The Brave Captains

by V. A. Stuart

  “Temporarily, Mr Hazard. There was a call for volunteers from my branch to do duty ashore and”—Angus Fraser shrugged his ample shoulders—“I answered it. A trifle foolish of me at my age, I fear, but I am a Scotsman, as you are aware and, since Sir Colin Campbell is a countryman of mine and in command of the Highland Brigade … och, well, here I am! Ah …” He hesitated, eyeing Phillip searchingly. “I observe that you are limping. Is that old wound of yours giving you trouble?”

  “I had a fall and bruised it, Doctor. But it’s nothing, I—”

  “Should I not judge whether that is the case, Mr Hazard?” the Surgeon put in. “Come … our field hospital is but a step from here and there’s been no call on my professional services since I landed early this morning, so let me take a wee peek at that leg of yours, will you not? ’Twill give me something to occupy my time and you’ll be needing the dressing changed, in any event.” He smiled, a hand on Phillip’s arm urging him forward. “This way.”

  It would have been a waste of breath to argue with him, so Phillip suffered himself to be led to the field hospital noticing, not altogether to his surprise, that Able-Seaman O’Leary was grooming his horse with a great show of energy nearby, although his orderly was at pains to avoid his gaze.

  Angus Fraser took his time, subjecting the leg to careful examination when he had cut away the dressing.

  “It is not too bad, Mr Hazard,” he stated at last. “Whoever cared for this knew his business … the wound is clean and would heal fine if you were to lie up with it a day or so. But I fear it is little use my suggesting that you return to your ship, is it?”

  Phillip shook his head. “No, Dr Fraser, none at all.”

  “So I thought. Mind, I could order you to go sick … you are not my commander now, Mr Hazard, and this wound could give you a great deal of trouble, if you don’t rest it. However …” The doctor was smiling, already busying himself with a fresh dressing. “I will pad the leg well for you and offer you the advice, for what that is worth, to use it as little as circumstances permit. Horseback riding is not the exercise I should prescribe for you, but at least riding is better for you than walking. And a tot of rum might help to ward off fatigue, while I am applying this bandage.” He called and an elderly pensioner, who was on duty as orderly, brought the rum, which Phillip swallowed gratefully.

  “How are things aboard the Trojan?” he asked.

  “Well enough, Mr Hazard. Our new commander might be considered a taut hand by some but he is just and a fine seaman, by all accounts. His health is not of the best, though … he has not permitted me to make a proper examination of him, but he has sought my aid for a mild digestive malaise. Like yourself, Mr Hazard, he is anxious not to miss a chance of action. There is a rumour that some of the steam frigate squadron may be ordered to Eupatoria, the Trojan among them, but we have heard nothing definite. There …” He completed the dressing, regarding his handiwork with pardonable approval. “Although I do say it myself, I am not a bad hand at bandaging. This should protect the wound from inadvertent injury and enable you to perform your duties adequately. But the leg is very badly bruised and a good deal swollen—I cannot promise that you will be free of discomfort for the next few days, I’m afraid.”

  Phillip sat up. “Thank you, Doctor, it feels very much easier now.”

  “I’ve done nothing but renew the dressing,” Angus Fraser assured him. “You owe the fact that you can walk at all to whoever treated it for you yesterday. Was it a military surgeon?”

  “No. It was a woman—a young woman in the camp of the 93rd, as it happens. My horse took a tumble over one of the tent-ropes, due entirely, I’m afraid, to my lack of attention,” Phillip confessed.

  “A young woman, eh? Do you know her name, by any chance? We could make use of the services of so excellent a nurse here, should the expected Russian attack take place.”

  “Well …” Phillip hesitated, frowning. “She told me that her name was Catriona Lamont, Doctor, but when I called at the camp half an hour ago, the other women denied her existence. It was odd, really … Miss Lamont, was obviously a young lady of education and breeding, not the type usually to be found among the soldiers’ women, and I’d be prepared to swear that not only did she exist, she also tended my leg. But …” He shrugged. “The others told me I was light-headed and must have imagined her! A sergeant’s wife, a Mistress MacCorkill—according to them—was my good Samaritan.”

  “Odd indeed, Mr Hazard,” Surgeon Fraser agreed. He helped his patient to rise. “If there is time, I will try to solve the mystery for you by calling at the camp myself. But you, I think, should get yourself a meal and as much rest as your duties will permit … not that you will get a hot meal anywhere in camp, I fear. Sir Colin will have no fires lit, I’m told. I requested coffee when I first reached here but the orderly said that there was no boiling water and, in any case, the coffee beans supplied to the army are green! Imagine sending green coffee beans to an army in the field … it beats all, does it not?”

  It seemed to be typical of the British Army’s muddled commissariat arrangements, Phillip thought. He thanked Surgeon Fraser and, acting on his advice, went to the naval mess tent, where he was served with an unappetizing meal of cold salt pork and ship’s biscuit. Commander Heath was not there but he learnt from Niger’s First Lieutenant that Lord Lucan’s son, Lord Bingham—who acted as his aide-de-camp—had been sent to Lord Raglan’s headquarters on the plateau, with a warning of the impending attack on Balaclava.

  “It seems that the Turkish spy’s report is being accepted as accurate,” Lieutenant Dunn told him. “And that we shall be attacked at first light by at least twenty-five thousand Russians. I am ordered to man my guns throughout the night and I believe the 93rd are sleeping again in their battle lines, each man with his musket beside him, and the sentries doubled. Well …” He yawned resignedly. “I must relieve my commander. Let us hope, Hazard, that young Bingham’s mission is successful and that Lord Raglan will send us reinforcements from the Upland before first light!”

  Phillip paid a visit to Sir Colin Campbell’s farmhouse head-quarters before retiring but the Brigade Major, Colonel Sterling, told him that Lord Bingham had not yet returned from the Upland.

  “Sir Colin is making his nightly inspection of the 93rd’s lines and Lord Lucan is with him, Mr Hazard … they will probably have met and talked to Admiral Lyons when he was on his way back to his ship.” He added kindly, as Captain Shadwell had done, “Rest that leg of yours, won’t you? You will be sent for if you are needed.”

  Conscious that this was good advice, Phillip took it. Lying on the bare ground, in his tent, he slept from sheer exhaustion the instant he closed his eyes… .

  CHAPTER FIVE

  1

  The morning of October 25—the anniversary of the Battle of Agincourt, although few of the defenders of Balaclava remembered this—dawned obscurely. A heavy autumnal mist lay over the Heights and the Upland, reducing visibility to a few feet and extending over the Valley of the Tchernaya and, from the head of Sebastopol Harbour to the gorge of Balaclava. From thence it spread eastward across the Plain, over which it hung like a thick, impenetrable pall.

  Under cover of this all-enveloping curtain of vapour, Cossack vedettes were early astir, boldly crossing the river at several points. From there they advanced unchallenged to reconnoiter yet again the positions of Lord Lucan’s Cavalry Division, General Bosquet’s Corps d’Observation on the Sapouné Ridge, which they studied with field glasses from a respectful distance, and finally that of Sir Colin Campbell’s Brigade of Turkish auxiliaries and the lines occupied by the 93rd in front of Kadi-Koi. They returned to report “an ostentatious weakness” in the two last and added the surprising information that the high ground at Kamara, overlooking Canrobert’s Hill, was destitute alike of guns and pickets.

  Prince Menschikoff, the Russian supreme commander, had given Lieutenant-General Liprandi instructions to advance from the Tchernaya Valley and attack the British
line in flank and rear as soon as the opportunity afforded and this, it seemed to his subordinate commander, was the opportunity for which he had been impatiently waiting. Menschikoff had made it clear to him that Balaclava was to be taken at all hazards and the stores and shipping in the harbour forthwith destroyed. Having achieved his primary objective, he was then to remain in occupation of both harbour and gorge, holding his forces in readiness to link up with a two-pronged attack, which would—as soon as he was in position and the British supply line cut—be launched from Sebastopol by General Luders and from Bakshi-Serai by Prince Menschikoff himself.

  Liprandi had under his command 25 battalions of infantry, 34 squadrons of cavalry—including Hussars and Lancers, as well as Cossacks of the Don—and some 78 field guns, a force amounting in all to a total of over 24,000 well-trained fighting men.

  Opposed to him, and apparently forming an outer and—according to the Cossack patrols’ reports—unsupported first line of defense, were a thousand Turco-Tunisian auxiliaries placed, with a few guns, in four redoubts on Canrobert’s Hill and the Causeway Heights, which covered, somewhat inadequately, the Woronzoff Road. Over a mile to their rear, his Cossack commanders had informed him, at the head of the gorge at Kadi-Koi, were positioned a single British regiment of between five and six hundred men—armed, not with Minié rifles but muskets—some Turkish battalions and two small gun batteries. All seemingly lacked defensive trenches, and one gun position, manned by seamen, had only been set up in the last 24 hours. Between a thousand and fifteen hundred seamen and Marines manned the Balaclava Heights behind them but—if the Cossacks were to be believed—these were spread out in a widely extended line to the east of the gorge, with 32-pounder gun emplacements and howitzer batteries also at widely spaced intervals, and they, like the Turks, were unsupported.

  The harbour itself, congested with shipping, was in too chaotic a state, a reliable Greek spy had informed him, to permit the entry of any naval vessels save, perhaps one or two small steam frigates, most of which were denuded of their guns.

  General Liprandi ordered an advance from Tchergoun towards the Woronzoff Road, under cover of the misty darkness. He halted at the mouth of the Baidar Valley, resting his right wing on the hills in the vicinity of Tchergoun. In spite of the reports of his patrols, he found it hard to believe that the British line could be as lightly held as it appeared to be and, suspecting that some deception had been practiced in order to lead him into a trap, he was at first reluctant to commit his whole force to an attack on the Causeway. On the advice of his cavalry commander, he had discounted the British Cavalry Division in his assessment of the position. For one thing, his own cavalry outnumbered them by almost three to one and, for another, Prince Narishkin had assured him, they were ineptly led and had never previously attempted to try conclusions with the Cossacks.

  Nevertheless, experienced campaigner that he was, the Russian General was aware of the reputation of Sir Colin Campbell, and he decided to proceed cautiously and thus avoid the trap he feared. He accordingly detached four battalions of infantry from his left wing, under Major-General Sémiakine and, with the Regiment of Azov, commanded by Colonel de Krudener, in the van, sent them forward to occupy the high ground at Kamara. Supported by cavalry and preceded by Cossack skirmishers in open order, this body crossed to the south of the Woronzoff Road and, unnoticed by the Turks, advanced on Kamara. Here they waited, keeping the Turkish position in No. 1 Redoubt on Canrobert’s Hill under observation, as far as the swirling mist would allow. An aide galloped back to General Liprandi with the encouraging news that they had, so far, met with no opposition.

  As the mist began slowly to disperse, Prince Andrei Narishkin, who had been sitting his horse in obvious discomfort at the head of his own regiment of Chasseurs of Odessa, rode back to where General Liprandi waited with his staff. They made way for him, in deference to his rank and because, as a member of Prince Menschikoff’s staff and an Imperial aide-de-camp, he enjoyed a privileged position which entitled him to confer with—and even to advise—their own commander.

  “We shall lose the advantage of surprise, General,” he pointed out, “if we delay our attack for much longer. Perhaps you would like me to probe the position with some squadrons of cavalry?”

  The General turned to glance at him, thinking, not for the first time, how desperately ill he looked. He had lost an arm at the Alma and the other wounds he had sustained in that disastrous battle were not yet fully healed. Reason enough, most people would have supposed, for him to remain at Bakshi-Serai with the two young Grand Dukes, Nicolai and Mikail, who fumed and fretted for action but who, nevertheless, had not been permitted to join the troops in the field and had had to content themselves with reviews and parades. Why, Liprandi wondered—again not for the first time—had their Supreme Commander yielded to the Prince Narishkin’s pleas and sent him, a sick man, to lead the cavalry here today? Why, for that matter, had Narishkin requested the command? He had had his wife with him, on the last occasion that the General himself had visited Prince Menschikoffs’ headquarters—a young and beautiful girl and a niece of the Emperor —with whom he had been comfortably, even luxuriously accommodated in one of the best houses in town. They had been married for only a few months—yet another reason, in his own view, at all events, for the prince to stay where he was.

  However, this was no time to ask questions, and he respected his young cavalry commander’s ability as much as he admired his courage, so answered courteously, “Do not worry, Highness, it is not my intention to delay the attack for an instant longer than I must. But I shall use General Rykoff’s Cossack cavalry … yours will be needed, for the attack on Balaclava.” Motioning to his chief of staff, Liprandi issued his orders. The main body was to advance in five columns, flanked by Cossacks and with thirty field guns, preparatory to launching a frontal attack on the Turkish-held redoubts, as soon as General Sémiakine should send word that he had taken Canrobert’s Hill from the rear… .

  2

  At 6:30 a.m. the Turkish colonel in No. 1 Redoubt glimpsed the approaching enemy dimly through the mist and, realizing that he was surrounded, ordered the distress signal to be hoisted to the top of the flagstaff. His three 12-pounder guns opened a hesitant fire on the Cossack skirmishers to their front, while his riflemen hastily flung up gabions to protect the rear of their position and, grouped behind these, poured a volley of musketry into the ranks of the Regiment of Azov. The Russian infantry took cover and two batteries of their horse artillery galloped up to their support, unlimbered and loaded… .

  The British Cavalry Division had turned out, as usual, an hour before daybreak, to enable Lord Lucan to make his customary inspection. This over, the men were dismissed to water their horses. Lucan, with his staff and accompanied by General Scarlett and Lord George Paget—upon whom, in the absence of Lord Cardigan who slept aboard his yacht, command of the Light Cavalry Brigade had devolved—started to ride in the direction of Canrobert’s Hill.

  It was Lord George who first observed the Turks’ distress signal. Reining in his horse, he pointed to the flagstaff and said, in puzzled tones, “Hullo—there are two flags flying, are there not? What does that mean?”

  “Surely, my lord,” one of the Earl of Lucan’s aides suggested, “it means that the enemy is approaching?”

  “Are you certain—” Lord George began, only to break off as his question was dramatically answered when a gun in the redoubt opened fire. It was met by a thunderous cannonade from the high ground to the right and a round shot came hurtling down towards the little group of mounted officers, scattering them and passing between the legs of Lord George Paget’s horse.

  Lord Lucan swiftly took in the situation and started to shout his orders. An aide was sent galloping across the valley to warn Sir Colin Campbell, a second despatched to Lord Raglan’s head-quarters on the Upland, nearly six miles away, to request immediate infantry support. Turning to his Brigade commanders, he said, having to shout still louder to make himsel
f heard above the now continuous roar of gunfire, “Since Lord Raglan failed to act upon the communication sent to him yesterday evening by Sir Colin Campbell and myself, and since he has left us here altogether without support, I consider it our first duty to defend the approach to the town of Balaclava and the harbour. The Turks will have to do the best they can—we are in no position to help them. The defense of the harbour will depend chiefly on my cavalry, so that I shall be compelled to reserve them for that purpose. But”—he shrugged—“I will see whether we can accomplish anything by means of a feint. We may, at least, delay them. Lord George—”

  “At your service, my lord.”

  “I am placing the Light Brigade in reserve,” Lucan told him and, cutting short his protests, turned to the Heavy Brigade commander. “General Scarlett, you will mount your Brigade at once, if you please. I shall require one regiment to escort Captain Maude’s troop of Horse Artillery, as soon as you can get them mounted.”

  Both Brigade commanders set spurs to their horses and dashed off, at breakneck speed, to carry out these instructions.

  The Battle of Balaclava had begun.

  3

  It seemed to Phillip that he had slept only a few minutes when a hand grasped his shoulder and shook it none too gently.

  “Mr Hazard, sorr, ’tis time you were waking.” He recognized O’Leary’s strong, unmistakable brogue and, still more than half asleep, made an effort to sit up.