Hervey saluted with his sword. ‘Bonjour, monsieur le général.’
Ostroschenko touched the peak of his cap to acknowledge.
Hervey tried to explain who they were, but the general nodded and stayed him.
‘Je l’ai vue, monsieur le colonel anglais. Tout.’
Hervey was glad of it; it spared him the discomfort of speaking of ‘stragglers’.
‘Et je n’en oublierai pas!’
Hervey returned his sword, and bowed.
Ostroschenko pointed right and rear to the ridge. ‘Et voilà Pahlen!’
Hervey turned; and sighed with relief. Count Pahlen’s corps, two divisions and another of cavalry, were coming down the slopes in column. Did Diebitsch sense victory, or fear defeat of his advance guard? For now, it hardly mattered: in half an hour Pahlen’s men would be close enough to support them, and his cavalry in no time at all. He saluted in acknowledgement.
This was the battle they had sought, said Ostroschenko. They would see it through where they stood. Then he smiled and nodded reassuringly: ‘Tenez ferme, mes braves!’
Agar had out his telescope. ‘A great number of guns, too, sir,’ he said when Ostroschenko had galloped back for his vantage point.
Pahlen’s batteries were moving by the valley of the Bulanik to keep clear of the columns. Hervey saw, yet he could not make out what it tokened, though only too aware of his worm’s-eye view of the battle. ‘Can Diebitsch believe the Turks have shot their bolt?’
Fairbrother had been too busy on the right of the volleying line to take much note of what was happening elsewhere. ‘The Vizier must have a deal more arrows in his quiver than that,’ he replied, doubtfully. ‘I’ll warrant we’ll have the fight of our lives within the hour. Might we try to find a Russian officer to take command here?’
It was a reasonable request, but Hervey could see no very practical way of addressing it. Corporal Acton, meanwhile, was strolling along the front of the line like a regimental serjeant-major. They were now a hundred and fifty, and at Hervey’s bidding Acton had somehow got them into two ranks – and then to stand easy. There was now laughter and the smell of pipe smoke. At that moment Hervey was unsure he would welcome a relief.
The sun was no longer in their eyes but beat down unsparingly, and canteens were running dry. Had there been a stream nearby he might have risked sending half a dozen men to fill them, but there was none. There was nothing for it therefore but to ask the hussars. He pulled the medal ribbon out from his tunic once more and strode back the hundred yards to where the Irkutzk stood.
Colonel Voinov sent for the rotmistr. When he came, Hervey explained the predicament. Yet Voinov was unmoved: the Muromskiye must live with the consequences of their indiscipline, he said.
Hervey persisted: the men had stood long in the sun, they had rallied bravely, and their mouths were parched biting off the cartridges.
Still Voinov was unmoved: they were fortunate to escape the lash and the firing squad for running away (and then a remark which the rotmistr did not translate, but which seemed to imply some contempt for the Muromskiye, as opposed to the manly Sibirskiye).
‘They are soldiers of the Tsar, Colonel. They will bear their condition without complaint – or else they will answer for it.’
There was no animus in Voinov’s remarks, only a gulf between their notions of authority. Hervey knew he had no experience of conscripts, and took his leave courteously, but with a look that spoke his mind.
‘They are soldiers of the Tsar,’ he told Fairbrother simply.
Fairbrother raised an eyebrow. ‘At this moment they look pretty much like soldiers of anybody’s. And putting them against a wall tomorrow doesn’t help now.’
Hervey smiled, grimly. He had at least the comfort of knowing that Voinov’s sabres would make bloody work of any who ran – and that the Muromskiye knew it too.
The attack began a little before half past three with a storm of roundshot on the jangled orchards and groves of Tschirkowna, pounding General Ostroschenko’s brigade of chasseurs which had stood throughout with impressive resolution. Pahlen’s artillery answered with shell, and soon the field was a blanket of smoke, so thick in places that none could see beyond a dozen yards. The gunners close-on Hervey’s men hastily began hand-spiking the 12-pounders back to their original lay and reloading with canister; if the Turks came on in this fog of battle there’d be no time for other than case-shot.
The smoke drifted, thinning, then rolled in again thicker. Hervey became anxious: this was the time the faint-hearted – and the straight cowards – would slip away. ‘Get them to fix bayonets, Corporal Acton.’ There was no point in giving the order in English; best let Acton do it by demonstration.
‘Sir!’
Acton marched to the front, seized the bayonet from the belt of a startled rekrut and held it aloft. ‘Rousskis will fix bayonets,’ he bellowed (he had once seen the Militia do it). He waited a few seconds to let the cautionary sink in, and then roared the executive: ‘Fix bayonets!’
A hundred and fifty bayonets – those the rekruty had not lost or thrown away – were somehow fixed. Now, at least, if the Turks appeared out of the smoke they would have to stand a volley and then run on to steel. In truth, though, Hervey was confident of neither volley nor bayonet.
A commotion to the rear made all eyes turn.
He could scarce believe it: out from the ‘fog’ came the sutler of the erstwhile Regiment of Murom leading a train of donkeys.
There was cheering, and all order vanished as the rekruty flocked to him.
Hervey looked anxiously beyond in case it excited the Irkutzk to draw sabres.
For the time being they stood impassive. Perhaps the smoke worked to his advantage?
‘Corporal Acton, get these men under discipline!’ he barked as he doubled after them.
Acton was momentarily at a loss. Then he did what he would in the Sixth – except that a dozen dragoons the worse for wear of a pay night scarce compared to these.
Yet the raised voice, the jabbing finger, the confident assertion of authority somehow brought silence of a sort, and then a respectful (or fearful) edging back.
‘Now what is all this?’ demanded Hervey, tapping the panniers. ‘Water? Aqua?’
If the sutler understood, he didn’t answer. Instead he got out a ledger from his satchel and held it towards him balefully: his fortune in credit extended to the Murom was no more.
Hervey had scant sympathy. His prices – like any sutler’s – would have out-jewed Shylock. And yet, who but he brought comforts to the regiment in the middle of battle – even at such a price?
‘Rum, sir,’ said Corporal Acton, sniffing one of the flasks. ‘Good rum,’ he added, tasting it. ‘And nice water as well.’
Hervey thought of commandeering the entire train, but that would have been just one more thing to guard. Instead, he took a handful of gold from his cartouche box – sovereigns and five-rouble pieces – and by the universal process of bargaining (to the continual accompaniment of the cannonade) bought the entire stock.
He beckoned the NCOs closest and motioned them to distribute the water, appointing Acton quartermaster.
‘A measure of rum to each man. A gill, no more – perhaps half a gill. Is there enough?’
‘Ay, sir, if I go easy – two dozen bottles, I reckon,’ replied Acton, taking down the precious keg.
‘Thank God it’s no more,’ said Hervey to himself. The worst of the heat was past, but to men who were parched, the drink would be double-strength. ‘And quick about it, please!’
A gill for each man – it was asking for trouble. How in God’s name would he get them back into ranks – other than calling on the Irkutzk?
The 12-pounders came to his aid – a thunderous volley. Speeded by every curse that Acton possessed, and reinvigorated with rum, the provisional company rushed back to the dry course and formed line as before, the NCOs suddenly regaining a notion of duty and hastening the laggards with the butt of t
he musket.
They stood, if less steady than before, with a new look of defiance. They could see no Turks in the billows of smoke, but the guns wouldn’t be firing at phantoms: they were there somewhere. Soon it would be retribution.
The smoke was drifting, thinning – and now clearing.
The company began jeering.
Musketry answered them – skirmishers.
Two or three rekruty fell.
Hervey knew he must give an order; rum or no rum, they were trained to fire only on the word of command.
Acton seized the musket from a flanker and ran to the centre of the line. ‘Give the word, sir!’
Hervey raised his sabre. ‘Make ready!’
Up to his side went Acton’s musket, the hammer cocked. He looked left and right, gesturing for the line to follow.
Up went the muskets, and the cocking of the hammers.
‘Present!’
Up to the aim went Acton’s musket.
The front rank followed.
Hervey waited for him to step back in line. ‘Ognya!’
Not a perfect volley, but good enough – though with so much smoke he couldn’t see if a single ball had struck.
The rear rank stepped forward.
‘Make ready … Present … Fire!’
More smoke. Nothing for it but to keep volleying.
The rear rank was reloading fast.
‘Front rank retire!’
The words meant nothing, but the hours of drill did. The rear rank now fronted again.
‘Front rank … Present … Fire!’
Smoke drifted rear and left. They could see a hundred yards clear, now, and hazily beyond – a good harvest of the lead, an even line of fallen Turks at fifty yards, and at a hundred a tight-packed battalion in column of companies, halted.
The 12-pounders thundered again, cutting a swathe through the right-flank column and felling the leading ranks in the other four. Now was the moment for the Irkutzk to charge, but he couldn’t catch sight of them in the smoke behind.
He daren’t risk another minute, though. He ran to the centre of the line and waved his sabre. ‘Charge! Charge! Charge!’
He didn’t look to see who was with him, only Fairbrother at his right.
He ran faster than he ever thought he could.
His lungs were set to burst; his ears rang with cannonading and musketry – and the cries of the men behind him.
He didn’t need to look how many; the Turks told him – a whole brigade of Russians – no? – charging out of the smoke? They turned tail and ran without a parting shot.
Hervey stopped as they reached the fallen skirmishers, and hastened the departure of the rest with a ragged volley.
Yet the Turks had come on bravely in the first fight. Breathing deep to recover himself as his own men fell out to loot, Hervey shook his head, hardly able to believe his – their – luck. There was just no knowing the collective mind of infantry at the culminating point; that much he had understood a long time, but never so perfectly as now.
‘Still, sir!’ shouted Acton.
Half deafened as he was, the pounding hoofs had taken him by surprise. Hervey froze as horses galloped left and right – the Irkutzk, late but not too late to turn the reverse into rout.
And then Count Pahlen, indeed – and General Diebitsch.
He stood straight, and saluted.
‘Colonel Hervey, you try me sorely,’ Diebitsch declared, touching the peak of his cap in reply. ‘What do you do exposing yourself thus?’
‘General, I didn’t think you—’
‘You thought the smoke would conceal it, did you?’
Hervey held out his sword as if to admit his guilt.
‘It wasn’t enough to rally stragglers, then – Ostroschenko has told me all. Colonel Hervey, how would it look to your Duke of Wellington if you were killed at the head of a company of infantry? Retire at once, sir. You have done enough!’
‘With respect, General, I should not care to leave these men until “Retreat” is sounded. They have fought bravely.’
‘It is a soldier’s duty to fight bravely.’ But his countenance softened. ‘I grant you your request. Leave the field at once, and take these men with you. The provost-marshal shall muster them afresh.’
‘I am obliged, General.’
Diebitsch nodded, and with something approaching a smile. ‘Have a care, Colonel Hervey. You would be much mourned.’
PART THREE
THE PURSUIT OF VICTORY
The Times
LONDON, TUESDAY 21 JULY, 1829
The Paris papers of Sunday, containing an account of the fall of Silistria, extracted from the Allgemeine Zeitung, arrived yesterday. The German paper was brought to Strasburg by express, and the Prefect of that town transmitted the news to Paris by the telegraph. He had, however, previously received this important intelligence through the Prussian State Gazette, the official character of which renders the confirmation given by the despatch of the French Prefect superfluous. It is stated that immediately after the battle of the 11th of June, the Emperor NICHOLAS transmitted to each of the Allied Courts a copy of the bulletin announcing General DIEBITSCH’S victory, accompanied by a note, in which he renewed the assurance of his wish to avoid further effusion of blood by concluding a peace with the Porte. It remains to be seen whether the loss of Silistria will induce the SULTAN to listen to the propositions of Russia. After the surrender of Silistria General DIEBITSCH closely invested Shumla; but it is not yet ascertained whether he means to undertake a regular siege of that fortress. It is not improbable that he may leave a corps to observe it, and advance with the main body of his army into the plains of Adrianople …
XVII
WORDS OF APPRECIATION
Thrace, two months later
In Camp before Adrianople,
17th August 1829 .
Dear Princess Lieven,You will have heard, and possibly seen account, of General Diebitsch’s victory at Kulewtscha on 11th June over the principal force of the Grand Vizier, and of his march thereafter through the Balkan, which had hitherto barred the way of all armies. I may tell you that I myself was witness to the battle and thought it a very great clash of arms, the greatest I have seen since Waterloo. The Turk did not fight with any great skill, or even great courage, I might say, but he was present in so great a number that there was the utmost danger to the Emperor’s troops, which the excellence of the General-in-chief and of Count Pahlen in particular was able to mitigate, and the steadiness of the troops themselves. But the victory was not achieved without grievous loss, and I myself witnessed the destruction of the Murom regiment, which was a most terrible sight to behold but yet which did not deter the rest of the Army who witnessed it from standing their ground and in turn attacking the Turk with the utmost resolution. There was very heavy fighting throughout the afternoon in which General Diebitsch was gradually able to gain the upper hand by bringing those troops of General Roth’s corps and of General Rudiger’s, which had principally arrived on the field in the morning, into the centre where the Turk made his effort, and at about five o’clock his artillery was able to do very great destruction to the Turk artillery and to his reserves, so that several caissons exploded and wrought confusion among the Turk ranks and much hastened their retreat. Towards evening, indeed, despite the Vizier’s bringing up his reserve of regular regiments, the Turk army was in flight and in no little state of dissolution, losing almost every one of their guns and leaving at least three thousand dead and dying on the field, being one tenth of the force with which he had tried to relieve Pravadi and which, had he been successful in so doing, would then have laid siege to Varna. General Diebitsch’s losses were not very less numerous, for such was the nature of the fighting, including a great many officers. The nature of the country did not permit of the pursuit and surrender of the Turk, however, and in lesser numbers and without the necessaries of war, and wholly disordered, he was able to reach Shumla in the weeks that followed, although man
y of them starved for want of any food whatever in the forest, and I myself came upon the remains of those who had succumbed beneath that want.The day after the battle, General Diebitsch endeavoured to open a negotiation with the Turk, but he was referred by the Vizier to the Sultan on this point, and so he resolved instead on making a pretence of investing Shumla while restoring the Army’s strength and awaiting the reduction of Silistria, which was accomplished on the 19th June. About nine thousand Turks laid down their arms in that place, (Silistria), and perhaps half as many had been killed, and with them more than two hundred and fifty guns were surrendered, some of great size.Agreeably to the original plan of campaign, the siege of Rustchuk was to have followed that of Silistria, and the line of the Danube was to have been maintained till the spring. But the battle at Kulewtscha caused a change, by preparing the way for more decided operations. General Diebitsch was aware of the moral effect produced on the Turk by the loss of this battle, and he knew also of the dissatisfaction which prevails at Constantinople on account of the Sultan’s reforms (I mean principally in consequence of the innovation of regular troops instead of the Janissaries), and, encouraged by these and certain other circumstances, he determined on a course of the greatest daring, which was the passing of the Balkan in preference to undertaking a further siege (of Shumla) to secure more effectually his lines of communication. Once he was joined by the troops hitherto employed in reducing Silistria, he made therefore a more formidable demonstration against Shumla. The Vizier, in the expectation of immediate assault, recalled a portion of his troops from the mountain passes to aid in the defence of a position on which, by the evidence of all of history hereto, everything depended. The defenders of the Balkan passes being thereby seriously diminished, it only remained to attempt the passage before the Vizier had time to discover and remedy his error.In order, however, to complete the deception which was required to pass troops through this formidable barrier without further great loss, the General-in-chief instructed General Krassowski, with ten thousand men, to press closely upon Shumla, whilst the main force of about thirty thousand feigned a retreat towards Silistria. On reaching Yeni Bazar, a distance of about six leagues, General Diebitsch at once turned right and moved on Devna and Kupriquoi. Each soldier was issued with four days’ rations, and ten more were carried in light waggons attached to the regiments. The bridge over the Kamtchik was taken with élan, and from that point it was not possible for the Vizier, who even now had detected his error and managed to detach ten thousand to intercept the Army at the pass of Kamtchik – but too late – to interfere with the passage south, for by now the Army had passed the most difficult part of the country and were far on the road towards Eski Bashli. I must hasten to add, however, that the road leading to Aidos is the most difficult of all the eastern routes, crossing the same stream forty times in the Delidah Valley, and traversing a defile barely sixty yards wide, all of which I myself saw in company with General Rudiger’s corps.In the meantime, General Roth advanced along the coast to Misivri, which capitulated on his approach, and he was thence enabled to march on Bourgas and open a communication with the fleet. It was at this point that the alarm occasioned by the Bulgars worked its greatest favour, for they had, it is reported, likened the numbers of the Army to ‘the leaves of the forest’, and Aidos, with all its stores, was abandoned by the retreating Turks even before the arrival of General Rudiger.There was but one moment of supposed peril, when the posts occupied covered about eight hundred miles of country, which might be cut off, and this latter consideration, together with the reported junction of Hussein Pasha, the Seraskier, and the Grand Vizier himself, caused such uneasiness that General Diebitsch concentrated nearly the whole of his force and made a retrograde movement on Selimnia with twenty-five thousand men and a hundred pieces of artillery. But instead of encountering the expected army he only found a small force of cavalry posted near the town, which gave way, after a smart affair, and the place was occupied. The General left here a force to secure his line of communications, and resuming his advance forthwith, he arrived before Adrianople, in Ancient Thrace, this day week in three divisions, with the right of the army leaning on the river Tschenga. The Army has dubbed him ‘Count Za-Balkanski’, and every man is in the highest spirits.I conclude this, my second letter, in confident expectation of being able to write next from Constantinople itself, since ‘Za-Balkanski’ carries all before him.I remain Your Highness’s Humble Servant &c, &c,Matthew Hervey,Lieutenant Colonel.
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