It was agonizing to see the wounded men lying under a broiling sun, parched with excruciating thirst, racked with fever, and agonized with pain — to behold them waving their caps faintly, or making signals towards our lines, over which they could see the white flag waving. They lay where they fell, or had scrambled into the holes formed by shells; and there they had been for thirty hours! how long and how dreadful in their weariness! A soldier who was close to the abattis saw a few men come out of an embrasure, and fearing he should be unnoticed, raised his cap on a stick and waved it till he fell back exhausted. Again he rose, and managed to tear off his shirt, which he agitated in the air till his strength failed him. His face could be seen through a glass; and my friend, who watched him, said he could never forget the expression of despair with which the poor fellow folded his shirt under his head to await the mercy of Heaven.
The red-coats lay thick over the broken ground in front of the abattis of the Redan. Blue and grey coats lay in piles in the raincourses before the Malakoff. I rode down with some companions past the old 13-inch mortar battery in advance of our{296} Picket-house into the Middle Picket Ravine, at the end of which began the French approaches to their old parallel, which was extended up to their recent conquest, the Mamelon. A body of light cavalry moved down the Woronzoff road a little later, and began extending their files right and left in a complete line across the whole of our front, with the object of preventing any, except those who were on duty, getting down to the neutral ground. However, my companions and myself got down into the ravine before the cavalry halted just behind the Picket-house. This ravine was paved with shot and shell. The earth gleamed here and there with bullets and fragments of lead. In one place there was a French picket posted in a bend of the ravine, sleeping under their greatcoats, raised on twigs, to protect them from the sun, smoking or talking gravely. Yes, for a wonder, the men were grave and looked almost sullen; but they were thinking of the comrades whose bodies they would have to inter. By the side of this ravine — your horse must needs tread upon them, if you were not careful in guiding him — was many a mound, some marking the resting-place of individual soldiers, others piled over one of those deep pits where rank and file reposed in their common glory.
In the ravine were mules with litters, ambulances, and Land Transport Corps. English and French were mixed together. I saw in one place two of our men, apart from the rest, with melancholy faces. "What are you waiting here for?" said I.
"To go out for the Colonel, sir," was the reply.
"Why, Colonel Yea, to be sure, sir," said the good fellow, who was evidently surprised at my thinking there could be any other colonel in the world. And indeed the Light Division felt his loss. Under brusqueness of manner he concealed a kind heart. A more thorough soldier, one more devoted to his men, to the service, and to his country, never fell in battle than Lacy Yea. Throughout the winter his attention to his regiment was exemplary. His men were the first who had hospital huts. When other regiments were in need of every comfort, and almost of every necessary, the Fusileers, by the care of their colonel, had everything that could be procured by exertion and foresight. Writing of him, and of similar cases, I said, "At Inkerman his gallantry was conspicuous. He and Colonel Egerton are now gone, and there remains in the Light Division but one other officer of the same rank who stands in the same case as they did. Is there nothing to be done? No recognition of their services? No decorations? No order of merit?"[21] Two French soldiers approached, with an English naval officer, whom they were taking off as a spy. He told us he was an officer of the Viper, that he walked up to see some friends in the Naval Brigade, got into the Mamelon, and was taken prisoner. The Frenchmen pointed out that the Naval Brigade{297} was not employed on the Mamelon, that spies were abundant and clever; but they were at last satisfied, and let their captive go with the best grace in the world. We were close to the Mamelon, and the frequent reports of rifles and the pinging of the balls proved that the flag of truce had not been hoisted by the enemy. We were in the zigzag, a ditch about six feet broad and six feet deep, with the earth knocked about by shot at the sides, and we met Frenchmen laden with water canteens or carrying large tin cans full of coffee, and tins of meat and soup, cooked in the ravine close at hand, up to the Mamelon.