The Retreat of the Russians from Sebastopol
From the “Hastings and St. Leonards Penny Press”
The taking of Sebastopol by the allied army on the 8th of September, is one of those glorious events which will render our age remarkable in future history. Its true importance can scarcely as yet be properly estimated; but it is not too much to say that in no war in which England ever engaged, however successful, has a triumph of greater consequence been achieved. When the news of the victory which the allied army had gained, was first announced, it was received with caution and doubtfulness; many thought of the ”Tatar” news which had proved so deceptive, many believed that some partial success had been exaggerated, and some had settled down into the belief that Sebastopol could never be taken by any armies which England and France could send to effect its capture. We were told by Kossuth, by Mazzini, and by Urquhart, that we could never take Sebastopol; but the official confirmation of the news served rather to show that the victory had been rather underrated than magnified,—there was no longer any doubt—the most sceptical must believe it, the friends of Russia must believe it—SEBASTOPOL WAS TAKEN by the allied armies of France and England.
“ Our castle's strength
Shall laugh a siege to scorn,”
Czar Nicholas had proudly boasted—and Czar Alexander had re-echoed it, as he has re-echoed every vain-glorious flourish of his ”illustrious” father; but the most impregnable and most threatening fortress which despotism ever reared for oppressive and aggressive purposes, was now in the possession of the armies of the two most enlightened nations in the world. The heart of every Englishman thrilled with delight and gratitude, as our church bells, over the length and breadth of our land, gaily announced that Sebastopol had fallen—delight because a great blow had been dealt at the oppressor, gratitude to those who had dealt the blow itself—and thanksgiving and veneration to the God of battles who had given such glorious effect to the efforts of the allied armies, were the three great feelings which inspired every free breast—while tyranny in more than one part of Europe, whitened with rage and trembled with fear, because the great bastions of human bondage and ignorance had for ever fallen.
Twelve months ago England and France joined their arms together for the purpose of checking the ambitious aggression of Russia’s Czar. The victories of the Turks, after the allies had reached Gallipoli and Varna, forced the Russian army from the Danubian Principalities. The Crimea was then chosen as the basis of operations for the French and English troops. After a peaceful landing in the enemy’s territory, the battle and victory of the Alma shed the first lustre upon the allied arms in the Eastern campaign. Some have contended, that by a coup de main Sebastopol might have been taken before the Russian troops who fought on the Alma could have rejoined the ‘garrison, but this is a question respecting which much may be said for and against, with equal plausibility. The allies, however, strongly entrenched themselves on the southern side of the fortress. Incapacity and neglect then told a tale of suffering, but in the midst of all our disasters and decimation by famine and disease, the 5th of November saw one of the most brave and bloody battles which the pages of modern history have had to record. An army of 8,000 British troops, surprised by a force of 60,000 men, in the midst of a dense fog, — manfully and heroically held their ground; and with the assistance of a French force, the immense mass of the Czar’s serfs were swept on to defeat or death. The next great battle—that of the Tchernaya — was also one of surprise, and the glory of beating an immensely superior Russian force belonged, on this occasion, to the arms of France and Sardinia. But the glory which the allies have achieved during the siege of this redoubtable fortress have been already chronicled and read, and we must pass on to the recent brilliant success which has placed these frowning bastions in our possession.
The details of the capture of fortresses by storm or assault, are very similar in their narration. As at Seringapatam, at Ciudad Rodrigo, and at Badajoz, we have brave men advancing, under a heavy fire and bombardment, to the works of the enemy, or to the ”imminent deadly breach;” amid the roaring of cannon and the smoke of battle, fearless hearts stream up the walls—the contest, perhaps, rages for awhile on the parapets, and then the harvest of death is over—the assault has failed—or the surrender has taken place. In the great siege and capture—we are glad we can write those words—of Sebastopol, we have had all the usual operations of approaches by earthworks, trenches, and covert-ways on a prolonged and extensive scale; constantly we were told how the batteries and positions of the allies advanced, and how that network which was destined to effect the destruction and overthrow of the Russian power in the Crimea was gradually environing Sebastopol; and at last comes the assault itself,
A terrific bombardment and cannonade was kept up for three days —the “infernal fire,” as Gortschakoff calls it. The correspondent of the Times, alluding to the opening of this bombardment, says :—
The lines of the French trenches were at once covered as though the very clouds of heaven had settled down upon them and were whirled about in spiral jets, in festoons, in clustering bunches, in columns and in sheets, all commingled, involved together by the vehement flames beneath. The crash of such a tremendous fire must have been appalling, but the wind and the peculiar condition of the atmosphere did not permit the sound to produce any great effect on our camp; in the city, for the same reason, the noise must have been terrific and horrible. The iron storm tore over the Russian lines, tossing up, as if in sport, jets of earth and dust, rending asunder gabions, and ‘‘squelching” the parapets, or bounding over among the houses and ruins in their rear. The terrible files of iron, about four miles in front, rushed across the plain, carrying death and ruin with it, swept with its heavy and irresistible wings the Russian flanks, and searched their centre to the core. A volley so startling, simultaneous, and tremendously powerful was probably never yet uttered since the cannon found its voice.”
And then, at midday, long files of troops issue from the trenches, and from the various positions of the besiegers; and in spite of the thousand cannon of the besieged belching forth a storm of iron and fire at their ranks, onward they press. On each brow one unalterable resolution is written—”Conquest or death!” But if the ‘infernal fire” is alarming to the Russians, the work of the bayonet has still greater terrors to them, and precipitately they retreat before the allied attack; tier after tier of the Malakoff is abandoned to the French, and battery and position is surrendered on every side to the allies.
A few words respecting the Malakoff, about which so much has been said, will not be out of place. The Malakoff Tower is, as is well known, the highest point of the fortifications which defend Sebastopol. It is flanked on either side by the grand Redan, the object of the English attack, and the Redan of Careening Bay. Now, behind these forts the Russians had constructed a formidable second line of earthworks, heavily armed, which commanded all the works in front, with the exception of the Malakoff Tower, and this exception was due to the over care of the Russians, who, in their anxiety to strengthen the Malakoff, had built its works in three tiers, the one rising above the other, whereas the Redans were constructed with only one tier of guns.
The consequence of this was, that when the French swarmed on to the first tier of the Malakoff, the second tier saved them from being hurt by the fire of the works in the rear of the Tower; and, in like manner, when they attained the second tier, the third saved them in its turn. Consequently thousands of men thronged its ramparts, protected from the Russian fire. The combat raged on the flanks, where the enemy could only attack them with his musketry, and their own rifles and brilliant impetuosity were too much for him, Under the protection of a galling fire from the French, their sappers slipped round the work, threw up an entrenchment, and thus, effectually covered on all points the whole work was theirs.
After the true Muscovite fashion, the Russians now commenced to burn and destroy. They sunk or burnt their ships; mines exploded in every direction, and General Pelissier, in one of his despatches, describes the appearance of Sebastopol as presenting one vast circle of conflagration. In the retreat of the enemy across the bridge to the northern side, a terrible loss was sustained by the enemy. In large masses they poured across the river, abandoning their killed and wounded in the hurry of their flight, and the shot and shells of the allies dealing death among them at every step. Gortschakoff boasted that he had left nothing behind him but “blood-stained ruins.” But something more than these sad relics of a year’s contest was found. Vast military and naval stores, cannon, shells, gunpowder, docks, steam-engines, timber intended for defence works, and a large collection of war materiel of every description has fallen into the hands of the allies. The power of Russia in the Black Sea is thus completely crippled, and the huge arsenal which the Czar had constructed at so much labour and expense is wrested from him, we trust, forever; for it is to be hoped that diplomacy will not mar the results of this conquest by consenting to dishonourable terms of peace, and that nothing but the surrender in perpetuity of the whole Crimea will be accepted as a guarantee against future aggressions,
The French tri-colour and the English union-jack, however, now float triumphantly on the towers of Sebastopol; and there can be very little doubt that it will be some time before those national emblems will be displaced. Meanwhile the operations of the allied generals will doubtless render it necessary for the Russians to change their favourite system of military tactics. The most potent weapons of Muscovite warfare are flight and devastation, and of these means the enemy must be _ deprived. It was retreat and the destruction of their towns which saved the Russian empire from subjugation in 1812, There seems to be a strange analogy between the manoeuvres of the Muscovite generals, and the last syllable of their names, and this was observable in the campaign of 1812 as well as that of the present day. Wherever Bonaparte approached, he heard of some Balakoff, Kutusoff, or some other ”off,” who was sure to ”be off” before he could come up with him in the open field: and now we have Menschikoff, who has gone off altogether, and Gortschakoff, who in most cases has gone off as fast as he could.
The consequences of the fall of Sebastopol will be immense, both strategically and politically; but it must not be supposed that our present successes in the Crimea will terminate the war with Russia, There is still much to be accomplished. The experience of this war has taught us the lesson that to the powerful army with which we have to contend, the loss of men is a mere trifle; for, as quickly as one army has been slaughtered, another has come fresh into the contest; and therefore our interest is, to follow the enemy before he has time to throw up those formidable earthworks which have caused us such great sacrifices in the course of the siege.
From the recent address of the Czar to his army, we have no reason to anticipate any desire on the part of Alexander to make peace on any terms but those of his own dictation. The autocrat still expresses his resolve to persevere in this sanguinary contest, and says that he ”relies with confidence upon the firmness and courage of his faithful soldiers.” The allied powers must, therefore, vigorously follow up the advantages they have gained. The Czar must be met and vanquished in other parts of his dominions besides the Crimea, and the roar of our cannon must be heard in some portions of the enemy’s territory which are nearer the heart of his dominions.
ADVENTURES OF A RUSSIAN MARSHAL.
Marshal Munich, a German, made his first appearance in the field under the renowned Marlborough at Malplaquet. Strange adventures befel him. On a cold November morning in 1740, four years after forcing the lines at Perekop, he was the agent of a revolution in St. Petersburg; marching from the Winter to the Summer Palace, where he killed the Regent Biron in his bed, and transferred the reins of government to the Princess Anne of Brunswick. The year following a fresh revolution having placed the Empress Elizabeth on the throne, he stood on the scaffold in the capital, doomed to die. All sorts of offences were imputed to him, especially, as stated in the imperial manifesto, that in the first campaign in the Crimea he caused many Russian colonels, descended of ancient and noble families, to carry muskets, to their utmost ignominy. After being unrobed, however, he was informed that the capital sentence passed upon him was commuted to perpetual banishment, ”Pray,” said he in reply, ”give me my cap and wig again.” So saying, he buttoned up, arranged his long beard, and resigned himself to life. He trod the well-worn road to Siberia, where he passed twenty weary years of exile. Recalled by Peter III., one son and thirty-two grandchildren and great grandchildren met him as he approached the capital. In a few months the master who recalled him was deposed and strangled by his wife; but Munich managed to reconcile himself to the imperial murderess, Catherine II., and put into her head a scheme for driving the Turks from Constantinople, which he had meditated during his exile. He died at the advanced age of eighty-five, in 1767, the year previous to the commencement of the war which prostrated the Ottoman to the Russian empire.
