CHAPTER I.

THE month of November would seem to have been ruled by some genius unfavourable to our arms. If it gave to us the glorious remembrance of a profitless and bloody victory, it also brought with it a day of disaster and gloom—the beginning of a long series of calamities. The first anniversary of that day passed away amid mutual congratulations and reminiscences, rendered all the more joyous by the contrast between the present and the past. We had beheld a spectacle of unusual splendour and grandeur, one indeed which no native of these isles has ever yet witnessed, so far as I am aware. On the 14th of November, 1855, the purity of the air—the health of the troops—the abundance of stores—the excellence of the roads—the quantity of hutting—the hospital accommodation—the fineness of the day—the beauty of the sky—the dryness of the soil—the prospects of the army—the bright-hued future: all these were contrasted by a myriad tongues in endless difference of phrase, coloured by many a recollection of personal suffering. There was no sorrow, no calamity could reach us now, and of all things which fate could grant us, most of all were we desirous of meeting that alone with which fate seemed to threaten us—an assault by the enemy. But, suddenly, up from the very centre of our camp, so that every ear should hear and every eye should see, rushed with such a crash as may forewarn the world of its doom, and with such a burst of flame and smoke as may never yet have been seen by man, except in the throes of some primeval eruption, a ghastly pillar of sulphureous vapour. It spread as it rose, bearing aloft for hundreds of yards men, horses, fragments of limbs, rocks, shells, and cannon-shot, and then extended its folds in writhing involutions, as though it were tortured by the fire within, raining them down over the astounded soldiery below! For a moment the boldest lost heart, and "the bravest held his breath." There was no safety in flight—the wings of the wind could not have left that dreadful shower of iron behind; and as one of the most collected and cool soldiers in the army said to me, "I had only presence of mind to throw myself on the ground and ask the forgiveness of God, and I received his mercy!" In fact, the effect resembled some great convulsion of nature. Many thought it was an earthquake; others fancied it was the outburst of a volcano; others, that the Russians had got hold of Lord Dundonald's invention, and that they had just given it a first trial. Indeed, one officer said to another, as soon as he recovered breath and could speak, "I say, that's a nice sort of thing, is it not? The sooner we go after that the better." He was persuaded the Russians had thrown some new and unheard-of instrument of destruction into the camp.

I was riding from head-quarters, reading my letters, and had just reached the hill, or elevated part of the plateau, at the time, and happened to be looking in the very direction of the park when the explosion took place. The phenomena were so startling as to take away one's breath. Neither pen nor pencil could describe them. The earth shook. The strongest houses rocked to and fro. Men felt as if the very ground upon which they stood was convulsed by an earthquake. The impression of these few moments can never be eradicated. One's confidence in the stability of the very earth was staggered. Suppositos incedimus ignes. What part of the camp was safe after such a catastrophe? The rush of fire, smoke, and iron, in one great pillar, attained a height I dare not estimate, and then seemed to shoot out like a tree, which over-shadowed half the camp on the right, and rained down missiles upon it. The colour of the pillar was dark grey, flushed with red, but it was pitted all over with white puffs of smoke, which marked the explosions of the shells. It retained the shape of a fir-tree for nearly a minute, and then the sides began to swell out and the overhanging canopy to expand and twist about in prodigious wreaths of smoke, which flew out to the right and left, and let drop, as it were from solution in its embrace, a precipitate of shells, carcasses, and iron projectiles. The noise was terrible; and when the shells began to explode, the din was like the opening crash of one of the great cannonades or bombardments of the siege. I clapped spurs to my horse and rode off as hard as I could towards the spot as soon as my ears had recovered the shock. As I rode along I could see thousands hurrying away from the place, and thousands hastening to it. The smoke became black; the fire had caught the huts and tents. General Windham overtook me, riding from head-quarters as hard as he could go. He was ignorant of the cause and locality of the explosion, and was under the impression that it was one of the French redoubts. Sir Richard Airey followed close after him, and General Codrington rode towards the fire a few minutes afterwards.

On arriving close to the place, I saw that the ground had been torn up in all directions. The fragments of shell were still smoking, and shells were bursting around in most unpleasant proximity. Captain Piggott, in a short time, came up with the ambulances at a gallop, and urged the horses through the flames and amid the exploding shell in order to render assistance to the sufferers; and in this arduous duty he was manfully and courageously assisted by Surgeons Alexander, Muir, Mouat, and others. As we were all looking on at the raging fire, an alarm spread that the mill used as a powder magazine had caught fire. A regular panic ensued—horses and men tore like a storm through the camp of the Second Division. I did not escape the contagion, but, at my servant's solicitation, mounted my horse, and rode off like the rest. I soon came up to Colonel Percy Herbert, who was actively engaged in trying to get the men of his Division under arms, but he told me he could find neither drummers, buglers, officers, nor sergeants. The panic was soon over. The mill did not catch, though the roof and doors and windows were blown in. The officers, in the most devoted way, stripped, and placed 300 wet blankets over the powder inside just as the flames were raging behind the mill and at the side of it within 200 yards. Hundreds of rockets rushed hissing and bursting through the air, sheets of flame shot up from exploding powder, carcasses glared out fiercely through black clouds of smoke, and shells burst, tossing high in air burning beams of wood and showers of sparks, and boxes of small-arm ammunition exploded with a rattling report like musketry, and flew about in little balls of fire.

My reading in military matters is not sufficient to enable me to say, with any confidence, that there never was so terrible an explosion; but having witnessed and heard the explosions at Pavlovskaia and Kertch, at Oczakoff, of the French magazines on the 17th of October, 1854, and of the Russian forts on the 9th of September, 1855, I must say that, in volume of sound, in appalling effect, they were far exceeded in vehemence and grandeur by this tremendously abrupt and startling catastrophe. The quantity of Russian powder which went up was about 1,700 barrels, and there were about 800 barrels of French powder exploded in the three magazines. Each barrel contained about 100lb. weight of gunpowder, so that the total quantity which furnished the elements of this prodigious combustion cannot have been less than 250,000lb. But in addition to that enormous mass of powder there were vast mounds of shell, carcasses, rockets, and small-arm ammunition, contributing to the intensity and violence of the fiery blast.

Appalling as was the shock to those who were near, the effect was little diminished by distance. The roar and concussion were so great in Balaklava that the ships in harbour, and outside at anchor, trembled and quivered, and the houses shook to their foundations. The ships at Kamiesch and Kazatch reeled and rolled from side to side. Mules and horses, seven and eight miles away, broke loose, and galloped across the country, wild with fright. The noise pealed through the passes at Baidar like the loudest thunder. The sense of hearing was quite deadened in many persons, and their nervous systems have not yet recovered the shock, so that any sudden noise startles them. The French had 6 officers killed and 13 wounded; 65 of their men, mostly of the artillery, were killed, and 170 wounded, of whom many will never recover. The destruction in money value of articles appertaining to the siege-train was very great. But when we came to men—to those gallant fellows who had survived the battles and the dangers of the campaign—our loss was irreparable. What value could be placed on those noble artillerymen of the siege-train who, with little praise or encouragement, stood by their guns in so many bombardments, and who had acquired skill, practice, and hardihood in the greatest siege the world ever saw?

The casualties in the Light Division were as follows:—

The Right Siege Train suffered as severely—seven poor fellows were buried the first night, and the bodies of three more artillerymen were so torn and scattered that their remains could not be collected for interment. To this loss of ten must be added that of seven artillerymen "missing." The total of the casualties in the train amounted to fifty-two. Mr. Yellon, Deputy Assistant-Commissary of the field train, a most active, zealous officer, whose name was mentioned along with that of Mr. Hayter in Colonel St. George's despatch, was blown to pieces. Lieutenant Roberts had his left arm broken, and was severely burnt; Lieutenant Dawson lost his leg above the ankle from a dead shell, which struck him as he was in the act of carrying off a live shell from the park to a place of safety. The legs, arms, and trunks of men were blown into the camps of the Rifle Brigade and of the 34th Regiment, on the extreme right of the Light Division. I saw lying amid a heap of ruins, of old iron stores, rubbish, shot, splinters of shell and beams of wood, a man's arm scorched and burnt black, on which the tattered pieces of clothing retained the traces of a sergeant's gold stripes. The dead were terrible to look upon; but the living in their agony were still more frightful. I solemnly declare, that from the lips of none of these mutilated masses which I saw stretched out in long rows in every hospital did I hear either groan or sigh. No sound escaped them, as those who could see rolled their sad orbs and gazed upon the stranger, except in one instance, when an involuntary expression of pain was uttered by a poor French soldier in the hospital of the 23rd, where he had been trepanned, and was all but beyond the reach of his misery. Although the Russians have been justly praised for their endurance of pain, I must say I never beheld them submit to such tortures as our men experienced. As I looked upon the shattered frames before me, in which such noble spirits were enshrined, I could not but remember the howls of a Russian corporal, at Kinburn, who had been wounded in the heel. The surgeons displayed the greatest courage and kindness, and every man was at his post in the midst of fire and shell. Drs. Muir, Watt, Mouat, and Longmore particularly distinguished themselves.

Marshal Pelissier named a commission of inquiry to report upon the cause of the disastrous accident. Our men declared, of course, that it was the work of an incendiary. General Codrington seemed to give credence to the report, inasmuch as he ordered the army to turn out an hour before daybreak, to be prepared for the Russians if they really had calculated on crippling us.

The manner in which this great disaster was caused is said to have been this:—Some French artillerymen were engaged in shifting powder from case to case in the park, and as the operation is rather dangerous, every precaution was taken to prevent accidents. The powder was poured from one case into the other through copper funnels, and no fire was allowed near the place where the men were so employed. As one of the soldiers was pouring the powder out of a case he perceived a fragment of shell gliding out of it into the funnel, and, not wishing to let it get into the other case, he jerked the funnel to one side; the piece of shell fell on the stones, which were covered with loose powder, and is supposed to have struck fire in its fall, for the explosion took place at once. Miraculous as it may appear, this artilleryman, who was, as it were, in the focus of the explosion, escaped alive, being only slightly burnt and scorched. His comrade, who held the other case was blown to atoms. Another strange incident was the death of the French commandant of artillery for the day. He was near the park at the time of the explosion, and as soon as he had seen everything in order, he went off to have a look at the French batteries in and about Sebastopol, on which the Russians had just opened a heavy fire. As he rode along, a cannon-shot struck off his head. The escapes were astounding.—Clothes were torn off men's backs; the chairs or beds on which they sat, the tables at which they were eating, the earth on which they stood, were broken and torn by shot, shell, rocket-irons, shrapnell, grape, canister, and musket-balls, which literally rained down upon them. The distance to which fragments flew exceeds belief. It is difficult to explain it by mere names of localities. One piece of shell flew over Cathcart's Hill; another killed a horse in New Kadikoi. Some struck men and horses in the Guards' camp. In the Land Transport Corps of the Light Division fourteen horses were killed and seventeen were wounded. One flew over my hut; another struck the ground close to it; another went into the camp of the Land Transport Corps behind it. Mrs. Seacole, who keeps a restaurant near the Col, avers that a piece of stone struck her door, which is three and a half or four miles from the park. Pieces struck and damaged the huts in New Kadikoi. There had been some warnings of the dangers of carelessness already.

The day before the explosion Samuel Goodram, No. 6 Company, Coldstreams, a soldier of the same regiment, and a sergeant, were on duty in the Redan; the two men went into one of the casemates to remove powder and rubbish, while the sergeant remained outside. Scarcely had the men entered before an explosion took place. Goodram was blown into the air, and then buried amid fragments of gabions and falling earth, and both men were buried in the Guards' cemetery next day. I am the more particular in giving names, that I may relate an anecdote of Goodram at the attack on the Redan. The night before the attack, the Coldstreams were on duty, and were relieved some hours before the assault. On arriving at camp, Samuel Goodram was missing; and it was feared that he had gone away to indulge in potations, or had been hit as he came from the trenches. But this gallant soldier had remained behind from a pure love of fighting, and from a desire "to have a go in at the Roosians." Knowing that the assault would take place in a few hours, Goodram, as the regiment mustered and marched off, had secreted himself in the trenches, and employed his leisure time before his comrades left in filling the breast of his coat and every available place about his person with cartridges from their boxes, fearing that his private supply of fifty rounds would fail him before he had got his fill of fighting. When the storming party was advancing from the fifth parallel, Goodram appeared, rifle in hand, and joined it as a volunteer, and his regiment claim him as being the first private soldier in the Redan on that memorable day. He was twice driven out of the Redan, and was over and over again engaged individually with the Russians, and in these encounters he received two wounds—one in the side and one in the arm—but still kept up a fire when driven back by the last rush of the enemy's infantry, and forced over the parapet with the rest of our men into the ditch. Instead, however, of retiring with the others, as opportunity offered, and keeping in the ditch or getting under cover in the parallels, Goodram made an impromptu rifle-pit on the broken glacis outside the ditch, and there he maintained his fire on the enemy till his ammunition became exhausted, and his wounds so painful that he could no longer use his rifle. Then he shouldered his arms and marched stiffly up through the trenches and across the open space till he reported himself to his regiment. He was, I believe, tried for being absent without leave and for stealing his comrades' cartridges, but Minos himself could not have condemned a soldier like this to any severe punishment for a crime which Minos's jurymen would have called heroic.

CHAPTER II.

EITHER the year 1854 was remarkable in the annals of the Crimea for its severity, or we enjoyed a season of exceptional mildness in 1855. Storms lowered over us and passed away; dark skies threatened us and melted into floods of golden sunbeams. The wind seemed alone to be busied in tossing the French steamers at sea and keeping the mail late, in which it succeeded very effectually, so that our letters were behind time with the greatest regularity. The country was open in every direction to carriage, man, or beast; the trenches were dry; in fact, the weather presented contrasts of endless variety to that which prevailed the year before, and afforded ground for infinite speculation and comment. There was no reason, however, to suppose that the English army would have had much reason to congratulate itself on the fact that the clemency of the season had averted the evils which want of roads, excessive fatigue, and a false position would have entailed upon them, inasmuch as it is certain the bad weather paralyzed the enemy, cut off their reserves, impeded their transport of food and of reinforcements, and prevented their making another attempt—not at Inkerman, of which, they had to their cost learnt the strength, but from the Traktir bridge, or at some point of the Tchernaya then in their possession, from which they could have debouched into the plain of Balaklava, and made a grand attack on the rear of our lines. Although those lines had been greatly strengthened, and the profile altered and improved, they were far from being perfect or unassailable. In November, when rumours to the effect that the Russians were gathering a force towards Baidar, with the intention of assaulting us, prevailed, the country between Tchongar, Perekop, and Simpheropol was, however, in such a state that it was with the utmost difficulty the garrison of Sebastopol could be fed, and very strong reinforcements were kept for weeks waiting at Odessa, Nicholaieff, and Cherson, till the spring of 1855. But for these impediments, the Russians would have had a prodigious army about Sebastopol early in December, 1854, and if they had been indisposed to try another Inkerman, they could certainly have pressed us much harder in the trenches, and wearied our men by strong and repeated sorties. At times it was difficult for even a single battalion to march from the army of the Belbeck or Mackenzie's Farm into the city, or to effect the usual reliefs.

If to these considerations be added the notorious sentiments and opinions of persons high in authority, who advocated the abandonment of the siege,[31] and the retreat of the army from the Crimea after the battle of Inkerman, it will be seen that our prospects would not have been much better had weather like that we enjoyed in the latter part of 1855 prevailed last winter. The inconvenience to which the famous flank march subjected the army became more apparent every day after the failure of the first bombardment. The flank march was opposed, or was viewed with disfavour, by officers of great authority, and by one whose sagacity and skill are seldom deceived in military operations, although he is not a soldier, and does not command on land.[32] The descent on the Crimea itself was a bold stroke; it was the first step towards the capture of Sebastopol. The battle of the Alma left the approach to the city open to us whenever we liked. Prince Menschikoff's flank march to Bakshiserai and Simpheropol, although somewhat ridiculed at the time, is now considered a judicious and daring movement, but it certainly uncovered the north of Sebastopol, the Tchernaya, and Balaklava; and as it was determined by our generals to abandon the dashing character of the expedition, and to assume for our operations a strategical character, to which they had no previous pretensions, we were obliged to look out for harbours, and the inlets of Balaklava, Kamiesch, and Kasatch met the eye and fixed our destiny. Then came the period during which, without let or hindrance, or attempt at interference or prevention, the Russians were allowed to recover from their alarm and flock back to Sebastopol, under the direction of a man of extraordinary genius. Then they began the rudiments of the vast works which baffled our efforts for eleven long months of trial, suffering, and bloodshed, heroically endured and overcome.

It is now perceived that if the advice of Sir George Cathcart had been followed, the city might have been ours by a vigorous assault on the day after we arrived on the plateau. The ships alone could never have defended the place, and the greater portion of the feeble garrison, such as it was, consisted of the equipages, or crews, of those very ships. The enemy, when they retreated to the north side, would have been as impotent as they were when they had crossed over in the autumn of 1855, and Sebastopol, in all its beauty, and with all its vast stores and riches, would have been in our possession. That is the hypothesis as to the result of vigorous action from the south side. But had we approached the city from the north side, there can be no doubt that the forts would speedily have fallen; the fire of the shipping could have affected our operations but very slightly, and the only inconvenience would have been the want of a harbour at which to land siege-trains and stores, in case any mishap prevented the army carrying the place. The anchorage is good all along the coast up to Eupatoria, and, except on the great gale of the 14th of November, no damage would have occurred to our merchantmen or men of war riding off the coast. The mouths of the Katcha, or even of the Belbek, when the fire of the battery which just reached the latter was reduced, could have been made available for landing such stores and matÉriel as we required. With the northern forts, the whole city of Sebastopol and the remainder of the fleet would have been ours;[33] our army could have reposed on its laurels for the winter in an impregnable position; a year would have been saved in the war; and the Crimea would have been cleared of the Russians early in the spring of 1855.

Such is the hypothesis respecting operations from the north side; such were the discussions which arose in the army when it had rested from its labours and saw a vanquished enemy gathering strength in a position which appeared impregnable or unassailable. The Russian General must have been a man of extraordinary confidence if he thought that on the return of spring he could have extricated his army from the grasp of an enemy which clutched the whole of his coast, was established at two points in his rear, and had four distinct bases of operation, with sufficient troops to use them all, and to concentrate a prodigious force on any point he pleased. The Russian infantry, in spite of its stubborn endurance and passive courage, is not equal to either French, Sardinian, English, or Turkish troops. Every day showed us that it had no chance even against the latter when they were led and officered by Englishmen or brave and skilful European soldiers. Their cavalry, in equal numbers, will be ridden down like grass whenever they stand against English or French squadrons; and notwithstanding the excellence of their artillery, compared with other arms of their service, it cannot compete with ours as regards rapidity of motion or precision of fire. In reference to future operations I wrote at this time some remarks, which even now are not uninteresting. I said:—"Prince Gortschakoff will be a grand strategist opposed to very weak generals if he succeeds in saving his army and marching them scatheless from the Crimea. The health of our troops is excellent; the draughts which arrive are rather younger than is desirable, but they will obtain experience and instruction during the winter. They are admirably clothed, and fed as no army was ever fed before—fresh meat, bread, and vegetables are issued to all. Henceforth the men are to receive fresh meat only three times a week, and bread only three times a week, instead of every day. On the other days they will have pork or salt beef, and excellent biscuit. In respect of winter clothing, hutting, and feeding, our men are immeasurably better off than our Allies, and it is not unusual to see the latter eating in the English camp of the excess of our soldiers' cooking kettles. Little friendships have sprung up in this way. 'Franceese' comes over with his spoon, a smile, an onion, and a bit of salt, or a savoury condiment, to some sapper or grenadier, day after day, about dinner-time, indulges in pantomimic conversation, interlarded with many 'bonos,' and regales on good soup and broth, to the great delight of his entertainer. Thus both are satisfied—a true entente cordiale is established through the medium of the stomach, and no one is a loser. The reinforcements to our ally contain, like our own, many very young men, and I was particularly struck with the youthful appearance of the men of a regiment which arrived at Kamiesch on Monday." It is somewhat mortifying to add that all speculations on the probable conduct of the war were rendered abortive by the peace, which left Russia in military possession of the north side of Sebastopol.

Whilst the army was waiting patiently till spring should give it freedom of action, it set itself to work to provide for the winter. The spoils of Sebastopol materially contributed to our comfort and efficiency in this respect. Kitchen-ranges, boilers, iron-bars, Stourbridge bricks—I had some in a chimney built into the side of my hut, which were marked "Harpers, Stourbridge"—ovens, brass, iron, and copper stoves, pots and pans, flues, kettles, and hundreds of similar articles, were seized and utilized with wonderful tact. Fine well-built cook-houses were constructed from the cut stone of Sebastopol, which was found in large blocks around unfinished houses or was taken from the ruined edifices and walls about the place. Mechanical ingenuity was largely developed in the adaption of materials. One officer converted the funnel of a small steamer into a chimney; another used one of the pipes of an engine as a hot-air apparatus to heat his hut; a third arranged a portion of machinery so that he could communicate from his salon, sleeping-room, and dining-room (three single gentlemen rolled into one), with his cook in the adjacent kitchen, and dinner was handed through direct from the fire to the table, after the fashion of those mysterious apparatus which obey the behests of London waiters in the matter of roast meats, boiled beefs, and their satellites. Many officers distinguished themselves by the trouble they took in showing the men how to make themselves comfortable. The number of those employed on the roads and in various other ways rendered it difficult to get on with these works, and in many cases the officers were unable to complete their huts for want of wood and labour, and the unfinished walls stood in grim ruin here and there about the camp. Wood, canvas, little bits of glass, tar and pitch, and, above all, nails and tacks, were eagerly sought after. At the headquarters' sale, on General Simpson's departure, a hammer, hatchet, and saw sold for £2 15s. A bag of nails was disposed of by auction the same week for 40s., and on counting the contents it was found there were only 130 nails in the bag. Friendly little felonies of planking and such things were not unheard of, and the greatest favour you could do a friend was "to let him have a piece of board about six feet long by a foot wide;" or "The Captain says, sir, as how he'd be very grateful if you could give him a bit of glass about three inches square, sir, for his winder." The heart soon grew hardened under constant pressure, and one was at last obliged to refuse "a couple of tenpenny nails" or "the loan of a hammer for an hour" with the sternness of a Brutus.

Pictures of saints, the erotic scripture pieces, in which the Muscovites delight, fat Potiphar's wives and garmentless Josephs, very plump Susannahs and very withered elders, and "subjects" of the kind, as well as straight-backed uncomfortable arm-chairs of walnut, heavy tables, and chests of drawers, were not uncommon in the officers' tents. Cats from Sebastopol abounded in camp, and were very useful, inasmuch as the huts were overrun with rats and mice, not to speak of other small deer, which disappeared before the march of King Frost. Dogs came in from the deserted city, and domesticated themselves, whether you would or not. There were always an odd half-dozen about my hut and tent, which made night hideous with their quarrels—greyhounds, mastiffs, and sheep-dogs, and their descendants, of very mixed and indistinct types; and for two whole days my peace was menaced by a huge double-humped Bactrian camel, which took a fancy to the space before the door of my hut and lay there constantly, so that our legs as we went out and in were within easy reach of his prodigious teeth. But he was a good-natured brute, and never attempted to bite unless one tried to mount him, when he disgorged his food, and spat it out at the assailant or snapped his jaws at him in terrorem. However, no one was sorry when he heard that the "ship of the desert" had got under way owing to the deposit of a piece of live coal and some matches on his back, and had sailed off on a piratical excursion against other infidel habitations. There were, however, thefts committed in camp more serious than those of planks or nails. Blankets were not safe those chilly nights on horses in outlying stables, and the regiments that came back from Kinburn found their huts broken into and robbed on their return. The officers' furniture and clothing were gone. On three occasions this week my horses were turned loose, and on two they were deprived of their blankets and clothing: a spade and a hatchet were stolen from the outside of the hut, and the thieves entered the stables of the Land Transport Corps of the division close at hand, turned some horses loose, and stole their blankets. Geese arrived at a fair state of obesity, or turkeys and fowls, were not safe for a moment, and it was almost impossible to identify the robbers.

The Sardinian officers who visited our ambulances declared that they were superior to the French, and took much interest in the cases of conservative surgery, which exhibited great skill and professional knowledge. In some instances, the elbow-joint having been injured, the surgeon made clean surfaces on the bones of the lower and upper arms, cut away the fractured pieces, and then brought the surfaces together, and the bones joined by a false joint, or by a sort of ligamentous union, making a stiff short arm indeed, but with a serviceable hand attached to it. The principle was extended to other injuries of limbs, and was never, perhaps, adopted to such an extent in the field as it was by our English army surgeons.

CHAPTER III.

THERE were now four months of winter before us, and the drill-sergeant was busy all day. Every camp resounded to his voice and to the tramp of the awkward squad. Recruits had little time to spend in idleness and drinking, and steps were taken to provide soldiers with the means of reading, which they so much needed and enjoyed in the long winter nights. Why could not Government have been a little more liberal in the matter of candles? The issue of light was one ration to every twelve men—that is, one ration for each tent or sergeant's guard. Now, good Public, do you know what one ration consists of? It is just two-thirds of an ounce of sperm candle, or two ounces of tallow candle—that is, of a bit very like what economic housewives are familiar with under the name of "save-alls." No one need ever say, "Put out the light" in a British camp, for the candle is not lit very long before it dies of its own accord. An officer receives the same ration as is given to twelve men, but he can afford to buy candles, and if he is a field-officer his rations are increased, on the principle, I suppose, that there is more necessity for his keeping wide awake than exists in the case of a subaltern. The libraries were well filled with books, but there was little time to use them by day, and it fell dark before six o'clock; twelve men were not likely to make much progress in a novel, a tract, or an entertaining miscellany by the aid of two-thirds of an ounce of candle. They clubbed their little pieces of candle together, and resorted to many ingenious devices for keeping the lights in. Some of them, like the Russian or Dutch sailors at Spitzbergen, of whose very uncomfortable residence we all have read, used the extra fat of mutton in lamps, but in general they were obliged to purchase what extra candles they required. And all this time there were the canteens alight till an hour or more after "retreat." We had "ball" at Kamiesch, which were distinguished by remarkably good conduct on the part of all present. There were hotels established at Kamiesch, and restaurants, at which excellent fare was to be had at high but not extravagant prices.

My hut commanded a view of a considerable portion of the plateau at the other side of the Tchernaya, and overlooked the spurs at Mackenzie's Farm, the Russian encampments at Inkerman, and between it and the Lower Belbek; from the windows, the movements of the enemy were plainly visible in moderately clear weather. On the 23rd of November we observed the whole of the enemy in motion along the plateau, and from an early hour in the morning till two o'clock in the afternoon their battalions were marching to and fro, but it was evident they were only changing their troops, and that the regiments which left Mackenzie were replaced by regiments from the camp in the rear. The new comers at the spur huts seemed to be dressed better, to be taller men, and to wear darker coats than those who were relieved by them, and that appearance gave rise to the notion that the troops so close to us belonged to the Imperial Guard. Their various camps were rapidly losing the look of snowy neatness of canvas, and were being converted into dingy rows of huts. We could see their telegraphs at work with the greatest facility, and I could make out the flags with my glass. It was a pity one could not have got the Imperial Code Book of Signals and a dictionary.

During November excellent warm clothing was issued to the men, and so uniform was it in style that no one could distinguish officers from men, unless by the difference of style and bearing. Our Allies were astonished at the profuseness of our military wardrobe, which not only contained a waterproof suit, helmet and all, but fur coats and caps, cowhide boots, tweed coats lined with cat or rabbit skin, &c., and for the officers, suits of sealskin, sold at moderate prices. The French only received from their Government an ordinary cloth capote, and were obliged to buy any waterproofs or furs which they found necessary.

The roads indeed, even then, when we had no trenches, no prospects of an attack, no want of labour—the roads were even then objects of much interest to us all. The whistling locomotives on the railway—the "Alliance," the "Victory"—which recalled to us the familiar sounds of Wolverhampton or of Swindon, and made us believe for the moment that we were in a civilized country, were not to be taken as material guarantees for the possession of material comforts in the coming winter. Mr. Beatty, with small means at his command, placed the railway on an excellent basis, as far as wood, iron, and stone could secure it.[34] The soundness of his judgment in laying out the line was confirmed by Mr. Doyne's adoption of a course very nearly parallel to it throughout for the grand main road between Balaklava and the camp. Mr. Beatty was obliged to retire from a post in which he rendered services not only to the army collectively, but to many individuals in it, who will always retain a deep sense of his kindness and friendly assistance in times of domestic difficulty about huts and transports, in consequence of ill-health, which not long after proved fatal to him.

Mr. Doyne, after careful examination, found that it would require much less labour to make a new and good road between Balaklava and Kadikoi by a different route, than to attempt to repair the old one while the traffic was passing over it. Accordingly, a main drain was cut down the centre of the valley, running into the head of Balaklava harbour, to intercept all water flowing from the east of it, and free the road and railway drains rapidly from the rain-water. The road was made parallel to the railway, the material over which it passed being deep, spongy, vegetable soil, easily drained in its natural state, but very retentive if worked up under wet; drains four feet deep were cut at forty feet apart, and the surface between rounded to a foot higher at the centre. Cross-drains were cut at every forty-four yards, connecting main-drains, and the large stone pitching, twenty-eight feet wide, was filled in with smaller stones, and afterwards macadamized. Before laying on the pitching, the whole traffic of the camp was turned over the formed surface for five days to beat it down, and to consolidate it, a strong force of navvies being employed in the morning and evening to keep up the proper form. This course proved perfectly successful—the surface was quite smooth when the metalling was laid on, and consequently the rain ran freely off without penetrating the soil. On this section there was laid down about 13,000 tons of hard limestone pitching and metalling on a length of one mile.

From Kadikoi to the stationary engine the old road up the Vinoy ravine was so steep (1 in 12), and thus liable to be washed away, and the ground over which the down line was prepared to pass was so bad (in some places 1 in 7), that Mr. Doyne determined to abandon both, and to make a new road, round the eastern base of Frenchman's Hill, nearly parallel with the railway, and Sir Richard Airey gave his assent to the change. Here for a considerable distance the road was terraced out in the hill-side, formed of hard carboniferous limestone rock, and a clear metalled roadway was obtained from twenty to twenty-five feet wide throughout. In the next section, to Mrs. Seacole's hut, the old French road was widened, deep drains cut, the centre raised, and a deep coat of limestone metalling laid on.

In the next section, up to the Col, the ground again sloped very rapidly, and the road was terraced out for a mile, partly in rock, sandstone, and clay, and was then formed and metalled as before. From Balaklava to the Col the chief difficulty to be contended with in maintaining a road was the numerous courses of water which came down the hill-sides. To protect the road against this, trenches were cut on the upper side, zig-zagging according to the line of the ground, so as to intercept the water and convey it into large culverts constructed under the road at every dip in the undulation of the hill. Thus no water could get upon the road except that which actually fell upon its surface, and that small quantity was rapidly carried away into the side-drains. To relieve a road in every way from the destructive action of water, both by sub and surface drainage, is the first principle of road-making; without attention to this, any amount of labour will prove fruitless. From Balaklava to the Col, about three miles and a half, the works throughout were of a very heavy character, and the provisions for drainage were upon an extensive scale; besides about ten miles of open ditching, there were between 150 and 200 culverts constructed; from the great want of materials these were formed in every variety of way—many with Army Works Corps' water-barrels, some with Commissariat pork-casks, others with Royal Engineer's fascines and green platform timber.

But the work which required the greatest amount of labour was the metalling, there having been over this three and a half miles nearly 40,000 tons of hard limestone rock quarried, collected, and laid upon the road. Above the Col the main trunk proceeded over the plateau of Sebastopol, following nearly the direction of the railway, crossing the Woronzoff road up to the camp of the Light Division, on the extreme right. Here the difficulties were of a different character, and the surface and geographical formation changes from deep clay valleys and plains, and carboniferous limestone rock hills, to a comparatively uniform surface of a very plastic retentive clay; on examination, Mr. Doyne found this did not exceed an average of eighteen inches deep, and that underneath there is a light rubbly oolitic limestone rock, similar to that found in the neighbourhood of Stroud, in Gloucestershire.

The whole of the clay was removed for a width of thirty-two feet, and a solid foundation was discovered, upon which the road was securely constructed by paving and metalling it with the parts of the oolite rocks which had become harder by exposure to the weather, and for the worst parts hard metal was brought from the other district. It was opened for traffic in forty-eight days from the time of its commencement. There was no gradient upon it worse than 1 in 17.

I ventured to express an opinion almost immediately after the capture of the south side, that the enemy's preparations indicated the intention of wintering where they lay. It was not because St. Vladimir was converted in the Crimea that Prince Gortschakoff held Mackenzie's Farm and the plateau of the Belbek and Tchernaya. But he knew that until he was dislodged, the Allies were paralyzed, and that they could establish no safe basis of operations against Nicholaieff or Cherson while he was at Simpheropol, for it would be contrary to common sense to leave such an army in their rear and flank. He hoped, therefore, either to be able to hold the Crimea during the next campaign, or to be able to make such dispositions in the event of a great defeat as would ensure the safe retreat of his army to Perekop and Tchongar, and perhaps by a third road, of the existence of which across the Sivash there were very strong indications. The electric telegraph kindly aided him in establishing himself all the more securely, for the rumour of a Russian attack, to which it gave official weight, prevented the occupation of Kaffa and the destruction of Arabat that autumn. Talk of the harm done by newspaper correspondents compared with that which was done by the electric telegraph! The first expedition to Kertch, the despatch of the Highlanders to Eupatoria, and the expedition to Kaffa were all prevented by our electric batteries at London and Paris, and it is very questionable if they did not do the Allies more harm than the Russian guns. The French were, indeed, adverse to the Kaffa movement, and Admiral Bruat was, it appears, more especially opposed to it; but there is no reason to doubt that it would have been successful, and the occupation of that place and the destruction of Arabat would have most materially complicated the difficulty of the Russian position, and contributed to the strength of the Allies.

The needy knife-grinder, had he been a resident in our camp during the last week of November, would not have been in possession of more abundant materials for anecdote than he was when he met Mr. Canning, several years ago, in the neighbourhood of Eton. We were all ankle-deep in mud. Ankle-deep! No! that would have been nothing! It would have been no great matter of complaint or grievance if we had had to deal with the ordinary material, so familiar to all Londoners, before the scavengers remove the formidable soft parapets which line the kerbstones after a day or two of rain. That can be scraped off, cleaned, rubbed away, or washed out. This Crimean preparation nothing but long and persevering efforts, continually renewed, and combining all the former operations, could remove. It stuck in pasty clods to the shoes, and would insist on being brought into clean huts and tents to visit your friends. It had a great affection for straws, with which it succeeded in working itself up into a gigantic brick, somewhat underdone, in which condition it threatened to build your legs into the ground if you stood long enough in one place to give it a chance; and it mightily affected horseshoes also, and sucked them off, with a loud smack of relish, in those little ravines between rocky hill-sides in which it exercised the greatest influence. Literally and truly, it was like glue half boiled and spread over the face of the earth for the depth of several feet. It was no joke for a soldier to see his sleeping-place, in hut or tent, covered with this nasty slime; yet they could not be kept clean. Take but one step outside, and you were done for. The mud was lying in wait for you, and you just carried back as much on your feet as if you had walked a mile. Carts stuck immovably in the ground, or the wheels and axles flew into pieces from the strain of the horses and mules.

The waste of property as of life in war is prodigious, and much of it seems unavoidable. I firmly believe that for three feet deep the whole of the quay at Balaklava, near the Commissariat landing-place, was at this time a concrete of corn. It was no uncommon thing to see a Croat or Turkish labourer waddling slowly along with a sack on his back, from which the corn descended in streams against his heels, till he arrived from the ship at the store, and then to behold him depositing the collapsed and flaccid bag on the heap with great gravity and satisfaction at his success in diminishing his load at every step. In the various Divisional Commissariat depÔts an enormous loss of grain occurred from similar causes, and from shifting the sacks and the distribution of the rations. But it seemed to be impossible to prevent these losses, which were regarded as incidental to a state of war. Our authorities waged a war of extermination against spirit vendors, and, above all, against rakee importers. This villanous spirit inflamed men's brains and set them mad; it had all the abominable properties of fresh-run rum or new whisky, but it affected the nervous system more mischievously, and produced prostration, which frequently ended in death. It was dreadfully cheap, colourless like gin, with a taste of bad anisette and a fiery burning smack on the tongue, and was alcohol all but pure, with the exception of the adulteration, which contributes the flavour. The owners were compelled to start the poison into the sea, and then to leave the Crimea instanter.

Every canteen-keeper or storekeeper on whose premises a drunken soldier was seen, no matter what the excuse might be, was fined £5 for each, and the Provost-Marshal had more money than he knew what to do with from this source alone. But they are a wealthy race, these social vultures—many of them king vultures—respectable birds of prey, with kempt plumage and decent demeanour—others mere "adjutants," dirty and predaceous. The sutlers of Kadikoi cared little for £5 fines while they could get 6d. a dozen for tacks, and 2s. a pound for lard sub nomine butter, and they paid their taxes like lords, or rather much more willingly, now that the income-tax is pressing on the poor nobility. Taxes!—what is the man talking about? It is quite true, nevertheless. There was an unchartered corporation in the town of Kadikoi, with a Mayor and Aldermen, or Town Councillors, and a vigorous administrative staff that would astonish the elder brethren about Guildhall. They had a machinery of scavengers and the sewer-men, and they paid about £120 a month for keeping their city in order. But sutlers, and canteens, and provisions were of no use without roads, and the word was heard of oftener, and the thing thought of more than anything else, in the autumn of 1855.

Notwithstanding the numerous good roads through the camps, there were exceedingly deep and heavy tracts to be traversed by thousands of animals under their burdens. There were two men to every three horses or mules, and it was scarcely possible for them to perform long marches, from the divisional camps to Balaklava and back again, and afterwards to attend to the animals and clean them properly. In some muddy pool or in some deep scarp on the hill-side the poor animal, which perhaps stood in uncovered stables all night, and was badly groomed, or not rubbed down at all, sank beneath its load and died there in lingering agony. No one was permitted to shoot these wretched creatures. I well remember the skeleton spectre of a wretched grey horse, with a sore back, which haunted Fourth Division camp for weeks before it fell into a ditch and died. It had been turned loose to live or perish, and it was a shocking sight to behold the dogs leaping up against it to lick its sores; but there it remained for days, with its legs drawn close together, and no one dared to put it out of pain. These spectacles recalled the terrors of the previous winter. Every one exclaimed, "How fortunate that Sebastopol has fallen! What should we have done had we to guard the trenches this winter!" Not that there could have been an equal amount of physical suffering, but that there would have been a great deal of unavoidable misery, and disease, and death incident on another winter's active operations, despite railroads, depÔts, roads, warm clothing, and abundant food. It must not be supposed that there are no inconveniences in living in the open air during a Crimean winter. A bed with a lively little sewer intersecting it is not the most agreeable thing in winter time; but the camp view of such a catastrophe is that "it serves them right for not pitching their tents better." At the same time there were loud outcries against the new huts, and the letters "O.L.B.," with which they were marked, were said to mean "Officers' Leaky Bunks." It is considered that if the Government had sent out hammers, nails, planks, and felt, the men would have done much better. Early in December the siege artillery was ordered home—and the batteries were filled up to their full complement. The staff officers of the train returned to Woolwich.

CHAPTER IV.

The monotony of life in the huge military colony before Sebastopol was broken slightly by the appearance of the Russians on the heights of Ourkousta, and by some demonstrations of an intention on their part to try the strength of the French positions in the Baidar Valley. As the French retired in the presence of winter, the enemy threw forward their advanced posts at Koluluz and Markul to the north-east, and from Aitodor and Ozembash to the north of Baidar. On Sunday morning, the 9th of December, the Russians, with their feline aptitude for surprises, crept round the little village of Baga in the dark, and just at the dawn rushed in upon the small party of the French which occupied it. For a time the surprise was complete; but our gallant allies soon got together, and after a smart fusillade, drove out the enemy at the point of the bayonet. The Russians had many horsemen with them. In the pursuit of the Cossacks our Allies managed to capture some forty horses, for the former gentry fled by a road which in old times was good enough for a run, but they were astonished to find themselves stopped by a deep scarp at a pretty spot, where a wall of rock closed the road at the right-hand side, and a precipice formed the left-hand boundary, so they had nothing for it but to dismount and scramble across, leaving the horses, accoutrements and all, to their fate. In this affair the French had 1 officer mortally wounded, 7 men killed, and 13 wounded, and the Russians left 70 dead on the ground, and 20 men prisoners in the hands of the French.

On Monday, December 10, a High Mass, at which many English officers attended, was performed on board the French flagship for the soul of Admiral Bruat. The decease of the Admiral was heard of by our navy with sincere regret.

About the same time we heard of the fall of Kars. Criticism on military matters by civilians is worthless when the questions agitated relate to the details of manoeuvres or to pure strategy, but military men cannot expect to be exempted from the criticism of civilians on general questions relative to the conduct of the war. Captain Smith may have his Grenadier company in perfect order and discipline, and may lead them with the greatest gallantry; but the civilian who from some eminence sees Captain Smith taking his men into broken ground, filled with riflemen or swept with grape, where their order and discipline are of little service to them, is entitled to exclaim, "What a fool that fellow is!" When Kars had fallen, every one said, "What the deuce were Omar Pasha and his Turks doing so long at Baidar, or encamped on the tumuli overlooking the plains of Balaklava and the English head-quarters? Of what use were they perpetually in transitu between Eupatoria and the Col of Balaklava, or on the tramp between Kamara and Phoros? Why was Kars allowed to fall, and why was Omar Pasha sent to Asia Minor so late in the year?" The defence of Kars was honourable, but so was the defence of Sebastopol, and Kars was not less Russian because it was won by so much of their best blood. The Turks, indeed (according to the testimony of all acquainted with them), were most miserably mismanaged and badly handled, and no use was made of them except to garrison Eupatoria, which they would have been able to do with at most half of their army. Thus the remaining half might have been set free for active operations. Although the fate of Kars could not materially influence the result of the struggle in the Crimea, active operations directed against the enemy from Kars might, in the opinion of most excellent judges, have produced very considerable results on the calculations of the next campaign, and on the prospects of the war. But the fall of Kars produced no surprise—the wonder rather seemed to be that it held out so long, and every one admitted that he had a secret presentiment that the city must, sooner or later, fall into the hands of the Russians. Every one who knew the country felt persuaded that Omar Pasha's expedition set out too late, and yet we all fell into ecstasies at the passage of the Ingour, and talked of the march on Kutais as if these things could save Kars, and no one cared to look at the map or consider the chances of such a result.

The winter at last set in, but cold and frost had lost their terrors for the army then. There is an old saying, that "a green Christmas makes a full churchyard," and it might have been realized, inasmuch as the cholera appeared in the Highland regiments—notable sufferers in epidemics of the kind—and some cases occurred in other regiments, before the thermometer fell below freezing-point. On Tuesday forenoon (Dec. 11th) the thermometer was at 55°; on Wednesday (Dec. 12th) it was 50°; on Thursday (Dec. 13th) it fell to 28°; on Friday (Dec. 14th) it was 22°; on the 15th it marked 20° Fahrenheit. With moderate exercise, hard ground, good footing, good feeding, warm clothing, and occupation, there was little reason to entertain any apprehension for the troops during the winter. It must be stated, however, that the complaints against the new huts were numerous and well founded, and during the wet weather it was seriously proposed to remove the men, and put them into double tents. They never were intended, I presume, to keep out water without some felt or waterproof covering, and none had been provided: not even the tar and pitch in one of the vessels at Balaklava could be landed. Still this promised to be a joyous Christmas. Solitary subalterns rode out to Miskomia, and gazed gloomily on the beautiful mistletoe which grows on all the wild pear and apple trees in these lovely valleys. Their contentment returned when they thought of the fat goose, which, tied by the leg, was waiting his doom by the kitchen tent or bakehouse, or of the tender pig, which had been reared up from his childhood for the sole object of doing honour to the coming feast, and was "just fit to be killed."

Contrasts were drawn between dinners in the trenches, on dreary outposts, on remote guards and pickets the year before, and the luxuries which were then forthcoming for the grand English festival. Men remembered "that tough old turkey, which cost 40s., and that turned the edge of the carver like plate glass," and laughed over the fate which seemed somehow to attend most efforts to be jolly that Christmas, and then turned and looked round their huts, which generally, it must be confessed, were very like retail grocers' establishments, backwood stores, or canteen-men's magazines. The shelves placed along the walls in layers, the cupboards made of packing-cases or powder boxes, filled with pÂtÉs in Strasburgh ware, hams, tins of soups and preserves, made dishes, vegetables, long-necked bottles of French manufacture, and the stumpier sturdier work of the English glass-blower. There was a stove or some substitute for a fireplace in each hut, which always enjoyed the advantage of a famous draught from the door and walls. As to the latter, the embellishments upon them whiled away many an idle hour, and afforded opportunities for the exercise of taste, good and bad, the monuments of which perished with the spring. They consisted chiefly of illustrations from the pictorial papers and Punch, transposed ingeniously by the introduction of faces, figures, and bits of different engravings, with the view of giving them a ludicrous or whimsical character, and the result was often very amusing. The walls were covered with them; a pastepot, a pair of scissors, some old papers, and a little fancy—these were materials of which a man could make wonderful use in enlivening and decorating the wooden walls of his temporary residence.

On the night of the 12th of December, the storm howled and raged fearfully over the camp, and brought a deluge of rain, which it discharged in water-spouts, driving it through huts and tents, and forcing it in streams through the minutest interstices. The gusts were extremely violent, and the beating of the rain kept many a one awake with only one topic of consolation, namely, that there was "No trench guard to-night." Until four o'clock the wind seemed to come from the south-west, but at that hour it veered round towards the north, and became bitterly cold. All at once the rain was converted into hail and snow; the wet ground began to freeze; and at eight o'clock, by one of those magical changes which can only be equalled by the chymical landscapes of our childhood, the whole camp, which, at sundown the night before, was an expanse of blackish mud, dotted with white tents and huts, became a sheet of dazzling white, marked with lines of dusky, greyish habitations of canvas and wood. The wind was exceedingly cold and penetrating. The unfortunate natives of Southern Europe or of Asia, employed in such myriads in the service of the army, suffered greatly on such occasions, and perished like flies in frost. The huge swarm of camp-followers, who, to the number of some ten thousand, hovered about the canteens and round Balaklava, Kadikoi, and the fairs, also felt the effects of this weather.

There were not less than 25,000 camp followers, including those of the French, Sardinians, and English, belonging to the Allied army, or hanging on their skirts. In the pursuit of gain, most of these people exposed themselves to considerable hardships and privations. How they provided fodder for the beasts they drove was one of the secrets of their peculiar existence, and the variety of vehicles belonging to these Bashi-Bazouks of trade and commerce constituted a curious detail of the wonders of the camp. One might witness the incidents of the scenes of the last year repeated in the winter of '55. I saw an old Turk in a moribund state carried into Balaklava on the back of a native almost as wretched-looking as himself; and riding on to the Land Transport camp, between Kadikoi and the Col, I beheld a native bearing in the same way a living skeleton from one tent into another. These men were provided by Government with long Turkish gregos, but, somehow or other, exposure to bad weather produced disastrous results upon them, although their frames seemed very vigorous. I am afraid the Temperance Society won't forgive me if I express a private opinion that a little stimulant might have been "exhibited" on these poor fellows, who ate largely of vegetables, and were saturated with onions, garlic, and leeks; and that, under the circumstances, they might, without injury, have partaken of a moderate quantity of spirits. If I am not mistaken, Sir Philip Crampton is of opinion that so long as the Irish are a potatophagous race, a predilection for whisky will be found among them, in obedience to a secret sympathy of nature, which seeks an ally in alcohol against the effects of her esculent enemy. I do not know for certain that the gallant Surgeon-General ever expressed that opinion, nor would I invoke teetotal wrath and water on his head by saying so; and I beg to disclaim, also, the smallest intention of theorizing, for I think of the Hindoos and rice, of Yankee whalers and hot coffee, and I tremble and am silent. Sometimes a very pretty little rebellion sprang up among the native drivers of the Land Transport Corps of the Fourth Division. They would not stir, in spite of eloquent exhortations in the best Hindostanee addressed to them by Captain Dick, who, standing knee-deep in snow and mud, harangued them as they lay inside their tents. They "sahibbed" away and shrugged their shoulders, and plaintively expressed a decided desire to be flogged, accompanied by suggestions also that they should be at once executed; but they one and all declared that work they would not on such a raw and gusty day.

The discipline of the harbour was strict, but it sometimes happened that unruly Turks or Greeks ran their vessels right in slap-dash among the shipping, neither comprehending signals nor regulations. The order of mooring was preserved strictly by English ships. The vessels lay with sterns to the quay, in three rows, the inner line consisting of ships with cargoes of first necessity, and so on; the large ships in deep water at the Diamond Wharf, higher up the harbour on the western side. The Sardinians had a portion of the harbour near the cattle wharf, and the French a reserved quay close to them. With its forest of masts closely packed together—its wall-like sides of rock—its wooden houses—its railway—its parti-coloured population—its Babel of tongues—its huge mountains of stores piled for many feet high by the water's edge—its tremendous traffic—its mud—its locomotive whistling through the main street, and regarded by the rude Tartar from distant holes as a wild beast of inconceivable power and ferocity—and its picturesque old ruins, Balaklava was well worth a visit. By the bye, any antiquary desirous of seeing the castle ought to have gone out quickly; it was undergoing demolition fast, and the work of the Genoese was from time to time being transferred to the holds of merchantmen in the ignoble form of "ballast!" It is lucky, perhaps, that the PirÆus was not the scene of our operations, for in that case the Acropolis in a fragmentary state might have been en route for Newcastle, as the centre of gravity of the Black Diamond transport, and the Parthenon might have been employed to trim the John Smith of London. But, if we destroyed, so did we create. A splendid military road from Balaklava to the front, with numerous branches and arms, was no bad equivalent for the walls of a ruined fortress.

The air was full of drumming and fifing and trumpeting. The regiments were getting up their bands again, and the exertion was generally distressing to the neighbourhood; but there was no use in writing to the Times on the subject. It was, however, irritating to the last degree to be surrounded by drummers, who were sent to my part of the camp as a favourable spot for practice, and I was compelled for hours to be the unwilling auditor of first lessons on the bugle and French horn. The French were indefatigable at this work. Every one recollects the three little drummers who were always "dubbing" away like mad on that little spot at Capecure, near the south pier of Boulogne. They were out in the Crimea multiplied exceedingly, and as active in elbow and wrist as ever. It would be a curious subject for the statist to ascertain when the French drummer is perfect in his art. As far as I can perceive, he must be a tolerably elderly man before he leaves off practice, and can only be enjoyed in perfection for a very brief period before he retires from the service altogether.

The Russians kept up a pertinacious fire upon the town. Sebastopol was a disagreeable place to go to on pleasure, for shot and shell were continually lobbing along the streets, houses falling piecemeal, and stones flying about from the shock of cannon-balls. The casualties, however, were very few, and the French displayed great ingenuity in erecting comfortable magazines and shops in out-of-the-way parts of the town, where one could get a cup of coffee and a cigar without much danger. But to the uninitiated the roar of a ball and the twittering hiss of a shell fail to give zest to these luxuries. It was no longer an occurrence of every week to go down to Sebastopol, and few people resorted to the docks unless they were on duty, or had just come out, and were under the painful necessity of going en amateur. The whole establishment of a cantiniÈre went smash one day through the operation of a shell, and, although it was tolerably well filled, the only damage done was to the poor proprietress, who lost her hand and an immense amount of crockery, comestibles, and customers.

Writing under the date December 13, I said, "It is to be hoped that if an Order of Merit be established, it will bear the name of the Queen in whose reign it was instituted, and with the signification of whose royal prÆnomen it would so thoroughly harmonize. There is a strong desire that bronze crosses should be prepared bearing inscriptions relating to the number of bombardments, so that each man should bear a distinctive mark of the amount of trench-duty he has done. When Kenealy, one of the privates of the 41st who entered the Redan with Major-General Windham, was asked whether he would have the £5 or a decoration, he replied he would much sooner have the latter; and this feeling is shared by all good soldiers: whereas, the notion with the home authorities seemed to be, that money was more welcome than anything else."

The frost continued, and on December 14 the thermometer marked 22°, but there was a clear fine sky and a bright sun above. The mud became a rigid furrowed lake, with iron waves cast up by old cart-tracks and horses' hoofs, and the roads were crowded and blocked up by the vast numbers of fourgons, carts, horses, and pack animals so suddenly forced upon them.

The destruction of the far-famed docks of Sebastopol was an event in the annals of military engineering. A regular diary of the operations was kept by the officers engaged, and this, should it ever be published, cannot fail to be most interesting. War has stern necessities, but there was something lamentable in seeing such great and magnificent works as these docks were, thus pitilessly destroyed. It may give some idea of the labour necessary to reconstruct these docks, to say that after clearing away the ponderous ruins it would be necessary to dig down some twenty feet below the original bottom—so much has the earth been disturbed by the successive explosions—to drive piles and use concrete, and form an entirely new foundation.

During the latter part of December the weather was extremely cold, but all that month and the following January preparations were urged forward for the destruction of the docks of Sebastopol. Although to most persons the general aspect of these docks has probably become well known from descriptions and drawings, I will briefly explain their position and arrangement. They extended nearly due north and south (a little to the east of north and west of south), and consisted of three inner docks, a basin, and two outer docks, with a lock between them. The French undertook the destruction of the outer docks, the lock, and the northern half of the basin; the English that of the inner docks and the southern half of the basin. The lock, although capacious, was easier to destroy than a dock, its circumference being a plain stone wall, instead of heavy stone steps fit for a giant's staircase. The French did their share of the work very effectually. For various reasons the English works were more gradual in their progress, but were not less thoroughly carried out, and, if a non-professional but highly-interested observer might express an opinion, they did great credit to the scientific skill of the engineers to whom they were entrusted. I believe the first idea was to blow up the whole at once, which would probably have given a more picturesque appearance, and have produced a more thorough ruin. But this plan was abandoned by reason of the dampness of the ground. Water flowed in from the ravine in the rear of the docks, and rose in the shafts of the mines. It is probable that, had the engineers waited to explode the numerous mines until all of them were complete, the powder would have become damp in many of them, and would not have ignited; so it was resolved to blow up a little at a time. It was difficult for any one who has not seen these docks both before and after their destruction, fully to appreciate the magnitude of the operations, and the force that must have been applied to root up and utterly overthrow such massive constructions, such huge blocks of granite so firmly cemented, such mighty timbers, which now lie snapped asunder like reeds or rent into huge splinters.

There were probably two reasons for the care with which the engineers measured their charges. One, that by leaving the docks encumbered and filled up with their own ruins they bequeathed a harder task to any future rebuilder than if they scattered the stone linings far and wide, and left the chasms comparatively clear. The second reason, that by more violent explosions they would probably have shaken down buildings, overthrown the dockyard wall (which already totters and loses stones from its summit when a mine is let off), and perhaps caused accidents. The Russians fired a great deal at times, but although their fire was occasionally accurate enough, shell after shell falling into the docks, they caused little loss. Of accidents occurring from the explosions, one was of a peculiar nature. The explosion by the dock-gate had taken place, and some sappers were busy at the bottom of a shaft forty or fifty feet off, when a noxious gas, generated by the explosion, entered the gallery, filtering through the intervening earth. The effect was gradual—one after another the men became giddy, and some of them insensible. With infinite alacrity and courage non-commissioned officers and soldiers descended the shaft, braving a danger which seemed the greater because its extent and nature were unknown, to succour their comrades, and as they got down they in turn were overpowered by the offensive gas. Major Nicholson and Lieutenant Graham also went down, and suffered in consequence. The former was insensible, when, supported by his men, he reached the top of the shaft, and it was some time before he recovered. To sum up the accident: one man perished, and seven or eight were seriously affected, but recovered. A man went down into the mine after the accident, holding in his mouth the extremity of a tube down which air was pumped to him, and he walked about with perfect impunity, and collected the men's caps and things they had left behind.

The quantity of powder used in the explosion of Fort Nicholas was 50,000 kilogrammes, or 100,000 French pounds. Double that quantity was found under the fort when the engineers commenced their operations. This was not the only concealed store of powder the French discovered in their part of Sebastopol. The intention was that all the mines should explode simultaneously, and that they did not do so was attributable to some fault in Beckford's fuse, known among the French as le cordon Anglais. The effect, however, was very fine, and nothing could be more complete than the destruction. The operations against the docks may be said to have commenced at the end of November, for although a beginning was made at an earlier period, the works were quickly suspended, and resumed only at the above date. The French did their work in four explosions; the English had six, besides minor ones of small extent.

Fort Alexander was blown up, in three explosions, at one o'clock on February 11th. The destruction was complete, but the place did not look such a perfect level as the site of Fort Nicholas, and the sea face was intentionally left standing. The day was dry, but not bright, and the absence of sun detracted from the striking nature of the spectacle, which was, however, sufficiently imposing, but not equal to that of Fort Nicholas's downfall. The Russians, who had been firing a little from the Inkerman Batteries just before the fort blew up, were perfectly silent for some time after the explosion, apparently thinking it more dignified to contemplate the destruction of their fortresses calmly than to exhibit impotent wrath and to expend their ammunition unprofitably. At a later period of the day they fired more than usual from the north side.

A stroll about the environs of Sebastopol, and the sight of the enormous cannon-balls and fragments of monster shells that strew the ground in all directions, impressed one with a respectful idea of the power of powder; but the respect was vastly increased by a view of the havoc it played in such stupendous works as the docks—structures formed to last for ages, and to the duration of which no limit could be assigned. The difficulty of destruction was enhanced in the case of the docks allotted to the English by the fact that these were in part hewn out of solid rock. The basin thus formed was lined with huge masses of stone, and between rock and stone earth was filled in. The engineers availed themselves of the soft interval for their mines, and blew the walls and counterforts inwards, but the rock remains, marking in places the outline of the docks. The counterforts were of prodigious strength and thickness. Then there was a deep covered drain outside the docks, for the purpose of emptying them when desired, of which the engineers, of course, made use. Greatly incommoded at first by the water that flowed down the ravine in their rear, they overcame this difficulty at no small expense of labour. Their mode of operating against the docks varied according to circumstances, but seems to have consisted in a great measure of regular mines, with shaft and gallery. Two of these shafts down which I looked were about thirty feet deep. The engineers had blown up the eastern pier, or extremity of that side of the dock, to which a gate was attached—one of the jaws of the dock; and this explosion seems to have been as complete in its effect as any that have taken place. The huge mass was lifted up and dislocated, and the enormous transverse beams, masses of black timber of incalculable strength, were torn from their fastenings, snapped in twain, and remained with their splintered ends resting against each other, in the shape of a house-roof. Below the pointed arch thus formed was a black chasm, and heaped around, piles of stone and dusty ruins. Everything was removed and riven without being scattered; and this was the object at which our engineers constantly aimed. They sought all along, and generally with much success, so to proportion the charges of their mines that, while everything should be overturned, rooted out, and thrown into the utmost confusion (literally topsyturvy), as little as possible should be thrown out of the crater. And accordingly most of their explosions had not the appearance which would popularly be anticipated from the letting off of two, three, or more thousand pounds of powder. There was no diverging gush of stones, but a sort of rumbling convulsion of the ground; a few blocks and fragments were cast up to a moderate height, but the effect upon the spectator was that of some gigantic subterranean hand just pushing the masses a short distance out of their places, turning them upside down, and rolling them over each other in a cloud of smoke and dust.

On the 25th of February 25,000 of our infantry were there assembled for inspection and review by the Commander-in-Chief, and the bayonets of forty-six British battalions bristled upon Telegraph Hill, overlooking the valley of the Tchernaya. The morning was so cold, that some who impatiently awaited the spectacle feared it would be again postponed, but the earth and air were dry, and after church service the divisions were seen marching from their camps in the direction of the parade-ground. As the troops marched up, the pioneers busied themselves with filling the small circular trenches where tents had formerly stood; and, when the review was over, the whole surface had been trodden by hoof and foot as level as a bowling-green.

Those English officers, of various arms and departments, whom duty did not call out or keep in, flocked in hundreds to witness the review of a larger number of British troops than has been held for forty years. There was every variety of French and Sardinian and even Spanish uniform. Marshal Pelissier came on the ground in his carriage and four, by which is not to be understood a handsome vehicle and showy team, with well-kept harness and neat postilions—but a very rough, nearly paintless drag, with harness partly of rope, horses that matched the carriage as regards roughness, and soldiers in artillery saddles on the near wheeler and leader. His little escort of Chasseurs contrasted with the English Hussars who followed Sir William Codrington. Marshal Pelissier alighted from his carriage, and took his station at the foot of a hillock, opposite the centre of the line, of the whole of which he then commanded a good view. The array of the troops was nearly completed when a shell was seen to burst high in the air above the valley of the Tchernaya. Our Russian friends politely informed us that they were present and attentive, reckoning that we should see their messenger, though they could not expect him to reach us.

The line was formed in continuous columns of companies, with intervals of six paces between each regiment. Its face was towards the Russian positions beyond the valley. On the right were the Guards and the regiments forming the First Division; then came the Highlanders; then the Second, Third, and Fourth Divisions; and finally the Light Division. When the inspection was completed, General Codrington took up his station in front, to the right of the knoll where Marshal Pelissier was posted, and the troops marched past in open column. The Guards came by, of course with their own favourite tune, "The British Grenadiers;" the pipes of the Highlanders squeaked, squealed, and droned forth that strange combination of sounds so dear to Scotch ears, and so discordant to those of Saxon or Gaul; one brigade marched on to "Partant pour la Syrie," in compliment to the French.

The Second Brigade of the Fourth Division had one of the best bands, and played a spirited march, but, generally speaking, the music of this army had not recovered the losses of the war. The troops marched past in front of the ground on which they had just stood in line. The morning had been grey and dull up to the commencement of the review, but the clouds then grew thinner and dispersed a little, and a few fitful gleams of sunshine shone upon British legions as they descended the slope in most perfect order, a broad steady torrent of bayonets, not rapid but irresistible. A finer military sight could hardly be seen than was presented by that matchless infantry. The healthy appearance of the men testified to good keep and much care taken of them; their soldierly carriage and perfect dressing proved that their officers had profited by the unusually fine and open winter to hasten the military education of the numerous recruits.

The Rifles were much praised by the foreign officers. Many were the tattered and shot-rent banners borne by. The colours of the 23rd Fusiliers were like a sieve, pierced with countless bullets, and telling the eloquent and bloody tale of the Alma and of Inkerman. Those of the 77th and 97th were much riddled, and many regiments were fain to keep their banners furled, their torn condition not allowing of their display to the breeze. The whole of the troops having marched past in open column, formed up at some distance to the north of Telegraph Hill, on lower ground, nearer to the camp, and thither General Codrington proceeded. People were chilled with sitting still on their horses, and delighted to get a canter; the ground was good, the air fresh, the opportunity tempting, and away went high mettled English chargers, fleet Arabs, and tough Turkish and Tartar ponies at a smart pace. The field was a large one, and two or three small ditches towards the end of the course gave animation to the chase, until at last the General was run to earth, hard by where sat the French Marshal in his carriage, and all passed up to witness the second dÉfilÉ, which was in close column. After this the divisions marched straight away to their various camps, and the country on all sides was seen thickly sprinkled with horsemen cantering homewards, bent, in most cases, on taking to themselves something of a warming nature, for the cold had really been sharp, and no speculative canteen-man had thought of sending emissaries with well-lined baskets to the scene of the review.

When all was over, Marshal Pelissier went up to General Codrington, and complimented him in the highest terms on the appearance of his troops. The numbers on parade would have been considerably larger had the whole of our effective infantry turned out, but General Warren's brigade, stationed at Balaklava, was not ordered up, neither were the 72nd Highlanders and the two battalions of the 1st Royals, which were encamped some way beyond Kamara; and then there was the garrison of Sebastopol, and the Redan picket, camp guards, &c.; so that, altogether, there were many battalions and parts of battalions absent. It was purely an infantry review—no artillery, nor cavalry, save the handful of Hussars employed in escorting the General and keeping the ground.

CHAPTER V.

THE Morning of February 28th brought us news of the conclusion of an armistice. The Russians had it first, by telegraph from St. Petersburg, and the mail from Constantinople brought its confirmation to the Allies. At 8 A.M. a boat, bearing a flag of truce, put off from the north side, and was met half-way across the harbour by one from the French. The Russians brought a communication from General LÜders. As if to celebrate the armistice, the so-called White Buildings were blown up in the afternoon. Soon after three o'clock, spectators began to assemble at the Redan, in front of Picket-house Hill, on Cathcart's Hill, and in other commanding positions. There was not a very strong muster at any of these places, for we were rather blasÉ in the matter of explosions; and, although the day was bright and sunny, the ground was very heavy with mud and snow, and the cold too sharp to be pleasant. There was a certain amount of snowballing among the pedestrians, which doubtless contributed to keep up a supply of caloric, and one or two base attacks were made upon unfortunate equestrians, who, not having snow within their reach, or a supply of ready-made snowballs in their pockets, had no choice but to charge their assailants or resort to ignominious flight. Half an hour passed; feet were very cold, noses very blue, fingers hardly felt the reins, grumbling was heard: "It is nearly four o'clock; why the deuce doesn't it go off?" Patience, I fear, was not a very common virtue in the Crimean army. An impromptu "shave," suggested by the circumstances of the moment, was passed about. "Pelissier is coming; they wait for him."

Now it so happened that Pelissier was not coming. The armistice gave him something to do and think of, and moreover, he had been disappointed a few days before, when it had been notified to him that the White Buildings were to be blown up. So he no longer put his faith in the unpunctual engineers of perfidious Albion. Some French and other foreign officers came, waiting patiently and confidingly in the Redan, and in front of Picket-house Hill, just over the ravine. Another half-hour passed. A quarter-past four, and no explosion. Strong language began to be used; wishes were uttered, the fulfilment of which would certainly not be desired by the engineers, at whose door, rightly or wrongly, the delay was laid. The third half-hour had not quite elapsed when the report spread that the explosion was "put off." According to some accounts, it would occur in an hour and a half; according to others, next day, while a third party talked of the next week; there was a general movement campwards. A few Artillery officers still stuck to the Redan; Picket-house Hill was quickly cleared, except of one or two obstinate expectants, Cathcart's Hill was abandoned by many. Just at a quarter to five, when few of the weary who had departed could have reached their quarters, and some could have been but a hundred or two yards on the wrong side of the hill-crests, out gushed a small puff of white smoke from the White Buildings—then came a big puff of black smoke. There was a slight explosion, a grumbling roar; stones were hurled into the air and pitched high over the eastern wall into the docks, and after a silence which seemed to last nearly a minute, came a series of pops and puffs as mines went off in rapid succession, an immense volume of smoke appeared, not in dense sluggish masses slowly surging up, as at the explosion of Fort Nicholas, but in a thinner cloud, which rose so high that the summit of the murky column was visible over Picket-house Hill to persons some way down the Woronzoff Road, where it passed through the Light Division camp. After the explosions of the buildings, Fort Constantine sent a solitary shell into the French side, so the armistice was not considered to be perfect until after the conference.

Major George Ranken, of the Royal Engineers, was killed at the explosion of the White Buildings. A mine having failed to explode, Major Ranken sent his men to a distance and entered the place to renew the train. From the position in which his corpse was found it was supposed that he had completed his perilous task, and was about getting through a window when the explosion took place and the building fell in. His arm was broken, and there were injuries to the skull and spine which must have occasioned instant death. Major Ranken commanded the ladder party in the last attack on the Redan. He was a most promising officer, a great favourite with his comrades, and his loss was deplored by all who knew him. It was hard to have escaped the murderous fire of the 8th of September only to die, less than five months later, crushed beneath a shattered wall. The unfortunate officer was buried with military honours, at the Engineers' Cemetery, Left Attack. He was followed to the grave by General Eyre, commanding the Third Division; by Colonel Lloyd, commanding the Royal Engineers; and by a large number of officers of his own corps and of other arms. Major Ranken had the melancholy distinction of being the last Englishman killed in the Crimea. The last Frenchman killed there fell in a duel.

On the morning of February the 29th there was a lively and novel scene at ten o'clock at Traktir Bridge. At its further end a white flag was hoisted, and just beyond it some five-and-twenty Cossacks halted, who had escorted thither the Russian General Timovoieff and his staff. At a few minutes past ten General Barnard and some staff officers rode down through the ravine between the two hills on which the battle of the Tchernaya was fought, and crossed to the other side of the river. The Generals who met to arrange the details of the armistice occupied two tents, pitched on a strip of greensward in the rear of the bridge. They were, General Timovoieff, Chief of the Staff of the 4th Corps of the Russian army, which was in front and furnished the advanced posts; Generals de Martimprey and Windham and Colonel Count Pettiti, Chiefs of the Staffs of the French, English, and Sardinian armies. The three latter were deputed by their Generals-in-Chief to present the proposals of armistice which these had discussed and decided upon. Their mission extended no further, and General Timovoieff, not being authorized to accept those proposals without referring them to his General-in-Chief, merely took a copy of them to transmit to General LÜders.

There were, perhaps, half a dozen other English officers, about as many French, and a much larger number of Sardinians. All these went over the bridge, and a sort of fraternization ensued between them and some Russian officers—that is to say, there was a good deal of civility, and some ill-treatment of the French and German languages; but, as to carrying on much conversation with our Muscovite friends, it was not an easy matter, for there seemed a mutual embarrassment as to what subject to pitch upon. Horses were a natural theme, and the Russians expressed admiration of some of those present, and were probably rather astonished at their good condition.

The great object of curiosity to us was the fur-capped Cossacks, around whom the allied officers assembled, examining their arms; and equipments and entering into conversation, which, in most cases, was carried on by signs. They were slender, wiry men—ugly enough, most of them—mounted on small, rough, active horses, and carrying, besides sword and carbine, flagless lances, whose long black poles terminated in a small but very sharp-pointed steel head. They seemed well pleased to cultivate the acquaintance of their enemies, and also had evidently an eye to the main chance. One of the first things I saw was a Cossack corporal proposing a barter to a Sardinian officer. The latter had a tolerably good riding-whip, for which the astute child of the Don insisted on swapping a shabby sort of instrument of torture, of which his pony was doubtless rejoiced to be rid. The Sardinian hesitated, the Cossack persisted, and the exchange was effected, the officer looking, as I thought, rather ruefully after his departed cravache, and somewhat contemptuously at the shabby but characteristic stick and thong he had received for it. The signal thus given, the whip trade soon acquired great activity. Probably some of the officers present were ready enough to part with a tolerably good whip for a bad Cossack one, as a souvenir of the day's proceedings and of the commencement of the armistice.

It had been expected that vedettes would be placed, and that very little freedom of intercourse would be allowed beyond the bridge of Traktir, and people at first thought themselves fortunate in getting over the bridge and having a good view of the Cossacks and a chat with some stray Russian officer. Later, however, as the morning, which had previously been cold and raw, advanced, and the sun shone bright and warm, the dry, grassy, and shrub-grown plain of the Tchernaya looking tempting for a canter, officers began to get restless, and to move away from the bridge across a small stream or ditch, and up a strip of level ground leading to a sort of monument, a square pedestal of rough stones surmounted by a dwarf pillar, of no particular order of architecture, and concerning whose origin and object the Russians, of whom inquiry was made, could say nothing. Some more Sardinian and French officers had by this time come down, but besides those engaged in the conference and attached to General Windham's staff, I do not think there were a dozen English officers on the ground. The general disposition of all seemed to be to move outwards in the direction of the Russian lines. People did not know how far they might go, and accordingly felt their way, cantering across a bit of level ground, and up a hill, and then pausing to look about them and reconnoitre the country and see whether there was any sign of obstacles to further progress. The soil was of a lighter and more sandy nature than it was generally found to be within our lines; in some places it was rather thickly sprinkled with bushes, saplings, and tall weeds. Several brace of red-legged partridges were sprung, some of them so near our horses' feet that a hunting-whip would have reached them.

As the day advanced, the field grew still larger. A French General arrived with his Staff and several French Hussar officers. Numbers of Sardinians came, but the English were detained in camp by a muster parade, and many also had been misinformed that the meeting of the Generals was not to take place until twelve or one. The horses, long accustomed to sink to the fetlock in horrid Balaklavan and Sebastopolitan mire, seemed to enjoy the change to the firm, springy turf beyond the Tchernaya; more partridges were sprung, to the immense tantalization of some there present, who would have given a month's pay for a day's shooting over such ground; some hares also were started, and one of them was vigorously pursued by a subaltern of a sporting turn, whose baggage pony, however, was soon left far in rear by puss's active bounds. By this time we were getting far on towards the Russian lines and batteries, when the field began to spread out, some taking to the right, and getting very near to a Cossack vedette, who seemed rather puzzled to account for the presence of so many strange horsemen within musket-shot of his post, and who, after beginning to circle once or twice in signal of an enemy's approach, received a reinforcement in the shape of another Cossack, who rode down the hill as if to warn the intruders off forbidden ground. Another party of gallopers went close up to the battery known as No. 49, and held communion with some vedettes, with whom they smoked an amicable cigarette, until a Russian officer came up and politely informed them in French that his orders were to allow no one to come any further, and that he hoped they would retire, which they of course did. More to the left a numerous body of horsemen, followed by a straggling array of Zouaves, Chasseurs, Bersaglieri, and other infantry soldiers, who had made their way to the ground, rode up to the ridge just below the spur of the hill to the south of Inkerman. Here they were very near the Russian pickets, and within particularly convenient shot of various batteries, had these thought proper to open, and there most of them paused, for to go further really looked like abusing the good-nature of the enemy, who had thus allowed us to profit by the conference to enjoy a ride further into the Russian territory than any one has been since this camp was formed, and to take a near view of their positions and defences. Only half a dozen adventurous and inquisitive spirits pushed ahead, and seemed as if they intended charging a Russian battery, and the vedettes in this direction began to move uneasily about also, when up came a Sardinian staff officer at full speed, his blue plume streaming in the wind, and gave chase to the forward gentlemen, shouting to them to return. They, seeing themselves thus cut off in the rear, and perhaps to avoid a rebuke, made a retrograde flank movement, escaped their pursuer, and rejoined the main body; and, as orders were then given that no one should go further, a return towards the bridge became pretty general. On reaching the bridge a halt was again called round the group of Cossacks, and all eyes were fixed upon the two neat blue and white-striped tents, with awnings over their entrances. Some of the Generals were standing outside, and it was evident that the conference was drawing to a close.

A short delay ensued, which I perceived that the Cossack corporal availed himself of to exchange his Sardinian whip for a much better French one, the receiver of the former doubtless imagining he had secured a genuine Russian article. Then cocked hats and feathers were seen moving among the horses near the tents; orderlies and escorts mounted; the Cossacks did the same, and presently English, French, Sardinian, and Russian Generals and Staff rode over the bridge and between a double line formed by the spectators. General Timovoieff, a soldierly-looking man of agreeable physiognomy, rode first, and smilingly returned the salutes with which he was received. General Windham was close beside him, a little in the rear. There was an escort of French Chasseurs-À cheval and a small one of the 11th Hussars, and the big horses and tall well-fed men of the latter strikingly contrasted with the puny, although hardy steeds, and with the meagre frames of the Cossacks, who seemed to regard them with some wonderment, while the Hussars glanced at them as if they thought that one squadron of theirs would have an easy bargain of half a dozen sotnias of such antagonists. The cortÉge proceeded a short distance into the plain, and then the allied portion took leave of "nos amis l'ennemi" and retraced their steps to the bridge. They had passed over it, and the crowd of spectators was following, when they were met by a throng of officers from the English camp, coming down "to see the fun," which, unfortunately, was over. Nevertheless, they were pressing forward across the bridge, and would, doubtless, had they been allowed, have ridden up to the Bilboquet battery, or across to Mackenzie's Farm—for it is an axiom that nothing will stop an English infantry officer, mounted on his favourite baggager; but a French Staff captain, seeing what was likely to ensue, ordered the sentries to allow no one to cross the bridge. As we rode up the ravine between the two mamelons, which witnessed such sharp fighting on the 17th of August, 1855, we met scores more of English officers coming down, only to be turned back.

At one on the afternoon of March 14th, the Staff of the allied and Russian armies again met at Traktir Bridge—on this occasion to sign the conditions of the armistice, which were finally agreed to, the Russians having shown themselves tolerably pliant. The day was raw, dull, and disagreeable, with a sharp northerly breeze blowing, but nevertheless a considerable number of English, French, and Sardinian officers found their way to the bridge, doubtless in hopes of a repetition of the canter of the 29th of February; but if that was the bait that lured them there they were completely disappointed.

Altogether, there was a good number of Russian officers at or near Traktir Bridge. Some of them were strolling by twos and threes in the field, at a short distance beyond, and when these were descried there was usually a regular charge down upon them by the allied officers, eager to make their acquaintance. Their manner was generally grave and rather reserved, but they conversed readily, and all had the tone and appearance of well-bred men. Some of them were very young. There was one youth of eighteen, who named to us the regiment of Hussars in which he was an officer, and seemed knowing about horses, pointing out the English ones from among the French, Italians, and Arabs that stood around. All—cavalry as well as infantry, and the General and his Staff—wore the long uniform greatcoat of a sort of brown and grey mixture, and seemed to have no other insignia of rank than the different colours and lace of the shoulder-strap. There was also a difference of fineness in the cloth of their coats from that of the soldiers, but this at a very short distance was not apparent. The Staff wore white kid gloves, and I noticed some of them with smart patent leather boots—elegancies rarely seen in our part of the Crimea.

This time there was no scouring the plain and gossiping with vedettes; the aqueduct was the limit, observance of which was enforced by a chain of Zouave sentries patrolling to and fro. A Russian picket was stationed at about rifle-shot distance beyond the river, along the further bank of which Cossack and Dragoon vedettes were posted at short intervals. There was nothing else of any interest to observe, and most of the persons whom curiosity led to the spot soon grew tired of standing at the edge of a ditch, and gazing at a distant handful of Muscovites; so they turned their horses, and tried to warm themselves by a canter back to the camp.

But so far as Sebastopol was concerned there was little for the Russians to gain by covering it with the thin cloak of an armistice.

Had fire been rained down from Heaven upon the devoted city its annihilation could not have been more complete. The shells of princely mansions which remained on the French side of the town had been knocked to atoms by the Russian batteries on the north side; the theatre was demolished, and the beautiful church of St. Peter and St. Paul laid in ruins by the same implacable foe; and they directed particular volleys of round shot and shell on a monument to one of their naval heroes, which stood conspicuously placed in front of a beautiful little kiosk in the midst of a garden, to which there was a fine approach from the place behind Fort Nicholas by a handsome flight of steps, now destroyed. On a quadrilateral pedestal of some pretensions, supporting entablatures with allegorical devices, and ornamented at the summit by a puppis, were inscribed, when first I saw it, the name of "Kazarski," and the dates 1829 and 1834, with an intimation that the monument was erected in his honour. Most of the letters were stolen and knocked away; and had not the fire from the north ceased, the pedestal itself would have disappeared likewise. The French garrison, somewhat harassed by the incessant fire on the town, which, however, did them or us but little mischief, constructed out of the dÉbris of the houses a very neat quartier inside the walls. The huts of which it was composed consisted of wood, ranged in regular rows, with the usual street nomenclature in these parts of the world. The stranger who halted to survey it from the neighbouring heights, deceived by the whitewashed and plastered walls of the houses, might think that Sebastopol was still a city; but when he walked through its grass-grown, deserted streets, formed by endless rows of walls alone, of roofless shells of houses, in which not one morsel of timber could be seen, from threshold to eaves; when he beheld great yawning craters, half filled with mounds of cut stone, heaped together in irregular masses; when he gazed on tumuli of disintegrated masonry, once formidable forts, and shaken, as it were, into dust and powder; when he stumbled over the fragments of imperial edifices, to peer down into the great gulfs, choked up with rubbish, which marked the site of the grand docks of the Queen of the Euxine; beheld the rotting masts and hulls of the sunken navy which had been nurtured there; when he observed that what the wrath of the enemy spared was fast crumbling away beneath the fire of its friends, and that the churches where they worshipped, the theatres, the public monuments, had been specially selected for the practice of the Russian gunners, as though they were emulous of running a race in destruction with the allied armies—he would, no doubt, come to the conclusion that the history of the world afforded no such authentic instance of the annihilation of a great city. It is certainly hard to believe that the site can ever be made available for the erection of houses or the construction of docks; but I am by no means certain that the immense resources in the command of manual labour possessed by the Government of Russia, of which this very struggle afforded us all such striking proofs, in the Quarantine Battery, the Bastion Centrale, the Bastion du MÂt, the Redan, the Mamelon, and the Malakoff, may not be made available in time to clear away these modern ruins, and to rebuild houses, theatres, palaces, churches, forts, arsenals, and docks, as before.

In the Inkerman ravines are inexhaustible supplies of building material, which can be floated by the Tchernaya into the waters of the harbour with very little trouble. The immense quantity of cut stone lying in piles at the upper end of the harbour showed that the Allies interrupted the Russians in the development of the splendid architectural plans which it was the ambition of emperors to accomplish, and which engaged every thought and energy of the Muscovite governors of the Crimea.

Notwithstanding the very cold weather which prevailed, numbers of our officers and men descended to the Tchernaya every day to communicate with the Russians, to examine the new race-course, or to wade after the wild-fowl which abound in the marshes. There was nothing new in these interviews, except that the Russians grew more cordial, or less sullen. The number of officers who came down to our side bore a very small proportion to that of the allied officers who attended these rÉunions. The men seemed never to tire of looking on each other. French, English, and Sardinians swarmed down to the banks of the Tchernaya, in spite of the cold and bitter winds, to confabulate with the Ruskis, to exchange money with them, and to stare at their dogged, and, it must be added, rather dirty-looking enemies, who were not quite so eager or so active in their curiosity as the allied soldiery, and who needed the stimulus of turning a dishonest penny in the exchange of small coins to tempt them from grass cutting, and the pursuit of wild ducks and hares by the flats beneath Mackenzie's Farm to the banks of the stream. The men I saw on the warm 20th of September on the slopes of the Alma seemed repeated and multiplied in every direction across the Tchernaya. There was a wonderful family likeness among the common soldiers. The small round bullet-head, the straight light hair, high cheek-bones, grey keen eyes, rather deeply set beneath straight and slightly defined eye-brows, undemonstrative noses, with wide nostrils, large straight mouths, square jaws, and sharp chins, were common to the great majority of them. Their frames seemed spare and strongly built; but neither in stature nor breadth of shoulder did they equal the men of our old army of 1854. Many of the officers could scarcely be distinguished from the men in air, bearing, or dress, except by the plain, ill-made, and slight swords, which they carried from an unornamented shoulder-belt; but now and then one met with a young fellow with the appearance of a gentleman, in spite of his coarse long coat; occasionally a great tall lumbering fellow, who seemed to be of a different race from the men around him, slouched along in his heavy boots. The clothing of the troops appeared to be good. Their boots, into which they tucked their loose trousers, were easy and well-made, and the great-coats worn by the men fitted them better than our own fitted the English infantry. The colour, not so much a grey as a dunnish drab, is admirably suited not only to conceal the wearers in an open country, but to defy dust, mud, or rain to alter its appearance.

It was but natural that the two armies should be interested in each other's condition. The better-informed Russian officers were of course aware of the nature of our purchase system, but to most of them, that system was incomprehensible as novel. Its anomalies were, however, so strongly felt that the debates in Parliament which took place about this time on the subject were read with deep interest, and repeated and re-argued over and over again in camp. The friends of the system took it for granted that the arguments used against it must emanate from men of democratical and unconstitutional tendencies, and from enemies to the army and to the aristocracy, and Captain Figgs or Colonel Cottontwist were as fierce in their denunciations of Lord Goderich, Sir De Lacy Evans, and even Lord Palmerston, because he made some theoretical admissions against the system, as Lord Plantagenet or the Earl of Saxo-Grammaticus. They protested loudly that the object of these innovators was to drive "gentlemen" out of the army; while their opponents declared that the effect of the system was to keep "gentlemen"—those fiery cadets of old families who in other times were the true soldiers of fortune, the descendants of the gentry cavaliers—out of the army. If the ex-Sergeant Jones, holding a commission in one of our corps or regiments, was noisy in his cups and over-elated with his good fortune, his peccadilloes were the subject of rejoicings, and were regarded as sufficiently conclusive evidence that we could not open our commissions to the rank and file; and if he happened to be brought to a court-martial and reprimanded or cashiered, the demonstration was complete.

At the time I wrote, "It must be admitted that the training of our barrack-rooms is not favourable to the acquirement of decent manners and gentlemanlike demeanour, and that until we elevate the profession of arms in England, and remove the stigma popularly impressed from the rank of a private soldier, we cannot expect to induce the needy members of the more respectable classes in society to enter as volunteers; and the high rate of rewards for skill in all mechanical and industrial arts will ever offer an obstacle to the efforts of the recruiting sergeant to enlist a better sort of recruits so long as the present scale of pay and ration stoppages is maintained. The advocates for the abolition of purchase are impressed by the force of such objections as are presented by the general constitution of our army; but, after all, what the country keeps up its army for is, not that it may consult the wishes or the tastes of any class whatever, however numerous, powerful, and wealthy, but that the army may fight its battles, and maintain its liberties and its glory against all comers. Pompey's dandies were, no doubt, greatly displeased at being slashed in the face by Caesar's rough legionaries, and thought them very low fellows; nor had Rupert's cavaliers any great opinion of the good breeding or politesse of Old Noll's Ironsides; but the camp has never been regarded as any special school for demeanour or the inculcation of etiquette, however favourable it may be to the development of some of the nobler qualities of humanity; and if we really can procure brave, intelligent, zealous, and deserving officers by some enlargement of the limits which have hitherto circumscribed our choice, we must submit to the inconvenience, though they may have a smack of the barrack-room about them. It must be recollected that our boasted mess system utterly breaks down in active campaigning, and that, in the field, the officers live separately or in very small groups, so it is only in times of peace that those whom Providence finxit meliore luto will be obliged to come in contact with the commissioned grossier, who will, after all, always represent a very small minority. It is forgotten by the friends of the system of "rank for money," that there has as yet been no officer from the ranks whose conduct before the enemy has been the subject of unfavourable notice, and that not one of them has been obliged to leave the service for refusal to perform his duty in the trenches; nor has it always been officers from the ranks who have been subjected to courts-martial, by the sentences of which they were forced from the army. In fact, many of those who take this side of the question are arguing, not for aristocracy, but for aurocracy; they are sacrificing to Plutus when they think they are worshipping Mars, and they confound the two questions—in themselves entirely distinct, but so mingled in camp dialogue as to be inseparable—of the purchase system with that of promotion from the ranks. There are such difficulties in the way of an abolition of the former system, that its most intrepid advocate may well pause before he suddenly demolishes it, and the devotion, the courage, and the endurance of the British officer of the army, and the respect of the men for him, are very weighty considerations in the way of the theoretical reformer.

"But if it have its advantages, the system has also its great, its crying evils, of which every mouth is full, and which are only met by the remark that there are evils in every system. Look at the case of Lieutenant-Colonel Cuddy, of the 55th. At the battle of Inkerman, he, as senior Captain, took the command of his regiment, when his senior officers were either killed or wounded. Throughout the whole of that terrible winter he served in the trenches, kept his handful of men together, and in all respects proved himself as careful as he was brave, and as prudent as he was zealous. Although lieutenant-colonel in the army, he was only captain in his regiment, and after having gone through the winter of 1854 and the spring of 1855, with all their hardships and conflicts, when the regimental majority was for purchase, owing to the retirement of the gallant Major Coats (whom I saw so badly hit at the Alma, that I thought he could scarce recover), Colonel Cuddy had the mortification of seeing Captain Cure, who was seven years his junior in the list of captains, and who had served at home with the depÔt during the beginning of the campaign, pass over his head by purchase, and take the command of the regiment out of his hands. And can the country now heal the wound in that proud spirit? No; poor Cuddy fell at the Redan, and his cares and his sorrows are over for ever.

"Cases somewhat similar are not wanting in other regiments. Right or wrong, had this war gone on, the purchase system was doomed. General Orders were crowded with notices that Captain So-and-So, having done the duty of field officer, that Lieutenant Such-a-One, having acted as Captain, and that Sergeant-Major Nobody, having acted as quartermaster of his regiment from such a date, would draw pay and allowances accordingly. War pushed our system horribly out of shape, and gave its delicate frame such squeezes, and deranged it so terribly, that its dearest friends scarcely knew it when we carried it home. Some of the young and intelligent officers on the Staff did not hesitate to express a hearty wish for the abolition of the system. To the French it was utterly incomprehensible, and it is a fixed idea in the mind of Private Jean FranÇois Marie that General Codrington paid enormous sums for the honour of commanding the army—otherwise he cannot understand it."

CHAPTER VI.

AT two o'clock P.M. on Wednesday, the 2nd of April, proclamation of peace was made to the Allied armies by salutes of 101 guns, fired by the field batteries of the Light and Second Divisions, from the heights over the plain of Balaklava; by the French batteries at the Quartier GÉnÉrale; by the Sardinian redoubts at Fedukhine; and by the men-of-war at Kamiesch and Kazatch; but an early General Order and a very widely-spread rumour had diffused the intelligence among officers and men long before the cannon exultingly announced it by their thundering voices.

The news was known at Balaklava by eight o'clock A.M., and the Leander, Captain Rice, bearing the flag of Admiral Fremantle, "dressed," and the merchant shipping followed her example, by order, so that the harbour presented a gayer scene than human eye ever witnessed since it was first discovered by some most investigating, shore-hugging, and fissure-pursuing navigator. It was a fine day—at least it appeared so by contrast with its recent predecessors,—and the effect of the firing from so many points, all of which were visible from the heights of the plateau near the Woronzoff Road, was very fine. The enemy saw the smoke and heard the roar of our guns, but they maintained a stern and gloomy silence. One would have thought that they, above all, would have shown some signs of satisfaction at the peace which they sought, and which they had made such sacrifices to obtain, while no one would have wondered if the batteries of the English and Sardinians expressed no opinion on the subject. However, there was not a Russian shot fired or flag hoisted from Fort Constantine to Mackenzie, nor, although we had ceased to be enemies, did any increase in our intimacy take place.

The preparations for the evacuation of the Crimea were now pressed on with rapidity and energy. Each division collected about 4,000 shot a-day from the iron-studded ravines and grounds in front of our camp, and they were carried to Balaklava as fast as the means at our disposal—railway and land transport—permitted. Our soldiers were about to leave the scene of their sufferings and of their glory. Alas! how many of those who landed lie there till the judgment-day! Who can tell how many lives were wasted which ought to have been saved to the country, to friends, to an honoured old age? These questions may never be answered, least of all were they answered at Chelsea Hospital. Heaven lets loose all its plagues on those who delight in war, and on those who shed men's blood, even in the holiest causes. The pestilence by day and night, deadly fever, cholera, dysentery, strategical errors, incompetence and apathy of chieftains, culpable inactivity, fatal audacity—all these follow in the train of armies, and kill more than bullet or sword. But war has its rules. The bloody profession by the skilful exercise of which liberty is achieved or crushed—by which States are saved or annihilated, has certain fixed principles for its guidance; and the homoeopathic practitioner in the art, the quack, the charlatan, or the noble amateur, will soon be detected and overwhelmed in the horrors of defeat and ruin. Perhaps on no occasion was the neglect of the course of regular practice so severely punished, even although in the end the object was gained, as in the siege of Sebastopol.

Every statement made by the Russian officers in conversation with us concurred in this—that we might have taken Sebastopol in September, 1854; that they were not only prepared to abandon the city to its fate, but that they regarded it as untenable and incapable of defence, and had some doubts of their position in the Crimea itself, till our inaction gave Menschikoff courage, and raised in him hopes of an honourable defence, which might enable him to hold us in check, or to expose us to the attack of overwhelming masses. They admitted that their great error was the assumption of a simply defensive attitude after the battle of Inkerman, and they felt that they ought to have renewed the attack upon our enfeebled army, notwithstanding the terrible loss they suffered in that memorable action. It might have been mere military fanfaronade on their part to put forward such an assertion, but the Russians one and all declared they could have retaken the Malakoff under the fire of their ships, but it had been clearly demonstrated since the fire opened on September the 5th, that it would be impossible to hold the south side under the increasing weight and proximity of the bombardment. "It was a veritable butchery, which demoralized our men so far as to make them doubt the chances of continuing the struggle. We lost 3,000 a-day. No part of the city was safe, except the actual bombproofs in the batteries. We were content to have beaten the English at the Redan, to have repulsed the French at the Bastion of Careening Bay (the Little Redan), the Gervais Battery, and the Bastion Centrale and to leave them the credit of surprising the Malakoff; but, even had we held it, we must soon have retired to the north side, and we had been preparing for that contingency for some days."

The battle of the Alma had produced such an effect that there seemed to be no chance of offering resistance to the Allies, and the fall of Sebastopol was regarded as certain. The Russians, however, meditated a great revenge, and, knowing the weakness of our army, and that it could not hold the heights and storm the town at the same time, they intended to take the very plateau on which we were encamped, to fall on our troops while we were disorganized by our success, and get them between the fire of the Russian shipping, of the northern forts, and of the field artillery outside the place. At first they could not understand the flank march to Balaklava, except as a manoeuvre to escape the fire of the north forts, and to get at the weak side of the city, and for three or four days they waited, uncertain what to do, until they learned we were preparing for a siege. It was then—that is, about five days after we appeared before the place—that they commenced the work. Men, women, and children laboured at them with zeal, and for the first time a hope was entertained of saving Sebastopol, or of maintaining the defence till the corps d'armÉe destined for its relief could march down to raise the siege.

It was the first instance on record of such a place having been taken by the mere fire of artillery; for it was admitted by the Russians that even if the assault on the Malakoff had been repelled, they must have abandoned a position exposed at every nook and chink and cranny to such a fire that the very heavens seemed to rain shot and shell upon them. We lost an army in establishing that fire, and we did not (notwithstanding the honeyed words of Lord Palmerston, every soldier of the Crimea feels what I say is the truth)—we did not add to our reputation—nay, we did not sustain it—in the attacks of the 18th of June and the 8th of September. And will it be said that because the particulars of those conflicts have been made known to the world, and because the daring, the devotion, the gallantry, the heroism of our officers and men have been displayed before its eyes, that the English nation has lost its military prestige? Would it have been possible to have concealed and slurred over our failures? Would it have been better to have let the story be told in Russian despatches, in French Moniteurs, in English Gazettes! No; the very dead on Cathcart's Hill would be wronged as they lay mute in their bloody shrouds, and calumny and falsehood would insult that warrior race, which is not less Roman because it has known a Trebia and a Thrasymene. We all felt well assured that it was no fault of our officers that we did not take the Redan. We could point to the trenches piled deep with our gallant allies before the Careening Bay and the Central Bastion, and turn to the Malakoff, won without the loss of 200 men, and then invoke the goddess Fortune! Alas! She does not always favour the daring; she leaves them sometimes lifeless at the blood-stained embrasure, before the shattered traverse, in the deadly ditch and she demands, as hostages for the bestowal of her favours, skill and prudence, as well as audacity and courage.

There was a song on the incidents of the war very popular in the Russian camp, in which Prince Menschikoff was exposed to some ridicule, and the Allies to severe sarcasm. Menschikoff was described as looking out of the window of a house in Bakshiserai, and inquiring for news from Sebastopol; courier after courier arrives and says, "Oh! Sebastopol is safe."—"And what are the Allies doing? "—"Oh! they are breaking down the houses of Balaklava and eating grapes." The same news for a day or two. At last a courier tell him the Allies are cutting twigs in the valleys, and that they are digging great furrows three-quarters of a mile from the place. "I declare they are going to besiege it," says he; "and, if so, I must defend it." And so he sends for his engineers. They at first think the Allies, misled by ancient traditions about the mines, must be digging for gold; but at last they make a reconnaissance, and, finding that the Allies are really making approaches, they say, "Why, we shall have time to throw up works, too;" and so they draw up their plans, and Todleben says, "Give me five days, and I'll mount three guns for their two;" and Menschikoff dances and sings, "Ha, ha! I've saved Sebastopol!" The Russians were astonished at their own success; above all, they were surprised at the supineness and want of vigilance among the Allies. They told stories of stealing upon our sentries and carrying them off, and of rushing at night into our trenches, and finding the men asleep in their blankets; they recounted with great glee the capture of a sergeant and five men in daylight, all sound in slumber (poor wretches, ill-fed, ill-clad, and worked beyond the endurance of human nature!) in one of the ravines towards Inkerman.

Among many stories of the kind which I heard, one is remarkable. When the attack on Inkerman was projected, it was arranged that one strong column, having crossed the bridge of the Tchernaya, near the head of the harbour, should march along the road which winds up above the Quarries ravine, and which leads right upon the ground then occupied by Evans's Division; but this was conceived to be the most daring part of the enterprise, "as no doubt, strong pickets would be posted on that road, and guns commanding the bridge, or raking the road, would be placed behind the scarps, and these guns would have to be taken, and the pickets and their supports driven in. Judge of our astonishment when we found no scarps at all, and not a single gun on this point! Our General cried, as he gained the level of the plateau without a shot being fired, 'We have them—Sebastopol is saved!' The bridge over the Tchernaya was not repaired for the passage of men and guns till past five o'clock in the morning of the 5th, and the men did not begin till after dark on the preceding evening."

But, after all, we were probably saved from severer trials by our own want of enterprise. When the conflict before Sebastopol assumed such gigantic proportions it became the war itself. The armies of Russia were absorbed into it, and perished in detail. Had we taken Sebastopol at the outset, we must have been prepared, with our small armies, to meet those corps d'armÉe which lost tens of thousands in their hasty march to relieve the place, but who, in the event of its capture, would have closed slowly round us, and the same incapacity which prevented our reaping the fruits of our coup-de-main in attempting the Crimean expedition, might have led to more serious evils in a protracted campaign in the open field against a numerous and well handled, if not a daring, enemy. Success was indeed obtained, but its cost had been great. What shall be said if much of that cost can be shown to have been a gratuitous outlay of time and money? To me, next to the graveyards, verdant oases in the dark plateau, the most melancholy and significant object was our old parallel opened against the Malakoff, which the French took from us as the basis of their attack in the spring of 1855.

One man who came into Balaklava after the peace was observed to be very anxiously peering about the walls of a new store. On being asked what he was about, he confessed he was searching for the site of his house, in the cellar of which he had deposited a good deal of plate and valuables. I fear he had but a Flemish account of them. The Russian military band (150 strong) at Mackenzie was a great object of attraction. It played at four o'clock every afternoon. At the hymn of "God preserve the Czar," or whatever the exact translation of the title may be, all the Russians took off their caps. I could have wished that our officers who were present, and who understood the occasion, had done the same, for immediately afterwards, when the band played "God save the Queen," the Russians uncovered their heads, and paid to our national anthem the same mark of respect as they had paid to their own. A Russian officer—a very young man—covered with orders, was pointed out to some of the officers as one who had never left the Flagstaff Bastion for eleven months. He had been shot through the body, and had been wounded in the head, in the arm, and in the thigh, on different occasions; he had insisted on remaining in the bastion, nor would he permit himself to be removed to hospital. Many of the soldiers wore the cross of St. George and other orders. What a phenomenon would a British private be with the riband of the C.B. on his breast! The Russians were very anxious to get some of our medals, and there were some stories afloat concerning the cleverness with which men sold florins at high prices for Sebastopol medals.

Some officers soon penetrated to Bakshiserai, and returned with alarming accounts of the price of eatables, drinkables, and accommodation—porter twenty francs a bottle, champagne thirty-five francs a bottle, dinner and bed a small fortune. There were some very hospitable fellows among the Russian officers, and they gave and took invitations to lunch, dinner, and supper very freely. One of our Generals[35] up at Mackenzie, was asked to stay to tea by a Russian officer, whose hut he was visiting, but Madame, who presided at the tea-table, darted such a look at her peccant spouse when he gave the invitation, and glared so fiercely at the heretical Englishmen, that our General and Staff turned tail and bolted, leaving the Ruski to the enjoyment of the lecture which Madame Caudelska would no doubt inflict upon him. Perhaps the poor lady was short of spoons, or trembled for her stock of sugar.

As there was nothing doing in camp I proceeded on a week's excursion to Simpheropol, the Tchatir Dagh, Bakshiserai, Orianda, Yalta, and by Aloupka. The Russians sent passes to head-quarters, with one of which I was furnished. It was as follows: "Carte de passe pour les avant postes" (in print), "General de Service Tchervinsky;" then in Russian MS., "Allowed to pass—General Major."

Before I left I went over the north forts, and carefully examined the defences of the place. Fort Constantine bore very few marks of the bombardment and cannonade of the 17th of October, 1854. The crown of the arch of one embrasure was injured, and supported by wood, and the stone-work was pitted here and there with shot; but the "pits" had been neatly filled in and plastered over. Fort Catherine, or Nachimoff (formerly Suwaroff), was uninjured, but St. Michael's, which was badly built, suffered from the French mortar fire after we got into the town. The citadel was covered on all sides by earthworks, and the hill-sides furrowed up by lines of batteries bearing on every landing-place and every approach. In line from Fort Constantine to the Quarantine and Alexander Forts were sunk, before the 17th of October, three eighty-fours, then one hundred-and-twenty, then two eighty-fours, and then one fifty-four. Inside this line was a strong boom, which would have brought up any vessels that had succeeded in bursting through the sunken ships. This outer line and the boom itself were so much damaged, however, by the gale of the 14th of November as to be of little use. The second boom, consisting of chain cables floated by timber, extended from Fort Nicholas on the south to the west of St. Michael's Fort on the north. Inside this boom were sunk, commencing from the north side, a sixty-gun ship, an eighty-four, a one-hundred-and-twenty, an eighty-four, and a sixty-gun frigate. Then came the bridge of boats from Fort Nicholas to St. Michael's. Inside that, in two lines, lay the rest of the Russian fleet. The first was formed of three eighty-fours, a one-hundred-and-twenty, and one hundred-and-ten-gun line-of-battle ship; the second consisted of a seven-gun steamer, a six-gun ditto, a thirteen-gun ditto, and an eighty-four, close to the ruins of Fort Paul. Nearer to Inkerman, in the creeks and bays on the north side, were sunken steamers, five brigs of war and corvettes, and a schooner yacht sunk or aground.

The boats of the men-of-war were safe in one of the creeks which our guns could not reach.

The Russians shouted at us lustily as we were engaged in examining the timbers. Although the teredo had not attacked the wood, it was covered with barnacles and slime, and from what we saw of the ships, it did not seem likely they would ever be raised as men-of-war again. The famous "Twelve Apostles" the "Three Godheads" the "Tchesme" the "Wratislaw" and the "Empress Maria" were unseaworthy before they were sunk, and the only ship for which the Russians expressed any sorrow was the "Grand Duke Constantine," one-hundred-and-twenty, the finest ship in their navy. She seemed quite content with her berth on the bottom, and it will be some time before a timber of her floats again.

The impression left upon the mind of every person who made the little tour round the coast was that the resources of Russia in men were reduced to a low ebb in the course of this war, and that she would have been utterly unable to maintain an army in the Crimea, or to continue in possession of it, had we made an aggressive movement with all our forces from Theodosia or Eupatoria, or even left her in an attitude of watchfulness along the extended line from the north side of Sebastopol to Simpheropol. That she possessed considerable means of transport, and had arabas, telegas, and horses sufficient, in ordinary times and on good roads, for the service of her army, was evident enough; but I was assured, on authority beyond question, that for two whole days in the winter the troops at Mackenzie were left without food, in consequence of the state of the roads. The prices of provisions, allowing very amply for the extortions of needy Tartars, of famished innkeepers, and for an extremely liberal spirit on the part of English tourists, were enormous, and it was almost impossible in many places to procure barley or corn for horses at any sum whatever. The country was deserted, the fields uncultivated, agriculture unheeded. A few flocks of sheep and herds of cattle were to be seen here and there in the course of a week's ride, but these were the property of the Government or of contractors, and were not for sale; along the south coast fresh meat was unknown, and salt fish and salt pork were the food of those in good circumstances. A mouthful of hay for a horse cost half a rouble or fifty copecs—eggs were 5d. a-piece—fowls utterly beyond the means of Croesus.

But amid all these evidences of desolation, the Cossack was seen here, there, everywhere—singly—in twos and threes—in pickets—in patrols—in grand guards—in polks—trotting, walking, or galloping, mounted high on his quaint saddle over his shaggy, long-tailed pony, flourishing with one hand his cruel whip, while with the other he guided the docile animal, above which he towered like a giant, his dirty grey coat fluttering in the breeze and his lance-point shining brightly in the sun. He was sown broadcast all over the Crimea. But you did not see regular soldiers in any numbers till you entered the typhus-haunted streets of Simpheropol, or waded through the mud of Bakshiserai; and even here the miserable, jaded, utterly spiritless, ill-clad, ill-fed, and broken-down militiamen were in the proportion of two to one to the soldiers of the line.

In order to judge of the state of the country, I shall transcribe from my diary during the tour such portions of it as appear likely to afford information respecting the effects of the war, or give an insight into the condition of the Crimea. Some other portions, referring to matters of less importance, may, however, prove amusing, if not instructive, more from the novelty of the circumstances to which they relate than from any merit of narration or powers of description.

"April 12th.—Started at ten o'clock from camp. The party consisted of four officers, two civilians—one of them myself, the other a travelling gentleman—an interpreter, two soldier servants, and one civilian servant. We took with us a strong two-wheeled light cart, drawn by two mules and a pack-pony, and carried in the cart a canteen, a few bottles of spirits and sherry, cases of preserved beef, two tents, fowling-pieces, a fishing-rod, picks and spades, blankets and horse-cloths. The cart was started early, with orders to halt at Baidar till we arrived, and the party were trotting along the Woronzoff Road towards Kamara by eleven o'clock. The day was most favourable—a clear sky, genial sun, and light southerly wind. I met the 4th Hussars (French) on their march in from their cantonments about Baidar, where they have been long exposed to most trying work on outpost duty, and in the ordinary occupation of light cavalry in war time. They were fine soldierly fellows, and were 'quite ready as they sat to ride either to the Great Wall of China or St. Petersburg.' Each man carried a portion of the cooking utensils of his mess, forage for his horse, blankets, and necessaries for the march, and seemed heavily charged, but on examination he would be found to weigh a couple of stone less than an English Hussar—otherwise, indeed, his small horse, however high-tempered, could not carry him. The Sardinians were also on the move, and sending in baggage to Balaklava. The large village of sheds and sutlers' shops on the road at the Fedukhine heights, which was called 'Woronzoff,' was in considerable excitement at the prospect of losing its customers, notwithstanding that the Russians flocked in to supply their place. The French camp here is built like that of their neighbours the Sardinians, very much on the Tartar or Russian plan, and the huts are semi-subterranean. They present in appearance a strong contrast to the regular rows of high wooden huts belonging to the Highland Division opposite, at Kamara, but the money saved to France and Sardinia by the ingenuity and exertions of their soldiers in hutting themselves must have been very considerable in amount. To counteract the mesquin look of these huts, our Allies—more especially the French—planted the ground with young firs and evergreens, brought a considerable distance from the hill-sides of Baidar, so that, after all, their camp is more pleasant to look at than that of the English. They have also made gardens, which promise to bear fruit, flowers, and vegetables for Tartars and Muscovites, and they have turned a large portion of ground by the banks of the Tchernaya, and close to the Traktir Bridge, into a succession of gardens, each appropriated to different companies of the regiments encamped in the neighbourhood. Sic vos non vobis.

"As we entered the gorge which leads into the valley of Varnutka we met some Tartar families, men and children, on the road, looking out possibly for some place to squat on. These poor creatures are menaced with a forced return to their nomadic habits of centuries ago. Civilization has corrupted them. The youngsters run alongside your horse, crying out, if you are English, 'I say, Johnny, piaster! give me piaster, Johnny!' if you are French, 'Doe dong (intended for dites donc), donnez moi piaster'—when young, a bright-eyed, handsome race, with fine teeth and clear complexions; and when old, venerable-looking, owing to their marked features and long beards, but in manhood sly, avaricious, shy, and suspicious. The Russians give bad accounts of them, and say they are not to be trusted, that they are revengeful and ill-disposed—the slave-owner's account of his nigger. Most of the fruit-trees in the pretty valley of Miskomia and Varnutka have been cut down for fuel. Crossing the ridge which separates this valley from that of Baidar, we pass the gutted and half-ruined chateau dit 'Peroffsky.' For a long time this charming little villa supplied French and English cavalry outposts with delicious, wine from its cellars, and was spared from ruin; but bit by bit things were taken away, and at last a general spoliation of all the place contained was made—the furniture was smashed to atoms, the doors broken, the windows carried away. One officer attached to the light cavalry regiment quartered there took away a handsome china service, and most of these dangerous visitors brought off some memento of their visits. The Tartars were rather rejoiced at the ruin of the place, for Count Peroffsky was no favourite with them, but they always express the greatest regard and affection for Prince Woronzoff. Baidar itself—a middling Tartar hamlet at the best of times—looks worse than ever now; garance dyed breeches were hanging out of the window-holes on all sides, and outside one very shaky, tumble-down wattle-house, there was a board declaring that there was good eating and drinking in the 'CafÉ Pelissier.' The village has one advantage, of which no Tartar village is ever destitute—a stream of clear water flows through it, and there are two or three fine springs close at hand. The people are miserable; the men are employed by the French as woodcutters and as drivers of arabas, but the money they receive is not sufficient to procure them full supplies of food or proper clothing.

"From Baidar the road ascends by the mountain ridges to the Foross or Phoros Pass, and affords many delightful views of the great valley of Baidar, which is, as it were, a vast wooded basin, surrounded by mountain and hill ranges covered with trees, and sweeping right round it. Blackbirds, thrushes, nightingales, large gaudy jays, wood-pigeons, doves, rock-pigeons, hawks, falcons, and great numbers of magpies, frequent the valley, and those which have good voices make it right musical towards sunset. Nightingales are very numerous, and so are varieties of flycatchers, titmice, and buntings. In winter, the hills are full of woodcock, the springs are haunted by snipe, wild duck, widgeon, and teal; and the woods give shelter not only to roe-deer, but, if certain reports promulgated this winter are to be believed, to wolves and bears. The road to Phoros is not good, and in winter must have been of little use. The summit of the pass at Phoros is surmounted by a stone arch which crosses the road at a place guarded by walls of rock, hundreds of feet in height. There is a French guard here, and, of course, we had to exhibit our passes. That was but a little matter, but on entering the archway we found it was fortified after the first rules of art: there were traverses and parapets of great height and thickness, and at the other side of the arch were similar obstacles. The mules were taken out of the cart; then it was unloaded, and the things carried one by one to the other side of these entrenchments; then the wheels were taken off, and by the united strength of our whole party, aided by some good-natured French soldiers, the cart itself was lifted up bodily and carried across all the gabions, earthworks, and traverses, and landed with a cheer on the narrow road at the other side of the pass.

"The scene which bursts upon the eye on emerging from the arch is one of the finest I have ever witnessed—indeed, I am not sure that it is not the most beautiful and grand that can be seen anywhere. You find yourself standing in a very narrow road, on the left hand of which a sheer slab of rock rises to the height of 600 or 700 feet above—its surface rent with fissures, here and there dotted by stunted firs, which cling like weeds to its surface, diversified with all the tints for which volcanic rocks are remarkable. At the base of this cliff, which stretches further than the sight can trace it, there is a ragged fringe of mighty boulders, of fragments of mountains tossed down in the wildest confusion amid the straggling brushwood. On your right, nearly 1,000 feet below, is the sea, washing the narrow selvage of land which, covered with thick groves and dotted with rocks, tumbles down beneath your feet in waves of verdure, so rapidly that the dark blue waters, which are really nearly a mile distant, seem to be only a few hundred yards from the road. This narrow shelving strip of land, which lies beneath the cliff and descends to the sea, formed of the dÉbris of the mountain-chain above it, extends along the coast from Phoros to Demur Kapu, or the Iron Gate, widening as it runs eastward, and losing its distinctive character completely ere it reaches Aloushta, in consequence of the great wall of cliff on the left hand receding rapidly inland and northwards from the point opposite Yalta. The length of this strip is thirty miles. It is nearly a mile broad at Phoros, and thence it gradually expands, till at Aloupka it attains a breadth of three miles from the sea to the base of the cliff, and at Yalta is five miles. The road winds for many miles along the foot of these stupendous crags, but there is a lower road, reached by zig-zags, which leads to the villas situated in the lovely valleys by the coast. This strip of shelving land is of the most varied formation. It is tossed about into hill and dale, and is seamed with shady ravines and deep woody dells, which are watercourses in winter. As it is quite sheltered by the cliff from northerly winds, and is exposed to the full power of the sun, the climate here is beautifully mild until the heats of summer begin, and the land produces in great perfection an astonishing variety of vegetable productions.

"The Crimea has a Flora of its own, but the lady is dressed so quaintly, uses such strange language, and is called so many hard, long names, that in my ignorance I am afraid to approach her, or to do anything more than to praise her general effect and appearance at a distance. But here indeed is a horrid reality to talk about. Some half-mile from Phoros, the road runs through a solid rock by means of a tunnel about thirty yards long. I happened to be riding in advance, and saw that this tunnel was blocked up by a wall seven feet in height and eight feet in thickness. All passage for the cart seemed hopeless. We never could lift it up so high. There was no getting round the rock, and so I smote my breast and returned to the party. But there were two or three among us not easily to be deterred from their purpose. An examination was made; a council of war was held; and it was decided that over the wall we must go, and that the obstacle intended to prevent the march of Cossack cavalry and the carriage of mountain guns, was not to impede six British tourists. Under the direction of our acting engineer, to work we went. The party got on the wall, and proceeded to dislodge the stones on both sides with regularity and precision, rolling them down so as to form a kind of solid arch out of the centre of the wall. Shins were cut, toes were smashed, spurs were bent, but the work went on, and at the end of three-quarters of an hour the way was declared to be practicable. The mules were taken out of the cart, and walked by a footpath round the rock; the heavy articles were unloaded, and then, with main strength, the cart was spoked up to the top of the mound of rocks and stones, after a desperate struggle, and then, with immense difficulty, was backed down to the road on the other side. Maybe the old tunnel did not re-echo three tremendous cheers when the work was over, and the mules emerged with their triumphant chariot! But our troubles were not half over. The French were uneasy at Phoros—they had scarped the road, and what they had spared, two winters of neglect had very nearly demolished. Before we moved six miles we executed, in addition to these labours, the following great public works, in order to get our cart over: No. 1. Built a wall to bank up the roadside at a precipice; No. 2. Filled up a crevice with brushwood and loose stone; No. 3. Made the road practicable with fascines; No. 4. Cut away hill-side, so as to widen the road by the side of a precipice where it had given way; No. 5. Unloaded cart and spoked it over a bad bit, and loaded it again.

"It is about twenty-two miles from the camp to Phoros pass, and our halting-place for the night is the ruined chateau of Isarkaia, which is about six miles from Phoros. We reached this secluded spot about seven o'clock in the evening. The walls and roof alone are left. The windows are smashed in, woodwork and all, and the only thing untouched in the place is a mangle in the kitchen. We stable our horses in the parlours and library, for all I know to the contrary, unpack the cart, and carry in saddles and bedding to the room designed for dining and sleeping. There are no boarded rooms, but the clay floor is soft, a fountain and a stream of water run hard by. The horses are groomed and supplied with hay and corn, and we prepare for dinner. A horrid announcement is made—'The Major has forgot to bring either kettle, gridiron, or saucepan! The tea and the sugar have got mixed! But that is no consequence.' What is to be done? Ingenious engineer suggests that my tinned iron dish shall be used as a frying-pan; carried nem. con. As to saucepan, some ingenious person drives two holes in a potted beef tin case, thrusts a piece of wood through them as handle, and proceeds to make soup therein over a blazing fire lighted up in one of the ruined fireplaces of the drawing-room. Just as soup is ready, handle burns through, and soup upsets into the fire, a disaster quite irretrievable, and so we proceed to devour tough ration-beef done in steaks on the tin dish. Sherry is forthcoming, bread, and preserved vegetables. Water is boiled in a small teapot, and produces enough for a temperate glass of grog; the blankets are spread on the floor, and preparations are made for sleep. First, however, the watch is appointed. Each man takes an hour in the alphabetical order of his name, from eleven to five o'clock, to watch the horses, to keep in the fire, and to guard against theft. The mangle is broken up for firewood. In doing so, the best made London axe, bought from an eminent saddler, flies in two at the first chop!—useful article for travelling! Odd legs of chairs and tables, bits of drawers, and dressers, and cupboards, are piled up for the same purpose, and our first watch is left on his post. We muster three double-barrelled guns and four revolvers between us, a total of thirty shots; the night passes quietly.

"Below the walls of the house in which we encamped, buried amid orchards and vineyards, is a ruined villa with marble fountains and handsome rooms. It is pillaged and wrecked like the rest, but it tempts our party to plunge down through the brushwood and thick scrubby woods, interlaced with 'Christ's thorn' and long creepers, to the ledge on which it stands above the sea. The silence, broken only by the cry of the eagles which soar about the cliffs, the surge of the wave on the rocks, and the voices of the birds in the groves, is rather a source of pain than of pleasure. 'Malheur À la dÉvastation' is inscribed on the walls. But who were the devastators? The Russians allege it was the Allies—the Tartars declare it was the Russians themselves. There are many who believe that these very Tartars had no small share in the plundering and wrecking of their taskmasters' and conquerors' summer palaces. We know from experience that on the march to Sebastopol, every village, every little villa and farmhouse, was sacked and destroyed by the enemy, and Bourliouk, Eskel, Mamashai, Belbek, &c., were in ruins before our outposts reached them. The evidence so far is against the Russians. As the walls and roofs of these houses are untouched, they look as picturesque and pretty from a distance as ever they did, and it is only on nearer approach that traces of the hand of the spoiler become visible.

"We had a very excellent breakfast, notwithstanding the extraordinary rich flavour of onions in the tea, which was accounted for by the circumstance that the water had been boiled in the soup-kettle. Some officers of the Guards who had followed us, and bivouacked near the post-house which we had passed on the road, came in as we were at 'our humble meal,' and relished their share of it exceedingly. Their cart pushed on in advance of ours, and as they profited by our labours of yesterday, so did we in a smaller degree (our cart was larger than theirs) reap the advantage of their preceding us part of the way to-day. We started about eleven o'clock, and our hard work soon commenced. Between the enemy, the French, and the winter, the road scarcely existed; it had been swept down into the ravine. However, our motto was 'vestigia nulla retrorsum,' and the colonel, the major, the captain, the D.A.C.G., the civilians, and the soldiers, worked as if for their lives and succeeded, in the course of the day, in executing the following useful public works: No. 1. Road blocked up by rocks from mountain—cut down trees, made levers, and cleared the way—major's leg nearly broken, every one dirtied with wheel grease, finger-nails broken, hands cut, &c. No. 2. Road repaired by Guards (who left us a bit of paper on a stick to commemorate the fact) was found too narrow, the hill-side was dug-out, stones laid, and road extended. No. 3. Landslip—edge of the road gone. We built up a wall of stones to support the edge, and passed over triumphantly. No. 4. Were riding along at a smart pace down the road, which winds like a piece of tape (not red, but white) along the mountain side, when frantic cries from the next turn recalled us to our cart—found it had gone down over a gulley, shooting out beds and bundles some hundreds of feet below, and was lying right over in the mud of the aforesaid gulley atop of the wheel mule. No one hurt. Took off wheels, cut fastenings, and unharnessed mule, which escaped without a hurt, but was covered with mud; raised cart, carried up beds, &c., out of ravine; unpacked cart and carried baggage across bad parts of landslip; set cart on wheels, loaded it, and went on our way rejoicing.

"Just after this accident we met General Eyre and his staff, attended by a Russian officer and several Cossacks, on his way to Phoros. The gallant General had been round to Bakshiserai, Simpheropol, and Aloushta, and was just reversing our route, which our party had the honour of being the first to drag a cart over. The General had been assisted up to this point by a village full of Tartars, who were caught by the Russians, to get his cart over the bad places. No. 5. Came upon the Guards and their servants, who were busy mending the road where it was cut by a mountain water-course: aided them and ourselves; got over our cart first and preceded them on the road. No. 6. Cut fascines and filled in a gap in the road. Let it be understood, all this time, that there is the sea below us on the right, the quaint wall of cliffs, 600ft. or 700ft. high, on our left, and at times, as it were, toppling over on our heads, and a rugged slope of wood and vineyard dotted with villas between us and the beach. No. 7. Having come up to a party of Guardsmen who were bivouacking with some artillerymen on their way back to Baidar, we were told that the road was utterly impassable; it had been carried away by a landslip. Resolved to go on; soon afterwards repaired road, and proceeded cautiously through mud from the ice rills which had bored through and broken up the path in many places.

"It was becoming late, and yet we had not got more than eight or nine miles from Asarkaia; and Aloupka, for which we were bound, was still as many miles ahead of us. The cliff at this part of the coast, which is somewhere between Kikineis and Limena, recedes further from the sea, and there is a considerable tract of hills from its base to the road. These hills are covered with brushwood, and our vedette in front reported to us that two round knobs, which, no doubt, served as heads to as many Cossacks, were visible in advance, amid the young foliage. As we approached, the knobs disappeared, but presently two lance-points peered above the rocks at the turn of the road, and in another moment or two we were in the presence of three mounted Cossacks of the Don, who by signs demanded our passes in a very civil and agreeable manner. As none of them could read, this formality seemed useless, but they gave us to understand by signs that one of our party must go to the officer of the post, and the Major and his interpreter were accordingly handed over to the care of an individual with one eye, and were out of sight very speedily. Our cart was ordered back, and it was explained that we had to drag it over the slope of the hills on our left, as the road before us had actually gone over the cliffs. Our friends were intelligent, good-looking young fellows, and while waiting for the Major we spent some time rather agreeably with them in a mutual examination of arms and interchange of tobacco. They wore heavy curved swords, without guards to the handles, in large sheaths of wood covered with leather. Their heads were covered with sheepskin caps, the top being formed of red cloth, and slightly conical in shape. Their coats were like those of the infantry of the line—long garments of grey cloth, fastened by a strap at the back, and their trousers were tucked into their boots more Muscovitorum. Each man had a long carbine slung over his shoulder, and I was rather surprised to observe that they had percussion locks. This armament was completed by a long and very light lance. The edges of their swords were as sharp as razors—their lance-points were equally keen. Their hair was closely cut, and they had the whiskerless cheek, the beardless chin, and the mustachioed lip of the "regulation." Their horses were barely fourteen hands high, and were high in the bone and low in the flesh, but their speed and endurance are undeniable. The Cossack rides high above his horse—he sits in the hollow of a saddle which looks like two pillars of black leather, at such a height that his heels are against the horse's flank, and when the animal trots, his rider's head is thrown forward over the shoulder, so that a right line let fall from his head would be in advance of his toes by some inches. The manes of the Cossack horses are very long, and their tails often sweep the ground. We soon found they were very quick walkers, and got over the ground with rapidity and ease.

"As the Major did not return, we concluded, after a long stay, that he was on the road before us, and we resolved to urge the cart over the hill. The Cossacks helped us in this (which was no easy matter) as soon as their comrade came back with an intimation, as we understood, which would be interpreted in English that 'it was all right.' The cart was once more unloaded, and its contents were dragged by us across the steep hill; then the cart was spoked up over the spongy ground, was loaded again, and the drivers were conducted to the road by the Cossacks, while we were shown a shorter cut, and descended under escort of our amiable, but strongly scented friends, down through shady ravines to the Tartar village of Simeis. Simeis, like all Tartar villages, is built by the side of a brook, which brawls pleasantly through a succession of little cascades as it leaps down from the mountains to the sea. The ravine in which the village is situate is shaded from the sun by enormous walnut and chestnut trees, and by the humbler branches of pear, apple, and peach trees. The houses are built on the slope in layers, with broad flat roofs, which are rendered watertight by a thick covering of sand and bitumen, and on looking down on it, or on any of the Tartar villages, not a house is visible; all that can be seen is a succession of little brown square patches with one hole in each, descending the slope in regular terraces, the backs being formed by the hill-side itself. In Simeis we were halted till the curiosity of a strong Cossack picket and some regulars was satisfied. About sixty men passed us in review, and then we were let to climb the hill up to the road, at which we found another Cossack waiting to relieve our silent friend who had so far accompanied us.

"It was getting dark; there was no sign of the Major; but, for a wonder, one of the Cossacks spoke German, and he told us an English officer was on in front. In a few moments our guide began to ride down a steep zigzag road towards the sea. The cart had come up all right, and we found we were on our way down to Aloupka, which is close to the sea-shore. The zigzag was as steep and sharp in its turns as any Swiss mountain path, and the horses, already tired by the nature of the day's journey, showed signs of distress very visibly. The descent lasted for an hour; it seemed a night; the young moon just lighted up the Cossack's white horse, and the feathery tips of tall poplars and branches of grey olive-trees and all else was in darkness. We heard the roar of the sea close at hand at last, and a low white building peered above the trees. We cantered into the open space before it by a nice avenue with a regular paling on each side. The Cossack dismounted, fastened up his horse, and went into the house, leaving us in profound ignorance and great hunger outside. The sounds of very noisy and drunken singing, which roused the night owls through the windows, led us to believe the house was a Cossack barrack, but after some time the door opened, and out came a brisk little man, who spoke good French, and a decent body, his wife, who astonished us with excellent English, and we found that we were at 'the hotel' at Aloupka. The cause of the noise was soon found. It was the work of a drunken Russian Colonel, chief of the police at Yalta, who had introduced himself to some English officers at that place, and had, in spite of them, accompanied them so far on their way to Phoros. 'ViolÀ,' said a little voice in our ears, as the door of the dining-room was opened,—'ViolÀ la noblesse Russe—il est noble parcequ'il est Colonel.' The room in which we found ourselves was a comfortable apartment, with sofas and easy-chairs, engravings of Count Potocki, of the Czar (of course), of Prince Woronzoff, of very warm subjects from French burins, on the walls, and a table well covered with bottles and glasses. At the end of the table was seated a Russian officer, screaming at the top of his voice some inscrutable snatches of song, for which he prepared himself by copious doses of brandy, sherry, and Crim wine. He was offensively drunk, but the terror which he inspired in the landlord and landlady was not the less on that account, and was evidently only equalled by their hatred of him. We are told that the Russians read the London papers so diligently that they know everything that passes as well as we do ourselves. I do not wish to get our good host and his wife, or even the inebriated Muscovite, into a scrape, or I would relate a few particulars respecting their demeanour which might prove amusing. The Colonel of the Aloupka district, when he heard of the condition of his brother 'authority,' gave orders that he should be turned out, but these were not carried into effect till late in the evening. He spoke a little French, and I think he understood English, though he professed not to know a word.

"Our dinner consisted of salt meat and an omelette au lard, washed down with plenty of Crim wine. We had also a tin of preserved beef. It was very fat, and we all put away the excess of adipose matter on a plate, where it formed a pretty large pile. The Colonel, who had been eating the meat, suddenly seized upon this plate, and stuffed huge mouthfuls of the fat and grease down his throat on the point of a knife with infinite gusto. A Cossack brought us in our passes. In spite of his standing at attention, the man's look betrayed a feeling of greater disgust at the Colonel's condition than I should have given him credit for. Our horses, which were put in a distant stable, could only be fed by the intervention of some others of our Dons, who also undertook to guard them all right—'the Greeks were such robbers.' Our beds were clean and comfortable, and we slept well till morning, although the Colonel kicked up at intervals a dreadful row outside.

"Distance lends enchantment to the view of Prince Woronzoff's palace from the sea. Hence it seems a splendid combination of Tartar and Norman architecture, donjons and keeps, and battlemented walls, strangely intermingling with minarets and the dome of a mosque. It is quite close to our hotel, and is approached by a beautiful walk, like the back lodge avenue in an English estate. The path is marked by a wooden paling, inside which are olives and fruit-trees and evergreens, and immense chestnut and walnut trees and silvery poplars. We pass a quiet chateau with a verandah and terraced front. It was the Prince's residence before he built his palace, and it is now used as a summer retreat by his son. The furniture is simple and handsome, and there is a beautiful view from the windows. A Russian servant (the only one we saw about the place) readily showed us over the premises.

"From Aloupka we continued our course by the coast as far as the village of Alushta, whence we turned off towards the north, crossing the Tchater Dagh and descending to Simpheropol. From that town we made our way to Bakshiserai, and so home to camp."

CHAPTER VII.

ERE I left the Crimea I went twice to the Alma, and examined the battle-ground. I shall reproduce my account of the excursion in the language in which it was written at the time. "The road from the plateau, on which for one long year the hopes and fears and anxieties of civilized Europe were concentrated, leads down from the ridge on which the battle of Inkerman was mainly fought to the deep ravine out of which the materials for the mansions, quays, harbours, docks, and forts of Sebastopol have been hewed. It presents a wild and desolate aspect. The graves of the slain are numerous. The slabs of oolite tower perpendicularly for several hundred feet on the right hand and the left to the verge of the elevated plateau, and rise, like great white walls of masonry, aloft from a base of huge blocks and disintegrated masses of the same substance. This ravine, deepening as it descends, falls at right angles to the valley through which the Tchernaya eats its way to the head of the Roads of Sebastopol. At the lower end of the ravine the aqueduct spans it, and then is carried on a light and handsome bridge of masonry, supported on some ten or twelve arches right across, and disappears in a tunnel through the solid rock on the left-hand side. Passing underneath, through one of the arches, you find yourself by the banks of the sluggish Tchernaya, and a ride of 500 yards or so past the perpendicular cliffs, perforated with caves, which bound the margin of the valley, leads you to the causeway across the marsh towards Inkerman. An excellent wooden bridge, built by our engineers, stretches across the river, and the marsh beyond is crossed by a high causeway. At the near end are our guard-tents; and the pass is kept by the Russian and English sentries, who seem on very good terms with each other. Arrived at the end of the causeway, the cliffs of northern Inkerman are above you, and the road winds up to a ravine which leads you to their recesses. A curious chapel and monkery in the caves are visible in the face of the cliff. Embrasures are above, before, and on each side of you on entering these fastnesses. The black pupils of these dull eyes have been removed, but there is enough of the works left to show how hot and frequent they could have flashed on you in their anger. There are five batteries on various points of this ravine, and the slopes of the plateau afford many fine sites for field artillery or guns of position. The road is good. On the right, about a mile from the entrance of the ravine, are numerous deep shafts in the clay, from, which the Russians draw their supply of water. The road winds gradually upwards till it leads you to the level of the north plateau of Inkerman, just as the Quarries road took you down from the south plateau to the level of the valley of the Tchernaya, from which you are now ascending. Here is the Russian camp, at which we have so often gazed from the heights on the right of our position. It is now very much altered in appearance. The huts have been abandoned, and the men are living in a very pretty, clean, and well-kept camp of canvas, but the purlieus are very dirty, and have the usual disagreeable smell of Russian quarters. The tents are square in shape, and at the top, which tapers to a point from the side of the wall, there is a knob, gilt or painted, which gives them an air of finish. The path or streets of the camp are bordered with wild flowers and fir branches. The regiments stationed here belong to the Seventh Division, which forms the First Division of the third corps d'armÉe, and are, as well as I could ascertain, the 13th (Smolensko) and 14th (Politsch), and number about 6,000 men. There is a brigade of field artillery—two batteries—close to this camp, and the pieces are very well kept, and in excellent condition.

"The cantonments extend as far as the heights over the valley of the Belbek on the left-hand side, and could have contained about 18,000 men, which considerably exceeds the strength of the whole of the Seventh Division. A steep road descending from the verge of the plateau, at the point where the Russian bazaar is established, leads to the Belbek, which is crossed by two bridges. One of these is a fine, well-built new structure of wood; the other is that by which the army crossed in the flank march, and the post-house near which Sir George Cathcart took up his quarters still remains intact. The Fourth Division bivouacked here the night before we entered Balaklava, when Lord Raglan slept at Traktir, on the Tchernaya, and Sir George was very uneasy, on account of his isolated position, separated, as he was, from the rest of the army, and believing that a body of Russians intervened between them. It was from this that General Windham rode with despatches to the Katcha, anticipating Commander Maxse's arrival from the Tchernaya by more than half an hour, and from this neighbourhood the army turned towards Mackenzie. Lord Raglan reconnoitred Sebastopol from a hillock close to the road on the right, a short time before we fell in with the rear-guard and baggage of the enemy. The village of the Belbek is greatly changed since then—the trees have been cut down, and the valley, once so beautiful, blooms no more. The villas have been used as hospitals, and there are many Russian graves, marked with black wooden crosses, in the neighbouring ravines. From this valley you ascend another steep hill to the top of the plateau which lies between it and the valley of the Katcha. The ground is covered with dwarf trees and thick brushwood, full of lizards and small birds, which are persecuted by numerous falcons and hawks. There are patches of naked ground and ashes scattered over the plateau, which show where parties of the enemy were encamped; but the country is not suited for large bodies of men, as water is not to be had except at the rivers. The plateau is intersected by numerous woody ravines, and the tracks followed by the allied armies are plainly visible. They have been much used by the Russians.

"A ride of three-quarters of an hour takes us to the valley of the Katcha, still beautiful and rich with verdure, for this part of it is too far from the immediate operations of war, and too much out of the track from Bakshiserai, to have suffered much. The place which we approach was once the village of Eskel; it is now in ruins. The Tartar houses are pulled down or unroofed; the population have fled; and the Russian houses are just as they were left by the Cossacks on our approach after the Alma. The church gleams brightly through the dense branches of the fruit-trees, which are covered with blossoms, but the large tracts of vineyards which welcomed us nearly three years ago, are now uncultivated. The Doctor's house is in a sad plight—one of the first we entered after the Alma—and is still the picture of neglect and ruin. Lord Raglan's comfortable residence is in the custody of an old Tartar, who shows the broken furniture, the sofas ripped open, the chairs smashed, and the beds cut up, with great pride, and leads one to infer pretty plainly that Ruskie did all the mischief. It was at this village that the Russians halted to recover breath after their headlong flight from the Alma, and from it they fled the same night in panic on the cry being raised that the Allies were coming.

"The Katcha is a deep narrow stream with rotten banks, and some people think it would have afforded a better position than the Alma; but, in fact, it is too near Sebastopol. We found a few Russian soldiers in the houses; and on the first occasion it happened to be the Greek Easter Sunday, and we were most hospitably entertained by a poor Russian family, who insisted on our partaking of painted eggs, of salt pork steeped in vinegar, and cabbage, of brown bread, butter, vodka, or white home-made brandy, and Crim tobacco, and then on embracing us because we were Christians—a severe punishment, which, if often repeated, might lead to recantation. Crossing the Katcha by the bridge over which our army filed into Eskel, we find ourselves on the steppe—the dry barren plain studded with tumuli, which extends in wavy folds right away to Perekop. At this season of the year it is glorious with large beds of wild flowers, sweet-pea, roses, mignonette, thyme, orchids of all kinds, sweet-william, and many other varieties, whose tame and developed species are the ornaments of our gardens at home; it is musical, too, with the song of birds singing to their mates in the nest; but in September it is an arid, scorched waste, covered with coarse hay, and as it is devoid of water, it is unfit for pasturage. The ride to the Alma from the Katcha is not more than eight miles, but it seems twice the distance. The white telegraph station over the river, which stood on the Russian left, can be seen for many miles on a clear day, but on the steppe mirage is very common, and the horizon is rarely well defined. It is often lost in a fantastic margin resembling the sealine of an agitated ocean. Bustards, on the qui vive about their young ones, soar slowly before us, and eagles, vultures, and many species of falcons are visible in pursuit of their prey, which must consist for the most part of hares, which are very large and numerous. Some of these hares have been found to weigh ten or twelve pounds, and I have heard of a monster who turned the scale at fourteen pounds. In one of the hollows in the steppe, about three miles from the Alma, there is a small hamlet, but, with this exception, not a habitation is visible over the whole of this vast expanse of land. It is famous ground for a long canter, or as much of a gallop as your horse will stand; so with the help of an occasional scurry after a hare the distance melts away, and as we go crashing through the sweet flowers, the telegraph rises higher and clearer till we pull up at the foot of the mound on which it stands. This was the scene of a fierce struggle, and it was here the French had some really hard fighting before they forced the enemy to fly.

"The telegraph is a quadrilateral figure of white stone, and it has never been finished. It is covered with names; and one side is engraved 'La Bataille d'Alma, 8 Septembre.' The French had put the right date, the 20th; but the Russians obliterated it, and altered it to their own style. There are fifteen large sepulchral mounds around the telegraph, wherein lie French and Russians, and the ravines are still full of bones, and of fragments of clothing and accoutrements. Cannon-shot appear to have been carefully removed. There is an excellent view of the French position and attack from the edge of the plateau. The enemy must have had every movement of the Allies under their eyes from the time they left Bouljanak till they halted to form for battle; and the spectacle could not have been one to have given them much courage, or to have inflamed their ardour. The Russians declare they had only 33,000 or 34,000 on the field; but, admitting that to be so, they made a bad fight, considering the position they occupied, and their cavalry exhibited that passive and unenterprising character which it maintained throughout the war. An officer of the old Pestal regiment told me that he charged our first attacking body when they were checked with the bayonet, and that if all the troops inside and on the flanks of the redoubts had rushed out simultaneously, the day would have been lost to us; but he was rather surprised when he heard that our Third and Fourth Divisions were still intact, and that the Guards, whom he supposed to have been routed, were never broken except in the centre, where the Scots Fusiliers wavered for a time in their advance under the heavy fire of the Russians and the pressure of the disjointed groups of the Light Division. The French are disposed to think that the English were too slow in beginning the attack, which it was agreed should not take place till our allies had gained the left of the Russian position. It is certain that Lord Raglan received one, if not two, pressing messages from Marshal St. Arnaud to hasten his columns: but one may ask how it was that here, as everywhere else, the honour of taking the initiative was ceded to our allies, and the opportunity given to them of saying 'The English were too late.' They only numbered 23,000, whereas we had 27,000. If it resulted from their position on our right, why did they take the left when we halted before Sebastopol?

"The assaults on the place were made on the same principle—the French first, the English afterwards; and, whether it be true or false that we were 'too late,' there can be no doubt there was from the beginning a tendency to say so. It is beyond question, in the opinion of many officers, that the Light Division were not followed closely enough by the First in their advance up the hill at the Alma. In other words, the latter were too slow or 'too late.' The French did their part admirably, and their intelligence and personal activity were wonderfully displayed in their progress up the steep ravines and sides of the high banks of the plateau, but their loss in killed and wounded was under 700 men, while ours was just 2,000. The Admiral Bouet Willaumez, in his recent so-called 'History of the French Navy,' distinctly avers that the English General would not permit the victory to be followed up by marching next day, and that the French were retarded by their allies. A different impression prevails in our army; but this is one of the points which must be cleared up for history by those who were in the confidence of Lord Raglan. The statement, at all events, shows what was the belief of the chef d'État major of the French navy in the Black Sea. Of the necessity and of the motives for the delay, of its results, of the practicability of getting such aid from the fleet as would have relieved us entirely from the charge of sick, wounded, and prisoners, I shall not speak; but it is to be remarked that the feebleness and imbecility of our arrangements in this portion of our administration became apparent at the very first pressure by the abandonment of our ambulances just at the very time they were most needed, by the disgraceful exhibition of the Kangaroo crowded with sick and wounded till she had to make the signal that she was unmanageable and unsafe in the sight of the whole fleet, by the sufferings of her miserable cargo, left to the charge of one surgeon, who could not attend to a tithe of his patients, and who could not even get at them if he could have dressed their wounds, and by the foolish and cruel expedient of leaving another surgeon, Dr. Thompson, and his servant on the field to take care of 700 wounded men. Dr. Thompson felt the hopelessness and positive cruelty of such a proceeding, and remonstrated against it, but he was told it had been 'ordered,' and that if the 'Cossacks' came down his 'professional character' would protect him.

"The battle of the Alma was one of the most brilliant in the world—the shortest and sharpest, and our army, young in action, but veteran in service, displayed the best qualities of British infantry. We have since heard of the incredulity, of the dismay, with which the news was received in St. Petersburg, and of the subsequent eagerness of the Russian army to avenge the defeat and to hurry to the Crimea, to drive the Allies into the sea. They found a barrier they could not break at Inkerman; but they are a people prone to put faith in their own invincibility, and slow to credit defeat. They believe in themselves yet. The position of the Alma is so well marked that it can never be mistaken by any future visitors. The French attacked the steep and almost perpendicular cliffs, which are broken here and there by ravines which mount upwards from the river. Their columns were divided from our regiments by the most marked and extensive of those ravines, and eastward of that boundary the whole of the ground suddenly falls, and, instead of rising abruptly from the Alma, gains the high level of the hills by a series of sweeping undulations, offering many positions for guns, with extensive glacis to the front.

"Descending from the plateau, some of our party crossed the bridge, and went out on the plain towards Bouljanak to the tumuli which stud the plains, and which denote the extreme range of the Russian guns. On turning round towards the south, the eye takes in the whole scene of battle, from the sea on the right to the low slopes which formed the right of the Russian position. Their left was separated from their right by a deep ravine running at right angles toward the Alma, and this ravine also is the boundary between the high and steep cliffs which, on the south bank, overhang the tortuous course of the Alma from the ford to the sea, and the gentler rising grounds on which the enemy's left lay, strengthened by the epaulements and by the mass of the Russian artillery. It will then be seen how the Russian left depended on the nature of the ground as its best defence, and what a fatal mistake Menschikoff committed when he omitted to take into consideration the effect of the fire of the ships. That fire soon drove back their left, and forced it to reform on the centre, which it put into confusion, and the French, ascending by the ravines with the utmost courage and activity, made good their footing on the right and turned the Russian left completely, with comparatively little loss. The advance of our allies was covered to a great extent by the thick foliage on the banks of the Alma, and the cliffs are so high and rotten that the enemy's guns could not be used with success against them. The course of the river is much further from the base of these cliffs than it is from the slopes on the Russian right, where the British attacked, so that it would be scarcely commanded by guns on the top of the plateau; whereas, we were under fire for several hundred yards before we reached the Alma at all.

"A mound, composed of fifteen graves, at the distance of 400 or 500 yards from the river on its north side, denotes the resting-place of those who fell before the army crossed the stream, or who died after the fight in the ambulances. The road by which we advanced to the bridge was just as it was on the 20th of September, and on the right, close to the stream, were the blackened ruins of the village of Bourliouk. It will be remembered that the enemy partially destroyed the bridge, but that it was repaired during the action by the Royal Engineers and a party of Sappers and Miners. The bridge has been substantially rebuilt, by means of a strong wooden way thrown across the stone arches, and supported by beams and uprights. The old post-house, on the right of the road before you come to the bridge, was about being reconstructed, and a guard of soldiers were lodged in its ruins. It will be, to all appearances, a handsome house of fine white freestone when it is finished. I surveyed its ruins with peculiar interest, for I know a person very intimately who took shelter in this house, part of which was on fire, to get out of a fire still hotter, till he was driven out by a shell falling through the roof, and it was at the wall outside, which was yet torn by shot, that I met the first two wounded officers I saw that day—two officers of the 30th, one hit through the chest or side; the other wounded, I think, in the leg or arm. They were helping each other from the river, bleeding and weak, and I was fortunate enough to be able to bring to their aid a Staff surgeon, belonging, I believe, to the Cavalry Division, who kindly examined their wounds under fire. Close to this I had previously seen the first man killed—a drummer, who was carrying a litter, and who was struck by a round shot which bowled slowly along the road and hit him, with a peculiar squashing sound, on the hip. He fell, and never moved; nor did his comrade, who was carrying the other end of the litter, stop to mourn over his death.

"After the intrepid rush of the Light Division up the hill, its wavering, its broken and unwilling halt, the bold advance of Pennefather's Brigade, and the billow-like march of the Guards, I pressed on immediately in the rear of the Light, and in front of the Third Division, and I was able to warn Colonel Waddy, as he approached at the head of the 50th, that he was moving right along the line of fire of the enemy's guns, and, as there was a very conclusive proof given of the correctness of the statement just as I spoke, that gallant officer moved off his men, who were in dense column, a little to the left, and got off the road to the fields. All these things and many more came back upon me as I looked around. I could recall that narrow road filled with dead and dying—old friends jesting at scars and wounds, and exulting in victory, and awaiting with patience the arrival of men to carry them away to the surgeons—a white-haired field-officer (of the 55th), whose name I don't know, badly wounded through the body, who could only moan bitterly, 'Oh, my poor men! oh, my poor men! they hadn't a chance;' then the river stained here and there with blood, still flowing from the dead and dying who lay on the shallows and the banks, lined nevertheless by hundreds, who drank its waters eagerly; the horrid procession of the dripping litters going to the rear of the fight; the solid mass of Adams' brigade, halted by Lord Raglan's orders as it emerged from the smoke of Bourliouk: the Staff itself and the Commander-in-Chief, gathered on the rising ground close by; that ghastly battle-field where so many lay in so small a place putrescent with heat and wounds; the grey blocks of Russians melting away like clouds, and drifted off by the fierce breath of battle; the shriek and rush of the shells from the brass howitzers in the battery, the patter of the rifle, the rattling roll of the musketry, the frantic cheers of our men as they stood victors on the heights, drowning the groans and cries which for a moment succeeded the roar of battle; the shrill flourish of the French bugles, and the joyous clamour of their drums from the other side of the ravine—all came back upon the ear again, and the eye renewed its pleasure as it gazed from the ridge upon the plain where it had before seen the Russians flying in disorder, with their rear still covered by the threatening squadrons of their cavalry. Then one recalled the spot where one had seen some friend lying dead, or some one—friend or foe—whom it were no mercy to strive to keep alive. Watkin Wynn, stretched on the ground in front of the trench, with a smile on his face—Chester, with a scornful frown, and his sword clenched in the death grasp—Monck, with the anger of battle fixed on every feature—these and many another friend in the peaceful camp of Aladyn or Devno rose up as they lived in the memory. The scowling Russians who glared so fiercely on their conquerors and seemed to hate them even as they supplied their wants, then seen for the first time, left an impression respecting the type of the Muscovite character which has scarcely been effaced now that they have ceased to be enemies. I recalled the two days passed as no army ought to pass two days—on the field of battle amid the dead—the horrid labours of those hours of despondency and grief where all should have been triumph and rejoicing, and the awakened vigour with which the army broke from its bivouac on the Alma and set out with no certain aim, no fixed project, on its chance march which fate made successful.

"The intrenchment can be distinctly seen for a mile north of the river. It is placed half-way down the slope of the little hill-side. There were no other works, trenches, redoubts, or field-works of any description except one more epaulement and a few sods of earth turned up to afford cover to a few skirmishers; and all the accounts of such defences filled with riflemen and guns which have been made public were erroneous. The enemy had very few riflemen, and the ground, except on the extreme left, was of such a nature that good cover for guns could be had for the seeking. For many years to come the battle-field is likely to remain as it is now, the only difference being that the vines which flourished on the 20th of September, 1854, and which are now destroyed, may be cultivated once more. On ascending from the river towards the intrenchment, you find yourself on the left completely covered by a rise of the hill in front from the parapet, so that men could form in this hollow for the attack, without being exposed to fire; but the Russians, aware of this, sent down on their extreme right large bodies of infantry, who fired at the Left Brigade of the Light Division as they were trying to get into order after crossing the river.

"On the right, nearer to the bridge, the ground is more exposed to guns from the parapet of the trench, and on advancing a few yards the fair open glacis, gently sloping upwards to their muzzles, gives a terrible solution of the reason why for a time the Light Division was held in check, and lost in a few moments upwards of 1,000 men. At the base of this glacis, and scattered along the ridge towards the river, are mounds of earth about thirty feet long by fifteen in breadth, which are covered with large stones and slabs of slate. There are fifteen or sixteen of these mounds, and many of them contain the remains of friends and foes. Some small black wooden crosses are placed here and there among these mounds, which rise to the height of two or three feet above the level of the plain, and are all covered with rank vegetation and wild flowers. The parapet of the work is still about three feet outside, and a foot deeper in the trench inside. Near the centre is placed a handsome monument of white stone, with the following inscription:—

"'During the attack on these heights, 20th September, 1854, Her Britannic Majesty's 23rd Royal Welsh Fusileers lost their commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel H. Chester, Captains A. W. Wynn, F. Evans, J. Conolly, Lieutenants P. Radcliffe, Sir W. Young, Bart., J. Anstruther, and J. Butler, all killed on the field: also Lieutenant Applewaite, mortally wounded, who died 22nd September, 1854. This stone is erected to their memory.'

"On the other side,'The regiment also lost Sergeant J. H. Jones, Colour-Sergeants R. Hitchcock, J. F. Edwards, one drummer, and forty privates, killed on the field.'