THE CHARGE OF BALAKLAVA.
I
Morn smiles, serene, on sea and land:
Where looks it down on scene more grand,
Than Balaklava's heights command,
This calm October day?
Light gleams on each proud mountain-crest,
The deep ravines in shadow rest;
And Euxine's diamond-glittering breast
Heaves in the sunny ray.
II
With all the pomp of war displayed, —
Artillery, horsemen, foot brigade —
The CZAR's great army stands arrayed,
Far o'er the spreading plain;
His charging squadrons' fierce attack
Our island sons have beaten back; [i]
And bloody corpses strew the track
O'er which they rode in vain!
III
The Russian guns peel death-knells out,
To right and left, from high redoubt,
From which the Turk, with sudden rout,
At morning dawn was driven [ii]
A pause is in the deadly fray;
Men deem 'tis over, for the day;
Though, by the dread artillery's play,
Rock after rock is riven!
IV
With pride we saw the foemen reel,
Beneath our massive squadrons' steel;
And then, in wild disorder, wheel,
To fly, with coward speed. —
Our light brigade — in numbers few —
We know has souls of valour, too;
But what is there, for them, to do,
Of proud, heroic, deed?
V
Six hundred men — for statues fit —
Impatient, in their saddles sit;
Whose pawing chargers champ the bit;
And sniff the sulphurous air. —
But who, with spurring haste, comes on,
As if himself and steed were one? [iii]
His errand is already done —
His finger pointing there —
VI.
There, there — where bristling cannon close
In front of thrice ten thousand foes;
Why points he eagerly at those?
What! — charge those Russian guns?
Ay! such the order he has told:
We hear it, and our blood runs cold;
Could iron soul, unmoved, behold
So perish Britain's sons?
VIII
They know 'tis madness — Forth they ride,
With all the death-doomed hero's pride,
To dash across that ambush wide-
A life for every pace. —
They gallop forth — Oh God! that cry!
Poor NOLAN, thou art first to die! [v]
Back reels thy steed-On, on they fly,
In that tremendous race!
VIII
On, on, with thinned, but closing, ranks,
That keep their line, like rampart banks,
While shot and shell, from front and flanks,
Crash through them as they go!
On, on, their bloody path is spread,
Each step, with dying and with dead;
But each proud rider's manly head
Turns, fearless, tow'rds the foe!
IX
On, on, — The furious, wild Simoom,
That sweep whole navies to their doom,
The flash, that lights the fearful gloom
Of stormy tropic sky,
Fly not, upon their mad career,
Across the startled, wondering, sphere,
With more of haste, and less of fear,
Than they rush on — to die!
X
On, on — The murderous guns they near
Their volley thunders in our car;
And then-One grand heroic cheer
Awakes the echoes, too
With that tremendous cannon-crash,
In air five hundred sabres flash
As, through the rolling smoke, they dash,
Lost, in its cloud, to view! [vi]
XI
Lost, lost, to view — and when, oh! when
Will one come back, of those brave men?
Ha! see their gallant crests, again,
Come breaking through the line!
They've borne aloft their country's name
They've put all old renown to shame!
They've won themselves immortal fame!
But oh! our hearts repine.
XI
By shot and shell and minié ball,
See, still, how fast the heroes fall!
And here — Oh! God, can these be all
Who reach our arms once more?
Two-hundred, of that God-like band,
Beside us, faint and bloody, stand —
The rest must sleep beneath the sand
Of that rude Tauric shore! [vii]
'The Charge at Balaklava', from Lays of the War, and Miscellaneous Lyrics, Michael Joseph Barry, London: 1856
pp.25-30 + notes in appendix
https://archive.org/details/laysofwarmiscell00barrrich
THE CHARGE OF BALAKLAVA.
The description of this magnificent piece of heroism, by Mr. Russell, cannot be surpassed, and the Author of the "Lays" would be afraid to append it as a note to his verses. The theme is indeed one suited to the loftiest kind of composition, and even the genius of Mr. Tennyson has failed to do it justice. Still, how could the subject be omitted from a series like the present? The Writer of the present collection always considered it one of the greatest exploits ever performed, as a few extracts from a leading article written by him in the Cork Reporter of November 16th, 1854 — when the news of it first arrived will shew. The article "was one referring to the Times Correspondent's account of the battle —
"The story, throughout, is of thrilling interest, and the people of these islands may feel proud at every line in it, which has reference to the exploits of their countrymen. But, glorious as is every deed narrated in it, to our gallant soldiers, that heroic charge of the Light Cavalry stands in sublime isolation amid them all. In the fiery valour of that 'forlorn hope,' there is enough to redeem the cowardice of an age. Its splendour will shine out unclouded, through the mists of centuries. Perchance even will outlive the very nation where its flame was kindled, like the light of those extinguished stars, whose ravs have not yet been lost for ever to the earth." * * * "As, over the' 'early grave' of Marceau,
'Tears, big tears, fell from the rough soldier's lid, Lamenting and yet envying his doom ' —
we can well imagine that eyes, which not seldom looked death unflinching in the face, were moistened with manly pity, as they saw those death-doomed ranks dash unbroken and unwavering, into the murderous fire of their far out-numbering foe, compact and solid behind his deadly cannon, yet reached even there, and scattered, by those intrepid men. As their death-cheer rose into the air, as their sabres flashed above their glorious graves, surely, surely, it was the best and bravest of those who beheld, without the power to aid, their god-like heroism, that softened most with compassion, at the fearful sacrifice. And a fearful sacrifice it was, one to 'make men and angels weep.' The words, said to have been used by a French officer, looking on: — "Tis magnificent, but 'tis not war!' — are a complete commentary on the proceeding — in one short phrase summing up the valour of the men, and the hope- less, objectless, nature of the duty on which they were employed."
* * * "We firmly believe that, of that Light Cavalry Brigade, that Lord Cardigan led, with such splendid intrepidity, into action, not one man doubted that the order to charge was his death-warrant. But not one man flinched from his duty. On they swept, unsupported but unfaltering, across that terrible plain, through the storm of shot and shell, of musket ball, and Minie bullet, and there is but one thing to wonder at, in connexion with the event, besides their surpassing bravery — that a single man returned to tell what he and his brave companions had done. And all this courage has been fruitless — all those gallant lives were thrown away for nothing!
"Not so, reader. Let us not do the grievous wrong, to the noble memories of those who fell, that such language would involve. The hero never falls in vain. The blood that valour sheds is never fruitless. Not for nothing did Leonidas perish at Thermopylae, or the Decii, father, son, and grandson, devote themselves in battle to the gods, for the safety and the honour of their country. And no man fell in that splendid charge that was not a Decius. The 'red rain' that moistened the arid soil over which they sped, will have its fruit, believe us — it will give bloom and vigour to many a noble impulse, will make many a glorious action germinate, in days to come. Let no man calumniate our fallen heroes by the dastard epitaph, 'They fell in vain.' There is not a nerve of their surviving comrades that has not been steeled to heroism, by the example they have shewn.
"They had to die — as all of us have — and they died like men. They might have lived for an ignoble end. A few years, a few months, ay, a few days, might have laid the bravest of them low, by some of the common casualties of our race. Accident or disease might have stilled, for ever, the noblest heart whose last proud throb was given in the midst of that splendid onslaught. Who that loves their memories would have preferred that it was thus they perished! For themselves, for their friends, for their country, they have fallen gloriously.
'They died like heroes, for no recreant step
Had ere dishonoured them, no stain of fear,
No base retreat, no cowardly recoil —
They had the hearts of freemen, to the last,
And the free blood that bounded in their veins
Was shed for freedom with a liberal joy.' —
Let no man say they died in vain."
Note I — Page 25.
Our heavy cavalry, it will be remembered, — the Scots Greys and Enniskilleners, followed up by the 1st Royals, 4th Dragoon Guards and 5th Dragoon Guards, — led by Brigadier-General Scarlett, had utterly routed, at this time, a vast body of Russian Cavalry corps d'elite; the 93rd Highlanders having, a little before, splendidly repulsed a cavalry attack made on them, without even forming four deep, but remaining in their ordinary formation, in line, two deep.
Note II — Page 26.
The enemy got possession of four redoubts, which the Turks had garrisoned, at their first onset, in the morning.
Note III — Page 27.
Poor Captain Nolan — an Irishman — and "bravest of the brave."
Note IV — Page 27.
"When Lord Lucan," says Mr. Russell, "received the order from Captain Nolan, and had read it, he asked, we are told, 'Where are we to advance to?'' Captain Nolan pointed with his finger to the line of Russians, and said, 'There are the enemy, and there are the guns, Sir, before them; it is your duty to take them,' or words to that effect." — All the circumstances connected with the order, however, have been the subject of constant and angry controversy.
Note V — Page 28.
The gallant fellow was killed at the first discharge, struck by a shell in the breast, and was borne back dead in the saddle, for some distance, by his horse. He was riding about thirty paces in advance of the Hussars.
Note VI — Page 29.
"With a halo of flashing steel above their heads, and with a cheer, that was many a noble fellow's death-cry, they flew into the smoke of the batteries." — Times Correspondence.
Note VII — Page 30.
The number who got back after the charge was only 230, in the first instance, the rest creeping in wounded, or straggling back having lost their horses. The actual loss, in killed, wounded and prisoners was 279; but the verses are supposed to describe the event, as presented at the moment to the spectator.