, died out. The gallant troops tried all they could to keep up their spirits; but the real game going on was too serious.

On the 16th of May the allies were delighted by a welcome reinforcement. The Sardinian troops began to arrive; and, in addition to the gratification derived from such a circumstance, they were surprised by their warlike and splendid appearance. It was something new to the weather-beaten warriors, to see troops so newly and handsomely equipped.

By the middle of this month the army became sensible of a deficiency which we, who are fresh from the study of Eastern sieges, had always dreaded: they were short of water, and that for an army of men and horses is a calamity a thousand times worse than a deluge of rain. They were put to some inconvenience; but Artesian wells, and supplies from the fleet, prevented the want from being severely felt.

On the 22nd of May started the second expedition to Kertch, which was attended with complete success. The command of the British contingent was intrusted to Sir George Brown, Sir Edmund Lyons leading the naval forces. All was glorious, all was easy, and all appeared well conducted. The forts were forced, the magazines were exploded by the Russians themselves; but all their guns, with a prodigious quantity of corn, grain, munitions of war, naval stores and military equipments, fell into the hands of the allies. This triumph was stained by great excesses, but these were attributed to Tartars, Turks, merchant-seamen, and others of the usual followers of such expeditions: the French and English regular troops claim to be exonerated from this stain,—we hope justly.

A squadron was sent into the Sea of Azoff, the success of which was signal. Within four days they destroyed 245 Russian vessels employed in carrying provisions to the Russian army in the Crimea, many of them large, and fully equipped and laden. Magazines were destroyed containing more than seven million rations. Arabat was bombarded, and the powder-magazine blown up. At Kertch the enemy destroyed upwards of 4,000,000 lbs. of corn and 500,000 lbs. of flour. These articles should be all remembered when we are summing up the immense sacrifices Russia has made in this war.

An expedition to Anapa was planned and prepared; but the Russians, very perplexingly, saved us the trouble. They, on most occasions, carry out the system they adopted in their war with Buonaparte: they prefer destroying their own cities and stores to allowing their enemies the honour of doing it. “We have inflicted great ruin on the enemy, but they have emulated our best efforts in destroying their own settlements.”

After these events there was a lull—the siege seemed to stand still. There was a little occasional fighting, but the French were constantly advancing their works. The Russians seemed particularly idle, as regarded us, and yet it could be seen that they were assiduously employed in strengthening and provisioning the fortress on the north side.

This quiet, however, was soon over. On the 6th of June, for the third time, the fire of the allies was opened along the whole range of positions; the thunders of 157 British guns and mortars, and above 300 on the side of the French awakened the echoes, and hurled their bolts against Sebastopol. “Like greyhounds in the slips,” the two armies, who felt their strength, were eager and anxious for the decisive struggle. The advantages gained by the fleet, wonderfully increased the confidence of the troops.

On the 7th of June, our brave attack upon the Quarrries came off, and our heroic allies, the French, made their immortal capture of the Mamelon. The British succeeded in taking and retaining the Quarries, but had to sustain six attacks of the Russians, who fought not only bravely, but with desperation. We wish we could afford space for the details of the taking of the Mamelon by the French, as nothing but details can do it justice; but we must content ourselves with saying, that complete as the success was, never was success more richly deserved. We doubt whether history can furnish a more exciting scene than the conflict for this important post; great was the glory, but dear the price paid for it! Had we had a larger body in reserve, it was the general opinion that the Redan would have shared the fate of the Quarries. When we recollect what this fortress cost us on the memorable 8th of September, we have additional cause to lament the miserable want of generalship so often occurring in this siege. The men were equal to anything, but there was no military star of genius to lead them on. The loss, on all sides, was very great. The next day the Russians solicited a truce, to bury the dead. This truce disappointed the troops, as it was believed both the Redan and the Malakoff Tower might have been captured. It is not unlikely that there was more policy than humanity in the Russian request, for, before the truce of a few hours was ended, these posts were strongly reinforced. The French immediately made every exertion to fortify their acquisition; but the retention of the Mamelon and the Quarry, though exceedingly important, was not a very easy matter. The Russians were, perhaps, more aware of their value than we were. A flag of truce came out of the harbour to request the allied commanders not to fire on certain ships, as they were converted into hospitals. This, although complied with, was by many thought to be a ruse to save the ships.

On the 18th was made the unsuccessful attack upon the Malakoff and Redan. This was preceded by a hail of shot and shells to an amazing amount, beneath which the Russian fire grew weak and wild. The French obtained possession of the Malakoff, but were unable to hold it. This was a disastrous affair, producing heavy loss and depression of spirits. Let those who idly talk of war, and over their libations sing of its triumphs and victories, study the picture given by the wonderfully-graphic correspondent of the Times of the effects of this bravely-carried-out attempt—to think of them is sufficient to penetrate the hardest heart: we cannot dwell upon them.

This was followed by a kind of tacit suspension of hostilities—both sides were “supped full with horrors;” humanity resumed its empire, and mournful thoughts and bitter reflections displaced the madness of strife and visions of glory.

It has been our painful task, in the course of our short narrative, whilst with pride attempting to do justice to the bravery of our gallant troops, to comment severely upon the conduct of their leaders. There is an incident related which took place after the unsuccessful attack upon the Malakoff, that appears to us a perfect epitome of the whole conduct of the war, and which our national feeling would not allow us to repeat, if there were not mixed with it high honour, as well as imbecility. The taking of the Cemetery was the only trophy of the great attack, and that, if properly followed up, might have been of incalculable advantage; the cost of it was dear in brave hearts and strong arms. Mr. Russell does not hesitate to say: “And this we should have abandoned from the timidity of one of our generals. It was left to a general of division to say what should be done with the Cemetery, and he gave orders to abandon it. On the following morning, Lieutenant Donnelly, an officer of engineers, hears, to his extreme surprise, that the position for which we had paid so dearly was not in our possession. He appreciated its value; he saw that the Russians had not yet advanced to reoccupy it. With the utmost zeal and energy he set to work among the officers of the trenches, and begged and borrowed some thirty men, with whom he crept down into the Cemetery just before the flag of truce was hoisted. As soon as the armistice began, the Russians flocked down to the Cemetery, which they supposed to be undefended, but, to their great surprise, they found our thirty men posted there as sentries, who warned them back, and in the evening the party was strengthened, and we are now constructing most valuable works and batteries there.” Far, far be it from us to harbour a thought or utter a wish inimical to free institutions or representative governments, but there are times when the will of one strong mind will work more nobly than official routine: Mahomet II. would have reversed matters here—the general and the lieutenant would have changed places.

The apparent rest, but real secret activity of both parties, was at first painfully broken in the British camp by the death of General Estcourt, the Adjutant-general of the army, which was quickly followed by that of the Commander-in-chief. Lord Raglan was too old, and too little accustomed to field-work and anxiety of mind to sustain the post he was placed in. Forty years’ life of a British nobleman, in an official situation, could not have prepared him for a struggle which would have taxed the energies of his master in his prime. Kind-hearted, amiable and gentlemanly, we believe him to have been, but these were scarcely the qualities to be pitted against Russian ambition, artifices, energies, and dogged courage, or to enable him, at an advanced age, to contend with a climate, exposure, fatigue, and privations to which he had never been accustomed. Lord Raglan must have been more conscious than anybody else of his unfitness for the trying post he occupied: the better the man the more likely was he to suffer from this feeling. It was the failure at the Malakoff, more than disease, that terminated the career of one of whom we can speak with more pride as an English gentleman than as a great English general.

But the great end began to approach; it had been bought dearly, but it loomed above the horizon. Supplies of men and material were constantly arriving in the Allied camp, nor can it be said that their powerful enemy relaxed his efforts in these respects; but, however protected by earthworks, walls cannot endure battering for ever. With their hosts of sappers, the French made daily approaches to mining the principal fortifications, and in July, the Russian commander became so aware of the peril of his situation, that he informed his Government he could not hold the city much longer. The Court of St. Petersburgh appeared to be desperate rather than prudently firm, and ordered the rash assault to be made on the lines of the Tchernaya, in the hope of compelling the allies to raise the siege, and of once more regaining Balaklava. We have had cause to wonder, throughout the siege, at the number of guns and the abundance of all kinds of warlike munitions that were at the command of the Russians. But the capture of Sebastopol has greatly diminished this feeling; for that city may be thought to have been constantly receiving stores in order to carry out the project of taking Constantinople, ever since it was conceived by Peter, and cherished by Catherine II. Instead of a fortified city at the remote boundary of a great empire, it was like the metropolitan arsenal of that empire. The Russians then put forth their energies in one more desperate attack. But the position was too strong and too well defended. The battle of the Tchernaya was entirely in favour of the allies; not only physically but morally, for their prestige of victory was well supported; the Russians were forced to retire back to the heights on either side of Mackenzie’s farm.

The next fortnight Prince Gortschakoff may be said to have devoted to providing for the safety of his army. He had great reason to fear the next bombardment would be fatal; he established a means of communication between the battered ruins of the South side of Sebastopol and that North side upon which so much labour and time had been expended; he built a strong raft-bridge across the harbour, threw up earthworks along the cliff to protect it, and drew his army together in compact lines between the sea and the heights of Mackenzie.

On the 5th of September the awful catastrophe was entered upon. All was preparation with both besiegers and besieged; the former girding up their loins for the great struggle, the latter doing all that could be done to meet it manfully. General Pellissier had had a long interview with General Simpson the preceding day, in which, no doubt, the plan of attack was settled.

The French began by exploding three fougasses (small mines, shaped like wells), to blow in the counterscarp and serve as a signal to their men. “Instantly, from the sea to the Dockyard-creek there seemed to run a stream of fire, and fleecy, curling, rich, white smoke, as though the earth had been suddenly rent in the throes of an earthquake, and was vomiting forth the material of her volcanoes.” This iron storm made awful havoc on the works and in the city; in its terrible course it “swept the Russian flanks, and searched their centre to the core.” “Such a volley,” says the historian and eye-witness, “was probably never before uttered since the cannon found its voice.” It paralysed the Russians, and was well described by their General as un feu d’enfer (an infernal or hellish fire); the batteries were not prepared to respond to such a destructive and appalling attack. But it was no temporary spirt with the French; they kept to their guns with astonishing energy, rapidity, and strength, filling the very air with the murderous hail poured upon the enemy; there were more than 200 pieces of artillery of large calibre, admirably served and well-directed, playing incessantly on the hostile lines. The stone walls were like houses of card before this tempest, but the huge mounds of earth seemed quietly to ingulf all the missiles that could be hurled against them. For a short time the Russians were either so astonished or unprepared, that they made no reply; but at length recovering, their artillerymen went to work. Mr. Russell says, “They fired slowly and with precision, as if they could not afford to throw away an ounce of powder;” but the immense stores of the “villainous saltpetre” found in Sebastopol, prove that could not have been the cause of their slackness. As such a circumstance was sure to act upon generous natures, the Russian reply only animated the French to additional exertions; their shot flew along the lines of the defences and bounded among the houses with incredible rapidity. During this magnificently-awful scene the British, in their siege-train or in their famous Naval Brigade, were satisfied with pounding away, at their usual pace, at the Malakoff and Redan, but certainly rendered their brave allies some assistance by their shell practice from the Creek to the Redan. The want of unanimity in the attacks is unintelligible: in this last chapter of the great work in the carrying out of which we had been so energetic, and which had cost us so much, we seemed doomed not to have our share of honour; although we were fully prepared, in every way, to support it creditably. The French commander, with characteristic warmth, perhaps, confident in his numbers and means, thought best to begin alone; and yet this conclusion scarcely agrees with the excellent understanding and regard to each other’s reputation which had subsisted between the two armies. Unfortunately our General Jones, who directed the siege works, was laid up with a severe attack of rheumatism.

The Russian works began to display a most dilapidated appearance. They had been finished off in an almost ornamental style, but they now looked ragged; the parapets were pitted with shot and shell, and the sides of the embrasures were considerably injured. After two hours and a half of furious firing, the French suddenly ceased, to cool their guns and rest the men. This moment of peace the poor Russians employed in repairing, as fast as they could, their damaged works; but their gunners took “heart of grace,” and opened an attack upon our sailors’ battery and “the crow’s nest.” With another explosion of fougasses, the French resumed operations with a still fiercer fire than before, and continued it till twelve o’clock at noon, by which time the Russians had only a few guns to reply with. The English from their camp could see them, in great agitation, sending men across the bridge and back again, and at nine o’clock a powerful body of infantry crossed over, in expectation of the attack of the allies; other troops were afterwards brought back, evidently from the same fear. From twelve till five the firing was slack; but then it seemed to revive with greater fury from the comparative lull, and never ceased pouring in shot and shell till half-past seven, when all the mortars and heavy guns, English as well as French, with the darkness, opened with shell against the whole line of defences. We can fancy the sight now beheld can be compared to nothing but a tropical thunder-storm, or to one of those autumnal spectacles of aËrolites, which astronomers and meteorologists describe so vividly. “There was not one instant in which the shells did not whistle through the air—not a moment in which the sky was not seamed by their fiery curves or illuminated with their explosion.” The British had gained great skill in their practice, and every shell seemed to fall exactly À point nommÉ. The Russians scarcely attempted a reply. At five o’clock, in the evening, a frigate in the second line, near the north side, was perceived to be on fire. These ships had been a great source of annoyance to the allies; and the rising flames were hailed with shouts and congratulations. The cause of this conflagration was doubtful. The burning vessel was not only an object of interest, it was a splendid spectacle.

All night a steady fire was kept up to prevent the Russians repairing their damages. Orders were sent to the English batteries to open next morning with dawn; but, alas! they were limited to fifty rounds each.—Why, oh! why was this?—At half-past five A.M. the whole of the batteries, from Quarantine to Inkermann, opened with one grand crash. As before, the Russians were comparatively silent. The cannonade was continued for about the same period as the preceding day. Several gallant officers had fallen on the 5th. The attention of the Russians seemed more than ever directed to the north side; but they kept large masses of men in the town. The bombardment continued all night.

With the rising of the sun the cannonade was resumed. A council of generals was held at head-quarters; the sick were cleared out of the field-hospitals; and it was confidently whispered that the assault would take place next day at twelve o’clock. The fire was kept up with the same intensity all day. About three o’clock a two-decker was set on fire, and burnt all night. Vessels near her were towed away by a steamer to the dock-yard harbour, but the lines of men-of-war remained untouched. Flames broke out behind the Redan in the afternoon. The bombardment was renewed at nightfall. A Sardinian corps was marched up to reinforce the French. About eleven P.M. a heavy explosion was heard in the town. The men intended for the assault were ordered to take forty-eight hours’ provision, cooked, with them into the trenches—all was preparation, and feverish anxiety prevailed, even in the stoutest hearts.

It has been observed that the Russians generally indulged in a siesta at twelve o’clock, and that hour was fixed upon for the assault; but the intended surprise was considerably lessened by the British general ordering the cavalry regiment up to the front. This injudicious movement evidently excited the suspicions of the Russians, who, besides, must have expected the extraordinary cannonade and bombardment were the precursors of a general assault.

General Pellissier during the night collected about 30,000 men in and about the Mamelon, who were reinforced by 5,000 Sardinians. It was arranged that the French were to attack the Malakoff and Little Redan about noon, and that the British were to attack the Redan at the same time. At half-past ten the second division and the light division of the English were moved down to the trenches, and placed in the advanced parallels as quietly as possible. About the same time, General Simpson moved down to the second parallel of the Green Hill Battery.

The French had brought their sap close to the Malakoff, and, at a few minutes before twelve, issued in masses from their place d’armes, swarmed up the face of the Malakoff, and passed through the embrasures like thought. From their proximity, they had but seven metres to cross to reach their enemy. Column after column poured through the embrasures, and scarcely had the head of their column cleared the ditch when their tricolor floated over the Korniloff Bastion. The French had evidently taken the Russians by surprise, but they soon recovered themselves, and fought manfully to expel the intruders. Glorious was the struggle made by the French to hold their prey; and, fortunately, they were commanded by a general who understood the importance of the acquisition, and did not desert them. While the main body of the French attacked the Malakoff, another division was to attack the Redan of Careening Bay, and a third was to march against the Curtain, which unites these extreme points. General Bosquet commanded a strong division, to support these. The English were to attack the Great Redan, by scaling it at its salient. General Salles, strengthened by a body of Sardinians, was to make a lodgment in the town, if circumstances permitted. Admirals Lyons and Bruat were likewise expected to make a powerful diversion, but the state of the sea prevented their leaving their anchorage. The English and French mortar-boats, however, did good service.

After a terrible hand-to-hand struggle, McMahon’s division succeeded in making a footing in front of the Malakoff, notwithstanding the storm of projectiles poured upon them by the Russians. The Redan of Careening Bay, after having been occupied, was obliged to be evacuated, in consequence of being exposed to a cross fire, and the fire of the steamers. But another French division held a portion of the Curtain, and McMahon’s division kept gaining ground in the Malakoff, General Bosquet pouring in reserves, by the order of General Pelissier.

The Malakoff being the principal object, when the French general perceived that it was safe, he gave the signal agreed upon to General Simpson to attack the Redan. Why General Simpson should thus have abandoned the British share in the great triumph, we are at a loss to guess. In every toil and danger of the war, the English had taken more than their part, because they had not sufficient numbers to keep pace with their brave allies in the works, and their men had been obliged to work double. From the closeness of their trenches to the Malakoff, from the immense numbers of men they poured in at once and continued to supply, the conquest of the Malakoff was not so severe and trying a task as the British attack upon the Redan, although, from the magnitude of the fort, the cost of life was enormous.

Convinced that the capture of the Malakoff was all that was to be wished, the French general would not allow a further waste of good men to be made, by persisting in the other attacks by his troops.

But the Malakoff was not yet safe: General Bosquet was struck by a large fragment of a shell, and was obliged to give his command to General Dulac. A powder-magazine in the curtain, near the Malakoff, blew up, and serious consequences were apprehended.

Hoping to profit by the accident, the Russians advanced in dense masses, and in three columns, and attacked the centre, left, and right of the Malakoff. But they were prepared for within the work. McMahon had troops he could depend on; and after, as their own general says, six desperate attempts, the Russians were compelled to beat a retreat. From that moment they relinquished any offensive attack: the Malakoff was taken, past fear of recapture. It was then four o’clock in the afternoon.—A few short sentences thus tell the result of the contest for this key of the fortifications; but the fact can only be duly appreciated by reflecting that seven thousand brave men were sacrificed in it on the part of the French, and as many, no doubt, on the part of the enemy. War and its horrors were never duly painted till they came under the eye of Mr. Russell; his picture of the hospital of St. Paul throws all the terrific scenes of Dante into shade.

We now proceed to a portion of our story in which Englishmen, we are grieved to the heart to say, can take no pride. Never did an army go through the fatigues and dangers of a campaign with more courage, more devotion, more firmness, or more patient endurance; and at the last to be cut off from partaking of the great honour of the closing triumph, is disheartening to their future endeavours, and a source of deep regret to their countrymen at home.

At a few minutes past twelve the British left the fifth parallel. The enemy’s musketry commenced at once, and in less than five minutes, during which they had to pass over two hundred yards, from the nearest approach to the parapet of the Redan, they had lost a large portion of their officers, and were deprived of the aid of their leaders, with the exception of acting Brigadier-general Windham, and Captains Fyers, Lewis, and Maude: the rest had been struck down by the volleys of grape and rifle balls which swept the flanks of the work towards the salient. As they came nearer, the enemy’s fire became less fatal. They crossed the abattis without much trouble: it was torn to pieces by our shot; the men stepped over and through it with ease. The light division made straight for the salient and projecting angle of the Redan, and came to the ditch, which is about fifteen feet deep. The escalade party proceeded to plant their ladders, but they were found too short!—had they not been so, they would not have been of much use, as there were but six or seven brought to the place. In ancient times, when men only fought hand to hand, seven ladders have achieved wonders; but where all who mounted could be swept off by musketry, such a number was useless. But the gallant officers set their men the example of leaping into the ditch, scrambling up the other side, and thence getting on to the parapet with little opposition; whilst the Russians who were in front ran back, and opened a fire upon them from behind the traverses and breastworks. When upon the parapet, strange and new it is to say, the soldiers seemed bewildered; their gallant officers cheered them on, coaxed them on, but instead of following them, they persisted in firing, loading and firing! The officers began to fall fast. The small party of the 90th, much diminished, went on gallantly towards the breastwork, but they were too weak to force it, and joined the men of other regiments, who were keeping up a brisk fire upon the Russians from behind the traverses. Colonel Windham had got into the Redan with the storming party of the light division, below the salient on the proper left face, but all his exertions were as futile as those of the gallant officers of the 90th, 91st, and the supporting regiments.

As the light division rushed out in the front, they were swept by the guns of the Barrack Battery, and other pieces on the proper right of the Redan, loaded heavily with grape, which thinned them grievously before they could reach the salient or apex of the work they were to assault. The columns of the second division issuing out of the fifth parallel, rushed up immediately after the light division, so as to come a little down on the slope of the proper left face of the Redan. The first embrasure was in flames, but running on to the next, the men leaped into the ditch, and, with the aid of ladders and of each others’ hands, scrambled up on the other side, climbed the parapet, or poured in through the embrasure which was undefended. Colonel Windham was one of the first men in on this side. As our men entered through the embrasures, the few Russians who were between the salient and the breastwork retreated behind the latter, and got from behind the traverses to its protection. From this place they poured in a thick fire on the parapet of the salient, which was crowded by the men of the light division, and on the gaps through the inner parapet of the Redan; and the British, with an infatuation which all officers deplore, began to return the fire of the enemy without advancing behind the traverses, loaded and fired as quickly as they could, producing little effect, as the Russians were all covered by the breastwork. Groups of riflemen likewise kept up a galling fire from behind the lower traverses, near the base of the Redan. As soon as the alarm of the attack was spread, the Russians came rushing up from the barracks, and increased the intensity of the fire, from which the English were dropping fast, and increasing the confidence of the enemy by their immobility. In vain their officers by word and deed encouraged them on; they were impressed with an idea that the Redan was mined, and that if they advanced they should be blown up: and yet many of them acted in a manner worthy of the men of the Alma and Inkermann. But what availed these few?—they were swept down by the enemy’s fire the moment they advanced to the front. In the same manner, the courage of the officers only made them a mark for the Russian fire, and they fell as soon as they advanced. All was confusion, regiments were confounded, and men refused to obey any but their own officers. We are at a loss to account for the conduct of Colonel Windham, it was that of a hero,—indeed, he is the British hero of the day; but he must have seen that with such a handful of men his efforts were unavailing: he gathered together one little band after another, only to have them swept down by the enemy’s guns: his own escape was miraculous. The men kept up a smart fire from behind the lower parts of the inner parapet, but no persuasion or commands could induce them to come out into the open space and charge the breastwork. Whilst our men were thus being terrifically thinned, the Russians gained reinforcements, not only from the town but from the Malakoff, which had now been abandoned to the French. But Colonel Windham did not blench; he sent three times to Sir E. Codrington, who was in the fifth parallel, to beg him to send up supports, in some order of formation; but none of his messengers reached the general in safety: all were wounded and disabled. Supports were sent, but they came in disorder from the fire they had to pass through, and they were in such small numbers, that they appeared only to be sent to feed the slaughter. Seemingly rendered careless of life, the colonel passed from one dangerous position to another, exposed to a close fire, and, wonderful to relate, untouched, but he found the same confusion everywhere—all firing away at the enemy from behind anything that could screen them, but all refusing to charge. He, at length, got some riflemen and a few men of the 88th together, but as they did not, as he appeared to do, “bear a charmed life,” they were no sooner out than they were swept away like chaff: the officers, as conspicuous by their courage as their dress, going down first. This carnage lasted an hour. The Russians were now in dense masses behind the breastwork, and Colonel Windham went once more back across the open space to the left, to make another attempt to retrieve the day. In his progress he had to pass through the fire of his own men and the incessant volleys of the Russians, but he still was safe. Within the inner parapet of the left, he found the men becoming thinner and thinner. A Russian officer stepped over the breastwork, and tore down a gabion, to make room for a fieldpiece. Colonel Windham exclaimed to the soldiers who were firing over the parapet, “As you are so fond of firing, why don’t you shoot that Russian?” They fired a volley, but all missed him; and soon the fieldpiece began to play on the salient with grape. Finding no time was to be lost, and seeing nothing of his messengers, Colonel Windham determined to go himself in quest of supports. “I must go to the general for supports,” said he to Captain Crealock, of the 90th, who happened to be near him. “But, mind that it be known why I went, in case I am killed.” He crossed the parapet and ditch, and succeeded in gaining the fifth parallel, through a storm of grape and rifle-bullets in safety. Sir Edward Codrington asked him, if he really thought he could do any good with such supports as he could afford him, and said he might take the Royals, who were then in the parallel. “Let the officers come out in front—let us advance in order, and if the men keep their formation, the Redan is ours,” was the ready reply of this truly British soldier; but the game was ended: as he spoke, the men were seen in full flight from the Redan, by every means of egress, followed by the Russians, who not only bayonetted them, and shot them down with musketry, but even threw stones and grape-shot at them. Large masses of Russians, supported by grape from several field-pieces, had poured upon the broken, confused parties of the British, and crushed them as if beneath an avalanche. When it came to this point, their native courage revived, and they had recourse to their national weapon. The struggle was desperate, but, from the numbers of the Russians, necessarily short. Officers, only armed with swords, had little chance in such a mÊlÉe; they fell like heroes amidst the gallant part of their men. The pursuing Russians were soon forced to retire by the fire of the English batteries and riflemen, and, under the cover of that, many escaped to the approaches. General Pelissier, on becoming aware of the failure of the English attack, sent over to General Simpson to ask if he meant to renew it; but the British Commander-in-Chief is reported to have said that he did not feel in a condition to do so. The reserve was certainly strong enough to have returned to the attack, and General Simpson talked of making it the next morning; but the Russians saved him the trouble.

The French had a long and severe contest in the rear of the Malakoff, but, although they failed in the other two attacks, they nobly maintained their footing in their grand prize.

When the siege of Sebastopol becomes a subject of remote history, we have no doubt that it will be viewed in this light:—The Malakoff Tower was known to be the key to the place, and the capture of it was the principal object with the allies. The French being by far in greatest numbers, were alone able to undertake this capture, the British army not being in a condition to sustain such a drain as the attempt was sure to produce. But, “to make assurance doubly sure,” diversions were necessary, and it was agreed that the British should attack the Redan, whilst the French attacked the Little Redan and the Curtain. These last will all be supposed to be mere diversions, and that they fully answered their purpose.—Now, whether the allied generals had thus laid their plans, we will not presume to say; but such is a very fair assumption. But Englishmen will ask, Why were so many of our brave countrymen made enfans perdus in an attack that, from beginning to end, was so mismanaged as never to have a chance of success? To which the reply will be: Your loss has certainly been grievous; but remember, it was a common cause, and, in this attempt, which brought about such glorious results, where you had 2,447 men placed hors de combat, your brave allies had 7,000. There is another circumstance that gives countenance to this idea. In all Oriental warfare, it has been the practice to place the worst troops in the van; they were flogged up with whips, and pricked up with lances to meet the enemy, whom they were supposed to fatigue and exhaust before the Élite of the army engaged. Now, though General Simpson sent in to the Redan regiments of nominally great experience and tried courage, he really sent in the rawest part of his army; for these regiments had been so thinned by the campaign as to contain very few of the men who came out in them: the Guards, the Highlanders, the third and fourth divisions were untouched. But whether they served as enfans perdus, or were lost in what was meant to be a successful attack, the friends of those who fell in this disastrous affair must console themselves in their grief by reflecting that no honour is lost—the means, and the method of employing those means, appear to have been quite inadequate to the object in view.

However great was the triumph of the French, they never dreamt that it would be so speedily followed by such important consequences.

At eight o’clock, the Russians began quietly to withdraw from the town, after having placed combustibles in every house, with a view of making a second Moscow of Sebastopol. With great art, the commander kept up a fire of musketry from his advanced posts, as if he meant to endeavour to regain the Malakoff. Before two o’clock in the morning the fleet had been scuttled and sunk. About two o’clock flames were observed to break out in different parts of the town, and to spread gradually over the principal buildings. At four, explosion followed upon explosion, and the Flagstaff and Garden Batteries blew up; the magnificence of the scene being heightened by the bursting of the numberless shells contained in the magazines. During all this time, the Russian infantry proceeded in a steady, uninterrupted march over the bridge to the north side, so that by six o’clock the last battalion had passed over: the south side of Sebastopol was thus evacuated, and left to its persevering and brave conquerors.

In his retreat, the Russian general, Prince Gortschakoff, maintained the character for generalship he had so fully earned in his defence of Sebastopol. As the place was no longer tenable against the troops and artillery brought against it, nothing could be better than his arrangements for the safety of his army. He fought till the place crumbled away beneath him, and then made a judicious retreat with a very small loss of men. The amount of stores found in the town, after such a contest, seems almost incredible,—the capture of 4,000 cannon is a thing unheard of in the history of war.

And so far has this important siege terminated: right and civilization have so far triumphed over wrong and barbarism; “vaulting ambition hath o’erleaped itself,” and the arrogant schemes of the Romanoff race have met with such a check as must, at least, retard them for half a century. Great has been the cost,—severe has been the struggle,—but, as the cause is holy, let us trust that Providence will make the end correspond with the beginning, and that the result of all will be Peace.

FINIS.

COX (BROS.) AND WYMAN, PRINTERS, GREAT QUEEN STREET.