JOSEPH: Maybe. Maybe.
Sequence 3 – The Crimea
Near Balaclava, 17th October, 1854. In the distance a large force of Russian cavalry is manoeuvring back and forth. In the foreground a large force of British cavalry is advancing at a walk and trot. The troopers are chatting among themselves as they ride.
TROOPERS: Glory be, we’re going to have a smack at ’em at last. We’ll show those Russki swine who’s master. About time too. Who do they think they are? Our turn now, eh?
SERGEANT: (From near by) No talking in the ranks. And watch your dressing there. Smartly now. Sit up straight and take a pride in it.
OFFICERS: (From out in front) Halt! Halt the 17th. Halt the Scots Greys. Halt the 11th.
The entire cavalry division halts.
SERGEANT: Right, settle yourselves, lads. Remember they’re watching you. Prepare to charge. Now’s the time to say your prayers. Listen to your orders, listen to the trumpeter, and do what you’re told. Now, all quiet. Steady. And God bless us all.
Some moments pass in silence.
NOLAN: (Muttering) What the devil are you waiting for, Lord Lucan, you great ninny, you aristocratic booby, is it reinforcements from God’s angels you’re wanting? (To colleague) Will you just look at that ground now, boy, and tell me if you ever saw country better suited for a cavalry charge?
COLLEAGUE: You’re right, Lew, it’s ideal.
NOLAN: No narrow lanes, no woods, not as much as a damn hedge to jump, and as for the going, you couldn’t wish for better at Newmarket. And we’re all here. What’s the matter with Lord Look-On? God, it’s driving me mad.
COLLEAGUE: Keep your voice down.
More moments pass. Then the Russian cavalry in the distance start booing, jeering, laughing. Their trumpets can be heard.
NOLAN: The bastards are about to withdraw. I’ll not stand it, so I won’t.
He gallops off.
We are up with LORD LUCAN’s headquarters group, half a dozen Officers with orderlies.
STAFF CAPTAIN: They’ll be forming column in a minute, sir. In order to retire.
COLONEL: Lord Lucan, I beg you, order the charge before it’s too late.
LUCAN: I know your feelings, colonel, but you must know I cannot charge. I must follow what Lord Raglan has laid down. The Commander-in-Chief has stated most categorically that I must in no circumstances attack.
COLONEL: He’s not here now, sir. It’s a golden opportunity to deal a deadly blow.
LUCAN: Colonel, I have my orders.
NOLAN: (Approaching) Lord Lucan . . . Lord Lucan . . .
LUCAN: Who’s this fellow? (To NOLAN) Who are you, sir?
NOLAN: Captain Nolan, at your service, my lord. Now if no one else will do so, I have to tell you to your face that by failing to attack the enemy when he’s at our mercy you have neglected your duty, sir. Whatever your orders may have been, the responsibility of taking the war to the enemy is paramount and overriding.
LUCAN: How dare you, sir. Pray withdraw immediately.
NOLAN: You’re supposed to be the general commanding the cavalry division, not a damn nursemaid. Back there are some of the finest soldiers in the world, and you’re letting them just sit and chew their nails. You’re a disgrace!
The last speech is broken into by protests, etc., from LUCAN, COLONEL and STAFF CAPTAIN. NOLAN’s last words are shouted as he is hustled away.
LUCAN: I’ve a mind to have that insolent Irishman court-martialled.
COLONEL: I think it would do no good, my lord.
LUCAN: As I put it in my recent memorandum: It is not the duty of light cavalry needlessly, without authority, to engage the enemy.
COLONEL: Just so, my lord. Shall I have the Retire sounded?
LUCAN: Thank you, colonel, if you would.
COLONEL: (To TRUMPETER) Sound Retire.
TRUMPETER: Sir.
The trumpet-call rings out.
The waiting British cavalry hear the trumpet-call from the front.
The men are furious.
TROOPERS: The Retire! I can’t believe it. Damn that cowardly swine Lucan to hell! Some general. Lord Look-On is right. We’d have cut ’em to pieces. Aren’t we ever going to get a smack at ’em?
SERGEANT: (Shouting) Silence in the ranks! (To captain) You can’t blame ’em, sir.
CAPTAIN: (Shouting) Squadron will move to the right in column. Squadron will retire, 3 Troop leading. Walk march. Smartly there! (To himself ) Oh God.
Fade out cavalry moving at walk.
Sequence 4 – London
Official building in Whitehall or somewhere. CECIL is walking along a corridor on the way to his Office. DANVERS comes up.
DANVERS: Good morning, my lord.
CECIL: Morning, Danvers. Has the mail from the Crimea arrived?
They walk along the corridor together.
DANVERS: On your desk, sir.
CECIL: The only thing in this whole mess and misery that seems to work is the mail service.
DANVERS: They say bad news travels fast, sir.
They enter CECIL’s Office.
CECIL: They’re right there. (Opens packet) But for the electric telegraph we might still be living in a fool’s paradise.
DANVERS: I hear, my lord, that in a few months we shall be able to get our news direct from Balaclava.
CECIL: If we still have anybody there to send it. (Reading) Oh dear.
DANVERS: I’ll leave you, sir.
CECIL: Don’t go far.
DANVERS goes.
CECIL: Oh, Lew, you are a positive wonder. More than just a clever fellow with a bribe. How do you do it? It’s supernatural.
NOLAN: (Voice fades up) Greetings to my pious friend. Our bishop here is in very bad odour. Two days ago our loyal clergy were all keyed up to spread enlightenment among the heathen. It was a perfect opportunity. But alas, my lord bishop hummed and ha’d and did nothing. Our clergy were furiously disappointed. I myself remonstrated with my lord, who retorted with dignity that he had specific orders from my lord the archbishop to refrain from any attempt to spread the holy word without specific orders. What can a true believer hope to do?
Our clergy are in a very bad state, the kind of sullen discontent that precedes real trouble. Unless they get the chance soon to do something effectively evangelical their spirit will be lost. This is very urgent. Please advise me. Your reverend friend and brother. PS The bishop from Wales is as usual. He awaits the coming of his yacht from England with his French cook on board.
CECIL: The bishop from Wales? Oh – Cardigan, of course!
Knock at door.
CECIL: Come.
DANVERS enters.
DANVERS: From Lord Clarendon’s office, my lord, by special messenger.
CECIL: Thank you, Danvers.
DANVERS goes.
CECIL: (Opens envelope. Reads) ‘I thought you might like to see the enclosed. Please understand that it is a matter of the strictest confidence between us. G.V.’ Thank you, George. Now—
PEMBERTON: (Voice fades up) Our man reports that Count Rogachev seems most interested and well informed as to the state of training and morale of our troops in the Crimea, with particular reference to our cavalry. This is no academic interest of his but an essential feature of his scheme to bring about a Russian invasion of India. A plan for this has been laid before the Imperial High Command, but our man is still unable to learn the proposed date of the move. What seems certain is that Rogachev sees as vital to his plan the supposed, or real, disinclination, or inability, of our troops to resist a determined and forceful adversary, especially . . .
CECIL: Especially where cavalry is concerned. Indeed. What else?
We are in a beau-monde London house during a party. Men and women are talking and moving about, e.g. up and down staircase.
HERBERT: Well, my dear Cecil, this is most pleasant, happening to run into you like this.
CECIL: It’s good of you to say so, Herbert. For me, it’s more than pleasant. You’re the very ma
n I was hoping to see.
HERBERT: You don’t say. How delightful. Well, what can I do for you in the next couple of minutes?
CECIL: Very quickly – you remember this fellow Rogachev I was asking you about?
HERBERT: Rogachev? Oh yes, that Russian count fellow. What about him?
CECIL: That scheme of his for the invasion of you-know-where. What do the Cabinet make of it?
HERBERT: Make of it? They make nothing of it, Cecil. If they’ve heard of it at all, they’ve forgotten it.
CECIL: They think it of no account?
HERBERT: None whatever. Heaven knows what they do think of account. Keeping income tax down to sixpence in the pound, most likely. Well, must be off.
His voice is lost for a moment in the noise of the party. Then we hear it again.
HERBERT: (Calling) Oh Cecil!
CECIL: (Approaching) Yes, Herbert?
HERBERT: Just remembered – I was talking to a fellow in the Horse Guards the other day, and your friend Rogachev came up in conversation. Apparently he tried to get into our Light Dragoons some years ago, and they turned him down. No leg for a boot or some such jargon. That’s all.
CECIL: My dear Herbert, that is most interesting.
HERBERT: (Fading) Just thought I’d mention it.
CECIL is in his Office with DANVERS.
CECIL: (Dictating) The Muscovite priest we spoke of . . . was once refused entry to one of our seminaries. Full stop. Hence perhaps his contempt for our clergy. Stop. Your remarks on their low spirits are noted. Stop. Recommend you do your utmost to encourage some demonstration of their superiority to the ungodly, comma, whatever your bishop or archbishop may say. Full stop. No, comma: or not say. Full stop. Would you read the last phrase back, Danvers?
DANVERS: Whatever your bishop or archbishop may say, or not say.
CECIL: Or not say. Whatever Lord Lucan or Lord Raglan may order you to do, or fail to order you to do. That is a little strong perhaps.
DANVERS: Shall I strike it out, my lord?
Pause.
CECIL: No. No, keep it. Address to Captain Lewis Nolan – HQ HM Forces – Crimean Expeditionary Force. Priority. And that means priority with you too, Danvers, so down to the telegraph Office you go like a bullet.
DANVERS: Immediately, my lord.
He leaves.
CECIL: No leg for a boot!
He collapses in laughter.
Sequence 5 – The Crimea
The British forces outside Sebastopol. Before dawn on the 25th October. A bitterly cold night, wind howling, sentries stamping their feet, etc. NOLAN’s tent. MORRIS approaches it.
NOLAN: That you, Ivor?
MORRIS: It’s me right enough.
He enters the tent.
MORRIS: What a night!
NOLAN: At least we’re out of the wind in here.
MORRIS: Did you hear we lost an officer last night? Major Willet. Dead of cold or exposure or whatever you call it.
NOLAN: I can believe it. Do you know, I wish I was in Balaclava town this minute. They’ve got fires down there. Girls too for all I know. And liquor.
MORRIS: I wish I was in Sebastopol, in the bloody fortress with the Russkis. Snug as a bug in a rug I’d be. With the occasional trifling inconvenience of a British shell possibly disturbing my slumbers.
NOLAN: Without the faintest chance of a British soldier coming to stir me out of ’em. When will they learn? It doesn’t matter how long you bombard a place, you might as well be whistling at it unless you send a storming party in, horrible men with swords and bayonets and pop-guns to kill whoever’s stirring. I wonder if the point ever strikes that perfumed idiot Lord Cardigan.
The British siege-guns are bombarding the Russian fortress of Sebastopol. LORD CARDIGAN and a couple of officers ride up.
CARDIGAN: Ah, I see. Those fellows down there are our men, and they are firing at the Russians. Is that correct?
OFFICER: That’s correct, my lord.
CARDIGAN: Yes. Well, why don’t we drive them away?
OFFICER: We seem not to have the forces sufficient to undertake such a difficult operation, my lord.
CARDIGAN: I have never in my life seen a siege conducted on such principles. Or lack of them. Without an assault this cannonade is useless. Huge sums of money have been blown away in ammunition; time, which is of the most vital importance, has been squandered, and nothing whatever has been gained. What is to be done next?
OFFICER: We await orders from Lord Raglan, sir.
CARDIGAN: No doubt you do, my boy. Well, it’s back on board the Dryad for me. Some miles away, it’s true, but I might as well be back in Whitehall for all the good I can do here. And at least on my yacht I can be dry and warm.
Back in NOLAN’s tent.
NOLAN: (Fade up) . . . and not counting the Sebastopol garrison, there must be twenty thousand Russian troops out there, infantry and cavalry and heaven knows how many guns.
MORRIS: Under General Liprandi, who it seems is an aggressive sort of customer.
NOLAN: I rather fancy the sound of him. It’s worth crossing swords with a bastard like that, if we ever get within ten miles of him.
MORRIS: The Lord will provide.
NOLAN: He’d better. Otherwise we’ll have to provide something ourselves.
MORRIS: You know, Lew, I’ve been thinking about your telegraph message from Robert Cecil. The last sentence, where he as good as told you to do anything you could to get our fellows a chance to hit the Russkis with everything they’ve got. Easy for him to talk like that in London, isn’t it? I mean—
NOLAN: Oh, the lad’s heart’s in the right place, but he’s never seen action.
MORRIS: Action, what action?
NOLAN: Sure, he’s no notion what inaction’s like either, British army-style, courtesy of Lord Look-On. Oh, it’s hopeless, Ivor.
MORRIS: The only thing he can think of to do is get us all out of bed an hour before dawn to ‘stand at our horses’. There’s the aggressive spirit for you.
NOLAN: Right, let’s go and stand at the poor nags. They must be as miserable as we are.
LUCAN and his staff walk their horses through the gloom.
STAFF OFFICER: All present and correct, my lord.
LUCAN: Thank you. Who’s that?
PAGET: (Calling as he approaches) George Paget here, Lord Lucan.
LUCAN: Good morning, Lord George. Lord Cardigan not appeared yet?
PAGET: I expect he’s still on his way from his yacht, sir. I’m deputizing for him. Getting quite used to it.
LUCAN: Let’s move on to the artillery emplacement. They may have news there.
They ride on.
PAGET: (Surprised) Hullo!
LUCAN: What is it?
PAGET: There are two flags flying from the staff. What does that mean?
STAFF OFFICER: Why, that must be the signal that the enemy is approaching.
PAGET: Are you quite sure?
A great cannonade of British [light] guns starts up. We hear sounds of battle but no close engagement.
LUCAN: If the Russians storm the heights there’s nothing between them and Balaclava but our cavalry.
PAGET: What are your orders for the Light Brigade, Lord Lucan?
LUCAN: Lord Raglan has done nothing, not even sent word. It must be our first duty to defend the approach to the town of Balaclava.
PAGET: Orders for the Light Brigade, sir!
LUCAN: Lord George, you will take the Light Brigade into reserve.
PAGET: My lord, please give us something to do, something active.
LUCAN: Kindly carry out my order at once. I will go forward with the Heavy Brigade and the Horse Artillery to make threatening demonstrations and using my guns as long as my ammunition lasts. Forward, the Heavy Brigade!
Bombardment. Two great explosions. Sounds of Turkish infantry in retreat.
STAFF OFFICER: Lord Lucan, most of our squadrons have come within musket range.
LUCAN: So I see. I must withdraw the whole
cavalry division to the slopes of the Causeway over yonder. Proceed by alternate regiments. Send an order to Lord George Paget.
Cavalry on the move.
CARDIGAN: Morning, Lord George. Beautiful day.
PAGET: It is now, my lord.
CARDIGAN: H’m. How goes it?
PAGET: Not well, sir. In fact damn badly. The Russians are out in overwhelming strength, all our gun emplacements have fallen, the Turkish troops have run for it, we’ve lost command of the heights, and it looks as though we’re going to lose Balaclava too. And the cavalry division has been moved out of the way.
CARDIGAN: That wretched Lucan again.
PAGET: Not this time, my lord, in fairness. specific orders from Lord Raglan. We were in an excellent position before. Now there’s only a few hundred Highland infantry under Sir Colin Campbell and a few dozen Turks to face the Russians.
CARDIGAN: I’ve no confidence in any of ’em.
Russian cavalry on the move.
LUCAN: On the order of Lord Raglan, eight squadrons of dragoons under General Scarlett are to be detached from the Heavy Brigade towards Balaclava to support the infantry.
CAMPBELL addresses his troops.
CAMPBELL: Men, remember there is no retreat from here. You must die where you stand. But for the moment you don’t stand at all. Everybody down flat and don’t get up till I give the word. And when you do get up, both ranks be ready to fire. We’ll give those Russkis the shock of their lives. Make sure every shot tells.
Russian cavalry charging.
CAMPBELL: On your feet, men! Front rank, aim! Fire!
Volley of musketry. Confusion among Russian cavalry.
CAMPBELL: Rear rank, aim! Fire!
More of the same.
CAMPBELL: Get back in line, there! Damn all that eagerness! Let ’em come to you! Front rank, aim! Fire!
More of the same, followed by Scottish cheers.
CAMPBELL: Had enough, you Russian dogs? Ay, get yourselves out of harm’s way while you can! I don’t blame you!
British cavalry on the move.
SCARLETT: Halt!
MAJOR: Looks as if we’re not needed here after all, General Scarlett.
SCARLETT: What do you mean, major? What about that lot up there?
MAJOR: But that’s the main body of the Russian cavalry, sir. Thousands of ’em.
Dear Illusion: Collected Stories Page 52