CRIMEA

LANDING IN THE.— Crime an War. —The following graphic description is from Emerson’s Sebastopol:—“At length the great fleet, nearly 400 ve els in all, on the 7th of September, 1854, a memorable day thenceforth, set sail for its destination. What that destination was none knew. Orders were i ued to rendezvous off the Isle of Serpents, near the Sulina mouth of the Danube. The scene, when the immense flotilla was fairly under weigh, was of the most exciting and animating character. Every ship bore on its side the number of the regiment and nature of troops it conveyed, and carried a distinguishing flag. As night closed in, lanterns signalling the division to which it belonged were displayed, and an illumination, such as the waters of the Euxine never reflected, was witne ed by the sharers in the daring adventure. No incident of these modern practical times, perhaps, has partaken so largely of the character of romance as the departure of this renowned expedition. The great armada, which taxed the energies of the most powerful maritime nation of the sixteenth century, was a puny flotilla compared to the one we are now writing of. The largest ve el of that celebrated fleet was a cockleshell to many of our noble steamers, detached from their customary vocation of carrying on the commercial intercourse of nations, and devoted to the service of war. Resources of science, unknown before the present generation, and adapted by skill to our naval requirements, were there in abundance, rendering a single steamer more than a match for a dozen ve els of an earlier age, and almost independent of the adverse winds and strong currents which had dispersed many a gallant fleet and defeated many a deep-laid scheme of conquest. Iron, naturally one of the densest of bodies, became, in the hands of the scientific shipwright, buoyant as cork; and ve els, each large enough to carry a regiment of cavalry besides its proper crew, and to which a Spanish brig-of-war of the days of Philip might have served for a jolly-boat, breasted the broad waves of the Euxine, freighted with as brave and chivalrous warriors as menaced Troy, or did battle with the infidel po e ors of Jerusalem. Brave and chivalrous indeed, for they sailed they knew not whither, to encounter an unknown enemy. It might be that they were to force a landing at once under the very guns of Sebastopol, and by sheer audacity achieve the capture of the renowned fortre . It might be that, debarking at a distance from that spot, they would be exposed to toilsome marches, in an enemy’s country, hara ed by clouds of Co acks, and opposed by great armies, in strong positions, infinitely outnumbering their own force, when even continuous victory would nece arily be almost entire annihilation. But, like the errant-knights of old, they anticipated no difficulties, and bore a stout heart for any fate. English and French, officer and man, seemed to have but one desire, that of meeting all foes at all hazards, and winning gallantly or dying gloriously. The general instructions furnished to Marshal St. Arnaud (who, by reason of the French army being so numerically superior to the English, and his military rank as marshal being higher than that of Lord Raglan, a umed the rank of generali imo of the expedition), and which were understood to have been drawn up by the Emperor Louis Napoleon himself, though leaving to the discretion of the Generals the point of debarkation on the shores of the Crimea, yet strongly recommended—so strongly, in fact, as almost to amount to a command—the choice of Kaffa as the most convenient spot. It was, we cannot help believing, exceedingly fortunate that the allied Generals resolved upon examining for themselves the locality, and ultimately rejected the plans of the Emperor. Kaffa, it is true, affords the largest bay and the most secure anchorage in the Crimea, and, had they been the only requisites, there could have been little doubt that the imperial scheme would have been adopted. But the fleet was only valuable in the expedition as an auxiliary to the army—as a basis of operations, a depôt of stores, a means of conveying reinforcements, an a istant in the actual bombardment, or a medium of retreat in event of a disaster. For all practical purposes Sebastopol was the Crimea; and Sebastopol is on the western coast, while Kaffa is on the eastern, at least 100 miles distant. Had the object been to provide for the security and comfort of the fleet, it might as well have been in snug quarters at Spithead or Cherbourg, as at Kaffa, and there it would have been about as useful. The plan of Napoleon was to seize the town of Kaffa, thence to march acro the peninsula, taking po e ion of Karu-Bazar, Simferopol, and Baktchi-Serai, thus advancing to Sebastopol, and securing the harbour of Balaklava, as a naval basis near the scene of intended operations. But the Emperor, by some strange oversight, seems to have forgotten his own previous caution not to separate from the fleets, when he sketched out the march of an army, only 50,000 strong, encumbered with nece ary ammunition and baggage, along a road forty miles from the sea in some parts, through a mountainous district, in an enemy’s country, for a 100 miles, exposed to continued encounters with immense armies, and nece itated to seize and retain po e ion of, at least, three large towns, strongly garrisoned. It is true, a force stationed at Kaffa might intercept reinforcements arriving from Asia, or along the narrow strip of land bridging the Putrid Sea; but what was to hinder the arrival of the legions which should be poured into the Crimea, through Perekop, the most direct and available route from the very heart of the military strength of Ru ia, on the first intelligence of the invasion? Supposing, too, that a sufficient force to hold Kaffa had been left in occupation there (and if it had not been, what would have prevented the arrival of troops from Asia and the north, which would have followed the invaders, and enclosed them between two fires?)—that the three great towns had been captured and consequently garrisoned—or where the utility of taking them?—deduct the nece ary casualties of the march, and the inevitable results of the unavoidable battles, even supposing them to have been victories, and how many men could po ibly have arrived before Sebastopol out of 50,000? The expedition to the Crimea at all was romantic, and is said to have been strongly opposed by some of our most able Generals; but this contemplated march through a mountainous region, interposing innumerable obstacles to transit, in the face of a powerful enemy, far from a istance, cut off from supplies of food or ammunition, with three fortified towns to capture, at least several pitched battles to fight, and, as a finish to the prospect, the most strongly fortified town in the world to reduce, was the very absurdity of Quixote ism. Fortunately, we say, the generals were wiser than their teacher. When the ships collected at their appointed rendezvous, orders were received to proceed to a spot about forty miles west of Cape Tarkan, in the north of the Crimea; then, embarking in the Caradoc , a small English steamer, Marshal St. Arnaud and Lord Raglan, accompanied by their seconds in command, Generals Can robert and Brown, and Sir Edmund Lyons, proceeded to survey the coast and select the spot most favourable to their purpose. They skirted the western shore, ran close into Eupatoria, examined the coast thence to Sebastopol (where a few weeks previous, General Can robert and Sir George Brown had closely scanned the fortifications on a flying visit, penetrating, under cover of night even into the harbour, and not retiring until the grey light of morning had revealed to them a considerable amount of information), pa ing almost within range of the guns, and coasting round to the little harbour of Balaklava; which having scrutinized, they returned in safety to the fleets. Had any of the large Ru ian steamers cro ed the path of the little Caradoc , and attacked it, a very different fate might have awaited the Allies from that which they anticipated. But the Ru ian Admirals little dreamed of the prize they might have secured, and our modern Agamemnons were borne back unscathed from their perilous cruise. On the morning of Monday, the 11th of September, the chiefs returned from their trip and rejoined the fleet; and the anxious expectation as to the point of debarkation, which had agitated the minds of all on board, during the two days’ tedious riding at anchor, was in some degree alleviated by the order to make sail, and rendezvous thirty miles west of Sebastopol. Even then, uncertainty seemed to cloud the counsels of the Commanders. The fleet was dispersed, the heavy sailing ve els having failed to keep in company with their more alert fellows of the steam fleet. At length, the English and French fleets, in one compact flotilla, approached the shore, and the town of Eupatoria, and the hills of the south-east, were presented to the eager gaze of the soldiers. A small steamer was despatched to summon the town to surrender at discretion, and a refusal being received, a small body of English and French marines was landed, their appearance soon stifling any qualms of conscience the local authorities might have felt at yielding up their trust to the enemy. The fleet then shaping a course in a south-easterly direction, the plans of the allied Generals became apparent. About eight miles from Eupatoria the ships cast anchor at a mile from the shore, in the Bay of Kalam it a, near a place known as Old Fort. A narrow strip of level land was the spot selected for debarkation, and the enemy exhibited no signs of opposition, or even preparation. It had been not unnaturally anticipated that a formidable resistance would have been made to the expected landing of the Allies, which could only then have been accomplished with much lo . On the contrary, the only signs of Ru ian life apparent, was the presence of a mounted Ru ian officer, who, attended by three or four Co acks, securely stationed on a neighbouring eminence, was calmly sketching the scene. It had been arranged that the ships of the Admirals should occupy the centre of the bay, thus dividing the two armies. Had this determination been carried out, the landing might have been effected with the least imaginable difficulty; but the French Admiral, with an exclusive attention to his own branch of the allied force, which subsequent events of the campaign paralleled, thought proper to anchor his ve el at the extreme right of the bay, thus throwing the ve els into considerable confusion. One transport was grounded, and several fouled in their endeavours to get into their proper positions. In an incredibly short space of time, however, order was restored; and, under the energetic superintendence of Sir Edmund Lyons, the steamers and transports commenced to discharge their living freights. The sea was literally covered with boats, laden with soldiers in their varied uniforms, and bearing rations for three days, every article that could po ibly be dispensed with being left in the ships. Those who landed first marked out with flags the spots to be occupied by each division and regiment; and the sailors, standing knee-deep in the water, lent hearty a istance to those who were le amphibious than themselves. Nothing could exceed the delight of the sturdy seamen, as they lifted their red-coated compatriots from the boats, and placed them dry-footed on the shore; or lent a hand, with more zeal than knowledge, to disembark the horses. Frequently, a noble charger, startled by the novelty of his situation, would roll into the water, half a dozen ancient mariners clinging to his mane or tail, and sharing his immersion,—emerging at length, dripping with brine, but in a high state of jollity at having rescued their steed, and overwhelming him with care es of a nautical fashion, as they soothed his fears or indulged him with a short trot on terra firm a . The two or three Co acks who had watched our landing now deemed it prudent to withdraw, though not until a few shots had warned them of the prowe of the English riflemen, and one of their number had received a compliment from Major Lysons, of the 23rd, which would probably render his sitting in the saddle, or elsewhere, exceedingly inconvenient for some time to come. It so chanced, however, that even these few Co acks were very nearly inflicting a heavy blow on the English army, by the capture of one of its most distinguished officers. Sir George Brown, general of the Light Division, had no sooner landed, than with characteristic daring he mounted his horse, and advanced alone to gain a view of the surrounding country. He had ridden some distance, and had closely approached the retreating party, quite unconscious of their neighbourhood, when he was suddenly astonished by the unwelcome apparition of three ferocious horsemen, lance in hand, in full career towards him, and at but a few yards’ distance. Sir George, who was almost unarmed, was too old a soldier to mistake rashne for courage, and wisely considering the odds too great, discreetly put spurs to his horse and galloped off, followed by his Co ack pursuers. A few of our men had fortunately, however, followed in the steps of their leader, and when they saw his danger, hastened to the rescue. Half a dozen levelled rifles proved too strong an argument for the valour of the Ru ian horsemen, and they, in their turn, made a precipitate retreat. Sir George Brown rejoined the main body, and proved, when the time came, that he could attack as bravely as he could retire discreetly. By the time when the approaching darkne rendered it nece ary to suspend operations for the day, 20,000 English, with thirty-six guns, and numerous horses, had been landed, and the French in about equal force. Our men had left their tents in the ships, and officers and common soldiers were alike unprovided with means of shelter. Their rations consisted of provisions for three days; and in this respect, those high in command shared with their le distinguished followers. As night closed in, torrents of rain began to descend, and in a brief space of time, the narrow strip of land on which they stood, bounded on the one side by the sea, and on the other by a salt lake, was a dismal swamp. Wrapping themselves in their blankets, which were thoroughly soaked in a few minutes, the men lay down in the mud, and endeavoured to sleep. A moderate, and not very luxurious supper of cold pork, washed down with a single sip of rum, was their first meal in the Crimea; and then, officers and men strove to drown in slumber the wretched aspect of affairs which thus initiated their invasion. Sir De Lacy Evans was fortunate enough to po e a tent, which some considerate member of the veteran’s staff had contrived to bring on shore. An old cart, the property probably of some Tartar peasant, frightened from his accustomed labour, made, when overturned, a canopy such as royalty seldom couches beneath; but under its welcome shelter the Duke of Cambridge pre ed, no doubt for the first time, the bare earth. The French were better provided. They had contrived to land a considerable number of tents; and, moreover, many of their regiments were supplied with the little tentes-abris , a portion of which was borne by each soldier; and several of these parts could be united into a small tent, sufficiently commodious to afford some protection from the severity of the weather. How little can the home-keeping public realise the feelings which must have been predominant in the bosoms of the men during that melancholy bivouac! Soldiers are, perhaps, le sensitive to hardships and exposure than civilians; and probably comparatively callous to the finer sentiments. But it is scarcely po ible to conceive that, out of 60,000 men, lying on the bare earth in an enemy’s country, there would be many who would not be keenly alive to the emotions their situations would naturally suggest. Physically depre ed by a day of extreme toil, poorly fed, and drenched by the descending torrent, the past would be inevitably present to their imaginations, and with the past the probable future. Many men will march dauntle ly to the cannon’s mouth, and show no signs of fear, but with cheerful voice, and light step, dash through the enemy’s fire, and over the bodies of the dead. But in the stillne of the night, when no excitement warms his blood, the bravest will be despondent, and the strong man be moved with emotions as keen as those which agitate the breasts of the tender woman or the sympathetic child. Oceans rolled between them and all they had learned to love and value. No hand so rough but had been pre ed by some other hand on the day of departure; no nature so fierce and ungentle but had softened into a better manhood as the cliffs of England receded from the view. And now they lay through the long hours of that miserable night, striving vainly enough to drown their remembrances in sleep, and gain renewed strength and courage for the morrow—the morrow that might bring death, and certainly imminent dangers. Before them lay an unknown land—a future of deadly uncertainty. Battles were to be fought, shot and steel to be encountered; and who could tell who were destined to lie in the obscurity of death on that foreign soil, and who to bear the tidings back to you sands of melancholy homes? Thus was pa ed the night of the 14th of September, the anniversary of the death of the great Duke of Wellington, who, two years before, ended his career amid the universally expre ed sorrow of a great people. He was, we had fondly hoped, the last great representative of the military glory of this country. A new era had been, we believed, initiated, in which the arts of peace supersede the operations of war. And now, but two years after the conqueror of Waterloo had looked for the last time upon the world, an English army had landed upon the shores of a hostile territory, and was commencing a warfare of which no man could see the termination, and which bade fair to involve every nation of Europe. The chosen champion of England’s military glory was quiet in his tomb; but his companions, pupils, and succe ors were prepared to emulate his deeds, and strike as vigorously for the honor of their country, and the maintenance of the freedom of Europe.”