Crossman, however, wanted one last shot. He popped his head above the lip of the hill and sought his target. For a moment all he could see were grey uniforms. Then he picked out a clutch of men bearing the insignia of commissioned officers. Amongst them stood the grim-faced Major Zinski.
‘You don’t know it yet,’ whispered Crossman to himself, ‘but you’re a dead man, Major.’
‘What are you babbling about?’ asked Dalton-James, starting to drop down the slope. ‘Come on, man, stop wasting ammunition on a lost cause. I order you to follow me immediately, or you will jeopardize both our lives.’
Crossman ignored the order. He took careful aim. Then he squeezed the trigger.
Just at that moment Major Zinski turned away. He took the bullet in the back of his right shoulder. Crossman saw him jolt forwards. Then the major sagged a little, before being assisted by a lieutenant. He remained on his feet, turning again to look across at where the shot had come from.
‘Yes, it’s me you bastard!’ cried Crossman. ‘I hope that hurts! I hope that hurts like hell! I hope it bloody rots and you die slowly, in agony . . .’
He was able to shout no more because Dalton-James had caught hold of his coatee and was dragging him down. The pair of them half ran, half tumbled down the slopes after the retreating British soldiers. A line of 63rd, on reaching the bottom, covered the retreat of those behind, firing up at the Russians as once again they began poking their rifles and heads over the top of the hill. The British made an orderly retreat across the valley to where the 93rd were guarding the gorge.
In the end, although Crossman and Dalton-James had not retaken the redoubt, they knew the Russians had spiked the guns in No. 1 redoubt, which had saved them from being used again on the British regiments scattered in the North and South Valleys. Lives had been lost but many more lives had been saved. It would be some time before the captured guns were back in working order.
The battle was now at an end. The Russians had cut the Woronzoff Road, which would seriously hamper British supply lines. They also remained in control of No. 2 and No. 1 redoubts. There they stayed, advancing no further. The British for their part had gained some small advantage in that they had saved Balaclava harbour and safeguarded the most direct route to Sebastopol. The 4th Division went back to their lines outside Sebastopol, some six miles distant. Crossman and what remained of his ragged invalid army arrived in triumph at the hospital, where they regaled friends and acquaintances with the story of their feats. Later one of Dalton-James’s sergeants came and collected the Fergusons, taking them away.
Dalton-James made his report, furnishing himself with the major role in the attack on Canrobert’s Hill, and mentioning Crossman merely as ‘the sergeant who formed up the invalids to assist in the assault’. A complaint went in to General Buller that Crossman had disobeyed a direct order. Buller asked if Dalton-James wished to have Sergeant Crossman disciplined in the proper manner.
After considering this carefully, and deciding that giving Crossman a chance to describe the events on the hill was not a good idea, the lieutenant replied, ‘No, sir, but I would like my reprimand of Sergeant Crossman to go on record.’
‘Very well,’ said General Buller, but added severely, ‘But mark this, Lieutenant. Crossman is our mongrel. We treat him as such because it suits our purpose. He goes into the enemy camp and brings us back scraps which often turn out to be highly valuable. You cannot expect a mongrel to behave as obediently as a good thoroughbred hunting hound. One thing or the other. An obedient bird-dog, or a mongrel.’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Dalton-James, realizing that he was being rebuked. ‘I see. In that case . . .’
‘I shall treat this conversation as if it had never occurred.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Crossman went back to his bed. For him the great action of the day had been his stand with the 93rd. He had taken part in the battle, the battalion he had fought with – which just happened to be his father and brother’s regiment – had been the victors. He felt supremely happy. Despite his hatred for his father he was glad to have fought with his brother. In later years perhaps he could reveal his secret to James, and the pair of them could bask in that warm glow of comradeship which is only felt by men who have fought the same action side by side, and are alive to recount their deeds.
Later, however, Major Lovelace came to him and told him the appalling tragedy of the Light Brigade’s charge down the valley into the mouths of the Russian guns.
‘Those poor devils,’ Lovelace said. ‘They were sent like sheep to the slaughter.’
‘What a terrible thing,’ said Crossman. ‘What is happening now? Are the Russians overrunning our positions?’
‘No, they’ve been halted, but it’s a mess as usual. They still occupy the Causeway Heights, which as you know gives them control of the Woronzoff Road. You probably know the 4th Division finally arrived, after a tardy start, and a little later the Guards and another two Highland regiments, the 42nd and 78th. Some French troops joined in at the end too.’
‘The French had little to do with it all?’
‘They were not given a great deal of choice. However, the Chasseurs d’Afrique made a courageous charge on the Russian guns and cavalry in the North Valley. They fought well and deserve credit for allowing the Light Brigade a safer passage back to their lines after the charge.’
Crossman was desperately searching for some good out of all this mess.
‘But the rest of the 4th Division? Cathcart engaged with the Russians successfully?’
‘As I said, Cathcart’s division came down over the col, after being ordered not to use the Woronzoff Road. They went along the Causeway Heights, with the Rifle Brigade skirmishing for them, to recapture the redoubts. The first two redoubts were empty, the guns either missing or spiked. This is after the Light Brigade’s charge, of which at the time Cathcart knew nothing.
‘No. 3 redoubt was still occupied, which P Battery and the 4th between them managed to recover. I’m told that Captain Ewart, one of the staff officers, was with the 4th Division and he went out to scout the ground and found dead a Captain Nolan, another staff officer. Near to him was Captain Morris, of the 17th Lancers, badly wounded but still alive, and also a trooper from the 5th Dragoon Guards, one of the Heavy Brigade, with his face smashed in. Ewart eventually had them all brought back.’
‘This Morris, and the dragoon, will they live?’
‘The surgeon is hopeful in both cases. The dead man, Nolan, is apparently the rider who took the message to Lord Lucan, ordering the charge.’
‘You can’t blame the messenger.’
Lovelace said, ‘No, I suppose not. Anyway, we’ve reached a bit of a stalemate. The Russian advance has been halted, but they’re staying put. And we’ve lost a third of the Light Brigade in one damn charge. It doesn’t appear to be a victory for either side, but the 93rd put up a good show and the Heavy Brigade handled their part brilliantly.’
Crossman said proudly, ‘I stood with the 93rd.’
Lovelace raised his eyebrows. ‘Did you, by damn? I envy you, Sergeant.’
‘I think I’m pretty pleased with myself,’ said Crossman, smiling. ‘The Rangers didn’t get much of a go at Alma, so I’m glad to be of use to someone.’
‘Of use?’ exclaimed Lovelace. ‘Man, you’re one of my most important people. One of the first too. I’m hoping to build up quite a network of men like you, who go out and bring back useful information, do useful deeds. Of course you’re of use, damn you. Just because you don’t march in a straight line and shoot when you’re told to, doesn’t mean you’re useless.’
Crossman said to his patron, not without feeling some discomfort, ‘Yes, but it’s all under the sheets, isn’t it? It feels tainted somehow.’
‘Not to me, it doesn’t,’ replied Lovelace, taking no offence whatsoever. ‘This is the stuff of the future, if I’m not mistaken. Weapons are becoming too destructive for my liking. Look what we have with us here at the
Crimea. Massive armaments: 24-pounders, 32-pounders, huge mortars, 8-inch howitzers. Each one capable of blowing a company of men sky high. Reduce a battalion to legs and arms in no time.
‘Information. That’s what’s going to be important in the future. One will need to know when and where to strike, the enemy’s exact strength, the disposition of his artillery, et cetera. The Lord Raglans have had their day. They should consider becoming vicars or deacons in some country parish, because that’s their method of thinking. According to them we mustn’t do anything sordid, like trying to discover who and what it is we’re up against. We must go in blind.
‘What rubbish. The enemy will certainly find out about us, so we need to find out about the enemy. We need to become more efficient at sabotage, at destroying him from within. War is no longer a deadly game, it’s a serious business.’
He paused for thought, before adding, ‘And I’ll tell you another thing, Sergeant Crossman, ordinary soldiers will soon be demanding to know what they’re fighting for.’
Crossman shook his head. ‘You won’t get men to fight any harder than these men have here. They fought magnificently at the Alma. And from what I’ve seen, and you’ve told me, they did so again today. How could you get a soldier to give more than he has here in the Crimea, living under appalling conditions, yet going out and giving his all? I can’t see it.’
‘Well, neither can I,’ replied Lovelace, cheerfully, ‘but I believe the time will come when questions will be asked by the common soldier – and will have to be answered.’
When Lovelace had left, Rupert Jarrard arrived to give his version of the events. He said the women were out on the battlefield now, sorting through the corpses, looking for dead husbands and useful clothing. The Light Brigade were moving camp, he said, to some other place in order to lick their wounds and try to recover.
‘All in all,’ said the American, ‘I would say it’s been a busy day for the cavalry.’
‘The infantry played their part,’ Crossman said, a little miffed.
‘Yes, but even then the cavalry had a role. Not on the side of the allies, that’s true, but it was Russian cavalry which charged the 93rd Highlanders. You forget I’m an impartial observer, a foreigner and a newspaper correspondent to boot. I just look on and congratulate the winner.’
‘If you congratulate the Russians, Rupert, I’ll call you out, so help me,’ said Crossman.
‘In your state?’ laughed Jarrard. ‘You couldn’t call out a cross-eyed rabbit.’
‘When I’m not so ill, I’ll call you out.’
‘You know full well where my sympathies really lie. I’m just giving you the official standpoint. Where’s that nurse of yours, by the way? I hear she saw everything from the top of the ridge. She must have enjoyed the bloodbath.’
Crossman shook his head. ‘She loves a battle and that’s the truth . . .’
Rupert Jarrard became serious. ‘You knew her before, didn’t you – before all this.’
‘I knew her very well, Rupert, in every sense.’
Jarrard looked thoughtful. ‘I see. What happened?’
‘Oh, bad timing I think you’d call it. Anyway, she’s not the sort of woman who likes waiting around, no matter what the prize. I expect she married Durham for many reasons, one of them probably pique, but most of them good solid ones which men like you and I might respect if she ever let us know them.’
Lovelace came back into the room then, his expression showing he was deep in thought.
‘More problems, sir?’ asked Crossman.
‘Not exactly, Sergeant,’ replied Lovelace, more formal in front of a third person. ‘We’ve discovered a Mr Upton, the son of a Colonel Upton, a gentleman who left England and was employed by the Czar. He’s here now, having come out of Sebastopol with his wife and children – four pretty little urchins. They chatter away in English like sparrows.’
‘Sparrows speak English?’ said Jarrard.
Lovelace laughed. ‘Anyway, this Upton fellow is offering us lots of information on the disposition of the troops and the defences of Sebastopol. As you are probably aware, the situation has not changed with regard to the city – we still have it under siege – there has been no push to penetrate its walls. Apparently this Upton is an engineer and built the greater part of those defences before Colonel Todleben took over the work.’
‘So where’s the problem?’ asked Crossman.
‘The problem, my dear sir, is whether to believe him or not. He may have more to gain by giving us false information.’
‘How complicated this business of spying is,’ said Crossman, settling back down on his bed. ‘And you say it isn’t sordid, sir? I think it’s quite messy when you can’t tell your friends from your enemies. For myself, I believe the man is genuine.’
‘How so?’ asked Lovelace, and Jarrard looked eager to know the answer to this one too.
‘Because he brought his family out with him. If he were working for the Czar he would have left them under Russian protection. And anyway, it takes a lot for a man to go against the country of his birth, even if those whom he has much to be thankful for are his country’s enemies.’
‘You make a lot of sense, Sergeant, as usual.’
Perhaps, thought Lovelace, the civilian Upton could bring about the breakthrough in the siege where all the military strategists had failed.
21
Mrs Durham stayed on the ridge until evening, staring at the valley below. One of her followers brought her a shawl and entreated her to come down, but she would not. She could not leave those men on the plain, before they were safely gathered in, both Russian and British. Even as the corpses were being collected, the scavengers were creeping through the twilight, robbing the bodies. Occasionally a shot would ring out, when some infuriated soldier fired at these shadowy creatures, as they skulked across the blood-drenched valley.
Where these scavengers came from she had no idea, but it was the same at every battle. They seemed to manifest themselves out of rocks and stones, emerging perhaps from caves or forests. Dark, hunched, sexless beings. They took everything and anything which was lying loose, from weapons to wallets, even scraps of food from the pockets of the corpses. They would be there all night, working assiduously until the dawn’s rays illuminated their grisly business and they had to slink back from whence they came. Dead horses would be stripped of their tack. Boots would be pulled from dead feet.
Supernatural creatures, they seemed; out of a nightmare.
The spoils of the battle, the armaments, were traditionally the property of the winner. In this case, however, there had been no winner, and the scavengers reaped much of the harvest. The two sides were more interested in rescuing their wounded and bringing in the dead than gathering weapons.
Injured horses had to be put out of their misery.
Finally, as darkness fell, Mrs Durham let herself be persuaded to go down. She went with some young officers to a tent where there was some food and wine. She could touch no food, but she drank a little of the wine. Finally, very late, she asked to be escorted to her quarters. She had been given a small house at the north end of Kadikoi village. When she arrived Durham was on duty and she found her own bed.
Unable to sleep, she slipped out again, and went to Crossman’s hovel, hoping that Major Lovelace was not staying there that night. She sorely needed the comfort of Crossman’s arms around her.
He was alone and awake, writing by the light of a guttering candle. He had been smoking his chibouque and the long, curved pipe lay across the top of the table.
‘You’ll ruin your eyes,’ she said to him. ‘What’s so important at this time of night?’
‘A letter to my mother,’ he said. ‘I wanted to tell her my father and brother are well. They will not think to write quickly and the battle will be reported in the newspapers very soon. That Russell is no sluggard.’
‘What a thoughtful son you are,’ she said smiling. ‘Have you had any visitors?’
‘Rupert Ja
rrard has been. I did not want to speak of the battle so soon afterwards. I’m sure he’ll make a great deal of the Light Brigade’s charge in his copy and I did not want to get into a quarrel about it. We talked of engineering instead.’
‘Of course you did. And marvellous inventions.’
‘Yes.’
‘But not women.’
‘Not really,’ he said, peering at her in the dim light. ‘Should we have done?’
‘A lot of men might have done. I once knew a brigadier-general who spoke of nothing else. Actually, he was really only a colonel.’
Crossman stared at this lady with a sad face, feeling a great fondness for her at that moment.
‘Make up your mind,’ he said smiling. ‘General or colonel?’
‘Both,’ she replied. ‘He was in the Guards. You know they often hold a double rank. His regimental rank was colonel, but his army rank was brigadier-general. One of these quirks of the military. They must have crises of identity, those Guards officers, not knowing who or what they are sometimes.’
‘Yes, I must confess I don’t ponder on such things, but I must remember to tell Rupert about that particular idiosyncrasy. It’s the sort of thing he enjoys shaking his head over, when trying to understand us military men. He left early, but I’m afraid I could not sleep.’
‘You too? Shall we go to bed? Not for anything. Just to hold each other for a while.’
He stared at her face. ‘I knew you would not have liked it – that slaughter out there.’
‘Others thought differently, did they?’ she said, lifting her chin. ‘They believed that terrible carnage would fire my lust? Oh, you need not deny it. I know what they think of me. Much of it is true, but certainly I could feel nothing but horror after watching those poor boys ride to their deaths. It was truly the most ghastly thing I’ve had to witness.’
The Valley of Death Page 22