Floating Batteries at the Capture of Kinburn.
Having driven Gorchakov’s army out of the south side of
Sevastopol the allied commanders were at a loss about what should be done next.
The battle had been expensive in soldiers’ lives, ammunition and resources; so
much so that it was difficult to avoid a general feeling that they had
justified their presence in the Crimea by taking the city whose capture had
eluded them for a year. This was particularly true in the French camp where
there were smiles and congratulations all round. Pélissier was given a marshal’s
baton and, much to the irritation of the British, was appointed a mushir, or
commander-in-chief, by the Sultan; Bruat was promoted to full admiral (but did
not live long to enjoy the pleasure as he died at sea two months later) and
Simpson was awarded the Légion d’Honneur. Even the much-reviled telegraph came
into its own on 12 September when Pélissier received the thanks of a grateful
emperor: ‘Honneur à vous! Honneur à votre brave armée! Faites à tous mes
sincères félicitations.’ (‘All honour to you. Honour to your brave army. I send
to you all my sincere congratulations.’)
At home in Paris there were sonorous celebrations allied to a sense of relief; a Te Deum was celebrated in Notre Dame, which had been decorated with the flags of the allied powers. Sevastopol had fallen and in many people’s minds the victory and the part played by Pélissier’s men symbolised a rebirth of French military might. For a few happy hours 1812 became just another dusty date in a long-forgotten history and it seemed possible that Sevastopol was but a springboard for even greater successes against the Russians. Two weeks after Sevastopol fell Colonel Rose, British liaison officer at French HQ, sent a thoughtful despatch to Clarendon which captured the mood in the French camp:
After 1815 the spirit of the French Army was lowered by a
succession of reverses. The successes in Algiers against Barbarians, without
artillery, were not sufficient to restore them the prestige they once enjoyed.
But the share of successes which the French Army have had
in conquering a Military European Power of the first order, in battles on the
field, and in the Siege of a peculiarly strong and invested Fortress, a Siege
without many parallels in History, have not only improved, very much, the
experiences and military qualifications of the Officers and men of the French
Army, but have raised their military feeling and confidence.
To capitalise on that effect Napoleon insisted that the war
must continue and that Russia must be humbled before there could be any peace
settlement. Not only would that process isolate Russia from Europe but it would
also restore France as a major power and destroy for ever the settlement of
1815. It might even be possible to realise Napoleon’s dream of rebuilding the
kingdom of Poland and placing his cousin on its throne.
There was much to recommend this way of thinking. France had
been left exhausted by the Napoleonic wars and the nation itself had been
humbled, its frontiers reduced to those of 1789. Napoleon III certainly
believed that he had a mission to restore his country’s fortunes by continuing
the war, but he was already swimming against a tide of growing disapproval with
the war. While his fellow countrymen had been happy and relieved to celebrate
the fall of Sevastopol it could not be denied that the victory had been won at
a cost. The casualties seemed to be disproportionate to any diplomatic or
strategic gain and the need to keep the forces supplied for another winter was
a strain on an already overloaded exchequer. France simply did not have the
resources to continue the war and was unable to match the expenditure lavished
on it by her British allies. London’s well-filled purse was one very good
reason why Napoleon was so desperate to keep the cross-Channel alliance in
being.
He had little difficulty in persuading his allies to be
assertive. Palmerston remained as bellicose as ever and, together with
Clarendon, warned colleagues that the war was far from being over and might
last another two or three years. Their message was clear and unwavering:
Britain’s war aims would not be altered and there could be no negotiated peace
until Russia had been defeated. To achieve that goal Palmerston still thought
that it would be possible to construct a grand European alliance similar to the
coalition which had defeated Napoleon forty years earlier. As he told Clarendon
on 9 October, ‘Russia has not yet been beat enough to make peace possible at
the present moment.’ Military pride was also at stake. Palmerston had refused
permission for the church bells to be rung in celebration of the recent victory
as it was all too evident that British troops had not distinguished themselves
in the fighting.
The Turks were keen to see the allies continue the war in
the Crimea as this would allow them to open operations in Asia Minor and to
that end they insisted that Omar Pasha be allowed to withdraw his army from the
Crimea. Russia, too, was adamant that the war was far from over. ‘Sevastopol is
not Moscow, the Crimea is not Russia,’ said Alexander II in a proclamation to
Gorchakov shortly after the fall of Sevastopol. ‘Two years after we set fire to
Moscow, our troops marched in the streets of Paris. We are still the same
Russians and God is still with us.’ In military terms the Russian commander had
merely made a tactical retreat into a new position which would continue to pose
problems to the allies. The tsar also guessed correctly that his enemies had no
intention of marching into Russia and that unless Gorchakov were defeated
stalemate had returned to the Crimean peninsula. Given that unassailable
position, the allies’ only hope of inflicting a decisive defeat seemed to lie
in the Baltic; Dundas’s destruction of Sveaborg having given rise to hopes that
a similar campaign in the spring of 1856 could crush Kronstadt and leave St
Petersburg open to attack by sea and land forces. It was an idea which would
exercise the minds of allied planners throughout the winter.
None the less, the continuing public bellicosity could not
disguise the fact that there was also a growing desire for peace, especially in
France, where Count Walewski, Drouyn de Lhuys’s replacement as foreign
secretary, was playing a somewhat different game. An illegitimate son of
Napoleon Bonaparte, he was considered by Cowley to be an intellectual
lightweight who was too close to the emperor’s pro-Russian half-brother, the
Duc de Morny, and therefore not to be trusted. To Clarendon he was a parvenu,
‘a low-minded strolling player’ whose ‘view of moral obligation’ was always
‘subservient to his interests or his vanity’. Palmerston shared that opinion
and added the thought that if anything were to happen to the emperor there
would be no shortage of French politicians of Walewski’s ilk who would be
prepared to sue for peace with the Russians.
There were grounds for these fears. Although Cowley and
Clarendon, the British statesmen most directly involved, never lost their
suspicions about those who served the emperor – based largely on social
snobbery, it must be admitted – they were right to pay close attention to the
new French foreign secretary, Walewski. At a time when the allies were
attempting to maintain a common front and continue the war he was in secret
negotiation with the Russians through the Duc de Morny and a shadowy figure
called Baron Hukeren, the adopted son of the Dutch ambassador in Paris, whom
Cowley described as ‘among the numerous speculating and political intriguers
that abound in the capital’. Initially, Napoleon seems not to have known that
covert peace feelers were being made but by October he had given them tacit
approval. These were conducted on two fronts: through his friendship with Prince
Gorchakov, the duke made it known that France was ready for peace while a
similar message was passed by Walewski to Nesselrode’s daughter who was married
to the Saxon ambassador in Paris, Baron von Seebach. At the same time the
Russian ambassador in Berlin, Baron Budberg, alerted the Prussian government
that the tsar was ready to reopen negotiations. While, in themselves, these
clandestine talks did not lead to the reopening of peace talks, they at least
helped to pave the way.
Meanwhile, as had happened earlier in the year when the
Vienna conference seemed to hold out the hope of a cessation of hostilities,
the British and French governments urged their commanders in the Crimea to
continue the campaign. Having told Simpson that from the Queen’s palace to
humblest cottage British hearts were beating with pride at ‘this long
looked-for success’, Panmure turned to sterner matters:
The consequences of this event upon the morale of the
Russian Army must be very great, and I trust that in concert with Marshal
Pélissier you have devised means to take advantage of them and to give the
enemy no rest till his overthrow is completed.
In order to keep this object properly in view you must
not suffer your mind to rest upon any expectation of peace; your duty as a General
is to keep your Army in the best condition for offence and to turn your
attention to all the means in your power for so doing.
There was considerable mortification that the victory had
not been followed up with a further attack on the Russian position and Panmure
told Simpson that there were to be no celebrations in the army until Russia had
been finally defeated. A succession of despatches from London attempted to goad
the British commander into action but without success. Simpson simply reiterated
his and the French belief that it would be folly to attack the Russian
positions and he remained unmoved by an unhelpful suggestion that he should
think of ‘applying a hot poker’ to make Pélissier do something positive. The
impasse was broken on 26 September when Panmure sent a peremptory telegram to
the British commander demanding action:
The public are getting impatient to know what the
Russians are about. The Government desire immediately to be informed whether
either you or Pélissier have taken any steps whatever to ascertain this, and
further they observe that nearly 3 weeks have elapsed in absolute idleness.
This cannot go on and in justice to yourself and your army you must prevent it.
Answer this on receipt.
From the evidence of the correspondence between the two men
it is difficult to know what Panmure wanted to achieve from this telegraphic
despatch. That he was anxious to hear Simpson play a more martial tune was
beyond doubt, yet the commander’s own letters betray a worrying timorousness
that was not to be cured by Panmure’s mixture of threats and cajoling. In one
letter he would chide Simpson for playing second fiddle to the French and
insist on action, ending the despatch with an order that the British soldiers
were not to be given spirits before going on sentry duty; in another he would
reflect on the pleasure of discussing the campaign at some future date over a
bottle of claret. However, his latest despatch had one obvious effect: the man
who had gone out to the Crimea with no other thought than to report on Raglan,
finally admitted that high command was too great a burden to bear. Two days
later Simpson telegraphed his resignation, explaining that he could not remain
in command while facing sustained criticism, and his offer to stand down was
quickly accepted.
As Codrington was the designated successor, it should have
been an easy matter to confirm his promotion, but during the final assault on
Sevastopol Codrington seemed to have lost his nerve – Newcastle was
particularly withering in his criticism – and renewed thought was given to the
command of the army in the Crimea. Once again the candidates’ claims were
examined and during the hiatus, which lasted three weeks, Panmure was forced to
address his orders simply to the British Headquarters in the Crimea. Despite
doubts about his abilities Codrington was confirmed in command on 15 October
but did not take over the office until a few weeks later: more than any other
attribute, his ability to speak fluent French and his easy social skills seem to
have counted in his favour. To soften the blow to the other commanders, on 10
December the army was divided into two corps, command of each going to Campbell
and Eyre.
By then the British Army was in a much better position than
in the previous year and relatively well equipped to face another winter. Each
soldier had been given a new hard weather uniform consisting of two woollen
jerseys, two pairs of woollen drawers, two pairs of woollen socks, two pairs of
long stockings, one cholera belt, one comforter, a pair of gloves, a fur cap,
greatcoat and waterproof cape. At Panmure’s insistence – he was a great
stickler for detail – each man was also given, and ordered to use, a tin of
Onion’s Drubbing, a new patented waterproof treatment for boots; and on 7 December
four hundred field stoves specially designed by Alexis Soyer arrived at
Balaklava. As an aid for observing the enemy in forward positions the army was
supplied with a thousand trench telescopes of the kind which would be used in
the First World War ‘for looking at objects without exposing the viewer’.
With better conditions, the supply problems having been
largely solved, the army’s morale improved. Before winter settled in there were
race meetings and hurriedly improvised shoots for the officers and theatricals
for the men. Despite Panmure’s exhortations about keeping drunkenness at bay
the independently owned canteens at Kadikoi did brisk business and, with the
Russians content to keep their distance, the miseries of the last winter’s
discomforts in the trenches were soon forgotten. By contrast it was now the
turn of the French to suffer. Cholera followed by typhus ran through their camp
and, added to a general air of disaffection, there were calls from the veterans
of the fighting to be sent home. As the casualties from illness began to mount
these demands were met: on 13 November Rose reported that the French Imperial
Guards regiments were to be withdrawn and that eight line infantry regiments
were to return to Algeria. Despite promises to the contrary, these were not to
be replaced.
Before the armies went into winter quarters at the beginning
of November, the British in good spirits, the French in as sorry as state as
their allies had been in the previous season, there were two noteworthy attacks
on the Russians. Having despatched part of their cavalry to Eupatoria, French
units led by General D’Alonville attacked a larger Russian force on 20 October
and succeeded in compelling it to withdraw with the loss of many casualties.
However, D’Alonville chose not to follow up the success, other than to continue
the harassment of Russian stragglers, because, according to Rose, the French
chief of staff, General de Martimprey, had ordered his subordinate commanders
to rein in any propensity for offensive activities:
I again perceived that he was opposed to any hostile
operation against the enemy on a large scale. But whether he entertains this
opinion because he thinks that the Enemy will leave the Crimea, without being
forced to do [sic], or because he is of the conviction, which he lately
expressed, that negotiations in the winter will bring about a peace, I know
not.
The other operation was far more aggressive and it was
destined to be the last blow struck by the allies during the war. It was also
the most successful, a combined forces’ attack on the Fort Kinburn, a heavily
defended Russian position which covered the confluence of the Rivers Bug and
Dnieper. The brainchild of Lyons, it made full use of three newly developed
French armoured steam batteries which, together with the allied gunboats and
battleships, battered the fortress into submission. The French played a full
role by committing 6000 men to the infantry force of 10,000, command of which
was awarded to General Bazaine, as well as three battleships and a number of
gunboats, although it remained unclear if Pélissier’s enthusiasm for the
assault was governed more by a succession of orders from Paris or by his newly
developed infatuation with Bazaine’s wife, Soledad. During Bazaine’s absence,
Pélissier’s coach, captured from the Russians, was to be seen each day outside
Soledad’s quarters. It was not the only romance thrown up by the war: Canrobert
had fallen for the daughter of Colonel Strangways, the British gunner commander
killed at Inkerman, but as with Pélissier’s fondness for Bazaine’s wife nothing
came of the wartime dalliance.
The attack on Kinburn, though, was a complete success. On 16
October the infantry and marine forces made an unopposed landing on the Kinburn
peninsula to cut off the fortress from reinforcements and to attack the
garrison should it decide to retire. The following day, having advanced under
cover of darkness, the allied fleet commenced a heavy bombardment, using
tactics similar to those employed at Sveaborg a month earlier. Having been
infiltrated into the bay in front of the fortress the gunboats and steam
batteries were able to produce a sustained bombardment which quickly silenced
the Russian guns. Then the allied battleships steamed into line to fire an
equally heavy succession of broadsides which left the garrison with no option
but to surrender. The way was open to strike inland but Bazaine called a halt
to the operation once the forts and Kinburn and Ochakov (on the other side of
the estuary) had surrendered. Following the destruction of Sveaborg, the
successful outcome of the Kinburn operation demonstrated that the allies now
had the naval capacity to attack and defeat Russia’s hitherto impregnable
sea-fortresses.
As winter set in other activities included a reconnaissance
of the Baider valley to ascertain whether or not an attack on the Russian
positions at Simpheropol would yield results. Napoleon thought so but the
French-led scouting party reported back that the Russians were entrenched on
the high ground and that any attack would only result in unacceptable
casualties. That fear lay at the heart of the allied command’s thinking. With
the fall of Sevastopol, France had recovered her honour and, just as
importantly, her right to sit at the high table when European matters were
being discussed. Pélissier did not want to pursue the war against the Russians
and by the middle of October he had come to the opinion that the allied army in
the Crimea should be reduced by almost half to 70,000 and that it should take
up defensive positions on the Chersonese peninsula.
His thinking chimed in with the mood at home where the war
was now decidedly unpopular. On 22 October Cowley reported a conversation with
the emperor in which Napoleon argued that the war had become an expensive
anachronism and that the presence of the allied armies would not encourage
Russia to negotiate. That could only be achieved by diplomatic means. As
evidence, he produced a report from Pélissier in which the marshal claimed that
there was nothing for the allies to conquer in southern Russia – ‘sterile
plains which the Russians will abandon after some battles in which they will
lose a few thousand men, a loss which causes them no decisive damage, whilst at
every step the Allies with a great sacrifice of men and money and with nothing
to gain will risk each day the destinies of Europe’.
