Under the Red Dragon: A Novel
on, and the cruel and infamous massacre of an English boat's crew at
Hango was fresh in the minds of us all; consequently I was not without
feeling a certain emotion of anxiety, mingled with ardour and joy at
the prospect of Estelle seeing my name in the despatches, as Dicky and
I now advanced into the broken and open ground that lay between our
parallel and the abattis, amid which I saw head after head appear, as
the white emblem I bore announced that _pro tem_, hostilities in that
quarter must cease, by the rules of war.
Dicky Roll, who, poor little fellow, had been fraternally sharing his
breakfast and blanket with the goat, and did not seem happy in his
mind at our increasing proximity to "them Roosian hogres," as he
called them, beat a vigorous _chamade_ on his drum, and I waved my
impromptu banner. I was glad when a Russian drum responded, as flags
of truce had been more than once fired upon, on the miserable plea
that communications under them were merely designed for the purpose of
gaining intelligence, of reconnoitring Sebastopol and its outposts.
Hence our progress was watched with the deepest interest by the whole
regiment and others, all of whom were now lining the banquette of the
parallels, or clustering at the embrasures and fascines of the
breaching batteries.
CHAPTER XXXIII.-THE FLAG OF TRUCE.
In the rifle-pits many of our men lay dead or dying, and a few paces
beyond them brought me among Russians in the same pitiable condition.
One, who had been shot through the chest, lay on his back, half in and
half out of his lurking hole; his eyes were glazing, bubbles of blood
and froth were oozing through his thick black moustaches, which were
matted by the cartridges he had bitten. Another was shot through the
lungs, and his breath seemed to come with a wheezing sound through the
orifice.
There, too, lay the luckless Russian "potted" by Hugh Price. He was
one of the imperial 26th, for that number was on his shoulder-straps.
On his breast were several copper medals. Others who were able, taking
advantage of the cessation of hostilities, were crawling away on their
hands or knees towards the town or trenches, in search of water, of
succour, and of some kind friend to bind their wounds; and encouraged
by the lull in the firing, the little birds were twittering about
those ghastly pits in search of biscuit-crumbs or other food.
The ground was studded thickly with rusty fragments of exploded
shells, nails, bottles, grape and canister shot; other places were
furrowed up, or almost paved with half-buried cannon-balls of every
calibre; and here and there, in the crater made by a mine, lay a
forgotten corpse in sodden uniform, gray faced with red; and yet
singularly enough, amid these horrors, there were springing through
the fertile earth many aromatic shrubs, and a vast number of the
_colchicum autumnale_, a beautiful blue crocus-like flower, with which
the Crimea abounds.
The Russian drum, hoarse, wooden, and ill-braced, again sounded, and
mine replied; then we saw an officer coming towards us from the
entanglements of the abattis, with his sword sheathed and waving a
white handkerchief. He was a tall grim-looking man, of what rank I
could not determine, as all the enemy's officers in the field, from
the general down to the last-joined praperchick, or ensign, wore long,
ungraceful greatcoats of brownish gray cloth, having simply facings
and shoulder-straps. He carried a wooden canteen and an old battered
telescope, worn crosswise by two leather straps, and had several
silver medals, won doubtless in battle against Schamyl in Circassia.
It is a common belief in England that every Russian gentleman speaks
French; but though he may do so better than another foreigner--for he
who can pronounce Muscovite "words of ten or twelve consonants apiece"
may well speak anything--it is chiefly the language of the court and
of diplomacy; and in this instance, when, after saluting each other
profoundly, and eyeing each other with stern scrutiny, I addressed the
officer in the language of our allies, he replied in German, which I
knew very imperfectly.
I made him understand, however, that my message was for the officer in
command of the left bastion.
He replied, that to be taken into Sebastopol, or even to be led
nearer, required that the eyes of myself and the drummer should be
blindfolded, to which I assented; and he proceeded carefully to muffle
Dicky Roll and me in such a manner as to place us in utter darkness.
He then gave me his arm, I took the drummer by the hand, and in this
grotesque fashion, which excited some laughter in the trenches, the
trio proceeded, stumbling and awkwardly, towards the city.
I heard the increasing buzz of many voices around us, the unbarring of
a heavy wicket, the clatter of musket-butts on the pavement, and
occasionally a hoarse order or word of command issued in what seemed
the language of necromancy. Caissons, and wagons heavily laden,
rattled along the streets; I felt that I was _inside_ Sebastopol; but
dared not without permission unbind my eyes, save at the risk of being
run through the body by this fellow in the long coat, or made a
prisoner of war, and despatched towards Perecop with my hands tied to
the mane of a Cossack pony.
The sensation and the conviction were most tantalising; but I was
compelled to submit, and knew that we were proceeding through the
thoroughfares of that place towards which I had daily turned my
field-glass with the most intense curiosity, and which we knew to be
one vast garrison rather than a town, with whole streets of barracks,
arsenals, and government houses.
A change of sounds and of atmosphere warned me that we were within
doors. My guide withdrew the bandages, and then Dicky and I looked
around us, dazzled with light, after being in darkness for nearly half
an hour. I was in a large whitewashed room, plainly furnished,
uncarpeted, heated by a stove of stone in one corner, with an _eikon_
in another. On the table of polished deal lay some books, a copy or
two of the _Invalide Russe_, the _Moskauer Zeitung_, Panaeff's
_Russian Snobs_, the vernacular for that familiar word being
_khlishch_. On the walls hung maps and documents--orders of the day,
perhaps--in Russian.
Through the two large windows, which we were warned not to approach, I
obtained a glimpse of the hill on which the residence of Prince
Menschikoff was situated. On one side I saw that the streets ran in
parallel lines down to the water edge; on the other to where the new
naval arsenals lay, in the old Tartar town which was known by the name
of Achtiare in the days of Thomas Mackenzie, the Scoto-Russian admiral
who first created Sebastopol, and whose _khutor_, farm or forest for
producing masts, excited so much speculation among our Highland
Brigade. Everywhere I saw great cannon bristling, all painted
pea-green, with a white cross on the breech.
The jingle of spurs caused me to turn, and Dicky to lift his hand to
his cap in salute. We saw a tall and handsome Russian officer, of
imposing appearance, enter the room. His eyes were dark, yet sharp and
keen in expression; he had black strongly-marked eyebrows and an
aquiline nose, with a complexion as clear as a woman's, a pretty ample
beard, and close-shorn hair. He, too, wore the inevitable greatcoat;
but it was open in this instance, and I could see the richly-laced
green uniform and curious flat silver epaulettes of the Vladimir
Regiment, with the usual number of medals and crosses, for all the
armies of Nicholas were well decorated. He bowed with great courtesy,
and said in French,
"You have, I understand, a message for me from my Lord Raglan?"
I bowed.
"Before I listen to it you must have some refreshment; your drummer
can wait outside."
I bowed again. A soldier-servant placed on the table decanters of
Crimskoi wine, with a silver salver of biscuits and pastilla, or
little cakes made of fruit and honey; and of these I was not loath to
partake, while the soldier in attendance led away Dicky Roll, who eyed
me wistfully, and said, as he went out,
"For God's sake don't forget me, Captain Hardinge; I don't like the
look of them long-coated beggars at all."
I was somewhat of Dicky's opinion; and being anxious enough to get
back to the trenches, stated briefly my message.
"You have, I fear, come on a bootless errand," replied the Russian,
"as no officer of your army was, to my knowledge, either killed or
taken by us on the night in question; though certainly a man may
easily be hit in the dark, and crawl away to some nook or corner, and
there die and lie unseen. But the Pulkovnick Ochterlony, who keeps the
list of prisoners, will be the best person to afford you information
on the matter. Remain with me, and assist yourself to the Crimskoi,
while I despatch a message to him."
He drew a glazed card from an embossed case, and pencilling a
memorandum thereon, sent his orderly with it, while we seated
ourselves, entered into conversation, and pushed the decanter
fraternally to and fro.
"I have just come from hearing the Bishop of Sebastopol preach in the
great church to all the garrison off duty," said he, laughing; "and he
has been promising us great things--honour in this world, and glory in
the next--if we succeed in driving you all into the Euxine."
"There are plenty of opportunities afforded here of going to heaven."
"A good many, too, of going the other way; however, I must not tell
you all, or even a part, of what the bishop said. He did all that
eloquence could do to fire the religious enthusiasm--superstition, if
you will--of our soldiers and his language was burning."
"Then you are on the eve of another sortie," said I, unwarily.
"I have not said so," he replied, abruptly, while his eyes gleamed,
and handing me his silver cigar-case, on which was engraved a coronet,
we lapsed into silence.
The sermon he referred to was that most remarkable one preached on the
evening of Saturday, the 4th of November, before one of the most
memorable events of the war. In that discourse, this Russian-Greek
bishop, with his coronal mitre on his head, glittering with precious
gems, a crozier whilom borne by St. Sergius in his hand, his silver
beard floating to his girdle over magnificent vestments, stood on the
altar-steps of the great church, and assured the masses of armed men
who thronged it to the portal that the blessing of God was upon their
forthcoming enterprise and the defence of the city; that crowns of
eternal glory awaited all those martyrs who fell in battle against the
heretical French and the island curs who had dared to levy war on holy
Russia and their father the Emperor.
He told them that the English were monsters of cruelty, who tortured
their prisoners, committing unheard-of barbarities on all who fell
into their hands; that "they were bloodthirsty and abominable
heretics, whose extermination was the solemn duty of all who wished to
win the favour of God and of the Emperor." He farther assured them
that the British camp contained enormous treasures--the spoil of
India, vessels of silver and gold, sacks and casks filled with
precious stones--one-third of which was to become the property of the
victors; and he conjured them, by the memory of Michael and Feodor,
who sealed their belief in Christ with their blood, before the savage
Batu-Khan, by the black flag unfurled by Demetri Donskoi when he
marched against Mamai the Tartar, "by the forty times forty churches
of Moscow the holy," and the memory of the French retreat from it, to
stand firm and fail not; and a hoarse and prayerful murmur of assent
responded to him.
My present host was too well-bred to tell all he had just heard,
whether he believed it or not. After a pause, "If another sortie is