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150 years ago, an army of British, French, and Turkish soldiers landed on Russia's southern shore.
A detailed documentary on the Crimean War's origins, key battles, and personal accounts from British, French, and Turkish perspectives.
Key Takeaways
- The Crimean War was a complex conflict rooted in geopolitical rivalry and the decline of the Ottoman Empire.
- Technological advancements like explosive shells changed naval warfare and escalated the conflict.
- Allied forces faced logistical and racial challenges while defending Constantinople and fighting in Crimea.
- The war marked a shift in war reporting with the emergence of photography and detailed personal accounts.
- Florence Nightingale's work during the war revolutionized military nursing and healthcare.
What the video covers
- The Crimean War began 150 years ago with British, French, and Turkish forces landing on Russia's southern shore.
- The conflict was triggered by the decline of the Ottoman Empire and Russia's ambitions to control Constantinople.
- The Russian attack on the Turkish fleet at Sinop marked a turning point, prompting Britain and France to declare war.
- The war featured early war photographers and correspondents documenting the brutal realities of battle.
- British and French forces allied despite historical rivalries, facing harsh conditions in Constantinople and Crimea.
- The documentary highlights personal diaries and letters, revealing the human cost and racial attitudes during the war.
- Florence Nightingale's pioneering nursing efforts at Scutari are introduced amid the poor conditions faced by soldiers.
- The British Royal Navy's Baltic campaign and strategic plans against Russia's Black Sea fleet are covered.
- Key battles such as Inkerman, Alma, and Balaclava are referenced, emphasizing the harsh combat and heavy casualties.
- The documentary blends historical narrative with firsthand accounts to bridge myth and modern warfare.
Chapters
- 00:00Landing on Russia's Southern Shore
- 04:06Tsar Nicholas and the Ottoman Empire Crisis
- 07:14The Sinop Naval Battle and Its Consequences
- 09:57Life in Constantinople and Allied Relations
- 12:54British Naval Operations in the Baltic
- 15:33Early Battles and Soldier Experiences
- 18:16Siege of Sebastopol and War Hardships
- 21:13Key Battles and Tactical Challenges
Full Transcript — Download SRT & Markdown
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By 12 o'clock, that barren and desolate beach, inhabited by wildfowl only a short time before, was swarming with life. We are an army of occupation at last.
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That desolate terrain would be teeming with corpses. A million soldiers and civilians dead by the end of the war. Today we count 160 dead of the 600 men of our regiment who landed a month ago. Our splendid band is quite silenced. The big drummer has been killed by a round shot.
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The first clarinet is dead of cholera, and the poor child who played the cymbals has lost a leg. Fifty years later, one of Russia's first filmmakers put these old survivors on parade once more.
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Russian, British, and French veterans of the Crimean War stared uncertainly into the 20th century. They'd fought in a war which straddles the frontier between myth and the modern world.
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These are the men who fought at Inkerman, Alma, and Balaclava. These are the men who charged into the valley of death and into the legends of war. Cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon in front of them, volleyed and thundered. Stormed out with shot and shell, boldly they
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rode and well. Into the jaws of death, into the mouth of hell, rode the six hundred.
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But on the front line where the poets didn't go were the first war photographers and war correspondents. This story of the Crimean War is told by the diaries and letters, the paintings and photographs of those who were actually there. The accounts they left make this war unique.
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What ignited the war was the decay of the mighty Ottoman Empire, which had carried Islamic rule into the heart of Europe. To the north, imperial Russia waited like a vulture eyeing its prey. In January 1853, the British ambassador visited the Tsar in St. Petersburg to discover his
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intentions towards Turkey. The Tsar's reply sounded like an invitation to conspire. We have a sick man on our hands, a man who is seriously ill. The sick man is dying. We must come to some understanding.
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But Tsar Nicholas did not come to an understanding with the British. Nine months later, Russian troops crossed the Danube into Turkey's European provinces.
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The Tsar's pretext was the protection of Orthodox Christians living under Islamic rule. His gamble was that no Christian power would ever fight to protect a Muslim state.
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France and Britain suspected the real Russian target was Constantinople. The city commanded the strategic gateway from the Black Sea to the Mediterranean. If Russia seized control, her warships would have access to the open seas all the year round.
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Finally, in November 1853, a confrontation at Sinop on the southern shore of the Black Sea propelled Britain and France towards war. A Russian fleet spotted a Turkish squadron sheltering in port from bad weather.
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The Russian Admiral Nachimov launched an attack using a devastating new weapon, explosive shells. In an hour and a half, the action was decided. And if Admiral Nachimov had ceased his fire, there would have been no stain on his credit, but he kept
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up a merciless fire of shot and shell which killed numbers of unresisting men. He did not cease firing till every Turkish ship save one was a stranded wreck. Adolphus Slade, Admiral Slade was a British officer serving with the Ottoman
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Navy. His report of the massacre was rushed back to London. We found above a hundred wounded in every stage of suffering. Some in agony, many of them disfigured by explosions. The exploding shells at Sinop sent a warning to all the wooden warships of Europe. It was
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a victory which Britain, the leading naval power, could not ignore. It is a major triumph for the Russians who destroy the Ottoman fleet at virtually no loss to themselves. In political terms, it isn't so much of a triumph because it plays into
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the hands of the war party, particularly in London, and it does bring the British and the French fleets into the Black Sea.
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The Russian warships had sailed from Sebastopol, headquarters of Russia's Black Sea Fleet. From this moment, Britain's naval chiefs started to make plans for attacking Sebastopol and destroying Russia's naval power. For the British, Sinop was a national humiliation. Britannia's rule over the
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waves had been called into question by the Russians, the Turkish fleet had been destroyed, and the popular press termed it a massacre.
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In France, too, the call to war was sounded. Earlier that year, Napoleon III had proclaimed himself emperor. His ambition was to match the military glory of his uncle, Napoleon Bonaparte.
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The British commander in chief was Lord Raglan. His right arm had been shot away at the Battle of Waterloo, and he still referred to France as the enemy.
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The French and British now buried centuries of rivalry and formed an alliance. In March 1854, they declared war on Russia. From Glasgow, Birmingham, and Norwich, young men were in a hurry to enlist and see some action. Timothy Gowing was one of the first. I was fast approaching my 20th year, a dangerous
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age to many, and thrilling accounts of war in the newspapers worked me up to try my luck. In marching out of the barracks at Manchester, we could have walked over the heads of the people who were wrought up
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to such a pitch of excitement as almost amounted to madness. And then the band struck up, Cheer Boys Cheer, which seemed to have a thrilling effect on the multitude and gave fresh animation to the men.
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The British army headed for Constantinople to join their French and Turkish allies. This was the city they had come to defend, the crumbling capital of Turkey's Islamic empire.
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Fanny Jubilee, the 24-year-old wife of a cavalry officer, was one of several women who accompanied their husbands to war. Turkish dogs, lazy and lazy, were lying about in all directions, while horrible, filthy beggars were hovering everywhere. The little harbor is filled with refuse of every description. I
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was never more completely disillusioned in my life than with my first day in Constantinople. As French and British troops strolled around the unfamiliar streets, it began to dawn on them what a strange venture they had embarked on. We had nothing particular to note, except that we were going out to defend a
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rotten cause, a race that almost every Christian despises. The Turks struck me as a queer lot, particularly the women, who did not seem to put themselves out in the least, but were dirty and lazy looking. Private Timothy Gowing.
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The British and the French armies treated their Turkish allies with a quite remarkable degree of racial arrogance. It's noticeable that they commandeered most of the major buildings in the capital, most of the major barracks, most of the major military
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hospitals. The Turks had to make do and mend with whatever they could scrounge in their own capital. The biggest building commandeered by the British was the huge barracks at Scutari. This was where Florence Nightingale would lead her team of nurses and create the legend of the Lady with
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the Lamp. But Fanny Jubilee was not impressed by the facilities. The barracks appear from the outside to be a very fine building. But the inside, the dilapidation, the dirt, the rats, the fleas, these last are really so terrible that several officers have been fairly routed by them and are obliged either to
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pitch their tents on the common or to sleep on board the ships. While the Allied fleet anchored off Constantinople and awaited their orders, another armada set sail from Britain.
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In March 1854, the photographer Roger Fenton stood on the shore of Portsmouth Harbor and took this photograph of a British fleet heading for the Baltic, commanded by Admiral Sir Charles Napier.
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The ocean was Britain's most important battlefield and the Royal Navy. The fleet passed through the Baltic and reached the fortress of Kronstadt which protected the Russian capital of St. Petersburg. They anchored in full view of the Imperial Palace,
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but Kronstadt was too well fortified. After a close look at the cit...
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Napier now planned an all-out attack on the Tsar's Baltic stronghold of Bombersund, a group of fortresses bristling with guns.
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He had 10,000 French troops on board as military muscle. His warships were accompanied by several small boats, battlefield tourists, eager to see some action.
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The Reverend Robert Hughes, a fellow of Magdalen College, Cambridge, was in the front line with his brother when the attack began. My brother was off soon after dawn and secured an excellent position among the French sharpshooters, where he got a capital view of everything. I followed soon after and quickly came
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into view of the fort, which was blazing away pretty briskly. The brightest colours flew in the merry breeze. which was blowing stinking smoke and burnt gunpowder into the eyes of our unhappy foes. This was turning war into a holiday, with a vengeance.
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After three days of heavy bombardment, the Russians surrendered. A chastened Reverend Hughes entered the ruins to record the human cost of this victory.
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We passed into a room which had a cold feeling about it. I looked round and saw the cold, clean, silent forms of the dead. The light linen cloths that shrouded the stiffened figures wavered and flickered in the draught, as if stirred by the
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breaths of those who could breathe no more. What did these poor fellows know about the Turkish question? And yet they had fought and trembled. They had writhed in agony. And now, father and brother, maid and mother, were weeping
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breaking their hearts for them. The forts of Bombersund were utterly destroyed. But because the Tsar's capital remained unscathed, the British public felt let down. The Illustrated London News wrote sarcastically of how the Baltic fleet with 50,000 men sailed up the seas and then sailed home again.
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In a series of battles along the Danube, the Russians found the sick man of Europe to be a much tougher opponent than they'd expected when they first crossed the river.
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The Ottoman army saw this as a jihad, a holy war against the Russian infidels.
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Leading them into battle, was a renegade Christian from Croatia who had adopted the Muslim faith in the name of Omar Pasha. In a letter to the Sultan, he sang the praises of his victorious army. In this battle, many Russians were killed
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while our Imperial Army sustained 30 martyrs and 150 wounded. With the grace of God and the inspiration of the Prophet and the sacred power of the most glorious Sultan, This commencement of war gave great honor to the sublime
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state and to all the people of Islam. These photographs of Omar Pashur and his men were taken by the world's first war photographer. Karol Zatmari was an artist based in Bucharest who taught himself the new science of photography. He took 200
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photographs of the war on the Danube, of which only a handful survived. A faded but unique account of this conflict between Russia and Islam.
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To photograph the Russian army, Zatmari packed his darkroom into a wagon and traveled along the Danube. Under fire from Turkish artillery, he reached the Tsar's troops on the other side.
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For weeks these Russian soldiers had been besieging the Turkish fort of Solistra which stood in the way of their advance on Constantinople. Among them a 26 year old artillery officer was busily recording the war in letters and diaries. His name was Leo Tolstoy and his experiences would
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contribute to his epic novel War and Peace. From his regimental camp Tolstoy had a comfortable view of the action. You could see the town, the fortress, and the little forts of Silistra as though on the palm of your hand.
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You could hear the cannon fire and the rifle shots, which continued night and day.
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And with the field glass, you could make out the Turkish soldiers. Down below, the ordinary soldiers died in skirmishes or under bombardment from the cannon.
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But for artillery officers like Tolstoy, it was a faraway spectacle. something to enjoy. It's true, it's a funny sort of pleasure to see people killing each other. And yet every morning and every evening I would get up on my cart and spend
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hours at a time watching. The spectacle was truly beautiful, especially at night. The top priority for the Allies was to relieve the siege of Solistra, so they embarked for Varna on the Black Sea coast. For Private Harry Blishan in the
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rifle brigade, the glamour of war was wearing thin. We were drilled incessantly during this time to give the young generals an insight of what they would have to do in the field, and I'm sorry to say we lost several men through the effect. That is why the French have such an
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advantage over us. You'll never see an inexperienced young officer in their service. Another man to see the difference was William Howard Russell, the most famous journalist of the war. Russell wrote for the Times of London, and his reports would do much
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to dispel any illusion that British was automatically best. The French manage these things better than we do. Where is the English post office? no one knows where does the English general live no one knows does anyone want to find general
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canrobert ask the first Frenchman you meet and he will tell you to go up the Corso turn to the right by the end of the Rue l'Hôpital and you will see the name of the general printed in large letters over the door of
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his quarters the French were much more prepared than the British but there are very good reasons for that one reason probably the main reason is that the French army was a permanent army with permanent services such as health, clothing, weapons, equipments.
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Don't forget that the French army had been at war in Algeria since 1830. They were, well, the soldiers and the officers, all of them were very much experienced on the ground.
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On the Danube, the Russian High Command stepped up the pressure on the Turkish stronghold of Solistra before British and French reinforcements could arrive. The period that precedes an engagement is the most unpleasant. It's the only moment when you have
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time to be afraid. Towards three o'clock, we were waiting to see the Shire of Rockets let off as the signal for an attack. All of a sudden, and aid the camp of the field marshal arrived with the order to cancel the attack and end the siege. The entire
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Russian army felt betrayed. Austria had intervened and forced the Tsar's troops to abandon their advance into Turkey's European provinces. The gates of Solistra would remain closed to the Russian army. I can say without fear of error that this news was received by
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us all soldiers, officers and generals as a terrible misfortune. The whole venture had been a fiasco for the Russians who retreated back across the Danube.
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They had unleashed events they could not control, a war that would soon engulf their homeland.
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It was now the height of summer. The water was contaminated and the soldiers were living in cramped conditions which would quickly turn murderous.
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These watercolors are part of a visual diary kept by a talented officer in the rifle brigade. Captain Henry Clifford was 28 years old and came from an aristocratic Catholic family. In August, he reported the onset of the disease all
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soldiers dreaded. The cholera came at a time when we were all low-spirited and disgusted with the tiresome life we are leading. So bad has it been with the French, the medical men say it is no use fighting it. Fine young
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men in perfect health are taken ill and die in four and five hours. I grieve very much for a young officer who came out here from England. He arrived on Tuesday was taken ill on Wednesday morning and buried that evening.
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The indomitable Fanny Jubilee had also arrived with her husband Henry. We are encamped on the cholerous stricken grounds just vacated by the heavy brigade. Here and there, a heap of loose earth with a protruding hand or foot, showed where local inhabitants
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had desecrated the dead and dug them up to possess themselves of the blankets in which they were buried.
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As the cholera struck the army at Varna, it also spread to the sailors on the warships which were offshore. And as sailors died, they were sewn up in canvas bags which were weighted at the bottom were thrown overboard, but as the bodies decomposed,
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they rose to the surface and were bobbing up and down as if they were looking at the live sailors still on board ship, which was extremely disconcerting for them.
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The change in the physical appearance of everybody is most marked. All seem as if a dozen years of hard suffering had been added to their lives.
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The hospital tents present a ghastly spectacle of suffering beyond all relief by human aid.
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Our detachment have already begun what is likely to be their chief occupation, burying the dead. Frederick Robinson, assistant surgeon, Scots Fusilier guards.
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The British and French armies had been at war for four months. They had lost 10,000 men, but not a single shot had been fired at the enemy.
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Finally, the crucial order was given. They would embark for the Crimea to destroy Russia's Black Sea stronghold at Sebastopol. Captain Clifford finished off his watercolors.
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A thousand pities our army did not go at Sebastopol on first leaving England, when in rude health and full of spirits and enthusiasm. All of these have vanished. We've been kept in idleness, with hundreds falling around us by cholera and fever, and everyone
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feels the greatest repugnance to activity of any kind. I hope I may be able to write in a few days and tell you Sebastopol is taken, but I doubt it. So the Allied fleet set sail again, but without any clear
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idea of where they were going to land. Raglan and the French second-in-command went in Raglan's steam yacht and sailed up and down the coast looking for a suitable place to land. They actually sailed quite close to Sevastopol, close enough so that
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they could make out officers and men on the forts at Sevastopol. And as the ships sailed by, Raglan and his comrades raised their hats to the Russians on land, which was a courtesy which certainly wouldn't have been repeated in any war since.
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After exchanging courtesies, the Allied fleet sailed north along the coast. Eventually, Raglan sighted a wide bay with the ominous name of Calameter and gave the order to disembark. At dawn on the 14th of September, 1854, this barren shoreline was suddenly crowded with men, including the Times war correspondent, William Howard Russell.
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From one extremity to the other, bayonets glistened and red coats glinted. The air was filled with our English speech and the hum of voices mingled with the loud notes of command. The familiar address of Bill to Tom or Pat to Sandy and an
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occasional shout of laughter. But the excitement of landing in the Crimea could not conceal the usual bad planning. Amid a gathering of doctors on the beach, I spied my friend Alexander, who was very angry. Do make a note of this, he said. They have landed this army without any kind of
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hospital transport or carts or anything. With all this cholera and diarrhea about, there are no means of taking the sick down to the boats. Nevertheless, the Russians were impressed.
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The whole of their light fleet was anchored within Kalamita Bay, and at night their forest of masts was illuminated with various colored lanterns.
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The soldiers said, behold, the infidel has built another holy Moscow on the waves, comparing the masts of the ships to the church spires of that city.
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Captain Khodasevich, Tarutin regiment. The next day, the Russians saw some 60,000 men stretched over the plain below.
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Just five days after landing, the Allied commanders decided they were ready to march on Sebastopol and finish the war. After two days march, the Allies settled down to camp for the night. Above the river Alma, a Russian army of 40,000 was waiting for them.
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Their commander, Prince Menshikov, was so confident of victory. that it invited Sebastopol's most fashionable set to join him on the heights with champagne, chicken, and opera glasses.
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They were treated to a spectacle, but not the one they expected. To advance on Sebastopol, the Allied army had to cross the river Alma and ascend the bare hillside under the fire of heavy Russian artillery. It looked impossible, but the Allies had a plan. The crack French troops, the Zouaves,
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were sent along the coast to scale the cliffs and seize the heights above the Russian army. The attack on both fronts was scheduled to start at dawn. A Zouave called André wrote home about what happened next.
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The mist spread a wispy veil over us, which concealed us from the enemy. The humidity of the night had slightly numbed us, but we were full of spirit. Suddenly, a messenger arrived, to request us to call a halt. The English gentlemen were not
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yet ready to leave, so we would have to await their pleasure. We were not particularly polite about them, let me tell you.
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It was nearly midday before the British were ready. Private Timothy Gowing had to cross the River Alma with cannonballs whistling towards his company.
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As soon as the enemy's round shot came hopping along, we simply did the polite.
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Opened out and allowed them to pass on. There's nothing lost by politeness even on a battlefield.
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Presently, they began to pitch their shot and shell right amongst us. And our men began to fall. I felt horribly sick. Cold shiver running through my veins.
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Down by the sea, the French Zouaves were finally given the order to scale the cliffs. So voila, we set off boldly, 250 of us, clambering like cats, urging one another on.
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When our battery emerged upon the plateau, the guns made terrifying breaches in the enemy lines, and you could see whole rows of Russian infantry mowed down by the same cannonball.
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On the main battlefield, Private Gowing and the Royal Fusiliers were advancing straight towards the big Russian guns. We were only about 600 yards from the mouth of the guns. The thunderbolts of war were not far apart, and death loves a crowd.
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The havoc among the Fusiliers was awful. Still, nothing but death could stop that renowned infantry. We had to fight against tremendous odds. At the top of the hill, our colonel exclaimed when he sounded the assembly, where's my poor old fusiliers? My God, my God.
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And he cried like a child, wringing his hands. Despite the harrowing losses, the fusiliers took the Russian gun position.
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The gentry on the hill ran for cover and Prince Menshikov ordered the retreat. Our army was utterly routed and beaten out of an almost unassailable position. I asked the commander of our battalion where we were going, but even the Major didn't know.
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He had no orders where to go. We all stared at each other and wondered where we should find ourselves. We were like a flock of lost sheep without a shepherd. Captain Khodasevich.
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That evening, William Howard Russell walked across the fields above the river Alma. One who has not seen cannot conceive the relics of a great fight, especially on such a field as that of the Alma. There was an immense accumulation of camp
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litter on the hillsides. There was a sickening, sour-feetid smell everywhere, and the grass was sloppy with blood.
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the exhausted troops disposed. We went into the vineyards and got some grapes. These were the first grapes we'd seen. From there we went into the village which the enemy had burnt. Here the surgeons had established a field hospital, several of
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whom were hard at work amputating limbs. There was a large heap of detached limbs lying in the yard and many poor fellows waiting their turn. Private Albert Mitchell, The young soldiers who died at Alma had opened up the road to Sebastopol, but the generals did not take it. They decided to
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march their army in a different direction, a decision that would lead to hundreds of thousands more deaths on the shores of the Crimea. The Allied army had decided to march around Sebastopol and attack it from the south, using the harbor of
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Balaclava to bring ashore all the equipment needed to mount a proper siege. The man responsible for this disastrous move was Raglan's chief strategist, General Burgoyne.
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He was 71 years old and argued the only way to take a fortified city was to do it by the book. Bring up the big guns and knock down the fortifications. This would take weeks. Some Allied commanders were horrified
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by this delay. Looking down on Sebastopol, General Sir George Cathcart could see it was an easy target. I'm sure I could walk into it with scarcely the loss of a man at night or an hour before day. We could leave our
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packs and run into it even in open daylight, only risking a few shots from their gun positions. We see people walking about the streets in great consternation.
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In the town, the people were as busy as ants, working day and night at their defenses. In fact, all seemed to be seized with a kind of panic. Admiral Karnilov appeared to have a power of multiplying himself, for he was everywhere, promising
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large rewards to all if they could only keep the town. Captain Khodasevich, Tarutin Regiment. The problem facing the Russian naval commanders was not just how to defend Sebastopol from the land, but also how to prevent the Allied fleet attacking from the sea. The naval
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commanders were highly intelligent. They quickly saw that they had no role on sea once the French and British navies had arrived. The Allies were overwhelmingly superior. So what they did was to sink some of their ships in a way to block
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a direct allied naval assault on Sebastopol and to land most of the crews. And the crews from the The naval units, excellently commanded by the admirals, and with morale very high, formed the backbone of the defence. The British and
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French had travelled 2,000 miles to sink the Black Sea Fleet. Now the Russian Navy had done the job themselves. Meanwhile, the Allied army had completed their march around Sebastopol. Just six days after storming the heights of Alma, they arrived in Balaclava. From now on, this cramped harbor was the center
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of British Army activity in the Crimean War. Its name would become synonymous with terrible suffering and extraordinary courage.
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For the rifle brigade, arriving in Balaclava meant a well-earned rest. I've been sleeping in the open air with my clothes on now for 19 days.
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Sickness prevails to a great extent, so our company is reduced from 143 to 70.
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You must tender my kindest love to Sarah and ask her how she would like to see her brother come home with one leg. I fancy I should be a comical fellow. But without joking, I thought I would be shot in 50 places at
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Alma. It is curious work to be dodging cannonballs all day. I hope I shall be as lucky in the next affair. Your affectionate brother, Harry Blishan.
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As the British made their base in Balaclava, the French organized themselves a few miles away in the more spacious harbor at Camiche. Both armies got on with building up their siege operations. Clearly the biggest mistake the Allies made in the entire Crimean campaign
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was to march around Sevastopol and attempt to set up a regular siege. This allowed the Russians to bring in their excellent field engineers and to call up the guns from the naval dockyard. The two armies then set about digging themselves ever deeper into
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trench systems which look remarkably like the Western Front. The Allies continued to help the Russians by wasting time. It took them three weeks to bring their big guns into position. By the time Fanny Jubilee turned up, the British hadn't yet managed to open fire, but they had
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attracted the attention of the Russian gunners. About a thousand yards from us lay the forts of Sebastopol. The shot and shell came hissing every two minutes. We were standing on the brow of a hill, backed by our magnificent troops and fronting
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the enemy, the doomed city beneath our feet. It was indeed a moment worth a hundred years of everyday existence.
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The first day of the Allied bombardment was a spectacular affair, but the Russians had used those wasted weeks to very good effect. From 6 until 9am, they were hard at it. As fast as our men could load and
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fire, it was ding-dong hard fighting. At 9 a.m., one of the French magazines went up with a crash. As far as we could see, it was all fair give and take. Sergeant Timothy Gowing.
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The opening bombardment failed to demolish Sebastopol. Now the initiative swung to the Russians. They decided to counterattack before the Allies could secure their base at Balaklava.
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Early on the morning of October 25th, a Russian army of 30,000 descended from the north. Their aim was to cut the line of communication between the siege forces round Sebastopol and the supply base at Balaclava. Fanny Jubilee was
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asleep on board ship when her husband sent word. A note was put into my hands from Henry. It ran thus. The Battle of Balaclava has begun and promises to be a hot one. Lose no time, but come as quickly as you can. Do
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not wait for breakfast. Between these woods in the foreground and the hills at the back is the Valley of Death, where the Battle of Balaclava was fought. At dawn, the Russian army launched a surprise attack on Balaclava's first line of defense,
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Allied gun positions manned by some 900 Turkish soldiers. The Turks held out as long as they could before abandoning their guns and fleeing towards the port. Galloping the other way came Fanny Jubilee, heading for the sound of gunfire. The road was almost blocked by flying Turks, vociferating
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ship, Johnny's ship, while others came along laden with pots, kettles, arms and plunder. The Russians were by this time in possession of three batteries from which the Turks had fled. What's often forgotten is that those Turks, probably less than a thousand men, had been holding out for a good two hours against
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immensely superior Russian forces. Men like Lord Raglan, the British commander, Russell, the Times correspondent, arrived on the battlefield only at the end of the Turks' two-hour resistance.
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And so the initial impression was one simply of the Turks running away. Lord Raglan and his staff climbed the hill above the valley to get a better view of the action. They could see the next line of defence guarding
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the port of Balaclava, the 93rd Highlanders commanded by Sir Colin Campbell. he formed them up into a thin red line and gave them their orders as an advanced force of Russian cavalry rode towards them. Men, remember there is no retreat from here. You must die where you stand.
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William Howard Russell watched from above, waiting for the Russians to make a move. The silence is oppressive. Between the cannon bursts, one can hear the champing of bits and the clink of sabers in the valley below.
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The Russians drew breath for a moment and then in one grand line dashed at the Highlanders. The ground flies beneath their horses' feet, gathering speed at every stride. They dash on towards that thin red streak tipped with a line of steel.
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The thin red line had held. The Russian cavalry retreated, and on the hillside, the onlookers cheered the Highlanders. But it was a brief respite. The main force of Russian cavalry was still advancing towards Balaclava. Lord Raglan turned to the heavy brigade under
Speaker A
the command of General Sir James Scarlett. Scarlett had never been in a battle before in his life. Now he ordered his 300 men to charge uphill straight into 2,000 enemy cavalry. The artist who painted this battle tidied up the scene for the public back home, but
Speaker A
William Howard Russell would see it was a vicious struggle. God help them, they are lost, was the explanation of more than one man. By sheer steel and sheer courage, Enniskilliner and Scott were winning their desperate way right through the enemy's squadrons.
Speaker A
Then with irresistible force, like one bolt from a bow, the rest of the heavy brigade rushed at the remnants of the first line of the enemy, went through it as though it were made of pasteboard, and put them to utter rout.
Speaker A
The British had done well to have held off such a large Russian force. The valley was strewn with the casualties of battle, and both sides may have been ready to call it a day. But fate had one more cruel card to play.
Speaker A
Lord Raglan could see the Russian army towing away the guns abandoned by the Turks.
Speaker A
To lose the guns was tantamount to losing the battle. Someone had to stop them.
Speaker A
He sent an order to the light brigade, which would send them charging in the wrong direction, towards death and immortality.
Speaker A
opening of the Churchill Museum and the 40th anniversary of his death we're sponsoring a special series of lectures. For your chance to win tickets to one of them visit UKTVhistory.co.uk or press red on your digital satellite remote.
Topics:Crimean WarBritish ArmyFrench ArmyOttoman EmpireRussiaFlorence NightingaleSebastopolSinopwar photography19th century warfare
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