by V. A. Stuart
“Indeed, sir, I should,” Phillip assented eagerly. “If you have no other orders for me.”
Sir Colin smiled faintly. “We do not yet need the Sanspareil, Mr Hazard—thanks be to God! And let us hope that we shall not need the help of your naval stretcher parties either.”
The butcher’s bill, Phillip thought, unable to suppress a shudder of apprehension. When, however, with Sir Colin Campbell and other members of his staff, he reached the Heavy Brigade’s lines, he was amazed to learn that the casualties had been—in the circumstances—comparatively light. Less than eighty had been killed and wounded, according to the first count, of whom less than a dozen had, it seemed, lost their lives. General Scarlett himself, his Indian Army adviser, Colonel Beatson, and his aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Elliott, had suffered saber cuts and Lieutenant-Colonel Henry Griffiths, the Greys’ commanding officer, had been shot in the head, but only Elliott was severely wounded. Captain Sheridan, Scarlett’s other aide, his giant orderly, Shegog, and the brigade trumpeter, who had followed him throughout the charge with selfless heroism, had emerged from it virtually unscathed and, from Alex Sheridan, Phillip heard a first-hand account of the Heavy Brigade’s magnificient feat, couched in a few modest words.
No one, in his hearing at all events, said very much about the Light Brigade’s failure to support the charge, but it was evident, from the glum faces of both officers and men when the Light Cavalry were permitted a brief stand-down, that feelings on the subject ran high among them. The majority, Alex Sheridan told him, in reply to his diffident question, blamed Lord Cardigan for too rigid an interpretation of his divisional commander’s orders.
“I saw them pleading with him,” the tall aide-de-camp confided, tight-lipped. “Captain Morris, who is commanding the 17th Lancers, apparently begged to be permitted to lead his regiment alone in pursuit of the flying enemy, but his lordship would not have it. The poor Light Cavalry!” He sighed, displaying a keenly felt regret he made no attempt to hide. “The whole of this campaign has been nothing but frustration for them, I fear, through no fault of their own, Mr Hazard. They are the cream of the British army but …” He shook his head despondently and then forced a smile. “Perhaps their hour may yet come and they will be given a chance to wipe out the memory of this last humiliation, at least.”
“Let us hope that it may,” Phillip agreed, little knowing how soon that hour was to come for the Light Brigade or with what tragic finality the humiliation was to be erased from the memory of all who were to witness it. Alex Sheridan repeated his sigh.
“You may wonder,” he said quietly, “why I should feel so strongly concerning the Light Cavalry, Mr Hazard. I once held a commission in the 11th Hussars and Lord Cardigan was my commander officer, so … I have reason, perhaps. I still feel that I am one of them.”
“That is understandable,” Phillip assured him sympathetically, thinking of his own feelings for the Trojan.
“There are some bonds which are not easily broken, Captain Sheridan. No doubt your loyalty to Lord Cardigan—”
“I hold no brief for his lordship,” Alex Sheridan interrupted, his tone harsh. “But cowardice is not one of his faults, you may take my word for that. Well”—he excused himself, reddening perceptibly beneath the tan of his cheeks —“I will go and have a word with my old comrades, if you’ll forgive me, Mr Hazard. In any case, I believe that Sir Colin is about to pay a visit to the Greys, is he not? And I see that Colonel Griffiths is now out of the surgeon’s hands.”
Phillip rode over to the Greys’ lines with Sir Colin. They were re-forming, so that the roll might be called and their commanding officer, whose head was heavily bandaged, called them to attention. He made to salute but Sir Colin forestalled him. “No, Colonel,” he said, and doffed the Highland bonnet he had worn since the Battle of the Alma. “If you will permit me …” Sitting his horse bareheaded, he addressed the men with visible emotion. “Greys, gallant Greys …” his voice carried from rank to rank, despite the tremor in it. “I am sixty-one years of age but, if I were young again, I should have been proud this day to serve in your ranks!”
The Greys, as deeply moved as he, cheered him to the echo, and their colonel wrung his hand. Sir Colin took his leave of them and, after a second brief conference with Lord Lucan, returned to the 93rd’s position at Kadi-Koi.
CHAPTER SEVEN
1
The end of the Battle of Balaclava was approaching and with it the disastrous charge of the Light Cavalry Brigade, which—although it was to result in failure and a hideous loss of life—was nevertheless to eclipse, in the hearts and memories of the British people, the brilliantly successful charge made earlier by the Heavy Brigade.
Phillip, who had been privileged to see so much during that long, eventful day on shore, did not witness the last act in the drama. From Kadi-Koi little could be seen, save the galloping of aides-de-camps from the Sapouné Ridge to the Plain. Having, with the spirited aid of the naval and Marine batteries and Captain Barker’s troop of Horse Artillery, beaten back an attempt by the enemy to turn the right flank of the Balaclava defenses by an advance from Kamara, the 93rd were permitted to stand easy. They waited, grumbling a little, but nothing else of moment occurred within sight of their position.
From his lofty vantage point on the Sapouné Ridge, Lord Raglan, however, saw much more. He watched through his glass as the routed Russian cavalry re-grouped in columns across the eastern end of the North Valley, a line of field guns in front of them and their infantry massed at the mouth of the gorge behind them. They occupied what appeared to be an impregnable position; field guns and infantry held the ridge of the Fedioukine Hills and cavalry the lower slopes to their right, whilst the captured Turkish redoubts on the Causeway Heights —now occupied by the eleven battalions of infantry which had initially stormed them—covered their left front.
The main body of the enemy offered no immediate threat to Balaclava from their present position and, indeed, seemed to the British Commander-in-Chief and his staff, to be expecting an attack, rather than planning to launch one. His most urgent task was, therefore, Lord Raglan decided, to recover the Causeway redoubts which, since these commanded the Woronzoff Road, must constitute a serious threat to his lines of communication with Balaclava Harbour for as long as they remained in Russian hands. Although strongly held, it occurred to him that—being without support—the enemy might well abandon the redoubts if resolutely attacked, and he now had two infantry divisions approaching a position from which such an attack could be delivered, in addition to the Cavalry Division and the promised aid from General Canrobert.
The French First Division and eight squadrons of the Chasseurs d’Afrique had already reached the Plain, although the British First and Fourth Infantry Divisions—ordered down two hours before—were taking considerably longer to complete their descent than Lord Raglan had anticipated. Seeking to hasten them, he despatched an order to Sir George Cathcart, who was in command of the Fourth Division, instructing him to “advance immediately and recapture the Turkish redoubts.” The Duke of Cambridge was ordered to support Cathcart’s attack with the Guards Brigade and the two regiments of Sir Colin Campbell’s Highland Brigade—the 42nd and the 79th—still with his division.
These orders were duly delivered but Sir George Cathcart—whose men had been all night on trench duty—appeared in no hurry to carry them out. Exasperated by the delay and more anxious than ever to recover the lost redoubts, the British Commander-in-Chief sent a written order to Lord Lucan, which read: “Cavalry to advance and take advantage of any opportunity to recover the Heights. They will be supported by the infantry, which have been ordered to advance on two fronts.”
Once again Lord Raglan failed to take into account the fact that the troop movements, so clear to him from the Sapouné Ridge, could not be seen by his subordinate commanders on the battlefield itself. Since the Heavy Brigade’s magnificent charge had effectively cleared the South Valley of all enemy cavalry, Lucan had lost sight of them
, as well as of the main body of their infantry, and he was unable to see either of the two British infantry divisions plodding—in the case of the Fourth—wearily down from the plateau. He interpreted Lord Raglan’s order, reasonably enough in the circumstances, to mean that he was to advance and attempt to recapture the Causeway Heights as soon as he received the infantry support which—the order suggested—was on its way to assist him in this endeavour.
Accordingly he mounted his division, ordered the Light Brigade to cross the Woronzoff Road and take up a position at the western end of the Causeway Heights, drawing up the Heavy Brigade behind them and to their right. From here they were facing down the trough of the North Valley and the enemy could at last be seen, both cavalry and infantry massed behind the line of guns at the opposite end of the valley. After subjecting their position to a prolonged and careful scrutiny, Lord Lucan also decided that this was impregnable, and, as he believed that Lord Raglan had commanded him to, he waited, with ever increasing impatience, for some sign of the expected infantry support, so that he might advance against the redoubts. After a quarter of an hour had passed without any evidence whatsoever of an infantry attack, he gave permission for the officers and men of both his brigades to dismount and stand easy. They waited, eating what scanty provisions they had with them, for another thirty minutes, without moving from their position. The appearance of the Cavalry Division, despite its inactivity, caused the Russians to abandon the two westernmost of the Turkish redoubts, both of which were, in any case, destitute of guns.
When, at long last, the Fourth Division reached the Plain, Sir George Cathcart made a show of carrying out his Commander-in-Chief’s instructions. He marched past the scene of the Heavy Brigade’s charge, taking his time and with skirmishers preceding his main body, and eventually occupied the two deserted redoubts, with infantry and nine-pounder guns, opening a desultory fire, at extreme range, on those held by the enemy. He then, as Lucan had done, ordered his division to halt and await the progress of events, making no attempt to advance. The threat of his presence, with that of the Cavalry Division was, however, sufficient to alarm the Russians and, from the Sapouné Ridge, teams of artillery horses with hauling tackle trailing behind them, could be seen cantering up to the redoubts. Their purpose was clear to all who saw them. They were about to remove the captured British naval guns, no doubt with the ultimate intention of despatching them, as proof of victory, to the Tsar, after they had been paraded triumphantly through Sebastopol… .
For Lord Raglan, educated in the stern military traditions of the Great Duke, to permit the enemy to take away British guns unchallenged was more than he could stomach. He gazed down, glass to his eye, his face losing, for once, its accustomed expression of unruffled composure, as those about him were quick to notice. He was aware that, at all costs, he must regain possession of the captured guns before the Russians had had time to drag them away from the redoubts but … Sir George Cathcart’s division was immobile, that of the Duke of Cambridge still too far away to be called into action, and he dared not move the 93rd from Kadi-Koi, lest the enemy attempt another advance from Kamara.
There remained the cavalry, of course—the cavalry, which had already won a superb victory against overwhelming odds only an hour or so before. There remained, in particular, the Light Cavalry Brigade, smarting under the humiliation they had suffered because they had been allowed no part in the Heavy Brigade’s triumph, every man eager—or so Lord Raglan had been informed by A.D.C.’s who had visited their position—to wipe out the memory of what, for them, had been a fiasco. The fact that the Russians were removing the captured naval guns suggested that they were preparing to retreat from the Causeway Heights, so as to rejoin their main body before darkness fell. That they might do so at once if charged by the cavalry, seemed to the British Commander-in-Chief a distinct possibility, if not almost a certainty … and if the cavalry went into action, Sir George Cathcart would have to give them his support. The Guards might even be able to storm Canrobert’s Hill, which was inaccessible to cavalry … Lord Raglan lowered his telescope, his mind made up. In his normal, courteous voice he requested General Airey to write another order to Lord Lucan and the Quartermaster-General came to his side, an open message-pad resting on his sabretache.
“Lord Raglan wishes the cavalry to advance rapidly to the front, follow the enemy, and try to prevent the enemy from carrying away the guns,” the Commander-in-Chief dictated, choosing his words with care. Anxious though he was that his order should be understood and acted upon at once, he was still unaware that Lord Lucan’s view of the Turkish redoubts was cut off by the undulating ridge of the Causeway Heights and he considered it unnecessary, in the light of his previous order, to specify which guns he meant or on which front he wished the cavalry to advance. He did, however, realize that the Russians had some thirty field pieces of their own, in addition to the captured naval guns, with which to defend the Heights and added, “Troop of Horse Artillery may accompany.” Then, when Airey read this back to him, he remembered the three hundred Chasseurs d’Afrique sent to his assistance by General Canrobert and ended, “French cavalry is on your left. Mark the order ‘immediate.’”
The Cavalry Division’s inexplicable delay in carrying out his first order still irked him and, after General Airey had written as he dictated and appended his signature to the flimsy sheet of paper on which his instructions were pencilled, he hesitated. Finally he called after the aide-de-camp who had claimed the privilege of delivering the order, Captain Edward Nolan of the 15th Hussars, who was on Airey’s staff, “Tell Lord Lucan that the cavalry are to attack immediately!”
Nolan saluted and swung himself on to his horse. Disdaining the safer but longer and more circuitous track his fellow A.D.C.’s had used to descend to the Plain, he displayed his consummate horsemanship by making his own descent straight down the precipitous escarpment, risking life and limb to do so but driven by a sense of urgency that brooked no delay. Despite his youth and the junior rank he held, Edward Lewis Nolan had written a book on cavalry tactics and was an acknowledged authority on the subject—and his faith in the invincibility of British cavalry had been rekindled by the success of the Heavy Brigade that morning. It had always been his contention that cavalry—and above all, light cavalry—when properly led, could achieve anything. He considered that the British cavalry had been deplorably led up to now but the order he bore was, it seemed to him, the chance for which the Light Brigade had been waiting and longing ever since they had landed in the Crimea. This order was their chance of glory, their opportunity to prove, beyond all shadow of doubt, that they were the best in the world. Even Lord Lucan, to whom he himself had given the derisive nickname of “Lord Look-on,” could not deprive his magnificent light cavalry of their chance now, Nolan thought grimly, as he spurred his frightened horse to the foot of the escarpment and reached in his pouch for the order.
That order and the arrogant manner in which the young aide-de-camp delivered it to Lord Lucan, together with their Commander-in-Chief’s verbal instructions, was to send 673 men into the “valley of death,” from which only 195 were to return. Yet neither Lord Raglan nor his Quartermaster-General could have foreseen the tragic consequences since it had not, for a moment, occurred to either that the written order was obscure or capable of being misunderstood. Still less had they imagined that Edward Nolan might be responsible for the misunderstanding or Lord Lucan in any doubt as to which guns he was prepared to capture.
To Nolan, however, the guns which mattered were not the British naval twelve-pounders, now being dragged from the Causeway redoubts in some haste—they were the enemy guns at the far end of the North Valley a mile away, behind whose protection the Russian cavalry had sought shelter after their rout by the British Heavy Brigade. When Lucan, bewildered by the written order and by the verbal command to attack that accompanied it, asked resentfully, “Attack, sir … attack what? What guns, sir?” Nolan savoured this moment of heady triumph to the full.
He flung out his arm in a dramatic gesture that embraced the North Valley and answered, with a provocative scorn he made not the smallest effort to conceal, “There, my lord, is your enemy! There are your guns!”
The order was madness but … it had come from Lord Raglan, had been delivered by one of the Quartermaster-General’s own A.D.C.’s, and therefore must be obeyed. And obeyed at once, it seemed, without waiting for infantry support … with bleak resignation, Lord Lucan in his turn dictated a written order and sent it, by one of his staff, to Lord Cardigan, directing him to lead the charge with the Light Brigade.
For cavalry to attack field guns in battery without infantry support was, as he well knew, contrary to every rule of warfare. To do so between flanking hills, which were the site of other gun batteries and which gave concealment to battalions of riflemen was, as he was also unhappily aware, to invite disaster; yet, when the Light Brigade commander rode over in person to point this out to him with a dismayed bewilderment that matched his own, Lucan could only answer bitterly, “I know it—but Lord Raglan will have it. We have no choice but to obey.”
Icily Cardigan made acknowledgment, lowering the point of his sword in formal salute and disdaining further protest. He and Lucan were brothers-in-law but they had scarcely spoken a civil word to each other for thirty years. They could not break their silence now, could not forget the habit of years, even for long enough to enable them to discuss an order which both recognized as likely to result in the annihilation of the Light Brigade—and, perhaps, of the entire British Cavalry Division—if it were carried out with the immediacy Lord Raglan had apparently demanded. The mutual dislike and rivalry which had always marred their relationship raised an insuperable barrier between them at this moment and each stood implacably on his dignity, the memory of past quarrels too bitter to be assuaged.