In front of the Mortar Battery is a covered way connecting it with the new Eight-Gun Battery in advance of Gordon's Battery, and which is to be distinguished on the extreme left of the drawing. To the right of the covered way the reader will perceive another new battery in course of construction. In front of this the English advanced trenches skirt the edge of the dark ground in the middle distance, till they meet the French trenches at a point marked by the commencement of a series of small zigzags, which approach very closely to the advanced trenches of the enemy. At this point the ground between the two is covered with gabions, and it was along the entire length of these trenches that the determined sortie of the enemy was made on the 22nd of March. In this sortie several hundred men fell on both sides, and the dead lay so thickly on the neutral ground, that an armistice of a couple of hours was agreed to for burying them. On the extreme right of the drawing are shown the French batteries on the left of their Eight Attack.
Turning now to the Russian defences, we easily recognise on the left the familiar aspect of the Round Tower, on the right of which, in a dip of the ground, is another Russian battery; the Mamelon, from which a gun has just been fired, being in the centre of the picture. Beyond the Mamelon in the distance are slightly indicated the numerous batteries, which had, at the time when the sketch was taken, been lately thrown up by the Russians on the North side of the harbour, as well as an encampment of their troops.
PLATE XXX.
A CHRISTMAS DINNER ON THE HEIGHTS BEFORE SEBASTOPOL.
Christmas, even in the Crimea, if we may credit the story told by the spirited and inspiriting sketch now before us, might also be apostrophized in the very language in which Sappho celebrated the praises of Hesperus. The season and the hour combine in
" bringing all good things, Wine to the thirsty — to the hungry cheer; "
and though intervening seas, and Circumstance — more relentless than the ocean itself — deny the absent to the warm embrace and the hearty grasp of home-keeping friends, the
" Soft hour, which wakes the wish and melts the heart,"
reunites them once more in an incorporeal bond of sympathy, defying alike distance and time.
What though the wintry blast howl without, drowned at intervals by the
THE BAST.
sullen thunder of uninterrupted warfare; what though hardships and sufferings be in the background, and a doubtful future in the perspective; what though some of the convivial party shall perchance only quit the festive board for the danger-fraught monotony and the bitter cold of the trenches; one interval shall at least be snatched from the reign of carking anxiety, one hour at least devoted to the sacred memories of home, and to the genial duties of mirth and good fellowship. Such would seem to have been the thoughts of the group of Officers of the Third Battalion of the Grenadier Guards, to whose Christmas dinner in an enemy's country we are here honoured with an invitation. Honoured, indeed, if there be honour in the society of men who have braved with unquailing courage all that war has of most repulsive as well as of most terrible in its aspect, and who have relinquished at the call of duty, and without a murmur, all that civilized life has to offer of most seductive to the young, the wealthy, and the gay.
The interior of the tent in which these votaries of old Father Christmas are assembled is a happy illustration of how much may be accomplished with slender materials, when the heart is in the work. In effect, what more graceful drapery could be devised than the time-honoured colours, which have so often led the chivalry of England to victory, and to whose imperishable mementoes the glorious names of Alma and Inkermann have been so lately added, in memory of fields on which those who now sit under their folds played so conspicuous a part? The chandelier, formed of bayonets lashed round the tent-pole, is a triumph of engineering skill, possessing a coideur locale which would delight the heart of a French novelist, while the unsullied whiteness of the ample table-cloth is at once suggestive of mystery, and provocative of admiration.
Balaklava must have been ransacked once and again to furnish the plentiful supply of viands under which the table groans, and which speaks volumes for the activity and resources of the caterer for the mess; and last, not least,
"The spring-dew of the sph-it, the heart's ram,"
champagne, cooled in no artifical ice, sheds its sparkling influence on the cheerful gathering.