The Crimean War

that the Russians had brought in a large number of fresh troops, increasing their numbers in Sevastopol to 100,000 men (in fact, they had barely half that number after Inkerman). He feared that they would be able to go on reinforcing their defences ‘as long as the attitude of Austria with respect to the Eastern Question allows Russia to send any number of troops she pleases from Bessarabia and Southern Russia to the Crimea’. Until the French and British had a military alliance with the Austrians and had brought in ‘very numerous reinforcements’ to the Crimea, there was no point losing more lives in the siege. Raglan and his staff agreed with Canrobert. The question now was how to make provision for the allied troops to spend the winter on the heights above Sevastopol, for all they had brought with them were lightweight tents suitable only for summer campaigning. Canrobert believed, and the British shared his view, that ‘by means of a simple stone substructure under tents, the troops might pass the winter here’. Rose agreed. ‘The climate is healthy,’ he explained to Clarendon, ‘and with the exception of cold northerly winds, the cold in winter is not vigorous.’⁶³

The prospect of spending the winter in Russia filled many with a sense of dark foreboding: they thought about Napoleon in 1812. De Lacy Evans urged Raglan to abandon the siege of Sevastopol and evacuate the British troops. The Duke of Cambridge proposed withdrawing the troops to Balaklava, where they could be more easily supplied and sheltered from the cold than on the heights above Sevastopol. Raglan rejected their proposals, and resolved to keep the army on the heights throughout the winter months, a criminal decision prompting the resignation of Evans and Cambridge, who returned to England, sick and disillusioned, before winter came. Their departure began a steady homeward trail of British officers. In the two months after Inkerman, 225 of the 1,540 officers in the Crimea departed for warmer climes; only 60 of them would return.⁶⁴

Among the rank and file, the realization that there would be no quick victory was even more demoralizing. ‘Why did we not make a bold attack after being flushed with victory at Alma?’ asked Lieutenant Colonel Mundy of the 33rd Regiment of Foot. He summed up the general mood in a letter to his mother on 7 November:

If the Russians are as strong as they say, we must quit the siege, for it is generally understood that even with our present strength we can do no good with Sevastopol. The fleet is useless and the work now so harrassing that when the cold weather comes on hundreds must fall victims to overexertion and sickness. Sometimes not one night rest do the men get in six and oftentimes are 24 hours on. It must be remembered that they have no clothing except a thin blanket, and the cold and damp are very severe at night, and the constant state of anxiety we are always in, for fear of an attack being made on our trenches, batteries or redoubts quite puts a stop to calm wholesome sleep.

Rates of desertion from the allied trenches increased sharply as the winter cold arrived in the weeks after Inkerman, with hundreds of British and French soldiers giving themselves up to the Russian side.⁶⁵

For the Russians, the defeat at Inkerman was a devastating blow. Menshikov became convinced that the fall of Sevastopol was unavoidable. In a letter to the Minister of War, Prince Dolgorukov, on 9 November, he recommended its abandonment so that Russian forces could be concentrated on the defence of the rest of the Crimea. The Tsar was enraged by such defeatism from his commander-in-chief. ‘For what was the heroism of our troops, and such heavy losses, if we accept defeat?’ he wrote to Menshikov on 13 November. ‘Surely our enemies have also suffered heavily? I cannot agree with your opinion. Do not submit, I say, and do not enourage others to do so … . We have God on our side.’ Despite such words of defiance, the Tsar was thrown into a deep depression by the news of Inkerman, and his despondent mood was clear for all at court to see. In the past Nicholas had tried to hide his feelings from his courtiers, but after Inkerman there was no more concealing it. ‘The palace at Gatchina is gloomy and silent,’ Tiutcheva noted in her diary: ‘everywhere there is depression, people hardly daring to speak to each other. The sight of the sovereign is enough to break one’s heart. Recently he has become more and more morose; his face is careworn and his look is lifeless.’ Shocked by the defeat, Nicholas lost faith in the commanders who had led him to believe that the war in the Crimea could be won. He began to regret his decision to go to war against the Western powers in the first place, and turned for comfort to those advisers, such as Paskevich, who had always been against the war.⁶⁶

‘It was a treacherous, revolting business,’ Tolstoy wrote of the defeat in his diary on 14 November.

The 10th and 11th divisions attacked the enemy’s left flank … The enemy put forward 6,000 riflemen – only 6,000 against 30,000 – and we retreated, having lost about 6,000 brave men.^am And we had to retreat, because half our troops had no artillery owing to the roads being impassable, and – God knows why – there were no rifle battalions. Terrible slaughter! It will weigh heavy on the souls of many people! Lord, forgive them. The news of this action has produced a sensation. I’ve seen old men who wept aloud and young men who swore to kill Dannenberg. Great is the moral strength of the Russian people. Many political truths will emerge and evolve in the present difficult days for Russia. The feeling of ardent patriotism that has arisen and issued forth from Russia’s misfortunes will long leave its traces on her. These people who are now sacrificing [so much] will be citizens of Russia and we will not forget their sacrifice. They will take part in public affairs with dignity and pride, and the enthusiasm aroused in them by the war will stamp on them for ever the quality of self-sacrifice and nobility.⁶⁷

Since the retreat of the Russian army from Silistria, Tolstoy had led a comfortable existence in Kishinev, where Gorchakov had set up his headquarters, but he soon grew bored of attending balls and playing cards, at which he lost heavily, and dreamed of seeing action once again. ‘Now that I have every comfort, good accommodation, a piano, good food, regular occupations and a fine circle of friends, I have begun to yearn for camp life again and envy the men out there,’ Tolstoy wrote to his aunt Toinette on 29 October.⁶⁸

Inspired by the wish to do something for his fellow-men, Tolstoy and a group of fellow-officers thought of setting up a periodical. The ‘Military Gazette’, as they called their journal, was intended to educate the soldiers, bolster their morale, and reveal their patriotism and humanity to the rest of Russian society. ‘This venture of mine pleases me very much,’ Tolstoy wrote to his brother Sergei. ‘The journal will publish descriptions of battles – not such dull and untruthful ones as in other journals – deeds of bravery, biographies and obituaries of worthy people, especially the little known; war stories, soldiers’ songs, popular articles about the skills of the engineers, etc.’ To finance the ‘Gazette’, which was to be cheap enough for the troops themselves to buy, Tolstoy diverted money from the sale of the family house at Yasnaya Polyana, which he had been forced to sell that autumn to cover his losses at cards. Tolstoy wrote some of his first stories for the periodical: ‘How Russian Soldiers Die’ and ‘Uncle Zhdanov and the Horseman Chernov’, in the second of which he exposed the brutality of an army officer beating a soldier, not for something that he has done wrong, but ‘because he was a soldier and soldiers must be beaten’. Realizing that this would not pass the censor, Tolstoy omitted these two stories before submitting the idea for the periodical to Gorchakov, who sent it on to the War Ministry, but even so publication was rejected by the Tsar, who did not want an unofficial soldiers’ paper to challenge Russian Invalid, the government’s own army newspaper. ⁶⁹

The defeat of Inkerman made up Tolstoy’s mind to go to the Crimea. One of his closest comrades, Komstadius, with whom he had been planning to edit the ‘Gazette’, was killed at Inkerman. ‘More than anything, it was his death that drove me to ask for a transfer to Sevastopol,’ he wrote in his diary on 14 November. ‘He made me feel somehow ashamed.’ Tolstoy later explained to his brother that his request had been ‘mostly out of patriotism – a sentiment which, I confess, is gaining an increasingly strong hold on me’.⁷⁰ But perhaps just as important to his decision to go to the Crimea was his sense of destiny as a writer. Tolstoy wanted to see and write about the war: to reveal to the public the whole truth – both the patriotic sacrifice of the ordinary people and the failures of the military leadership – and thereby start the process of political and social reform to which he believed the war must lead.

Tolstoy arrived in Sevastopol on 19 November, almost three weeks after setting out from Kishinev. Promoted to the rank of second lieutenant, he was attached to the 3rd Light Battery of the 14th Artillery Brigade and, to his annoyance, was quartered in the town itself, a long way from the city’s defences. Tolstoy stayed only nine days in Sevastopol that autumn, but he saw enough to inspire much of the patriotic pride and hope in the common Russian people that filled the pages of ‘Sevastopol in December’, the first of his Sevastopol