CHAPTER LIV.
CHARLES MEETS HORNBY AT LAST
Oh for the whispering woodlands of Devna! Oh for the quiet summerevenings above the lakes, looking far away at the white-walled town onthe distant shore! No more hare-shooting, no more turtle-catching, foryou, my dear Charles. The allies had determined to take Sebastopol, andwinter in the town. It was a very dull place, every one said; but therewas a race-course, and there would be splendid boat-racing in theharbour. The country about the town was reported to be romantic, andthere would be pleasant excursions in the winter to Simpheropol, a gayertown than Sebastopol, and where there was more society. They were notgoing to move till the spring, when they were to advance up the valleyof the Dnieper to Moscow, while a flying column was to be sent to followthe course of the Don, cross to the Volga at Suratow, and so penetrateinto the Ural Mountains and seize the gold mines, or do something ofthis sort; it was all laid out quite plain.
Now, don't call this _ex post facto_ wisdom, but just try to rememberwhat extravagant ideas every non-military man had that autumn about whatour army would do. The ministers of the King of Lerne never laid down amore glorious campaign than we did. "I will," says poor Picrochole,"give him fair quarter, and spare his life--I will rebuild Solomon'sTemple--I will give you Caramania, Syria, and all Palestine." "Ha!sire," said they, "it is out of your goodness. Grammercy, we thank you."We have had our little lesson about that kind of amusement. There hasbeen none of it in this American business; but our good friends theother side of the Atlantic are worse than they were in the time of thePogram defiance. Either they don't file their newspapers, or else theyconsole themselves by saying that they could have done it all if theyhad liked.
It now becomes my duty to use all the resources of my art to describeCharles's emotions at the first sight of Sebastopol. Such an opportunityfor the display of beautiful language should not be let slip. I could doit capitally by buying a copy of Mr. Russell's "War," or even by usingthe correspondence I have on the table before me. But I think you willagree with me that it is better left alone. One hardly likes to comeinto the field in that line after Russell.
Balaclava was not such a pleasant place as Devna. It was bare and rocky,and everything was in confusion, and the men were dying in heaps ofcholera. The nights were beginning to grow chill, too, and Charles beganto dream regularly that he was sleeping on the bare hill-side, in asharp frost, and that he was agonisingly cold about the small of hisback. And the most singular thing was, that he always woke and found hisdream come true. At first he only used to dream this dream towardsmorning; but, as October began to creep on, he used to wake with itseveral times in the night, and at last hardly used to go to sleep atall for fear of dreaming it.
Were there no other dreams? No. No dreams, but one ever-present reality.A dull aching regret for a past for ever gone. A heavy deadly grief,lost for a time among the woods of Devna, but come back to him nowamidst the cold, and the squalor, and the sickness of Balaclava. Abrooding over missed opportunities, and the things that might have been.Sometimes a tangled puzzled train of thought, as to how much of thisghastly misery was his own fault, and how much accident. And above all,a growing desire for death, unknown before.
And all this time, behind the hill, the great guns--which had begun afitful muttering when they first came there, often dying off intosilence--now day by day, as trench after trench was opened, grew louderand more continuous, till hearing and thought were deadened, and thesoul was sick of their never-ceasing melancholy thunder.
And at six o'clock on the morning of the seventeenth, such an infernaldin began as no man there had ever heard before, which grew louder andlouder till nine, when it seemed impossible that the ear could bear theaccumulation of sound; and then suddenly doubled, as the _Agamemnon_ andthe _Montebello_, followed by the fleets, steamed in, and laidbroadside-to under the forts. Four thousand pieces of the heaviestordnance in the world were doing their work over that hill, and the140th stood dismounted and listened.
At ten o'clock the earth shook, and a column of smoke towered up in theair above the hill, and as it began to hang motionless, the sound of itreached them. It was different from the noise of guns. It was somethingnew and terrible. An angry hissing roar. An hour after they heard thattwenty tons of powder were blown up in the French lines.
Soon after this, though, there was work to be done, and plenty of it.The wounded were being carried to the rear. Some cavalry weredismounted, and told off for the work. Charles was one of them.
The wind had not yet sprung up, and all that Charles saw for the momentwas a valley full of smoke, and fire, and sound. He caught the glimpseof the spars and funnel of a great liner above the smoke to the left;but directly after they were under fire, and the sickening day's workbegan.
Death and horror in every form, of course. The wounded lying about inheaps. Officers trying to compose their faces, and die like gentlemen.Old Indian soldiers dying grimly as they had lived; and lads, fresh fromthe plough last year, listed at the market-cross some unlucky Saturday,sitting up staring before them with a look of terror and wonder: saddersight than either. But everywhere all the day, where the shot screamedloudest, where the shell fell thickest, with his shako gone, with hisambrosial curls tangled with blood, with his splendid gaudy fripperiessoiled with dust and sweat, was Hornby, the dandy, the fop, the dicer;doing the work of ten, carrying out the wounded in his arms, encouragingthe dying, cheering on the living.
"I knew there was some stuff in him," said Charles, as he followed himinto the Crown battery; just at that time the worst place of all, forthe _The Twelve Apostles_ had begun dropping red-hot shot into it, andexploded some ammunition, and killed some men. And they had met a navalofficer, known to Hornby, wounded, staggering to the rear, who said,"that his brother was knocked over, and that they wanted to make out hewas dead, but he had only fainted." So they went back with him. Theofficer's brother was dead enough, poor fellow; but as Charles andHornby bent suddenly over to look at him, their faces actually touched.
Hornby did not recognise him. He was in a state of excitement, and wasthinking of no one less than Charles, and Charles's moustaches hadaltered him, as I said before. If their eyes had met, I believe Hornbywould have known him; but it was not to be till the 25th, and this wasonly the 17th. If Hornby could only have known him, if they could onlyhave had ten minutes' talk together, Charles would have known all thatwe know about the previous marriage of his grandfather: and, if thatconversation had taken place, he would have known more than any of them,for Hornby knew something which he thought of no importance, which wasvery important indeed. He knew where Ellen was.
But Charles turned his face away, and the recognition did not takeplace. Poor Charles said afterwards that it was all a piece ofluck--that "the stars in their courses fought against Sisera." It is notthe case. He turned away his eyes, and avoided the recognition. What hemeant is this:--
As Hornby's face was touching his, and they were both bending over thedead man, whom they could hardly believe to be dead, the men behind themfired off the great Lancaster in the next one-gun battery. "Crack!" andthey heard the shell go piff, piff, piff, piff, and strike something.And then one man close to them cried, "God Almighty!" and another cried,"Christ!" as sailors will at such awful times; and they both leapt totheir feet. Above the smoke there hung, a hundred feet in the air, asomething like a vast black pine-tree; and before they had time torealise what had happened, there was a horrible roar, and a concussionwhich made them stagger on their legs. A shell from the Lancaster hadblown up the great redoubt in front of the Redan wall, and every Russiangun ceased firing. And above the sound of the Allied guns rose thecheering of our own men, sounding, amidst the awful bass, like theshrill treble of school-children at play.
Charles said afterwards that this glorious accident prevented theirrecognition. It is not true. He prevented it himself, and took theconsequences. But Hornby recognised him on the twenty-fifth in thiswise:--
The first thing in the morning
, they saw, on the hills to the right,Russian skirmishers creeping about towards them, apparently without anobject. They had breakfast, and took no notice of them till about eighto'clock, when a great body of cavalry came slowly, regiment by regiment,from behind a hill near the Turks. Then gleaming batteries of artillery;and lastly, an endless column of grey infantry, which began to wheelinto line. And when Charles had seen some five or six grey batallionscome swinging out, the word was given to mount, and he saw no more, butcontemplated the tails of horses. And at the same moment the guns beganan irregular fire on their right.
Almost immediately the word was given to advance, which they did slowly.Charles could see Hornby just before him, in his old place, for theywere in column. They crossed the plain, and went up the crest of thehill, halting on the high road. Here they sat for some time, and themore fortunate could see the battle raging below to the right. TheEnglish seemed getting rather the worst of it.
They sat there about an hour and a half; and all in a moment, before anyone seemed to expect it, some guns opened on them from the right; soclose that it made their right ears tingle. A horse from the squadron infront of Charles bolted from the ranks, and nearly knocked down Hornby.The horse had need to bolt, for he carried a dead man, who in the lastspasm had pulled him on his haunches, and struck his spurs deep into hissides.
Charles began to guess that they were "in for it" at last. He had noidea, of course, whether it was a great battle or a little one; but hesaw that the 140th had work before them. I, of course, have only tospeak of what Charles saw with his own eyes, and what therefore bearsupon the story I am telling you. That was the only man he saw killed atthat time, though the whole brigade suffered rather heavily by theRussian cannonade at that spot.
Very shortly after this they were told to form line. Of course, whenthis manoeuvre was accomplished, Charles had lost sight of Hornby. Hewas sorry for this. He would have liked to know where he was; to helphim if possible, should anything happen to him; but there was not muchtime to think of it, for directly after they moved forward at a canter.In the front line were the 11th Hussars and the 13th Light Dragoons, andin the second where the 140th Hussars,[9] the 8th Hussars, and the 4thDragoons. Charles could see thus much, now they were in line.
They went down hill, straight towards the guns, and almost at once theshot from them began to tell. The men of the 11th and 13th began to fallterribly fast. The men in the second line, in which Charles was, werefalling nearly as fast, but this he could not remark. He missed the mannext him on the right, one of his favourite comrades, but it did notstrike him that the poor fellow was cut in two by a shot. He kept onwishing that he could see Hornby. He judged that the affair was gettingserious. He little knew what was to come.
He had his wish of seeing Hornby, for they were riding up hill into anarrowing valley, and it was impossible to keep line. They formed intocolumn again, though men and horses were rolling over and over at everystride, and there was Hornby before him, sailing along as gallant andgay as ever. A fine beacon to lead a man to a glorious death.
And, almost the next moment, the batteries right and left opened onthem. Those who were there engaged can give us very little idea of whatfollowed in the next quarter of an hour. They were soon among guns--thevery guns that had annoyed them from the first; and infantry beyondopened fire on them. There seems to have been a degree of confusion atthis point. Charles, and two or three others known to him, were huntingsome Russian artillerymen round their guns, for a minute or so. Hornbywas among them. He saw also at this time his little friend the cornet,on foot, and rode to his assistance. He caught a riderless horse, andthe cornet mounted. Then the word was given to get back again; I knownot how; I have nothing to do with it. But, as they turned their facesto get out of this horrible hell, poor Charles gave a short, sharpscream, and bent down in his saddle over his horse's neck.
It was nothing. It was only as if one were to have twenty teeth pulledout at once. The pain was over in an instant. What a fool he was to cryout! The pain was gone again, and they were still under fire, and Hornbywas before him.
How long? How many minutes, how many hours? His left arm was nearlydead, but he could hold his reins in a way, and rode hard after Hornby,from some wild instinct. The pain had stopped, but was coming on againas if ten thousand red-hot devils were pulling at his flesh, and twentythousand were arriving each moment to help them.
His own friends were beside him again, and there was a rally and acharge. At what? he thought for an instant. At guns? No. At men thistime, Russian hussars--right valiant fellows, too. He saw Hornby in thethick of the _melee_, with his sword flickering about his head likelightning. He could do but little himself; he rode at a Russian andunhorsed him; he remembers seeing the man go down, though whether hestruck at him, or whether he went down by the mere superior weight ofhis horse, he cannot say. This I can say, though, that, whatever he did,he did his duty as a valiant gentleman; I will go bail for that much.
They beat them back, and then turned. Then they turned again and beatthem back once more. And then they turned and rode. For it was time.Charles lost sight of Hornby till the last, when some one caught hisrein and turned his horse, and then he saw that they were getting intoorder again, and that Hornby was before him, reeling in his saddle.
As the noise of the battle grew fainter behind them, he looked round tosee who was riding beside him, and holding him by the right arm. It wasthe little cornet. Charles wondered why he did so. "You're hard hit,Simpson," said the cornet. "Never mind. Keep your saddle a littlelonger. We shall be all right directly."
His faculties were perfectly acute, and, having thanked the cornet helooked down and noticed that he was riding between him and a trooper,that his left arm was hanging numbed by his side, and that the trooperwas guiding his horse. He saw that they had saved him, and even in hisdeadly agony he was so far his own old courteous self, that he turnedright and left to them, and thanked them for what they had done for him.
But he had kept his eyes fixed on Hornby, for he saw that he wasdesperately hit, and he wanted to say one or two words to him beforeeither of them died. Soon they were among English faces, and Englishcheers rang out in welcome to their return, but it was nothing to him;he kept his eye, which was growing dim, on Hornby, and, when he saw himfall off his saddle into the arms of a trooper, he dismounted too andstaggered towards him.
The world seemed to go round and round, and he felt about him like ablind man. But he found Hornby somehow. A doctor, all scarlet and gold,was bending over him, and Charles knelt down on the other side, andlooked into the dying man's face.
"Do you know me, lieutenant?" he said, speaking thick like a drunkenman, but determined to hold out. "You know your old servant, don't you?"
Hornby smiled as he recognised him, and said, "Ravenshoe." But then hisface grew anxious, and he said, "Why did you hide yourself from me? Youhave ruined everything."
He could get no further for a minute, and then he said--
"Take this from round my neck and carry it to her. Tell her that you sawme die, and that I was true to our compact. Tell her that my share ofour purification was complete, for I followed duty to death, as Ipromised her. She has a long life of weary penance before her to fulfilour bargain. Say I should wish her to be happy, only that I know shecannot be. And also say that I see now, that there is something betterand more desirable than what we call happiness. I don't know what it is,but I suspect it is what we call duty."
Here the doctor said, "They are at it again, and I must go with them. Ican do no good here for the poor dear fellow. Take what he tells you offhis neck, in my presence, and let me go."
The doctor did it himself. When the great heavy gold stock wasunbuttoned, Hornby seemed to breathe more freely. The doctor found roundhis neck a gold chain, from which hung a photograph of Ellen, and ablack cross. He gave them to Charles, and departed.
Once more Charles spoke to Hornby. He said, "Where shall I find her?"
Hornby said, "Why, at H
ackney, to be sure; did you not know she wasthere?" And afterwards, at the very last, "Ravenshoe, I should haveloved you; you are like her, my boy. Don't forget."
But Charles never heard that. They found Hornby dead and cold, with hishead on Charles's lap, and Charles looked so like him that they said,"This man is dead too; let us bury him." But a skilful doctor therepresent said, "This man is not dead, and will not die;" and he wasright.
Oh, but the sabres bit deep that autumn afternoon! There were women inMinsk, in Moglef, in Tchernigof, in Jitemir, in Polimva, whose husbandswere Hussars--and women in Taganrog, in Tcherkask, in Sanepta, whichlies under the pleasant slate mountains, whose husbands and sons wereCossacks--who were made widows that day. For that day's work there wasweeping in reed-thatched hovels of the Don, and in the mud-builtshanties of the Dnieper. For the 17th Lancers, the Scots Greys, the 1stRoyals, and the 6th Enniskillens--"these terrible beef-fed islanders"(to use the words of the _Northern Bee_)--were upon them; and Volhyniaand Hampshire, Renfrewshire and Grodno, Podolia and Fermanagh, weremixed together in one common ruin.
Still, they say, the Princess Petrovitch, on certain days, leaves hercarriage, and walks a mile through the snow barefoot, into Alexandroski,in memory of her light-haired handsome young son, whom Hornby slew atBalaclava. And I myself know the place where Lady Allerton makes herpilgrimage for those two merry boys of hers who lie out on the Crimeanhill. Alas! not side by side. Up and down, in all weathers, along acertain gravel walk, where the chalk brook, having flooded the park withits dammed-up waters, comes foaming and spouting over a cascade, andhurries past between the smooth-mown lawns of the pleasance. In the veryplace where she stood when the second letter came. And there, they say,she will walk at times, until her beauty and her strength are gone, andher limbs refuse to carry her.
Karlin Karlinoff was herding strange-looking goats on the Suratowhill-side, which looks towards the melancholy Volga on one side, and thereedy Ural on the other, when the Pulk came back, and her son was notwith them. Eliza Jones had got on her husband's smock-frock, and wasa-setting of beans, when the rector's wife came struggling over theheavy lands and water-furrows, and broke the news gently, and with manytears. Karlin Karlinoff drove her goats into the mud-walled yard thatnight, though the bittern in the melancholy fen may have been startledfrom his reeds by a cry more wild and doleful than his own; and ElizaJones went on setting her beans, though they were watered with hertears.
What a strange, wild business it was! The extreme east of Europe againstthe extreme west. Men without a word, an idea, a habit, or a hope incommon, thrown suddenly together to fight and slay; and then to part,having learned to respect one another better, in one year of war, thanever they had in a hundred years of peace. Since that year we haveunderstood Eylau and Borodino, which battles were a puzzle to some of usbefore that time. The French did better than we, which was provoking,because the curs began to bark--Spanish curs, for instance; Americancurs; the lower sort of French cur; and the Irish curs, who have thestrange habit of barking the louder the more they are laughed at, andwho, now, being represented by about two hundred men among six million,have rather a hard time of it. They barked louder, of course, at theIndian mutiny. But they have all got their tails between their legs now,and are likely to keep them there. We have had our lesson. We havelearnt that what our fathers told us was true--that we are the mostpowerful nation on the face of the earth.
This, you will see, bears all upon the story I am telling you. Well, ina sort of way. Though I do not exactly see how. I could find a reason,if you gave me time. If you gave me time, I could find a reason foranything. However, the result is this, that our poor Charles had beenstruck by a ball in the bone of his arm, and that the splinters weredriven into the flesh, though the arm was not broken. It was a nastybusiness, said the doctors. All sorts of things might happen to him.Only one thing was certain, and that was that Charles Ravenshoe's careerin the army was over for ever.