CHAPTER XII.

COMMANDER (NOW CAPTAIN) FIOTT DAY, R.N., AND THE VICTORIA CROSS.

Our sailors do not occupy a very prominent place in Mr. Desanges’ Victoria Cross Gallery. We find that only four of his paintings have been devoted to the gallant deeds of our naval heroes, but we must not infer from this that British sailors are inferior to British soldiers, or that blue jackets have deteriorated since the days of Nelson. This is far from being the case, as we all know. But two conditions are necessary to constitute a hero: it is not enough that a man be brave, he must also have an opportunity of displaying his bravery. There are, doubtless, many Hampdens sleeping in our village churchyards, and many Nelsons serving on board our ships; all that has been wanting is the opportunity of displaying their patriotism or their courage. We are all more or less the creatures of circumstances; the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, because the swift and the strong are often debarred by fate from either running or fighting. Time and chance, as the wise man tells us, happen to all. Nelson would never have been a hero if he had not robbed an orchard, and Fiott Day might have been known only as a very intelligent commander in the British navy if it had not been for the Crimean war.

It was one of the oratorical or conversational hits of Lord Palmerston, that if the Crimean war had no other advantage, it at least extended our knowledge of geography. Some hard-headed people may imagine that we paid dear for the lesson, but not one will deny that the long-protracted contest _did_ increase our knowledge of those semi-barbarous regions, the names of which, we fear, were little familiar even to those schoolboys who had gained the first prizes in geography. Knowledge thus acquired, however, is seldom permanent; when the war ceased, our interest in the localities where the great battles were fought became less vivid. It is well that the rising generation, in whom all the hopes of England are centred, should be familiar with the courage, the endurance, and the heroic deeds of those who took part in that disastrous war; such knowledge excites their sympathy, stimulates their ambition, and elicits that spirit of adventure which has made Britain the mistress of an empire far more extended than that of ancient Rome.

Mr. Desanges has trusted more to his pencil than his pen in depicting the gallant deed by which Captain Day obtained the Victoria Cross. We read that “with great gallantry this officer landed and twice successfully carried out a reconnoissance within the enemy’s lines at Genitchi, advancing to within about 200 yards of the enemy’s gun-vessels.” Most readers will exclaim, “Where is Genitchi?” Few even professed geographers would be able to answer such a question, and as our interest in paintings depends much on our intimacy with the scenes they represent, we invite our young readers to do as we have done—to open their atlases at Russia in Europe, and to examine the map. It may save time to state at once that this incident occurred during the Crimean war, and that Captain Day commanded one of the vessels engaged in the expedition. Now, on examining the southern extremity of Russia in Europe, it will be seen the only entrance from the Sea of Azov into the Senish or Putrid Sea is through the Straits of Genitchi. These straits are very narrow in most maps—in fact, so narrow that we have to strain the eye a little before we can perceive them. On the right-hand side of these straits stands the town of Genitchi, from which they derive their name. It is situated on the slope of a lofty eminence, and is a place of considerable strength.

During the Crimean war it was strongly garrisoned with nearly twenty thousand Russian troops, to protect it from the attacks of the allies. To the left is the Spit of Arabat, which was occupied by strong bodies of Cossack horse artillery and cavalry, which formed a continuous line of pickets all the way to Arabat. It is about seventy miles in length, and of an average breadth of half a mile, though in some places it is not more than two hundred yards. Its broadest part is opposite the town of Genitchi, where it is between three and four miles across. At this particular point it is covered with numerous lagoons and strips of water, varying in size, all of which are covered with thick rushes and weeds, and are a favourite resort of different kinds of water-fowl. We have mentioned that pickets of Cossacks were stationed along the whole of the Spit of Arabat, and there were constant skirmishes between them and our sailors. Such slight exchanges of civility tended to vary the monotony of naval life, but the adventure in which Captain Day distinguished himself was of a far more dangerous character.

It is said that he advanced within two hundred yards of the enemy’s gunboats; but to understand the exact nature of this heroic deed we must enter more into detail. On the inner side of the Spit of Arabat, opposite the town of Genitchi, were several guard-houses, in front of which four gunboats were moored, in such a position as to cover the entrance of the straits, and to bring under their fire any vessel that attempted to force its way. Setting aside these gunboats, it would have been a most hazardous undertaking for any boat to have attempted to pass the town so as to reach the Sivash, as the passage is not more than three hundred yards broad, and the whole of the heights which command it were lined with troops and field-pieces. Any boat that attempted to run the passage would have been within range of the fire of all these field-pieces, and exposed to almost certain destruction. Still it was of the last importance that the passage should be made, as it was only in this way that the supplies which were poured into the Crimea and enabled the Russians to prolong the contest could be cut off. These supplies were conveyed from the mainland by the Chingan bridge, and the great object of the naval expedition was to destroy this bridge. Still the undertaking, as we have said, was most hazardous, and another plan had been attempted. To Captain S. Osborne belongs the honour of having first discovered the position of this bridge. Captain Osborne is, doubtless, known to all our readers as a charming writer as well as a brave sailor, and he had recourse to an ingenious expedient to obtain the desired information. He caused two light boats, which he had transported across the narrowest part of the Arabat spit at night, to be launched on the Sivash, and approached near enough to the bridge to ascertain its exact position. It was a work of great difficulty to get even these light boats pushed through the mud, and Osborne narrowly escaped being captured. It would have been impossible, of course, to navigate heavily-armed boats on the muddy straits, supposing that our sailors had succeeded in getting them across the spit. Several experiments were made, but the attempt was given up as impracticable.

Soon after the fall of the south part of Sebastopol, Captain Day was stationed in the _Recruit_, which was under his command, off the Straits of Genitchi. While cruising along the coast, he had his attention directed to the fact that the enemy’s forces appeared to be less numerous than usual, more especially in the vicinity of the town and on the opposite spit. He at once despatched two gunboats to explore; on their return they reported that few of the enemy were to be seen. A brilliant idea occurred to Captain Day; it struck him that now was the time to make his way across the spit, and to capture the gunboats which covered the passage. He at once proceeded to act upon it. At this time, the writers of leaders in the daily press were very critical in regard to our navy, and easily proved upon paper that it was practicable to force a passage through the Genitchi Straits. There was a feeling among our sailors that if the thing could be done it would be acceptable, not only to the admiral in command, but also to the public at home. Good people at home, who carelessly criticise the exploits of our soldiers and sailors by their comfortable firesides, little imagine what daring deeds are done to secure their applause. “What will they say at home?” was the exclamation of Nelson after one of his great victories; and the man who does not value the good opinion of his fellow-citizens is not likely ever to do a heroic deed, or to occupy a niche in the temple of Fame.

Captain Day was not ignorant of the danger of attempting this reconnoissance. About a month before, Captain L’Allemand, of the French steam-vessel _Mouette_, had done so, and failed. He not only lost his own life, but several of the sailors who accompanied him were killed. Captain Day had the sagacity to perceive that this disaster was the result of the Frenchman’s imprudence. He had taken with him some twenty of his men—a force too small to offer any effectual resistance in the event of discovery, and too numerous to be able to escape detection. It occurred to him that one man might succeed where twenty had failed; but where was that man to be found? No one could hope to succeed, unless he had the step of an Indian and the eye of a hawk. In his earlier days, Captain Day had learned to stalk the red-deer on the mountains of the North, and the acuteness of vision and stealthiness of tread he had thus acquired were now employed for the benefit of his country. It is not to be supposed that self is altogether forgotten in the hour of heroic self-devotion; promotion, the world’s applause, and Westminster Abbey are dimly present to the mind of the most unselfish of men when undertaking some daring enterprise. To secure the applause of his admiral and a step in the service may have weighed a little with Captain Day; but we are sure that the danger itself had a certain irresistible attraction to his mind. He waited anxiously for a night suitable for the attempt, and on the 19th of September he was enabled to take the bearings of the Russian gunboats from the mast-head of his ship; he was enabled at the same time to mark the exact position of the guard-houses on the spit. He then resolved to land as soon as it was dark, and to try to make his way across without being observed. Accordingly, as soon as evening set in, he put a couple of sailors in his smallest boat, and, taking a small pocket-compass, some matches, his double glasses, and revolver, he at once landed. He took the precaution to put his commission in his pocket, so that his rank might be recognised if he were taken prisoner. He landed on the beach abreast his own ship, and told the sailors to remain in the boat at a sufficient distance from land to be beyond the reach of the enemy’s fire, in the event of a surprise; they were to remain there and not to make any noise, whatever might happen, unless he hailed them to pull in.

It would be impossible to relate all the adventures of that night; suffice it to say that our hero _did_ make his way across, after a long and wearisome journey, without being detected. He passed through many of the enemy’s pickets, which, as he had anticipated, were few, and widely scattered. He was thus enabled to have a good view of the Russian gunboats, which he found were moored close to the shore, and likely to remain in that position. The idea occurred to him that they could easily be surprised, as they were very slightly armed, and no attack was expected by the enemy. Nothing, however, could be done without the sanction of Captain Osborne, and our hero had reluctantly to retrace his steps. He reached the beach about two o’clock in the morning, after tramping about among bogs and morasses for more than seven hours, and found his boat all safe. He was in constant danger of detection, in consequence of the numerous water-fowl with which the lagoons abounded being disturbed by his approach, and thus putting the sentries on the alert; but his old deer-stalking habits stood him in good stead: he was not discovered.

On the following day Captain Osborne arrived, and Commander Day communicated to him all that he had witnessed during the previous night. It was fortunate that in Osborne he had a leader quite as bold and daring as himself, who entered warmly into his plans, and admitted that the attempt might be crowned with success. He received from him the promise that, if an expedition were sent, he should take part in it—an assurance which afforded him much satisfaction. On the following day Captain Osborne was obliged to leave, and Commander Day, on cruising along the coast, observed that the enemy appeared to be as numerous as ever. It occurred to him, as he anchored for the night off his old anchorage, that it would never do to allow the expedition to be undertaken with so many of the enemy scattered about, as it would only end in disaster and the capture or slaughter of all who took part in it. To prevent such a calamity, he resolved to make another reconnoissance. After the statement he had given to Osborne about the number of the enemy, he felt that a great responsibility rested upon himself, and that it was far better to expose his own life to danger a second time than involuntarily to cause the loss of many valuable lives. None but a gallant and good man would have reasoned thus, or incurred so great a danger. He determined, therefore, to land at once, in order to ascertain the real strength of the enemy, and thus be enabled to report to Captain Osborne whether it would be advisable to undertake the expedition. He felt it to be his duty to do this, as he had led him to believe that the enemy’s forces were far less numerous than they now appeared to be.

Accordingly, employing the same tactics as before, he landed at sunset. The night was bitterly cold, and so intensely dark that he had to grope his way at every step. He soon discovered that he was off the right track, and more deeply involved among the Russian sentries than was at all pleasant or desirable; but he never for a moment lost his presence of mind, and it was to this cause that he owed his safety. He crept along with all the stealthiness of a Red Indian, stopping every moment, and feeling his way at every step. He soon saw enough to satisfy him that the enemy’s forces were far too numerous to admit of the possibility of their being captured or surprised. There was no help for it; the expedition must be abandoned, and he must try to reach his vessel in safety. This was no easy undertaking; if it was difficult to advance, it was still more difficult to retreat. The place was full of quagmires and pits, into which he repeatedly fell, and, to add to other delightful sensations, more than one ball came whizzing past his ears in such close proximity as to be far from pleasant. It was his impression at the moment that the sentries had discovered him and were firing at him; but he was satisfied afterwards that this was not the case. They were only firing in accordance with their usual custom, to show that they were on the alert, and thus avert the attack they dreaded.

After nine hours’ wandering he reached the beach, and the sight of the blue waves must have been as grateful to him as the first glimpse of the ocean to the Ten Thousand Greeks in their retreat. But his dangers were not yet at an end: he looked everywhere for his boat, but it could not be seen; he waded up to the waist in the water, and, putting his mouth close to its surface, so as to veil the sound, he shouted to them to come in. There was no answer. In his desperation he drew his pistol from his belt, and, placing it close to the water, fired. It did not strike him at first that this act was more likely to attract the attention of the enemy than that of the men in the boat; but as soon as he heard the report of the pistol he was alive to the extent of the danger which he had incurred through his imprudence. His safety lay in the proximity of his own vessel, which was so close to the beach that the Cossacks could not approach the shore without being under range of her guns. It was a fearful position to be placed in. He was shivering with cold, his feet were benumbed, and his clothes saturated with wet. Overpowered with fatigue and half-dead with exposure, he threw himself down on the beach and prayed earnestly for the dawn. It was one of those hours which may concentrate in themselves more than the agony of a whole lifetime. Such hours are never forgotten in after-life, and are often the starting-point of a new existence. But we need not dwell upon those weary hours that preceded the dawn. A little before daylight, Mr. W. H. Parker, an officer of Commander Day’s vessel, pulled in along shore to see if he could see anything of one who, it was feared, was either dead or in the hands of the enemy. He found him prostrate on the beach, and nearly frozen to death. But such men have a wonderful tenacity of life. He soon recovered sufficiently to inquire why his men had not pulled in when he hailed them. It appeared that they had heard the report and seen the flash of his pistol, but thought it might have been some of the sentries near the beach. They imagined that they heard him approach the shore, but thought that they were carrying out his instructions in not approaching nearer to the land, as he had told them that in the event of his being chased he would swim out to the boat. They listened and watched, but as they heard nothing more they imagined that he had not come down. The following morning he was too ill to move. A less powerful frame would have succumbed under the physical suffering of that night. Captain Osborne, who had returned, visited him the same day on board his ship, and persuaded Captain Day to address to him that despatch which elicited a letter of approval from the Admiralty and earned for him the Victoria Cross.

Captain Day was, undoubtedly, the only man in England who felt any surprise when his sovereign conferred on him this proof of her favour. It has been cynically remarked that no man is a hero in the eyes of his valet. It is certain that no true hero is ever esteemed to be so by himself. There is a glorious absence of all self-consciousness in true genius and heroism. The man whom the whole world admires is often the least conscious of his own merits.