The Thin Red Line; and Blue Blood Part 30

He was now with Lord Raglan on the Ridge, with his arm in a sling, for he had just been struck by a shrapnel-sh.e.l.l.

He was downcast and dejected, for Bosquet had gone off on a wild-goose chase after two errant battalions, and had shared in their repulse.

Just now, indeed, so far from proving the saviours of the hard-pressed English, our French allies were themselves in retreat.

Lord Raglan strove to rea.s.sure his colleague.

"All is going well, my general," he said; "we are winning the day."

"I wish I could think so," replied Canrobert.

"Well, but listen to the message my aide-de-camp has brought from General Pennefather. What did he say, Calthorpe?"

"General Pennefather, my lord, says he only wants a few fresh troops to follow the enemy up now, and lick them to the devil. These are his very words, my lord."

Lord Raglan laughed heartily, and translated his stout-hearted lieutenant's language literally for Canrobert.

"Ah! what a brave man!" cried the French general, lighting up. "A splendid general, a most valiant man."

"You see now, general; one more effort and the day is ours. Won't you help?"

"But, my lord, what can I do? The Russians are all round us still, and in great strength. See there, there, and there," he cried, pointing with his unwounded arm.

"Tell General Pennefather to come and speak to me at once," Lord Raglan now said to the aide-de-camp, hoping that the gallant bearing of the victorious veteran would infuse fresh hope in Canrobert.

Now General Pennefather galloped up, as radiantly happy as any schoolboy who has just finished his fifteenth round.

"I should like to press them, my lord. They are retreating already, and we could give a fine account of them."

"What have you left to pursue with?" asked Lord Raglan, still hoping to encourage the French to undertake the offensive.

"Seven or eight hundred now, in the first brigade alone."

"To pursue thousands!" exclaimed Canrobert, when this was interpreted to him; "you must be mad! I will have nothing to do with this; we have done enough for one day."

Now again, as on the Alma, when the heights had been carried by storm, the fruits of victory were lost by our unenterprising, over-cautious allies.

This, indeed, is the true story of Inkerman, as told on incontestable evidence of the great historian of the war. The French did not rescue the English from disaster; they were themselves repulsed. At the close of the action, when they might have actively pursued, their irresolution robbed the victory of its most decisive results.

It was a terrible and far too costly victory, after all. The English army, already terribly weak, suffered such serious losses in the fight that there were those who would have at once re-embarked the remnants and raised the siege. Retreat on the morrow of victory would have been craven indeed, but to stand firm with such shattered forces was a bold and hazardous resolve, for which Lord Raglan deserves the fullest credit, and the coming winter, with its terrible trials, was destined to put his self-reliance to the proof.

It is time to return more particularly to our friends, who took part in this hard-fought, glorious action.

By midday the worse part of the battle was over, and although Colonel Blythe still clung to his Barrier, whence he launched forth small parties to hara.s.s the retreating foe, McKay was released of his attendance upon the acting brigadier, and suffered to follow his own general to the rear.

They had carried poor old Wilders in a litter to one of the hospital marquees in the rear of the Second Division camp. The aide-de-camp found him perfectly conscious, with two doctors by his side.

McKay was allowed to enter into conversation with his chief.

"How does it go?" asked the old general, feebly, but with eager interest.

"The enemy are in full retreat, sir; beaten all along the line."

"Thank Heaven!" said the general, as he sank back upon his pillow.

"How are you, sir?"

"Very weak. My fighting days are done."

"You must not say that, sir; the doctors will soon pull you round.

Won't you?" said McKay, looking round at the nearest surgeon's face.

"Of course. I have no fear, provided only the general will keep quiet, and--"

"That means that I should go," said the aide-de-camp. "I shall be close at hand, sir, for I mean to be chief nurse," and he left the tent.

Outside the surgeon ended the sentence he had left incomplete.

"The general," he said, "will be in no immediate danger if we could count upon his having proper care. With that, I think we could promise to save his life."

"He shall have the most devoted attention from me," began McKay.

"We know that. But he wants more: the very best hospital treatment, with all its comforts and appliances; and how can we possibly secure these here on this bleak plateau?"

Just then one of the general's orderlies came in sight and approached McKay.

"A letter, sir, for the general, marked 'Immediate.'"

"The general can attend to no correspondence. You know he has been desperately wounded."

"Yes, sir, but the messenger would not take that for an answer."

"Who is he?"

"A seaman from Balaclava, belonging to some yacht that has just arrived."

"Lord Lydstone's perhaps. That would indeed be fortunate," went on McKay, turning to the doctor. "It is the general's cousin, you know; and on board the yacht--if we could get him there?"

"That is not impossible, I think. In fact, it would have to be done."

"Well, on board the yacht he would get the careful nursing you speak of. Is he well enough, do you think, to read this letter?"

"Under the circ.u.mstances, yes. Give it me, and I will take it in to the general."

A few minutes later McKay was again called in to the marquee.

"Oh, McKay, I wish you would be so good--" began the wounded man.

"This letter, I mean, is from Mrs. Wilders; she has just arrived."

"Here, in the Crimea, sir?"