Incidents at Alma
Nature Seldom Changes With the Climate “Life,” says Shakespeare, “is a mingled yarn of good and ill together,” and we never more experienced the force of this observation than in reading the account of the battle of the Alma, where striking incidents of the good and bad passions of our nature stand out in relief from the crowded horrors of that-never-to-be-forgotten day. Courage-affection-devotion-ingratitude-coolness-brutality-gratitude-selfishness-might here be found mingled side by side of each other. As an exemplification of what we say, we have collected a few of the most interesting examples that occurred to us.
Among the numerous instances of courage, coolness, and valour, displayed on all sides by our brave troops, it must have been an imposing scene to have witnessed our artillery dash into the waters of the Alma, -men, horses, and carriages, deep in-and there braving heavy discharge of the enemy’s cannon. The onslaught was great, the Russians holding such a formidable position, A cannon was disabled from action by a shot striking the wheel; but the damage was as coolly repaired by the artillerymen as if it had been in a workshop instead of in the midst of a stream, with the cannon balls of an infuriated enemy flying about them. Soon, however, they cleared the Russians from their position, and so made a free passage for some of our troops.
For an episode of courageous and signal daring, no incident of the battle will be more remembered than that displayed by two of our non-commissioned officers in their brave endeavours to plant a camp flag under the fire of the enemy, in order to mark the position to be taken by a division which was advancing. The soldier who first went with the flag had barely succeeded in obtaining the desired position, when one of the enemy left his ranks, killed him, and took the trophy-but only for a moment was it his!-and he paid with his life for the brief honour, for a second English officer, his blood roused by the death of his comrade and the colours flying in the hands of the enemy, hotly pursued the Russian-shot him-recovered the flag, and ran with haste to his ranks, on reaching which he expired, having received no less than seven balls in his body before he fell!
Ingratitude, the blackest of all sins, was strikingly exemplified-and makes one blush for human nature - in the following incident:-“ Just at the close of the action an officer of ours gave a wounded Russian some spirits from his flask to drink; the scoundrel in return shot him in the back as he turned to leave him. Need we relate the melancholy fate of the Russian after this?
As an instance of unexampled energy of which the human mind is capable, we know of none more extraordinary than that shown by the Hon. Captain Monk, of the 7th. It appears he was pierced by a ball, which he felt was fatal; and whilst expiring, he drove his sword through the heart of the first advancing foeman, and with a blow from his strong arm levelled another to the ground. Had he lived, what might not have been anticipated from such a lion-hearted soldier!
The English are at all times generally remarkable for their coolness under difficulties and dangers: these qualities were never more strikingly displayed than by the Light Division which led the English attack on the Russians. The subjoined account reads like a fiction emanating from the excited brain of a novel writer :-“' In their advance the troops had to pass through some vineyards, and “here,” says a spectator, “ the men gave one of those surprising examples of coolness and contempt of danger which forms one of our national characteristics. In the midst of the most tremendous fire which an army has ever encountered, with comrades falling around them, the men commenced seeking for and plucking the half-ripe grapes, which were hanging temptingly on the hewn vines!”
How gratifying it must be to the Emperor of the French to read of the behaviour in the battle of his august relative Prince Napoleon, whom Marshal St. Arnaud mentioned in a most distinguished manner in his first despatch. But at one period of the campaign it appears he had a most miraculous escape from a cannon ball, and had it not been for General Thomas, who perceived the direction of the ball, and cried out ”Take care, Monseigneur!” the Prince no doubt would have fallen. Immediately he was warned, he gave his horse the spur, and turned him aside in time to allow the ball to pass, which, missing the Prince, unfortunately broke the leg of Sub-Intendant Leblane, who was standing close behind him, —The Prince might have exclaimed “ Every bullet has its billet!”
And who cannot but feel for that faithful and devoted dog, who was found, says an eye-witness of the battle, sitting between the legs of a dying Russian officer, a position from which no persuasion could move him. What a confirmation of the faithfulness and affection which the dog has universal credit for! And the gratitude of his suffering master, too, was very striking; a cup of cold water in his dying moments was of far greater value than gold. It appears he had been mortally wounded, and presented his gold watch to a soldier who had kindly given him a draught of water—the most delicious, because the most needed, draught he had ever drank, and we can easily imagine how grateful it must have been to his fevered, fainting body.
And here is another touching sight! amongst the dead was found a soldier—a mere youth—with his hands clasped in the attitude of prayer, There was as much serenity and devotion mantling his youthful features as if he had expired in his ordinary bed, surrounded by parents and friends, for whose welfare, no doubt, his hands were clasped in prayerful supplication to the God of battles that he would protect them. Or probably he had left some fond heart behind him, to whom, after the battle, their engagement of courtship was to terminate in marriage—and it might be for her that he had breathed his dying prayer.
To peruse some of the valorous deeds executed by our men and officers on the 20th, is enough to make one conclude that they really must have presumed themselves invulnerable to all attacks, and that death had no power over them, The coolness and courage of the Hon. Major Macdonald, the Duke of Cambridge's aide-de-camp, actually led him from one of the Russian entrenchments, where the regiment had laid down to load and ”close up,” to ride forth and reconnoitre the enemy's position! But did he live to ride back again? Yes, miraculously he escaped the shower of balls and musket bullets that were directed against him the instant he showed himself. His charger was killed under him, and its rider was hurled to the ground. Some of his brother officers, who saw his imminent danger, rushed to his assistance and extricated him from his mangled steed, Another horse was found him, which the major mounted with the same coolness as if he was going to ride in the park, and rode back to the trench amid the bullets which whistled around him in all directions!
Ludicrous, in the extreme, was the position of the Russian general who, confident in the success of Menschikoff, called at his camp to congratulate him, when lo! instead of finding the Prince there, he found himself in the safe custody of Sergeant Notter, of the Coldstream Guards, who was on duty at one of the outposts!
Another of the Russian generals was captured through his gay coat, to which one of our artillerymen conceived a fancy. The general feigned to be dead, and stretched himself out beside his fallen horse, his object being to lie quietly there until the darkness of night, and then make off, But the English soldier taking him for the corpse he was representing, and naturally enough concluding that a good coat or a bad one was of more service to the living than the dead, tried to divest the general of the one he wore—when to the surprise of the artilleryman, the supposed corpse moved, and it was discovered that no harm had been done the general, and he was therefore captured—coat and all.
England will not be slow to forget the compliment paid its soldiers by the brave General Canrobert (who has now succeeded to the command of the French army through the decease of Marshal St. Arnaud). In a moment of enthusiasm he exclaimed to one of our generals, ”All I could ask of fortune now, is that I might command a corps of English troops for three short weeks, I could then die happy!” This eulogistic remark of the French general might be placed side by side with an observation of our own Raglan’s when he witnessed the brave Zouaves scaling the heights—”They are not men, but tigers and lions.”
Is not one almost provoked to laughter by reading the scramble of our Jack tars after the boots which the dead Russians wore? Fancy them positively sitting down on the ground to measure the soles of their shoes in opposition with the long boots of the dead! when, if the length corresponded, the Muscovite was speedily unbooted. The sublime and the ridiculous, how intimately are they here blended! This incident is related by a sailor himself, and he further adds:— ”The Turkish troops were very busy pillaging the dead; an occupation which most of us were employed in, more or less. I did not, however, come across any sables in my explorations. We, however, shall have grand ‘looting’ at Sebastopol, when my China experience may avail me.”
After Jack had pillaged the boots he begins to reflect — his better feelings being in the ascendant, and he checks his levity thus :—
“This is a horrible way to talk, and, no doubt, will shock you much; but it is one of the concomitants of grim war, and, perhaps, none of the most agreeable. We have found the peasantry very useful; and they willingly come forward with their waggons, which we hire for the transport of baggage, stores, &c. They are for the most part drawn by bullocks, but there are many drawn by dromedaries, The Russians burnt everything on our road,”
Thank God, no such incident of cruelty has been recorded of the English soldiers, as that which Viscount Chewton, of the Scots Fusileer Guards, experienced at the hands of the Russians. While bravely leading on his regiment, he was shot in the leg and fell. When down, the Russians brutally fired upon him and beathim on the head with their muskets, and nothing could have prevented his brains being beaten out but the thickness of the cap he wore.
How awful were some of the attitudes in which many of the brave dead were found! One might be seen resting on his knee, with the brow compressed — the lip clinched — and the arms extended in the form of taking aim. Another was lying on his back with the same determined expression of countenance, the Minie-musket still grasped in his hands undischarged. A third lay in a still more extraordinary position — his body was bent to a perfect arch, his head resting on one part of the ground and his feet on another. Some, again, lay with a calm placid smile on the face, as though they were in some delicious dream.
Compliments are always pleasing to human nature, but when they come from an enemy, they are doubly grateful. With pride we have read elsewhere what the French commanders, St. Arnaud and General Canrobert, said of our courage — but it is quite overpowering to observe what the enemy remarked, spoken no doubt from painful experience. The Russian officers, who were taken prisoners by us, said, ”they always knew we were excellent soldiers, but had no idea we were such devils!”
How the dearest affections of our nature are lacerated by the pathetic statement of one of the prisoners. He was a very gentlemanly man, and said with tears, that he was separated — perhaps for ever! — from a fond young wife, and two babes — the eldest only two years old; and the dreadful fear he exhibited of falling into the hands of the Tartars was most painful. His father, he informed his captors, an old man of seventy-five, was, a few days since, shot in his bed by them, after they had robbed his house of all it contained.
The French Artillery (that favourite arm of the mighty Napoleon, and on which he chiefly relied in his battles,) seems to have greatly distinguished itself, A French officer writes: —
“The battery of Commandant de la Boussionere was exceedingly fine, when, towards the end, we aided the English by taking the Russians in flank. It fired with marvellous aim, extinguished the Russian batteries, and permitted the English to dash forward. The battery of Toussaint charged and opened fire on the telegraph, within 400 metres of the Russian infantry, which fled at the aspect of its irresistible enthusiasm. General Bosquet, declares that the artillery system of the Emperor is henceforward placed at a very high rank.
One of the brightest bits of individual courage was that of a corporal of the 23rd who suddenly found himself alone in the enemy’s battery, We can easily imagine his surprise, but it would be difficult to a civilian to conceive his bravery. How his stout heroic heart must have heaved with courage to have enabled him to achieve what he did! He did not surrender
(though he was surrounded with many of the armed enemy) he did not pause in his danger — but, animated with something of the spirit of Wellington, when he exclaimed ”Up Guards and at ’em!” the valiant corporal set to work with his bayonet, and had actually killed three Russians before assistance came to him! Well did he merit the reward he got — he was at once promoted to be sergeant.
At break of day after the battle, a certain class of visitors came upon the scene — not to render succour to the dying, or to pay a due respect to the dead - but to pillage all they could. These inglorious men appear to scent booty afar off as the crow does carrion. How busy they were here and there, kneeling ty the dead while they rifled them of all they had — even stripping the gold lace from their uniforms. One, a Maltese, realized upwards of £150 in gold. And some might be seen skulking off with hats, coats, boots, and rifles. But not one was seen to assist in burying the body they had striped(sic) - they left that sacred duty to the chaplain of the expedition, and fled with their pillage,
Such were a few of the remarkable incidents of this memorable battle, and the want of space alone forbids us to give more. Volumes might be filled with the deeds of courage, — examples of valour, — and unequalled daring, which was developed on this immortalised day.
