While this civility was going on, we were walking over blood-stained ground, covered with evidences of recent fight, among the dead. Broken muskets, bayonets, cartouch-boxes, caps, fragments of clothing, straps and belts, pieces of shell, little pools of clotted blood, shot — round and grape — shattered gabions and sand-bags, were visible on every side. Through the midst of the crowd stalked solemn processions of soldiers bearing their departed comrades to their long home. I counted seventy-seven litters borne past me in fifteen minutes — each filled with a dead enemy.
At one time a Russian with a litter stopped by a dead body, and put it into the litter. He looked round for a comrade to help him. A Zouave at once advanced with much grace and lifted it, to the infinite amusement of the bystanders; but the joke was not long-lived, as a Russian came up brusquely and helped to carry off his dead comrade.
Some few French, dead, were lying far in advance among the gabions belonging to the advanced trenches, which the Russians had broken down, evidently slain in pursuit. The Russian soldiers were white-faced, many of them had powerful frames, square shoulders, and broad chests. All their dead near our lines were stripped of boots and stockings. The cleanliness of their feet, and of their coarse linen shirts, was remarkable. In the midst of this stern evidence of war, a certain amount of lively conversation began to spring up, in which the Russian officers indulged in badinage. Some of them asked our officers "when we were coming in to take the place?" others "when we thought of going away?" Some congratulated us upon the excellent opportunity we had of getting a good look at Sebastopol, as the chance of a nearer view was not in their opinion very probable. One officer asked a private confidentially in English how many men we sent into the trenches? "Begorra, only 7,000 a night, and a covering party of 10,000," was the ready reply. The officer laughed and turned away. In the town we could see large bodies of soldiery assembled at the corners in the streets, and in the public places. Probably they were ordered out to make a show of their strength. Owing to some misunderstanding or other, a little fusillade began among the riflemen on the left during the armistice, but it soon terminated. The armistice was over about three o'clock. Scarcely had the white flag disappeared behind the parapet of the Mamelon before a round shot from the sailors' battery went slap through one of the embrasures of the Russian work, and dashed up a great pillar of earth inside. The Russians at once replied, and the noise of cannon soon re-echoed through the ravines.
On the night of the 26th, Captain Hill, 89th Regiment, in proceeding to post his pickets, made a mistake in the dark, and got too near the Russian pickets. He was not very well acquainted with the country, and the uncertain light deceived him. The Russians challenged, "Qui va là?" "Français!" was the reply. The two pickets instantly fired, and Captain Hill dropped. There were only two or three men with him, and they retired, taking with them the Captain's great-coat. They went a few yards to the rear{248} to get assistance, and returned at once to the place where Captain Hill fell, but his body had been removed, and the Russian pickets had withdrawn.
On Monday the 2nd of April, M. St. Laurent, Commandant of French Engineers in the right attack, was mortally wounded in the battery over Inkerman. One of the most important works of the right attack bore his name, and he did much to place that portion of our works in a most efficient state.
The Russians now frequently amused themselves by shelling the camp. On the 4th, when there was a large crowd of French and English, including some of the staff, in front of the picket-house, near the Mortar Battery, suddenly a shell fell right into the midst of the group. The greater part of the assembly threw themselves down and rolled away on the ground. At last the shell burst, and one of the fragments struck and wounded a French sentry about fifty yards off. Led horses broke loose or were let go and scampered off in all directions, and as the few officers who had nerve to remain and enjoy the discomfiture of the runaways were enjoying the joke, down came another shell into the very centre of them. The boldest could not stand this, and in a few minutes not a soul was to be seen near the ground. The Military Secretary lost his cap, owing to the eccentric evolutions of his frightened quadruped, but he speedily recovered it, and that was the only loss caused by the two shells, excepting the poor fellow put hors de combat for the time.