CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
A WELCOME DISCOVERY.
It was a new thing indeed for our hero to have real relatives, and thosewho may happen to have read these chapters, and are placed in a positionsimilar to his, will realise with what eagerness he hoped that it shouldturn out that he and Douglas McNeil were cousins.
True, Phil had had an adopted father and mother who, if not indulgent,were at least kind after their own way. But home life for him hadalways lacked that sympathy and that geniality which are the makings ofa happy family circle. Where all was austerity, Joe Sweetman's ruddy,smiling face had come like the sun to lighten the gloomy house. Nowonder that Phil took to him from the first, and no wonder that, nowthat the real secret of his birth seemed to be on the point ofdiscovery, in which case he would have friends, aunts, uncles, andcousins like others he met every day of his life, he was more than alittle excited. He and Douglas had many a chat over the possibility oftheir being relations, and before Scutari was reached the latter hadwritten a long letter of explanation to his parents, while Phil wrote toJoe and to Mr Western, telling of his new life and fortunes, and askingfor particulars of the place and the woman from whose house he had beenbrought many years before. Then, as nothing further could be done tosettle the matter, they dropped the subject by mutual consent.
A week after they left Balaclava the huge barracks which now served as ahospital for the sick and wounded British hove in sight, and by eveningPhil and his new friend were comfortably quartered in a small ward inwhich were three other officers. Fortunately neither was dangerously orseriously ill, though their wounds were sufficiently grave to make themincapable of active service for some time to come. Thanks, however, tohealthy constitutions they were rapidly recovering strength, andtherefore not in much need of attention. And it was well for them thatmatters were in such a satisfactory state, for the huge hospital, builton the quadrangular system, and with sides a quarter of a mile long, hadsome two miles and more of corridors and wards, all packed tooverflowing.
"I never saw such a thing," remarked Phil sadly, after he and Douglashad been placed in their cots. "The men are almost lying on top of oneanother, and it cannot possibly be good for them. This overcrowdingmust have a harmful influence on their wounds."
"You are right there," answered one of the other officers bitterly. "Iam a doctor, and I can tell you that the overcrowding and badventilation are killing the men in scores, and when to that trouble isadded the lamentable fact that the hospital staff is quite inadequate,and attendants are too few and far between, you can imagine whatsuffering there is."
"But surely there should be sufficient orderlies to nurse and look afterthe men?" exclaimed Douglas indignantly.
"Undoubtedly there should be," answered the doctor, a man of some fiftyyears of age; "but the fact remains that there are not nearly enough.Who is to blame I do not know. Probably the lack of system is the chiefcause of all our troubles, for without a regular system everything goesto the wall. It must be the case, especially when the strain comes, andit has come now with a vengeance. Men are simply falling sick inhundreds, and really you cannot be surprised, for as Balaclava is eightmiles from the trenches, it is almost impossible to keep up supplies,and in consequence the men are nearly starved. Then the storm destroyedall their warm clothing, and as the rains have now set in, and manyhours have to be spent in the earthworks, it means that our poor fellowsare nearly always wet through. I can tell you that, after serving inmany parts of the world, I have come to the conclusion that where anEnglishman cannot live it is not worth the while of others to go. Hecan put up with most things in the way of heat or cold, providing he iswell fed and clothed. But starve the strongest man, and see how quicklyhe will succumb to cold and exposure."
That this was true could not be doubted, for, continually drenched asour soldiers were, cut by icy blasts of wind, and almost starved, theyfell ill in vast numbers. Overworked by long hours in the damptrenches, and continually harassed by a musketry fire from therifle-pits, they flung themselves down upon the mud and greasy mire atnight, and snatched a few fitful moments of repose, wrapped in a blanketas worn out as themselves, and almost certainly dripping with moisture.
It was no one's fault, this lack of clothing and supplies. It was theabsence of a commissariat system of wide teaching power and with amplefunds at its command. Given a base in England, with men there to chooseand forward the necessary supplies in hired transports, there must stillbe others at the base in the invaded country to distribute what is sent,and yet again there must be more with clear brains and ready hands tobring those stores of food and clothing, and a thousand-and-one otherthings, to the very outskirts of the camp. Otherwise another burden isthrown upon your already hardly-taxed fighting regiments. And todistribute stores in this thorough manner, horses and carts arerequired, and, since the former cannot live on air, forage with which tofeed them. Horses, too, like men, are apt to sicken and die, especiallyif ill-fed and exposed to bitter winds; and therefore remounts arealways required, and these must often be sent for from far-offcountries, and brought in big transports specially fitted for thepurpose.
All this was admirably carried out in the Boer War of 1899-1900. Aperfect system of transport and supply had long before been arranged,and officers and men trained to carry it out. Those who have seen willgive unstinted praise, for supplies, remounts, clothing, everyconceivable thing, were obtainable, often brought to the front at thecost of no small amount of labour and forethought by those responsiblefor the work.
In the days of the Crimea there was no such system, and, to add toeverything, horses were extremely scarce, while eight long miles of mudintervened between the harbour of Balaclava and the trenches. Daily,men made beasts of burden of themselves, waded through the mud toBalaclava, and struggled back with food, which, when distributed, hadtoo often to be eaten in an uncooked state, for fuel was at a premium.
It is no wonder, then, that men were incessantly falling ill, and thatthe hospital at Scutari was thronged with soldiers, who died at analarming rate. Up to and during that November, one poor wretch died outof every two, for if there was no transport or supply system, there waslikewise no hospital organisation worthy of the name. Surgeons were fewand far between, and too much occupied in their work of mercy to be ableto give time to other matters. Thus, the hospital at Scutari, nevernoted for cleanliness, became a hovel of filth and insanitation, towhich the alarming death-rate gave ample, if painful, evidence.
Well was it for our poor soldiers that correspondents accompanied thatarmy. By their publications, and by aid of the telegraph, the cry ofthe dying soldier smote the heart of the British nation, and roused itto wrath and pity. A fund was raised, and, better than all, those sentout by whose aid it should be rapidly and systematically distributed.
Florence Nightingale, that grand lady of undying fame, instituted herband of nurses, and by her untiring energy and ready brain brought forthe first time some system and order into the management of the hospitalat Scutari.
With a glance she conquered the whole working staff, doctors readilygave over the conduct of affairs to her, and in a wonderfully shortspace of time the death-rate had fallen vastly, dirt was hustled fromthe buildings, unhealthy sanitary arrangements were swept away and moresuitable ones introduced, and last, but not least, a kitchen was builtby means of which a thousand special diets could be prepared.
Those who have fallen ill at home, and never ceased to fill the air withpraises and thanks to the attentive nurse who cared for them sodevotedly, can perhaps imagine what it means to some poor ailingsoldier, sick almost to death, and with only the rough surroundings ofwar about him, to have some gentle hand to nurse him. It is better thanall the delicacies under the sun, for where the womanly mind comes thematerial comforts will follow to a certainty.
Phil and Douglas did not stay long at Scutari. A consultation was heldon their cases, and it was declared that months must pass before theycould be fit for hard work
again. Accordingly they were sent on board atransport returning to England.
"I'm jolly glad to get away, Phil," exclaimed Douglas with a sigh ofrelief. "Of course I'd rather have been with the regiment, but I fullyrealise that our advisers are right, and that we both require a longrest and change. To tell you the truth, too, I am not altogether sorry.All the big affairs in the campaign seem to be over, and now ourfellows are having a miserable time in the trenches, waiting for thefortress to surrender. Besides, since we met, that little matter ofyour birth has puzzled me, and you can't tell, old fellow, how anxious Iam to have it settled, though I feel quite sure now that you are mycousin. Every time I look at you I see the resemblance to my mother andaunt and to myself."
"I agree with you there," answered Phil. "I've looked at myself moreattentively in the glass than ever before, and I think it is no fancy,but that there is in reality a similarity of feature. I trust it willbe proved that I am your cousin. I shall be a lucky fellow if it turnsout true."
"Perhaps you will be more fortunate than you imagine," said Douglas,with a gay laugh.
"Why? How?" asked Phil inquisitively.
"Oh! if you are my cousin, you will have little need to do hard work inthe future."
"Why? I don't understand you, Douglas," Phil answered doubtfully.
"Great goodness! old man, you will be quite a Croesus," Douglas replied,with a laugh. "To tell you the whole truth, my grandfather was overcomewith remorse, and, believing you would eventually be found, settled alarge sum of money on you--larger than on any of his other children. Mymother is one of the trustees of that fund, and I happen to know that itis now considerably swollen, having been most happily invested."
"It would be nice to have an independent income," Phil musedthoughtfully, "but I think, Douglas, that I would far rather have thenew relations. See what an interest they would give me in the future."
"Yes, I think they would, Phil, particularly the cousins. I believethere are some fifteen of the latter, and ten at least are girls, onebeing my sister. Oh yes, old fellow! I've no doubt there would be agreat amount of interest; for a young chap who wins his way from theranks by a series of plucky acts, and who, moreover, is a gentleman anda cousin too, must necessarily be of absorbing interest to newrelations."
Douglas laughed merrily, while Phil coloured hotly.
"I'm afraid I'm a shy fellow with girls," he stuttered, "but you'llstand by me, Douglas, won't you?"
"Rather, old man, and do my best to be of more interest than you,"laughed his friend. "Cousins, particularly of the fair sex, areexceedingly charming company. It'll be a regular picnic, old man."
And now, before lowering the gangway and landing Phil, Douglas, and Tonyon England's shore, let us briefly glance at the closing scenes of theCrimean war. In February, while our poor fellows were beginning torecover from their misery, and supplies, and even luxuries, were pouringinto the trenches, the Russians attacked the town and port of Eupatoria,close to which the Allies had first disembarked, and which was nowstrongly held by the Turks and commanded by the guns of the fleet. Thegrey-coated battalions were driven back with considerable loss.
And meanwhile, through all the dreary weeks, Allies and Russians crepttowards each other, cutting new trenches, sapping in all directions, andendeavouring to place their opponents at a disadvantage. On March 22nda huge sortie was made from Sebastopol upon the French line ofearthworks, while another column was launched at our right. Bothfailed, and the Russians retired with a loss of 1300.
Spring found the Allies in far better condition than they were earlierin the war, and particularly was this the case with the British.Supplies were now abundant, and, thanks to private enterprise, a railwayextended from Balaclava to the camp, and so saved the labour ofporterage.
Accordingly the siege was prosecuted with renewed energy, and on April9th another general bombardment of the fortress took place and continuedfor ten days, ten awful days for the Russians, for a few hours had beensufficient to reduce many of the fortifications, and, fearful of anassault at any moment, large reserves had of necessity to be kept closeat hand. Through the ranks of these unfortunate but truly devoted menthe iron hail poured, tearing them here and there and toppling masses ofmasonry on to them. In those terrible days 6000 or more of the enemywere killed or wounded, and if Scutari had been a sight to bring tearsto one's eyes, then the Assembly Rooms and other temporary hospitals inSebastopol were perfect shambles, while the streets and the road fromthe fortress were lined with unburied dead.
Thankful indeed must we of more modern days be for the safety which theGeneva Convention gives. A red-cross flag over a hospital renders itsacred, and, once wounded, soldiers of all civilised nations can relyupon rest and freedom from further injury. Thus out of awful sufferingsand loss of life we have seen that a new era of good has arisen. AGeneva Convention has sprung into being, and our army is provided withspecial departments for transport, supply, hospitals, and other matters,each ruled by a well-ordered system.
On May 22nd the French attempted to capture a new line of Russian workswhich commanded their own trenches, but were beaten back, though theirlosses were considerably less than the enemy's. On the same date acombined fleet sailed to the east, entered the sea of Azof, and took thetown of Kertch. They also destroyed and captured many ships engaged inbringing supplies to the Russian field-army, and wound up theiroperations by taking other towns, and destroying huge depots ofsupplies. On June 6th and 7th the fortress of Sebastopol was againsubjected to a fearful bombardment from 544 guns, and its walls andforts reduced to masses of debris. In the evening of the second day theFrench attacked and took a position known as the "White" works. Theythen, with the aid of the Turks, captured a fort of great strength, andnow for some time in existence, known as the Mamelon, while the Englishstormed and took others known as the "quarries". Thus the outer line ofRussian forts and trenches was in the hands of the Allies. But stillthe stubborn and unyielding enemy clung to the fortress. Thebombardment was resumed, and on the 18th the Allies assaulted the mainworks of the town, only to be driven back with heavy loss. After that,for many a day, they contented themselves with cutting their trenchesand approaches, and slowly approaching to the fortress, the object beingto get so close that their attacking-parties might rush across the openand reach the enemy before being swept away by the guns.
On 15th August a battle was fought close to the Mackenzie heights, inwhich the French proved victorious, the Russian field-army, with whomthey were engaged, retiring with heavy loss. On the 17th thebombardment of the fortress commenced again, and continued for somedays. It was renewed on September 5th, and continued till the 8th, whena gigantic and combined assault took place. At a terrible cost inkilled and wounded the Malakoff was taken and held by the French. Theremainder of the attack failed, the English being forced to retire fromthe Redan, while the French were driven from the little Redan andcurtain bastion. Next morning, after a defence of which all Russia maywell be proud, the enemy marched over a bridge built across the harbour,and retired in good order, leaving burning fuses to their magazines. Ofthese no fewer than thirty-five exploded with terrific noise and awfulresults, keeping the camp in a state of alarm for two whole days andnights, while fires blazed in every direction and lit the skies withtheir lurid flames.
And now a new phase of the campaign opened, for opposed to the Alliesthere was only a field-army. The two armies sat down facing oneanother, no battles of importance taking place; but in the meanwhile thedocks and arsenals of Sebastopol were blown up by our engineers.
Russia had lost heavily in men and money, and, moreover, Europe was inconceit against her. Nicholas had died on March 2nd, and now the newczar was prevailed upon to listen to reason. A treaty was drawn up andsigned in Paris on March 30th, by which, amongst other terms of peace,the Black Sea should be neutral in future, and no power should interferebetween the Sultan and his subjects. On April 2nd a last salvo ofartillery from the batteries on the
upland slopes announced that theCrimean war was over.
Phil did not return to Russia, for his wound proved more severe than wasat first imagined, while Douglas was still too lame to be fit for activeservice. They therefore remained in England.
There is little more to tell about them. Phil did not find Mr Westernaltered. Indeed he seemed more austere than ever, especially as hisadopted son had risen instead of going to the dogs, as he hadprophesied. But Joe was jubilant.
"Didn't I tell him you'd be no disgrace to him!" he cried, taking up hisfavourite position in front of the fireplace. "You've done well, Phil,my lad, and I am proud of you. Fancy, now! It seems to me only a yearago since you got into that scrape with the mayor. Ha, ha! what amischievous young monkey you were! And now you're an ensign in the30th, and have brave deeds to boast of. But there, you'll get conceitedif I praise you. No, my dear boy, old Joe is right glad to witness yoursuccess, and still more pleased to find that your relatives have turnedup. A year ago you were the adopted son of poor parents. Now you arethe long-lost orphan, the offspring of gentlefolks, and heir to a tidyfortune when you come of age. Besides--I was forgetting--there are thecousins, the girl cousins, Phil;" and with a roar of laughter he pinchedour hero's ear.
Phil had, indeed, to use a common expression, fallen on his feet. Hehad learnt that he was of no obscure parentage, and in addition, he hadmade some excellent friends amongst his relatives, in whose eyes he wasnow a young lion, covered with no small amount of glory.
Years rolled on in rapid succession, and in due time Phil reached theage of twenty-six, when he married his cousin Eva, Douglas McNeil'ssister.
When one meets him now, as he follows the hounds or stalks through thestreets of London, one unconsciously turns round and takes a secondlook, with the muttered remark, "What a fine, soldierly-looking fellow!"For he still stands as straight as an arrow, carrying his years easily,while his fine face and big, grey moustache give him a mostdistinguished appearance.
That Crimean veteran has many scenes to look back upon. He remembershis youth, his struggle to rise in the world, and the lifelong friendshe made in achieving his object. He recollects with a happy smile hismarriage, the toddlers who one by one made their appearance, only togrow up and flit away like fledglings to form nests of their own. Yes,he remembers all--that happy, gay old bachelor Joe, and his staunch,true-hearted Tony. Sometimes, too, when he sits in his chair andslumbers, he dreams that he is once again in the Crimea, and that hiscomrades, having heard of the laurels he has won, are still carrying himshoulder-high, and calling him "A Gallant Grenadier."
The End.
A Gallant Grenadier: A Tale of the Crimean War Page 21