The Brave Captains

by V. A. Stuart

  Sir Colin Campbell’s demeanor was, however, magnificently calm. “Shadwell,” he observed to his aide, his tone admiring, “that man understands his business. Order up the Grenadier Company to cover our right.” His quick appreciation of his opponents’ intentions and the decisive manner in which he twice reorganized his line so as to meet and counter the Russian attack, undoubtedly saved Balaclava for, faced by “the thin red line tipped with steel,” the Russian cavalry did not charge.

  Under their company commander, Captain Ross, the Grenadier Company poured a well-aimed volley into the first two squadrons at a range of less than four hundred yards, and although the Russians made a third attempt to carry the 93rd’s position, it was a half-hearted one, made at a trot, and when it failed, the enemy withdrew, discomfited. The Highlanders fired another volley into their retreating backs, Barker’s battery and the naval guns in No. 4 and on the Heights opened up again and, as they galloped out of range, the 93rd—once more sternly prevented from charging after them by Sir Colin—cheered lustily and threw their bonnets in the air.

  But while the way to Balaclava Harbour had been barred to them, the Russian cavalry had not been defeated. The main body’s leisurely advance along the Causeway Heights had brought them, at last, almost within sight of the British Cavalry. Lord Lucan’s Division was drawn up below the Sapouné Ridge at the western extremity of the South Valley, where Lord Raglan’s last order had placed them, to await the support of the First and Fourth Infantry Divisions. These, with Bosquet’s First Division, were now on their way down from the Upland. The British Commander-in-Chief had established his battle head-quarters on the crest of the Sapouné Ridge, where General Canrobert shortly joined him. It was an ideal command post. Looking down from his six-hundred-foot high eminence, Lord Raglan could see the whole Plain of Balaclava spread out before him, his view of the enemy movements in the North Valley as clear to him as those of his own troops in the South Valley since, from that height, the low hills of the Causeway running between them offered no obstruction. Unhappily, he failed to realize—until it was much too late—that the view of his subordinate commanders at Kadi-Koi, and elsewhere on the Plain itself, was completely obscured by the dividing hills.

  While Sir Colin Campbell had glimpsed the first large body of Russian cavalry briefly through the gunsmoke, as they crossed to the south side of the Causeway Heights, he had since lost sight of them, and Lord Lucan was unable to see them at all. The regrouping of the Russian troops in the North Valley and the advance of the Russian cavalry along the north side of the Causeway, although visible to those on the Sapouné Ridge, could be seen by no one on the battlefield itself … least of all by Lord Lucan, against whom the Russian cavalry were advancing.

  From Admiral Lyons, who remained with Lord Raglan throughout the day, Phillip later heard the full story of the day’s tragic and—to those who took part in the battle for Balaclava—inexplicable errors. At the time, in common with everyone else under Sir Colin Campbell’s command, he was mystified by what followed the 93rd’s successful repulse of the Russian cavalry. Lord Raglan, whose orders were taking fully half an hour to reach those for whom they were intended, had seen the Tunisians abandon the redoubt on Canrobert’s Hill, and he despatched what became known as “the second order” to Lord Lucan when he saw the remaining redoubts meet with a similar fate. In this he commanded Lucan “to detach eight squadrons of Heavy Dragoons in the direction of Balaclava to support the Turks, who,” the order concluded, “are wavering.”

  Lord Lucan, from where his Division was positioned, had not seen the cavalry attack on the 93rd and although he had watched the Turks flee in fear of their lives from the redoubts on the Causeway, he was not yet aware that those he was now commanded to support had long since retreated to the harbour. Anxious, however, to do all in his power to assist Sir Colin Campbell in the defense of Balaclava, he went in person to General Scarlett of the Heavy Cavalry Brigade. To the delight of the whole brigade, Lucan instructed him to detach eight of his squadrons and move them as rapidly as he could towards Kadi-Koi, in support of Sir Colin’s Turks. General Scarlett obeyed the order with alacrity and himself led off the selected squadrons—two each from the 5th Dragoon Guards, the Scots Greys, the Inniskillings, and the 4th Dragoons. Accompanied by Colonel William Beatson, his two aides, Captain Alexander Sheridan and Lieutenant Alexander Elliott, his orderly, and the brigade trumpeter, he made for Kadi-Koi.

  Being quite unable to see them, he had, of course, not the slightest idea that, separated from his small detachment by little more than the width of the Woronzoff Road and the Causeway which carried it, the main body of General Liprandi’s cavalry—consisting of about three thousand men—was proceeding towards him from his left. Neither force could see the other; the Russians had the advantage both of overwhelming numbers and an elevated position, whereas Scarlett and his five hundred dragoons had the disadvantage of having to pass through their own divisional camp and a vineyard situated beside it, which considerably impeded his rear squadrons. Neither he nor the Russian cavalry commander had troubled to send out scouts or post look-outs and each proceeded on his way in ignorance of the other’s presence.

  From the crest of the hill they had so gallantly and successfully defended, Sir Colin Campbell and his staff, with the 93rd and their supporting troops, as well as the Marine and naval gunners on the Heights above and behind them, had a grandstand view—second only to Lord Raglan’s—of the epic cavalry engagement which took place shortly after their own. They saw General Scarlett’s two aides—the first of whom, by reason of his distinctive Indian Army uniform and magnificent Arab horse, Phillip recognized as Alex Sheridan—hold a brief consultation with Colonel Beatson, and then all three cantered up the southern slope of the Causeway Heights. There, evidently catching their first shocked glimpse of the advancing Russians, they paused momentarily before wheeling round to gallop back at breakneck speed to bring the alarming news of the enemy’s close proximity to their commander.

  Sir Colin ordered Captain Barker’s troop forward but, powerless to offer him any further assistance, stood watching in grim silence as General Scarlett formed up his outnumbered force to receive, as best he might, what now seemed the inevitable attack. His fellow brigade commander’s calm matched his own if, indeed, in that supremely testing moment, it did not excel his stoic deliberation.

  While Colonel Beatson cantered up the slope again to keep the enemy under observation and his two aides dashed hither and thither with his orders, General Scarlett wheeled his leading squadrons to face the enemy. They consisted of a scant three hundred men of the Scots Greys, the Inniskillings and the 5th Dragoons—the Green Horse—and in response to his orders, the officers rode out in front of their men to form them into line, their own backs turned heroically towards the menacing mass of horsemen they were preparing to meet.

  Phillip, watching through his Dollond, saw Lord Lucan come hastening up, presumably with the order, which Scarlett had already anticipated, to charge the enemy. Somewhere on the far side of their camp, the Light Brigade had been posted in reserve, beyond the watcher’s line of vision, and the remaining squadrons of the Heavy Brigade were also forming up. They, like the two squadrons of the 4th Dragoons, which had originally been detached, were greatly impeded by vine trees, tent-ropes, and picket lines and were compelled to take ground to the left, so as avoid these obstacles. The Greys, too, on the left of the line, found themselves among tents and tethered horses but the anxiously watching Highlanders raised a cheer when, at last, the gay scarlet jackets and tall bearskins began to assume some semblance of alignment. Even so, to all those who watched it, the precise, parade ground movements and the careful wheeling into line seemed unbearably prolonged.

  The Russians, however, Phillip noticed, when he turned his glass on them, were also reforming. They had been trotting downhill but now they halted, five hundred yards from the British and, to the sound of successive trumpet calls, closed up into a tightly-packed square, from wh
ich two powerful wings were flung out to widen their front and, he supposed, probably with the object of out-flanking Scarlett’s line. Their numerical superiority was so immense, their strategic position apparently so unassailable that their hesitation was, it seemed to Phillip, arrogant and born more of confidence than caution. The grey-clad horsemen sat motionless in their saddles, observing what was going on below them, their demeanour almost contemptuously indifferent—as well it might be, despite all the wheeling and dressing of the British Heavy Brigade, since in previous encounters and even on more equal terms, no British cavalry unit had ever charged them. It was evident that they did not expect Scarlett’s puny handful of dragoons to charge them now—least of all uphill—and they waited, delaying their own charge, as a cat might wait for a mouse to venture too close.

  “He must move,” Sir Colin Campbell muttered, his voice low and strained, and obviously referring to General Scarlett who, although he had now placed himself facing his first line, was still not satisfied with their dressing, for he restrained them with his raised saber. “He cannot receive a charge, such as the enemy will make, unless his line is in motion, even if—” The Highland brigade commander broke off, a sudden gleam in his eyes, as General Scarlett turned to face the enemy at last. With his aides, his orderly, and his trumpeter, he rode without haste to the precise center of his line and the thin, clear notes of the British trumpeter sounding the Charge, echoed and re-echoed from the enclosing hills.

  The instant it had sounded, Scarlett set spurs to his horse and made straight for the dark square of Russian horsemen poised on the hill-top above him, his tiny escort of four men at his heels … and all five at a headlong gallop. British cavalry drill, Phillip was aware, called for series of successive orders, sounded first by the brigade trumpeter and then repeated by each of the regimental trumpeters, by means of which the line was directed first to walk-march, then to trot, to canter, to gallop, and finally to charge. With the enemy barely five hundred yards away and the brigade trumpeter sounding only the Charge, the leading squadrons, although no less eager than their commander to obey the order, had, perforce, to keep to their alignment and therefore begin their advance at a slower pace than his. Their pace quickened rapidly, as the Greys cleared the last of the tent-ropes and the whole line gained momentum, but by the time it broke into a gallop, Scarlett and his staff were fifty yards ahead of the Greys and Inniskillings, riding knee to knee, as they had ridden into the Charge under Lord Uxbridge at Waterloo. Reaching the great, packed, motionless square of Russian cavalry, they saw their brigade commander, his aides still close at his back, hurl himself against it and then vanish, swallowed up by the grey tide. The Russian cavalry commander, who attempted to bar their way, fell with Lieutenant Elliott’s saber buried in his chest.

  The first line of Greys and Inniskillings—the former conspicuous by reason of their splendidly matched grey horses—struck the enemy center a minute or two later, meeting the front rank of Hussars with an impact that sent them staggering. Their battle cries—the wild Irish yell of the Inniskillings and the fierce, moaning wail of the Greys—could be heard quite distinctly by those grouped about Lord Raglan on the Sapouné Ridge, six hundred feet above them and, across the length of the valley, at Kadi-Koi. Muted by distance, the spine-chilling sound rang in the ears of the 93rd like a death-knell and, hearing it, the Highlanders tensed uneasily—several, Phillip noticed, standing with heads bowed momentarily in prayer. Although under arms, Sir Colin Campbell’s men were mere spectators now, their duty to continue to guard the approaches to Balaclava and, in consequence, no more able to go to the aid of General Scarlett and his gallant dragoons than were Lord Raglan and his staff, perched high on the plateau at the far end of the South Valley. Aware of where their duty lay, the Highlanders could only wait in apprehensive silence for whatever should be the outcome of the British heavy cavalry’s valiant attack.

  Few of those who watched dared hope that it would be successful or even that the Heavies would survive. Such a charge, forced upon them by circumstances, was contrary to every tried and tested concept of cavalry tactics and must therefore, however heroically it was carried out, be doomed to failure. Scarlett was hopelessly outnumbered, his tiny force compelled to charge uphill, with an ever-increasing distance between his lines, and part of his brigade still entangled amongst vines and tent-ropes so that, to most of the horrified spectators, it seemed that he was leading his whole brigade to certain death. This conviction grew as the Greys and Inniskillings of the leading squadrons attempted to hack and thrust a way through the great mass of enemy horsemen which closed about them. So few were they and so numerous the Russians that only here and there could a scarlet jacket be seen, only occasionally a grey horse or a burnished helmet be glimpsed in the struggling mêlée of combatants.

  To add to the nightmare quality, the scene was not obscured, as other engagements had been, by cannonsmoke. No guns fired; every detail of the struggle could be seen with hideous clarity and the only sounds were the thunder of galloping hooves, the rattle of accoutrements, and the thud and clash of furious, hand-to-hand battle. The Russians were, however, Phillip saw through his glass, packed too densely to permit of proper swordplay and, for this reason, the Cossacks were precluded from using their lances and pistols. As a result, the British suffered fewer casualties than they might otherwise have done, and the sheer audacity and resolution with which they had charged gained them an unexpected advantage. Sabers flashed in the bright, pitiless sunlight, horses fell with shrill screams of agony, and their riders were flung from their saddles and trampled underfoot but … incredibly, some of the scarlet jackets had already fought their way through. Some were turning back into the battle again when the second line of Inniskillings and 5th Dragoons struck the Russian center with even greater impact than that of the first. They drove a perceptible wedge in the packed ranks of grey-clad Cossacks but, as they did so, the two wings on either flank, consisting mainly of Hussars and Lancers, started to wheel inwards, with the evident intention of taking their attackers in the rear.

  This plan might well have succeeded, had it not been for the remaining squadrons of the Heavy Brigade, whose delay was to prove providential. They had formed up in their separate regiments—the 4th Dragoons were on the right, Phillip saw, the Royals a little way behind them, in the center, and General Scarlett’s old regiment, the 5th, with a squadron of the Inniskillings on the right. Each regiment charged on its own, without waiting for orders, two on the Russian right flank, one in the center, the final charge being made, with devastating effect, on the enemy’s left flank by the 4th. The Russians, who had wheeled round in their extended wings to encircle and crush the Greys were, instead, taken in the rear and, as some of the Greys contrived to turn about in order to give them battle, they found themselves caught in their own trap, without room in which to maneuver. The 4th Dragoons cut right through and routed them.

  Already wavering and forced to give ground, the rest of the huge square of Cossacks were steadily driven back, reeling and thrown into confusion by the fury and disciplined courage of each succeeding British charge. Unable to withstand the pressure from their front, some of the rear files broke ranks and fled. Others followed their example and, with startling suddenness, the seemingly impenetrable enemy formation began to disintegrate, losing both unity and menace, as column after column broke away and scattered, to seek refuge in ignominous flight.

  On the crest of their hill at Kadi-Koi, the men of the 93rd watched in stunned disbelief as they saw the unmistakable figure of General Scarlett, in blue frock coat and battered dragoon helmet, with three of his staff beside him, emerge from the struggling welter of men and horses.

  Their amazement turned swiftly to excitement when he was followed by a knot of Greys and Inniskillings, still miraculously keeping together in some semblance of their original line. Within a few minutes the whole great enemy force was in head-long retreat, re-ascending the ridge of the Causeway Heights in complete disorder, pur
sued by a few red-coated British dragoons. A troop of Horse Artillery spurred after them, to unlimber their guns when they reached the Woronzoff Road.

  The cheer that went up from the Highlanders was one of pride, mingled with heartfelt relief. They were aware, Phillip thought—as possibly, in the first flush of their victory, the combatants were not—of how incredible that victory had been, with such odds against them. He heard Sir Colin Campbell, who was scanning the Causeway with his glass, put his own thoughts into words, in an aside to Colonel Sterling, and then was startled to hear him say, with a puzzled exclamation, “The Light Brigade has not moved! But surely Lord Lucan must have ordered it in pursuit?”

  “That would not appear to be the case, Sir Colin,” the colonel returned, frowning. “And now”—as the thin notes of a cavalry trumpet call sounded faintly across the intervening distance—“General Scarlett is recalling his brave Heavies, I believe. Wisely in the circumstances, I don’t doubt, but it means an end to the pursuit.”

  “Aye, so it would seem,” Sir Colin sounded surprised and upset. “And the cup of victory dashed from their lips! I was expecting Lord Cardigan to attack the enemy on the flank—he had a unique opportunity after the 4th Dragoons made their charge. But one can only suppose that he had his orders and was reluctant to go against them, although for a man of his fire, I should have imagined that …” He broke off, biting back the words he had been about to say and expelling his breath in a deep sigh. “I will ride over,” he added, a little later, after another prolonged inspection of the scene of the battle with the aid of his field glass. “I should like to offer my congratulations in person to the Scots Greys. Well, Mr Hazard”—as he observed Phillip—“you have been privileged to witness what, I feel certain, will one day be recorded in the military history books as one of the greatest feats ever performed by cavalry. I have never seen it equalled in all my years of army service and I can tell you, only British cavalry would have had the spirit and discipline to do what General Scarlett’s gallant fellows did today. Perhaps you would care to ride across with me to tell them so?”