While the troops were disembarking, one of the reconnoitring steamers returned with news of a Russian camp situated near the beach, about eight miles south of the place where we were landing. The Samson, the Fury, and the Vesuvius, in company with three French steamers, at once proceeded to the spot. They found a camp of about 6000 men formed at a mile's distance from the sea. The steamers opened fire with shell at 2500 yards, knocking them over right and left, and driving the soldiery in swarms out of the camp, which was broken up after less than an hour's firing. The squadron returned to the fleet, having effected this service, and were ordered to cruise off Sebastopol.
Few of those who were with the expedition will forget the night of the 14th of September. Seldom or never were 27,000 Englishmen more miserable. No tents had been sent on shore, partly because there had been no time to land them, partly because there was no certainty of our being able to find carriage for them in case of a move. Towards night the sky looked very black and lowering; the wind rose, and the rain fell in torrents. The showers increased in violence about midnight, and early in the morning fell in drenching sheets, which pierced through the blankets and greatcoats of the houseless and tentless soldiers. It was their first bivouac — a hard trial enough, in all conscience, worse than all their experiences of Bulgaria or Gallipoli, for there they had their tents, and now they learned to value their canvas coverings at their true worth. Let the reader imagine old generals[11] and young gentlemen exposed to the violence of pitiless storms, with no bed but the reeking puddle under the saturated blankets, or bits of useless waterproof wrappers, and the twenty-odd thousand poor fellows who could not get "dry bits" of ground, and had to sleep or try to sleep, in little lochs and watercourses — no fire to cheer them, no hot grog, and the prospect of no breakfast; — let him imagine this, and add to it that the nice "change of linen" had become a wet abomination, which weighed the poor men's kits down, and he will admit that this "seasoning" was of rather a violent character — particularly as it came after all the luxuries of dry ship stowage.{90} Sir George Brown slept under a cart tilted over. The Duke of Cambridge, wrapped in a waterproof coat, spent most of the night riding about among his men. Sir De Lacy Evans was the only general whose staff had been careful enough to provide him with a tent. In one respect the rain was of service: it gave the men a temporary supply of water; but then it put a fire out of the question, even if enough wood could have been scraped together to make it. The country was, however, destitute of timber.
During the night it blew freshly from the west, a heavy sea tumbled into the bay, and sent a high surf upon the beach, which much interfered with the process of landing cavalry and artillery on the 15th. Early in the day signal was made to the steamers to get up steam for Eupatoria, and it was no doubt intended to land the cavalry and artillery there, in consequence of the facility afforded by a pier and harbour; but towards noon the wind went down, and the swell somewhat abated. Several valuable animals were drowned in an attempt to land some staff horses. Lord Raglan lost one charger and another swam off seaward, and was only recovered two miles from the shore. Some boats were staved and rendered useless, and several others were injured by the roll of the surf on the beach; nor did the horse-boats and flats escape uninjured. Operations went on slowly, and the smooth days we had wasted at sea were bitterly lamented.
The work was, however, to be done, and in the afternoon orders were given to land cavalry. For this purpose it was desirable to approach the beach as close as possible, and a signal to this effect was made to the cavalry steamers. The Himalaya in a few minutes ran in so far that she lay inside every ship in our fleet, with the exception of the little Spitfire, and immediately commenced discharging her enormous cargo of 390 horses, and nearly 700 men. The attendance of cutters, launches, paddle-box boats, and horse-floats from the navy was prompt, and the seamen of the Royal and mercantile marine rivalled each other in their efforts. Never did men work so hard, so cheerfully, or so well. The horses, too, were so acclimated to ship life — they were so accustomed to an existence of unstable equilibrium in slings, and to rapid ascents and descents from the tight ropes, that they became comparatively docile. Besides this, they were very tired from standing for fourteen days in one narrow box, were rather thin and sickly, and were glad of change of air and position.
Before the disembarkation had concluded for the day, signal was made for all ships to "land tents." It need not be said that this order was most gratefully received. But alas! the order was countermanded, and the tents which had been landed were sent back to the ships again. Our French allies, deficient as they had been in means of accommodation and stowage and transport, had yet managed to land their little scraps of tents the day they disembarked. Whilst our poor fellows were soaked through and through, their blankets and greatcoats saturated with wet, and without any change of raiment, the French close at hand, and the Turks, whose tents were much more bulky than our own, were lying snugly under{91} cover. The most serious result of the wetting was, however, a great increase in illness among the troops.