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As far as I can tell, he's contemptuous of foreigners, and is happy to take part in anything that places other people beneath him, but does not have any real faith in white supremacy. To him the imperial project is about getting rich, rather than bringing Christianity and civilisation to the world, and he's thrilled with it.
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Jul 13, 2020 07:03
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Imagine a small room located above a very tall elevator that extends from the top of a pyramid. Flashman is in the room. Everyone else is in the pyramid. They may be organised in tiers and he can go along with it as needed (especially as the top tier is rich white Englishmen, which makes his life easier and more pleasant) but he doesn’t actually care.
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Jul 13, 2020 07:28
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My read is that Flashman is the ultimate cynic - he doesn't actually believe in anything, even odious ideologies. He's happy to use racism as a tool for abusing people, but I don't think he fundamentally believes in anything other than "more power for me, gently caress you." That allows him to interact with people from other races on more or less equal footing with whites - he hates everybody equally. I feel like Frasier uses Flashman's sociopathic self-interest as a way of presenting a take on empire that strips out all of the ideology that supported it. There are a couple of times when Flashman makes comments or jokes dismissing country's claims for why they're engaging in colonialism and instead says it's all just about maximizing power and money.
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Jul 13, 2020 13:04
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There's two sides: 1) Flashman 2) Everyone else
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Jul 13, 2020 16:13
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Disgusting Coward posted:There's two sides: Yeah. He's a realist and a coward, so he doesn't delude himself about people who are ruthless and clever whatever their race, status and gender (Lincoln, Cassy, etc) but that's purely so he can avoid getting into poo poo with them. He believes in making his own life as easy and comfortable as possible and that's it.
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Jul 13, 2020 21:14
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Cobalt-60 posted:So is Flashman any less racist than his contemporaries? Because he seems every bit as dismissive and contemptuous of the "natives" wherever he goes, he's just better at evaluating potential threats. Or maybe he just grasps the reality behind all the colonialist and slaver sophism: all the glories of their civilization are piled on a heap of corpses, with another heap of peoples being forced down; there is no truth to their civilized ways but violence. But he's perfectly fine with that, as long as he doesn't get hurt. There's a bit in a later book where he says something to the effect of "in my experience it's best not to anger the local gods" because he knows that's going to get people angry and angry people try to kill him. Basically he lacks arrogance that could get him killed (usually). He's a pretty tricky character to explain vis a vis his racism: it's more that he has a very acute sense of power relations whether that's racial, class or good old fashioned violence, and unless he has something to gain he tries not to rock the boat too much on that front.
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Jul 13, 2020 22:41
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 Flashman at the Charge, originally published in 1973, is the fourth book in the series and sixth-and-a-half chronologically (since Flashman and the Redskins is divided into two halves). It picks up six years after the end of Flash for Freedom!, beginning in 1855, with Flashman now 33 years old. The book opens in medias res, with Flashman on the battlefield in just before a certain famous event in the Crimean War: quote:The moment after Lew Nolan wheeled his horse away and disappeared over the edge of the escarpment with Raglan’s message tucked in his gauntlet, I knew I was for it. Raglan was still dithering away to himself, as usual, and I heard him cry: “No, Airey, stay a moment—send after him!” and Airey beckoned me from where I was trying to hide myself nonchalantly behind the other gallopers of the staff. I had had my bellyful that day, my luck had been stretched as long as a Jew’s memory, and I knew for certain that another trip across the Balaclava plain would be disaster for old Flashy. I was right, too. And from there, we go to the “I suppose you're wondering how I got here...” bit, as Flashman, ahem, flashes back to early 1854, starting just before Britain's entry into the Crimean War. The war was originally provoked by Russian expansionism at the expense of the feeble Ottoman Empire, grabbing territory in Ukraine and around the Black Sea, and British fears that Russia might make a play for India, or disrupt British naval control of the Mediterranean. Plus, Britain hadn't had a good war in a few years and was starting to feel itchy. quote:(...)I had been at home some time, sniffing about, taking things very easy, and considering how I might lie low and enjoy a quiet life in England while my military colleagues braved shot and shell in Russia on behalf of the innocent defenceless Turk—not that there’s any such thing, in my experience, which is limited to my encounter with a big fat Constantinople houri who tried to stab me in bed for my money-belt, and then had the effrontery to call the police when I thrashed her. At this point, Flashman is experienced enough to have a sense of when Britain might be going to war, and is eager to find a way to avoid having to go himself. As he admits, it might get embarrassing if people start wondering why someone of his (bogus) military achievements is staying home out of the fight, so he needs to find an excuse. quote:As one of the former bright particular stars of the cavalry, who had covered himself with glory from Kabul to the Khyber, and been about the only man to charge in the right direction at Chillianwallah (a mistake, mind you), I wouldn’t be able to say, “No, thank’ee, I think I’ll sit out this time.” Not and keep any credit, anyway. And credit’s the thing, if you’re as big a coward as I am, and want to enjoy life with an easy mind. (Flashman drops a couple of references in the early going of this book to having taken part in the Second Anglo-Sikh War, which ran from April 1848 through March 1849. This is the same rough time frame as the last section of Royal Flash and Flash for Freedom!, so there's no way Flashy could have been involved – in particular, the battle of Chillianwala, which he mentions above, was January 13, 1849, around the same time that Flashy was arriving in Memphis with Cassy. Either Flashman is exaggerating his accomplishments for his papers, despite his promise to be completely honest, or Fraser didn't look closely enough at his notes. However, Flashy did take part in the First Anglo-Sikh War in 1845-1846: see Flashman and the Mountain of Light for details.) In any case, Flashman has a plan: he signs up with the Army again, but uses his family connections to get himself assigned to the Board of Ordnance (“I was related, on my mother's side, to Lord Paget, of the God's Anointed Pagets, who happened to be a member of the small arms select committee” -- a reminder that Flashy's mother was an aristocrat who married down for money, much like Flashy did himself, although presumably his mother's wedding wasn't shotgun.) The Board is responsible for supplying the Army with weapons. It's not prestigious, but it's a comfortable REMF position that doesn't require much work and poses zero risk of his being sent to the fighting. quote:And if anyone said, “What, Flash, you old blood-drinker, ain’t you off to Turkey to carve up the Cossacks?”, I’d look solemn and talk about the importance of administration and supply, and the need for having at home headquarters some experienced field men—the cleverer ones, of course—who would see what was required for the front. With my record for gallantry (totally false though it was) no one could doubt my sincerity. Selachian fucked around with this message at 05:34 on Jul 14, 2020 |
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Jul 14, 2020 05:32
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Re: the Crimean War, here is some background from Matthew White's The Great Big Book of Horrible ThingsMatthew White posted:The one thing everyone should know about the Crimean War is the mind-boggling incompetence displayed by everyone involved. This war gave us “The Charge of the Light Brigade” - possibly the best-known poem in the English language- which describes the dumb courage of a futile frontal assault. The Crimean War was the first war to be photographed and reported on by war correspondents for the daily newspapers. It was also the first war to shock and horrify the people back home. The only individual whom history remembers kindly was a civilian woman, Florence Nightingale, who took it upon herself to nurse sick and wounded soldiers after the army proved incapable of the task. White also mentions that the war began for a stupid reason, Orthodox and Catholic clergy in Jerusalem bickering over priority at the shrines. How the fighting kept going on even after the Russians backed down because “the British and French allies had come all this way and didn't want to go home without blowing something up”.
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Jul 14, 2020 18:28
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It was a huge cluster-gently caress and this book will definitely touch on that. Thank you Selachin for moving along with another book, by the way! Flashman at the Charge is one of the best in the series, IMO.
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Jul 14, 2020 18:47
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Elspeth is unhappy with Flashman's choice of a safe position, however. quote:“Why, oh why, Harry, could you not have sought an appointment in the Hussars, or some other fashionable regiment? You looked so beautiful and dashing in those wonderful pink pantaloons! Sometimes I think they were what won my heart in the first place, the day you came to father’s house. I suppose that in the Ordnance they wear some horrid drab overalls, and how can you take me riding in the Row dressed like…like a common commissary person, or something?” Flashman points out that he got pushed out of the 11th Hussars for marrying her (as we saw in Flashman), and the fact that her father bought a title before he died is unlikely to carry much water with a snob like Lord Cardigan. Elspeth insists that Lord Cardigan has been very nice to her when they've met, which Flashman doesn't like, knowing Cardigan is “as lecherous an old goat as ever tore off breeches.” Elspeth argues that “little Havvy” would also be disappointed to not see his father in a fancy uniform. quote:Poor little Havvy, by the way, was our son and heir, a boisterous malcontent five-year-old who made the house hideous with his noise and was forever hitting his shuttlecocks about the place. Flashman has made up his mind, however, although he does suggest maybe later he'll transfer back to the cavalry – when the current war fever has safely died down. Lord Paget is prevailed on to find Flashman a Board of Ordnance position. Flashy finds all the technical details of firearms design tedious, so he does as little work as he can get away with and throws himself back into socializing, going to parties with Elspeth and the usual routine of boozing, whoring, and gambling. Meanwhile, London is getting increasingly eager for war; the government kicks out the Russian ambassador, and politicians are speaking fervently about the need to rein the Russians in. quote:I listened to a mob in Piccadilly singing about how British arms would “tame the frantic autocrat and smite the Russian slave,” and consoled myself with the thought that I would be snug and safe down at Woolwich, doing less than my share to see that they got the right guns to do it with. And so I might, if I hadn’t loafed out one evening to play pool with Speed in the Haymarket. At the pool hall, Flashman ends up playing billiards against an Army acquaintance named Cutts. quote:I’m no pool-shark, but not a bad player, either, and unless there’s a goodish sum riding, I don’t much care whether I win or lose as a rule. But there are some smart-alecs at the table that I can’t abide to be beat by, and Cutts was one of them. You know the sort—they roll their cues on the tables, and tell the bystanders that they play their best game off list cushions instead of rubber, and say “Mmph?” if you miss a shot they couldn’t have got themselves in a hundred years. What made it worse, my eye was out, and Cutts’ luck was dead in—he brought off middle-pocket jennies that Joe Bennet wouldn’t have looked at, missed easy hazards and had his ball roll all round the table for a cannon, and when he tried long pots as often as not he got a pair of breeches. By the time he had taken a fiver apiece from us, I was sick of it. I barely understand the rules of English billiards, so I assume those are all good things. Flashman sulks off, wandering around the pool hall, and then spots a game in the corner. One of the players is a “proper-looking mamma's boy” of about eighteen, with nicely made clothes that suggest he has money. The other player is clearly a shark, and Flashy watches to see what happens. quote:They were playing pyramids, and the shark, a grinning specimen with ginger whiskers, was fattening his lamb for the kill. You may not know the game, but there are fifteen colours, and you try to pocket them one after the other, like pool, usually for a stake of a bob a time. The lamb had put down eight of them, and the shark three, exclaiming loudly at his ill luck, and you could see the little chap was pretty pleased with himself. The victim agrees, and the shark promptly starts putting balls away. In the game they're playing, Flashman explains, if a player commits a foul, one of the balls is put back in the table – so the shark proceeds to sink a ball, collect his money, and then foul and put the ball back so he can sink it again and get paid again. Meanwhile, the victim can't seem to make any of his own shots. The shark ends up taking fifteen pounds off him before finally putting an end to the game, and then swaggers away. The sight of the unfortunate young man gives Flashman an idea, and he invites him for a drink. The boy is suspicious, but Flashy turns on the charm, and they settle down together. quote:He was a foreigner, doing the tour, I gathered, in the care of some tutor from whom he had managed to slip away to have a peep at the flesh-pots of London. The depths of depravity for him, it seemed, was a billiard-room, so he had made for this one and been quickly inveigled and fleeced. Flashy gets enough booze into him to cheer him up, and then tells him that he'll help him win at least one game before he leaves. The boy is hesitant, thinking he's being set up for another swindle, but Flashy says it'll just be for fun, no money involved. quote:I slipped over to one of the markers whom I knew well. “Joe,” says I, “give me a shaved ball, will you?” Having obtained the gimmicked ball, Flashman collects the young man: quote:He was looking quite perky, I noticed, what with the booze and, I suspect, a fairly bouncy little spirit under his mama’s boy exterior. He seemed to have forgotten his fleecing at any rate, and was staring about him at the fellows playing at nearby tables, some in flowery weskits and tall hats and enormous whiskers, others in the new fantastic coloured shirts that were coming in just then, with death’s heads and frogs and serpents all over them; our little novice was drinking it all in, listening to the chatter and laughter, and watching the waiters weave in and out with their trays, and the markers calling off the breaks. I suppose it’s something to see, if you’re a bumpkin.
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Jul 15, 2020 04:52
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Approaching Cutts, who's just finished beating Speed, Flashman claims that he's just been thrashed by “that little terror in the corner yonder.” Cutts is contemptuous, especially after he sees the boy, but Flashman insists he's amazing, and Cutts finally decides to challenge him. As they set up to play, Flashman ensures that Cutts gets the shaved ball. quote:You’ve probably never seen a shaved ball used—but then, you wouldn’t know it if you had. The trick is simple; your sharp takes an ordinary ball beforehand, and gets a craftsman to peel away just the most delicate shaving of ivory from one side of it; some clumsy cheats try to do it by rubbing it with fine sand-paper, but that shows up like a whore in church. Then, in the game, he makes certain his opponent gets the shaved ball, and plays away. The flat never suspects a thing, for a carefully shaved ball can’t be detected except with the very slowest of slow shots, when it will waver ever so slightly just before it stops. But of course, even with fast shots it goes off the true just a trifle, and in as fine a game as billiards or pool, where precision is everything, a trifle is enough. So none of Cutts's shots go where they're supposed to, and the boy, despite being a “truly shocking player,” slowly starts to pull ahead. The more frustrated Cutts gets, the more wildly he shoots, and the boy wins easily in the end. quote:I was interested to notice he got precious cocky at this. “Billiards is not a difficult game, after all,” says he, and Cutts ground his teeth and began to count out his change. His fine chums, of course, were bantering him unmercifully—which was all I’d wanted in the first place. Flashman and Speed take the boy out of the pool hall, intending to bring him along to “one of the accommodation houses (…) for it was certain he'd never been astride a female in his life.” quote:But we stopped off for punch on the way, and the little snirp got so fuddled he couldn’t even walk. We helped him along, but he was maudlin, so we took off his trousers in an alley off Regent Street, painted his arse with blacking which we bought for a penny on the way, and then shouted, “Come on, peelers! Here’s the scourge of A Division waiting to set about you! Come on and be damned to you!” And as soon as the bobbies hove in sight we cut, and left them to find our little friend, nose down in the gutter with his black bum sticking up in the air. A few days later, Flashman is leaving “work” to meet Elspeth, who's out riding, and finds her being accompanied by “my Lord Haw-Haw himself, the Earl of Cardigan,” who seems to be doing his best to charm her. quote:She caught my eye and waved, and his lordship looked me over in his high-nosed drat-you way which I remembered so well. He would be in his mid-fifties by now, and it showed; the whiskers were greying, the gooseberry eyes were watery, and the legions of bottles he had consumed had cracked the veins in that fine nose of his. But he still rode straight as a lance, and if his voice was wheezy it had lost nothing of its plunger drawl. Flashman grits his teeth and tries to do his usual toadying, but Cardigan barely pays attention to him, focused entirely on Elspeth and inviting her out to his country estate (“You must come to visit – you too, Fwashman.”) quote:“No doubt your husband has many duties—in the ordnance, is it not, or some such thing? Haw-haw. But you must come down, my dear, with one of your fwiends, for a good wong stay, what? The faiwest bwossoms bwoom best in countwy air, don’t ye know? Haw-haw.” And the old scoundrel had the gall to lean over and pat her hand. After Cardigan leaves, Elspeth swoons over how “wonderfully condescending” he is and says that if Flashy would just talk to him, Cardigan might find a place for him in the Hussars. quote:“(...)Why, he has promised me almost any favour I care to ask—Harry, whatever is the matter? Why are you swearing—oh, my love, no, people will hear! Oh!”
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Jul 15, 2020 23:41
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Haw haw! 
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Jul 16, 2020 03:16
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ManlyGrunting posted:There's a bit in a later book where he says something to the effect of "in my experience it's best not to anger the local gods" because he knows that's going to get people angry and angry people try to kill him. Basically he lacks arrogance that could get him killed (usually). He's a pretty tricky character to explain vis a vis his racism: it's more that he has a very acute sense of power relations whether that's racial, class or good old fashioned violence, and unless he has something to gain he tries not to rock the boat too much on that front. Flashman is a 19th century British White Male and enjoys the privilege that grants him. However, had there been some kind of Black Power revolution that toppled White Imperialism and replaced it with Black Imperialism, Flashman would immediately try to get in with the new powers, happily betraying his so-called fellow race to get another rung up that ladder. Figure if he could chemically darken his skin ala Soul Man he'd do it in a heartbeat.
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Jul 16, 2020 03:46
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How are u posted:Haw haw! Cardigan was a really interesting aberration of the British class system and its intersection with the Army. The universal opinion of everyone who knew him seems to have been that he was truly dense. His main military skill seems to have been the presentation of his units' uniforms. But at this point in history, despite having a fully formed bureaucracy which ostensibly ran things, he could still be chosen for important field command. His time in command during the Crimean War was shockingly incompetent. Most interestingly, he went a bit Flashman on his return to England afterwards. He got back while the war was still ongoing, because he had pleaded ill-health and returned in the private yacht(!) which he had brought with him on campaign. Received a hero's reception because the initial reports about the Charge of the Light Brigade, reported as heroism rather than simple incompetence, had flown ahead of him. Promptly span a load of guff at public events about sharing his men's hardships on campaign and pursuing the enemy after the Charge. Total bullshit, in fact there was a lot of controversy for years afterwards because many officers saw him retreating while fighting was still going on.
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Jul 16, 2020 09:54
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I dearly love the image of Victorian wasters lounging around pool halls in their proto-Hawaiian shirts.
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Jul 16, 2020 09:57
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Genghis Cohen posted:Cardigan was a really interesting aberration of the British class system and its intersection with the Army. The universal opinion of everyone who knew him seems to have been that he was truly dense. His main military skill seems to have been the presentation of his units' uniforms. But at this point in history, despite having a fully formed bureaucracy which ostensibly ran things, he could still be chosen for important field command. His time in command during the Crimean War was shockingly incompetent. Some of it actually appear later in this (and another book)
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Jul 16, 2020 13:18
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Cobalt-60 posted:So is Flashman any less racist than his contemporaries? Because he seems every bit as dismissive and contemptuous of the "natives" wherever he goes, he's just better at evaluating potential threats. He isn't, though, or not always, and that absolutely makes him better than some of his contemporaries. Shows up more in the later books than the earlier ones I think. Note that 'being better at evaluating potential threats' and 'being less racist' track pretty well with each other in most of the places Flashman ends up in trouble, kind of by definition.
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Jul 16, 2020 15:39
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Runcible Cat posted:I dearly love the image of Victorian wasters lounging around pool halls in their proto-Hawaiian shirts. Fraser compares them to hippie fashion (which was still a thing in 1973). I looked around for an image, but sadly none of the Victorian fashion sites I found had anything on them -- they're all more concerned with coats and weskits. A few more days after that, Flashman gets a summons from Lord Raglan, who's in charge of the expeditionary force in Turkey. quote:You will know all about him, no doubt. He was the rear end who presided over the mess we made in the Crimea, and won deathless fame as the man who murdered the Light Brigade. He should have been a parson, or an Oxford don, or a waiter, for he was the kindliest, softest-voiced old stick who ever spared a fellow-creature’s feelings—that was what was wrong with him, that he couldn’t for the life of him say an unkind word, or set anyone down. And this was the man who was the heir to Wellington—as I sat in his office, looking across at his kindly old face, with its rumpled white hair and long nose, and found my eyes straying to the empty right sleeve tucked into his breast, he looked so pathetic and frail, I shuddered inwardly. Thank God, thinks I, that I won’t be in this chap’s campaign. Am I the only one having flashbacks to General Elphinstone?  Fitzroy Somerset, Baron Raglan, lost his arm fighting with Wellington at Waterloo. He was Wellington's long-time secretary, Master-General of the Ordnance, and had also served as an aide to George IV. In 1854, Raglan was in his mid-sixties, much more of a bureaucrat than a warrior, and had not stepped on a battlefield in almost forty years when he was put in command of the military expedition to the Crimea. He had also never personally commanded anything larger than a battalion in combat. Despite this, he was also famous for being utterly unflappable in danger, and as Wellington's protege -- he even looked quite like Wellington -- it seemed natural to put him in command at a time when the British officer corps was short of men who had actually led under fire. The other possible candidates for leadership, a bunch of Napoleonic relics like Henry Hardinge, Lord Gough, and Lord Combermere, were in their 70s. As Flashman hints, Raglan's unflappability was combined with a passivity that was fatal in the commander of an army, but we'll find more about that. quote:So you may guess that the matter on which he had sent for me was one of the gravest national import—Prince Albert, our saintly Bertie the Beauty, wanted a new aide-de-camp, or equerry, or toad-eater-extraordinary, and nothing would do but our new Commander must set all else aside to see the thing was done properly. Raglan reads through Flashman's military history, and then asks why he's working for the Board of Ordnance. Flashman gives him his pre-prepared spiel about it being vital to his military education, etc., etc. Raglan agrees that learning more is a good thing, but, well, isn't it a little dull work for a dashing warrior hero like Flashman? Flashy can see orders directing him to Turkey coming his way, but he can't refuse given Raglan's rank – and the involvement of the Royal Family. quote:“So I may now confide in you,” he went on, “what this most important duty consists in. You have not heard, I dare say, of Prince William of Celle? He is one of Her Majesty’s European cousins, who has been visiting here some time, incognito, studying our English ways preparatory to pursuing a military career in the British Army. It is his family’s wish that when our forces go overseas—as soon they must, I believe—he shall accompany us, as a member of my staff. But while he will be under my personal eye, as it were, it is most necessary that he should be in the immediate care of the kind of officer I have mentioned—one who will guide his youthful footsteps, guard his person, shield him from temptation, further his military education, and supervise his physical and spiritual welfare in every way.” Raglan says he'll take Flashman to the Palace the next day to meet William, and then dismisses him. (While Victoria and Albert had plenty of German relatives running around the Continent, William of Celle is fictional.) quote:“And now,” I heard him say to his secretary as I bowed myself out, “there is this wretched war business. I suppose there is no word yet whether it has begun? Well, I do wish they would make up their minds.” The next day, Raglan and Flashman go to see Prince Albert and, shock of shocks, Prince William turns out to be the kid from the pool hall. quote:The sight hit me like a ball in the leg—for a moment I stood stock still while I gaped at the lad and he gaped at me, but then he recovered, and so did I, and as I made my deep bow at Raglan’s side I found myself wondering: have they got that blacking off his arse yet? At least the duty comes with a sudden promotion from Albert. quote:He nodded smugly, and then says: “I un-erstend you were at Rugby School, Captain? Ah, but wait—a captain? That will hardly do, I think. A colonel, no?” And he looked at Raglan, who said the same notion had occurred to him. Well, thinks I, if that’s how promotion goes, I’m all for it. The newly minted Colonel Flashman and Willy actually get along pretty well. Willy is grateful that Flashy didn't mention his unauthorized excursion to the pool hall (and was too drunk to remember who left him in the gutter). They go shopping for uniforms, guns, horses, camp gear, and everything else a gentleman soldier needs. With the Queen footing the bill, Flashy makes sure Willy gets the best of everything – and spends freely on himself too. quote:If we were going campaigning, I meant to make certain we did it with every conceivable luxury—wine at a sovereign the dozen, cigars at ten guineas the pound, preserved foods of the best, tip-top linen, quality spirits by the gallon, and all the rest of the stuff that you need if you’re going to fight a war properly. Last of all I insisted on a lead box of biscuits—and Willy cried out with laughter. Selachian fucked around with this message at 05:51 on Jul 17, 2020 |
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Jul 17, 2020 05:38
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That last line may be the truest thing ever spoken in literature.
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Jul 17, 2020 06:31
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McTimmy posted:That last line may be the truest thing ever spoken in literature. I'm not sure about that, it almost sounds a bit of a stagey touch to me. But in general, one big advantage Fraser has over a lot of writers of adventure type books is that he had been there and seen the elephant. He was also a major cinephile and an experienced screenwriter. So I think a lot of his dialogue has that little dramatic flourish, but reading it you can sometimes also see the truth underneath.
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Jul 17, 2020 10:54
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 Through Raglan, Flashman gets himself and Willy attached to the 17th Lancers, which has a snazzy enough uniform to satisfy Elspeth, as shown above. The 17th is commanded by George Bingham, Lord Lucan, and were dubbed “Bingham's Dandies” on account of what Brewer's Dictionary calls the “admirable fit and smartness” of their uniforms. Besides that, Elspeth is in social-climbing nirvana because everyone in town suddenly wants to make the acquaintance of the Flashmans (and possibly get an in with the royals in the process), so she's receiving invitations from the gentry by the shovelful. Even the press is taking notice. quote:The Times was all approval that “a soldier, not a courtier, has been entrusted with the grave responsibility entailed in the martial instruction of the young prince. If war should come, as it surely must if Russian imperial despotism and insolence try our patience further, what better guardian and mentor of His Highness could be found than the Hector of Afghanistan? We may assert with confidence—none.” (I could have asserted with confidence, any number, and good luck to ’em.) But there are some aspects of Willy's education that Flashman has trouble with: quote:“Harry,” says he. “I want a whore.” Willy complains that he's never been allowed to talk to girls, even his own cousins, growing up. He was forbidden to so much as have dancing classes because they might “excite him.” But, you know, he's eighteen, and abstinence only goes so far. quote:“Oh, Harry, I know it is sinful—but I don’t care! I want one,” says this remarkable youth dreamily, with a blissful look coming over his pure, chaste, boyish visage, “with long golden hair, and big, big, round—” It's amusing to see Harry Flashman, not yet in his mid-30s, turning positively dad-ish when confronted with a horny teenager. But when Willy threatens to go and find a whore on his own, Flashy – knowing the potential disasters (“trotting back to Buckingham Palace with the clap, or some harpy pursuing him for blackmail”) – takes him to a high-class and expensive house he knows and swears the madam to secrecy. quote:She did him proud, too, with a strapping blonde wench—satin boots and all—and at the sight of her Willy moaned feverishly and pointed, quivering, like a setter. He was trying to clamber all over her almost before the door closed, and of course he made a fearful mess of it, thrashing away like a stoat in a sack, and getting nowhere. It made me quite sentimental to watch him—reminded me of my own ardent youth, when every coupling began with an eager stagger across the floor trying to disentangle one’s breeches from one’s ankles. Despite these distractions, Willy proves a fast student of military matters, to the point where Flashman worries that he might actually be used in combat when they go to Turkey. Britain and France formally declared war on Russia in March 1854, much to the joy of the country. quote:To hear them, all we had to do was march into Moscow when we felt like it, with the Frogs carrying our packs for us and the cowardly Russians skulking away before Britannia’s flashing eyes. And mind you, I don’t say that the British Army and the French together couldn’t have done it—given a Wellington. They were sound at bottom, and the Russians weren’t. I’ll tell you something else, which military historians never realize: they call the Crimea a disaster, which it was, and a hideous botch-up by our staff and supply, which is also true, but what they don’t know is that even with all these things in the balance against you, the difference between hellish catastrophe and brilliant success is sometimes no greater than the width of a sabre blade, but when all is over no one thinks of that. Win gloriously—and the clever dicks forget all about the rickety ambulances that never came, and the rations that were rotten, and the boots that didn’t fit, and the generals who’d have been better employed hawking bedpans round the doors. Lose—and these are the only things they talk about. Raglan leaves for Turkey in April, but Flashman and Willy are left behind for now, serving as staff at headquarters and dealing with the social whirl at night. quote:It’s always the same before the shooting begins—the hostesses go into a frenzy of gaiety, and all the spongers and civilians crawl out of the wainscoting braying with good fellowship because thank God they ain’t going, and the young plungers and green striplings roister it up, and their fiancées let ’em pleasure them red in the face out of pity, because the poor brave boy is off to the cannon’s mouth, and the dance goes on and the eyes grow brighter and the laughter shriller—and the older men in their dress uniforms look tired, and sip their punch by the fireplace and don’t say much at all. Flashman notes that Cardigan is still sniffing around Elspeth. Cardigan has been put in command of the light cavalry (which includes both the 11th Hussars and the 17th Lancers, and several other regiments). Lord Lucan has meanwhile been made commander of the entire cavalry, which technically makes Cardigan his subordinate, but Cardigan isn't seeing it that way. quote:“I believe they have given Wucan nominal charge of the cavalwy,” I heard him tell a group of cronies at one party. “Well, I suppose they had to find him something, don’t ye know, and he may vewwy well look to wemounts, I dare say. Haw-haw. I hope poor Waglan does not find him too gweat an incubus. Haw-haw.”  The Dictionary of Irish Biography sums up Lucan: "Though an intelligent man, he lacked all common sense, and his severity and pettiness made him deeply unpopular with his officers and men." Like Cardigan, he was obsessed with glory and fancy uniforms, and was impatient with the dull everyday details of military life. Oh, and he was such a brutal landlord on his Irish estates that his tenants called him "The Exterminator." So all around a swell fellow. Selachian fucked around with this message at 03:40 on Jul 18, 2020 |
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Jul 18, 2020 03:31
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Genghis Cohen posted:I'm not sure about that, it almost sounds a bit of a stagey touch to me. But in general, one big advantage Fraser has over a lot of writers of adventure type books is that he had been there and seen the elephant. He was also a major cinephile and an experienced screenwriter. So I think a lot of his dialogue has that little dramatic flourish, but reading it you can sometimes also see the truth underneath. As colorful as the language may be, god bless it, Flashy was thinking fo the retreat from Afghanistan when he said that. It's precisley his style of florid bullshit, but he's think of a specific incident there.
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Jul 18, 2020 06:59
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Selachian posted:It's amusing to see Harry Flashman, not yet in his mid-30s, turning positively dad-ish when confronted with a horny teenager. But when Willy threatens to go and find a whore on his own, Flashy – knowing the potential disasters (“trotting back to Buckingham Palace with the clap, or some harpy pursuing him for blackmail”) – takes him to a high-class and expensive house he knows and swears the madam to secrecy. Eh, I think it's less "Flashman turns dad when confronted with a horny teenager" and more "Flashman doesn't want to get in trouble for purveying prostitutes to the prince." After all, he was planning to take him to a whorehouse after the billiards game, just for the hell of it.
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Jul 18, 2020 11:03
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Selachian posted:Raglan was talking about neck-stocks, if I remember rightly, and how they should fasten well up under the chin. The stock is an extremely uncomfortable stiff leather collar worn by ordinary soliders which forces the chin up, beloved of any idiot who thinks that "appearances" and "military effectiveness" are identical concepts. Anyone who's watched Sharpe has probably seen the title character ripping them off people's necks at least once.
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Jul 18, 2020 11:14
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One night in early May 1854, Elspeth goes to a party given by a friend of hers to celebrate the first fighting of the war (the Bombardment of Odessa), telling Flashman that her hostess has invited her to stay over. Flashy himself is stuck in the office doing paperwork with Willy (“Raglan had set out for Turkey leaving most of the work behind him, and those of us who were left were kept at it until three each morning”). When the work is done, Willy goes to bed, but Flashman can't sleep. quote:I was tired and cranky, but I couldn’t think of sleep, somehow, so I went out and started to get drunk. I was full of apprehension about the coming campaign, and fed up with endless files and reports, and my head ached, and my shoes pinched, so I poured down the whistle-belly with brandy on top, and the inevitable result was that I finished up three parts tight in some cellar near Charing Cross. I thought of a whore, but didn’t want one—and then it struck me: I wanted Elspeth, and nothing else. By God, there was I, on the brink of another war, slaving my innards into knots, while she was tripping about in a Mayfair ball-room, laughing and darting chase-me glances at party-saunterers and young gallants, having a fine time for hours on end, and she hadn’t been able to spare me five minutes for a tumble! She was my wife, dammit, and it was too bad. I put away some more brandy while I considered the iniquity of this(.) Flashy decides to crash the party, find the room where Elspeth is staying over, and “make her see what she had been missing all evening.” At the mansion where the party is being held, he finds out from a servant where “Mrs. Flashman's chamber” is, and climbs up to it, finding the bed turned down and a nightgown laid out for her. With drunken ingenuity, he decides to surprise her, climbs into a linen closet, settles down, and falls asleep. He wakes up hearing voices, and steps out of the closet: quote:It was a sight I’ll never forget. Elspeth was standing by the bed, naked except for her long frilled pantaloons; her flowers were still twined in her hair. Her eyes were wide with shock, and her knuckles were against her lips, like a nymph surprised by Pan, or centaurs, or a boozed-up husband emerging from the wardrobe. I goggled at her lecherously for about half a second, and then realized that we were not alone. Given how tight the Cherrypicker uniform pants allegedly were, we must admire Cardigan's ability to pull them up in this situation. Now, it's been established that the Flashmans have an open marriage in everything but name; at the very least, Harry certainly has had reasons to suspect Elspeth hasn't been faithful and, for various reasons, has been able to let it slide. (Although we don't know what the relationship looks like from Elspeth's side.) Still, suspicions are one thing, and actually finding your wife about to hop into bed with someone else – and someone else you completely loathe, at that – is another. quote:And whether it was the booze, or my own rotten nature, the emotion I felt was not rage so much as a vicious satisfaction that I had caught her out. Oh, the rage came later, and a black despair that sometimes wounds me like a knife even now, but God help me, I’m an actor, I suppose, and I’d never had a chance to play the outraged husband before. Elspeth collapses sobbing on the bed as Flashman calls her a “shameless Jezebel,” a “lewd woman,” and a “vile little slut,” and she responds by calling him “inconsiderate and unfeeling.” She insists she hadn't even known Cardigan was there until Flashman popped out of the cabinet. quote:And she shuddered. “I was taken quite unawares—” But Flashman is still thoroughly drunk and confused, and in the face of Elspeth's tears he starts questioning whether he really saw what he thought. quote:That queer mixture of shock and rage and exultation, and the vicious desire to punish her brutally, had suddenly passed. With any of my other women, I’d not even have listened, but taken out my spite on them with a whip—except on Ranavalona, who was bigger and stronger than I. But I didn’t care for the other women, you see. Brute and all that I am, I wanted to believe Elspeth. As he lets nature take its course with Elspeth, Flashman's reasonable side kicks in: there's really nothing he can do to Elspeth, as long as she controls the family finances. quote:I still don’t know—and what’s more I don’t care. But one thing only I was certain of that night—whoever was innocent, it wasn’t James Brudenell, Earl of Cardigan. I swore then inwardly, with Elspeth moaning through her kiss, that I would get even with that one. The thought of that filthy old goat trying to board Elspeth—it brought me out in a sweat of fury and loathing. I’d kill him, somehow. I couldn’t call him out—he’d hide behind the law, and refuse. Even worse, he might accept. And apart from the fact that I daren’t face him, man to man, there would have been scandal for sure. But somehow, some day, I would find a way. Selachian fucked around with this message at 07:28 on Jul 19, 2020 |
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Jul 19, 2020 03:54
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That was amazing.
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Jul 19, 2020 06:12
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That's the insidious part, Flashy is so damned human.
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Jul 19, 2020 07:32
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Meanwhile, back at the war! quote:While all these important events in my personal affairs were taking place—Willy and Elspeth and Cardigan and so forth—you may wonder how the war was progressing. The truth is, of course, that it wasn’t, for it’s a singular fact of the Great Conflict against Russia that no one—certainly no one on the Allied side—had any clear notion of how to go about it. You will think that’s one of these smart remarks, but it’s not; I was as close to the conduct of the war in the summer of ’54 as anyone, and I can tell you truthfully that the official view of the whole thing was: quote:They wanted blood, gallons of it, and to read of grape-shot smashing great lanes through Russian ranks, and stern and noble Britons skewering Cossacks, and Russian towns in flames—and they would be able to shake their heads over the losses of our gallant fellows, sacrificed to stern duty, and wolf down their kidneys and muffins in their warm breakfast rooms, saying: “Dreadful work this, but by George, England never shirked yet, whatever the price. Pass the marmalade, Amelia; I’m proud to be a Briton this day, let me tell you.” After nothing happening all summer, much to the frustration of the country, the consensus settles on the need for the combined army to attack Sevastopol, which Flashman doesn't think much of. quote:It struck me then, and still does, that attacking Sevastopol would be rather like an enemy of England investing Penzance, and then shouting towards London: “There, you insolent bastard, that’ll teach you!” At last, the summons comes: Flashman is directed to see the Duke of Newcastle (who was then the Secretary of State for War) to pick up sealed orders to be taken to Raglan in Bulgaria. After receiving the orders from the Duke's secretary, Flashy asks if there are any verbal messages to be passed on as well. The secretary brings out Lord Palmerston. Although Palmerston had over 20 years' experience as Foreign Secretary, he was currently Home Secretary and soon to be elected Prime Minister. Palmerston has this useful information to share: quote:“Well, now, I think you may tell his lordship, when he has digested them—I daresay Newcastle has made it plain enough—that the capture of Sevastopol is held by Her Majesty’s Government as being an enterprise that cannot but be seen as signally advancing the success of Allied arms. Hum? But that it will be a damned serious business to undertake. You see?” Flashman and Willy catch a ship that night, with Willy bubbling over in excitement at finally getting to go to war. They're bound to meet Raglan in the Black Sea port of Varna. At that time, Bulgaria had been under increasingly weakening Ottoman control for almost 500 years, and by 1855 the Ottoman government was barely nominal. In 1878 the Bulgars would finally win independence with Russian help (and with our old pals Disraeli and Bismarck helping draft the treaty that established an independent Bulgarian state). quote:I won’t deal at any great length at all with those things which other Crimean writers go on about—the fearful state of the army at Varna, the boozing and whoring at Scutari, the way the Varna sickness and the cholera swept through our forces in that long boiling summer, the mismanagement of an untrained commissariat and inexperienced regimental officers, the endless bickering among commanders—like Cardigan for instance. He had left England for Paris within two days of our encounter in Elspeth’s bedroom, and on arrival in Bulgaria had killed a hundred horses with an ill-judged patrol in the direction of the distant Russians. Flashman suggests his readers look to the work of William Howard Russell, an early war correspondent, for more detail, although he comments that Russell seemed to be biased against Raglan. quote:In any event, this memorial isn’t about the history of the war, but about me, so I’ll confine myself to that all-important subject, and let the war take its chance, just the way the government did. Raglan receives Flashman politely and settles down to read the orders. quote:I could see that even a couple of months out east had aged him. His hair was snow-white, the lines on his face were deeper than ever, the flesh was all fallen in on his skinny wrist—he was an old man, and he looked and sounded it. And his face grew tireder as he read; when he had done he summoned George Brown, who had the Light Division, and was his bosom pal. Brown read the despatch, and they looked at each other. After chewing the possibilities over, Brown suggests they ask themselves what the Duke of Wellington would have done, and says that Wellington would have refused to proceed in the face of so much uncertainty. However, he goes on, it sounds as if the government is determined to have Sevastopol, and if Raglan won't make the attack, they'll recall him and send a commander who will. Raglan, still trying to make up his mind, asks Flashman if he knows why the government is so set on attacking Sevastopol. quote:I told him what I knew—that the Press was yelping Sevastopol right and left, and that everyone had it on the brain.  Sir George Brown, like Raglan, was another elderly survivor of the Napoleonic Wars, and commander of the light infantry in Crimea.
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Jul 20, 2020 01:23
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quote:“Well, here we are, the French and ourselves, at war with Russia, in order to protect Turkey. Ve-ry good. What shall we do, then? Better attack Russia, eh? H’m, yes. (Pause). Big place, ain’t it?” This would be an example of Flashy (or Fraser, or both) allowing truth to take a back seat to cynicism and a few good gags, in the finest tradition of satire. Dig deep enough into the underlying geopolitics behind military disasters and there's very often something very explicable which could have seemed to a reasonable person like a good idea at the time. So it is here. Just about Russia's single greatest foreign policy objective since it became organised enough to have foreign policy objectives has been access to the Mediterranean via the Black Sea. This is why the Russian Empire annexed the old Crimean Khanate in 1783 and founded Sevastopol in the first place, and it's why Putin spent a lot of time and hard effort angling to get back in there before the re-annexation in 2014. This is also the root cause for why the Russian Empire would want to pick a fight with the Ottoman Empire. Access to the Med (and the rest of the world) from the Black Sea is via the Bosphorus (and then the Dardanelles, further south), so whoever's in charge of the region can close the straits and annoy a lot of people whenever they feel like it. This has been a strategically important location with major wars being fought for control over the region since at least the 5th century BC. The Russian Empire isn't going to give up the dream of seizing the straits for themselves until it falls over and dies for good in the Bolshevik Revolution. If the Tsars or the Kerensky government had only managed to hold on for another 12 months, they had an army in Turkey which looked set fair to march right on in before they were ordered to halt for political reasons. And this in turn is why the British and French empires are taking any notice. They get involved in the general service of keeping the Russians away from Constantinople; this prospect threatens the nascent French colonial interests in north Africa and the Middle East, and threatenes unfettered British access to the in-the-serious-planning-stages Suez Canal. Having got drawn in, attacking Sevastopol is a great way to poke the Russians in the eye and encourage them to stop loving around with British and French interests. That doesn't change just because they made a hideous bollocks of the execution, or because this particular war's trigger causes would definitely be seeded very highly at the World Championships for Silly Reasons to Start A War. The war will eventually end in an overwhelming Russian defeat, and one of the key terms of the Treaty of Paris is that, while they can have Sevastopol back, they're not allowed to keep a fleet in the Black Sea. (The Russians then renounce this at the first opportunity, but that's another story.) If Flashy wanted a more accurate metaphor, it would be far more like an enemy of England coming after Gibraltar.
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Jul 20, 2020 03:23
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Trin Tragula posted:
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Jul 20, 2020 11:20
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Raglan, not surprisingly, finds this advice useless, and decides to meet with the French commanders to get their opinion as well. quote:So they did—all the chattering Frogs of the day, with St Arnaud, the little mountebank from the Foreign Legion, who had once earned his living on the stage and looked like an ice-cream vendor, with his perky moustache, at their head. He had the feverish look of a dying man—which he was—and Canrobert, with his long hair and ridiculous curling moustaches, wasn’t one to inspire confidence either. Not that they were worse than our own crew—the rear end Cambridge, and Evans snorting and growling, and old England burbling, and Raglan sitting at the table head, like a vicar at a prize-giving, being polite and expressing gratified pleasure at every opinion, no matter what it was.   The French side of the Crimean expedition was originally led by Armand-Jacques St. Arnaud, who had spent most of his military career butchering Arabs in Algeria before being made a marshal under Napoleon III. As Flashman mentions, St. Arnaud was in the process of dying of stomach cancer, and the unhealthy environment in Varna only shortened his life further. After St. Arnaud's departure, leadership passed to Francois Certain Canrobert, another Algerian veteran who had the good fortune to have fought on the winning side of Napoleon III's coup. Brown is firmly against going to Sevastopol, as are the naval officers, but the French seem to think it's a great idea, but then have second thoughts, and Raglan still can't make up his mind. But then there's another meeting Flashman doesn't attend, and this time the French commanders and Raglan agree to attack Sevastopol after all. quote:“I dare say the sea air will do us good and raise everyone’s spirits,” says Raglan, and by God, he didn’t raise mine. I’ve wondered since, if I could have done anything about it, and decided I could. But what? If Otto Bismarck had been in my boots and uniform, I daresay he could have steered them away, as even a junior man can, if he goes about it right. But I’ve never meddled if I could avoid it, where great affairs are concerned; it’s too chancy. Mind you, if I could have seen ahead I’d have sneaked into Raglan’s tent one night and brained the old fool, but I didn’t know, you see. Willy and Flashman have found a cottage outside of town, and stay there during the next month as the army prepares to leave Varna and sail to Sevastopol. quote:I’ve written about it at length elsewhere—the fearful havoc of embarking, with ships full of spewing soldiers rocking at anchor for days on end, the weeping women who were ordered to stay behind (although my little pal, Fan Duberly, sneaked aboard disguised as a washerwoman), the horses fighting and smashing in their cramped stalls, the hideous stink, the cholera corpses floating in the bay, Billy Russell standing on the quay with his note-book damning Lord Lucan’s eyes—“I have my duty, too, my lord, which is to inform my readers, and if you don’t like what you’re doing being reported, why then, don’t do it! And that’s my advice to you!” Of course he was daft and Irish, was Billy, but so was Lucan, and they stood and cussed each other like Mississippi pilots. You'll remember Fanny Duberly, nee Locke, from the start of Flash for Freedom! Flashman and Willy get a berth on Raglan's flagship along with Lew Nolan, who's messenger to Raglan's chief of staff, Quartermaster General Richard Airey. quote:And then, heigh-ho, we were off on our balmy cruise across the Black Sea, a huge fleet of sixty thousand soldiers, only half of ’em rotten with sickness, British, Frogs, Turks, a few Bashi-bazooks, not enough heavy guns to fire more than a salute or two, and old General Scarlett sitting on top of a crate of hens learning the words of command for manoeuvring a cavalry brigade, closing his book on his finger, shutting his boozy old eyes, and shouting, “Walk, march, trot. Damme, what comes next?” The Bashi-Bazouks that Flashman mentions were Ottoman mercenaries; the French forces also included a detachment of Egyptian soldiers. Egypt was in the process of asserting its independence from the Ottomans, but had still supplied troops to defend Turkey. The army landed on September 14, 1854, at Kalamita Bay, about 25 miles north of Sevastopol. And as Flashman says, the disorganization meant that it took five days to unload from the ships, although part of the problem was that the British, unlike the French, had brought along cavalry, and offloading the horses onto the beach was time-consuming. On September 19, they started down the coast for Sevastopol, still afflicted by cholera and short on rations.  A contemporary lithograph showing the landing of the troops. Flashman is sent to the head of the column to give the word to the advance guard to start, but lets Willy do the work because the advance guard is Cardigan's 11th Hussars and he'd rather not run into Cardigan again. Instead, he stops to talk with the journalist Billy Russell, who points out that Cossack horsemen are watching them from the hills above. And then to his horror, Flashman sees Willy riding off toward the hills and rushes to intercept him. Willy is excited at finally getting to see the enemy, and scoffs at Flashman's warning – none of the Cossacks are doing anything. He fantasizes about it being the Middle Ages and having the enemy send out a champion for him to fight, and at that point the Cossacks finally start firing and the 11th move to drive them away while Flashman drags Willy back to the main body of the army. The next day, September 20, the army reached the Alma River. The Russians had been taken by surprise because they didn't believe the French-British force would be stupid enough to go on the attack with winter coming up. So their force was much smaller than Raglan and the other commanders had expected – about 38,000 men – although the Russian commander, Prince Alexander Menshikov, was in a strong position in the heights above the Alma. quote:It was bloody lunacy, from the start, and bloody carnage, too. You may know what the position was—the Russians, forty thousand strong, on the bluffs south of the Alma, with artillery positions dug on the forward slopes above the river, and our chaps, with the Frogs on the right, advancing over the river and up the slopes to drive the Ruskis out. If Menschikoff had known his work, or our troops had had less blind courage, they’d have massacred the whole allied army there and then. But the Russians fought as badly and stupidly as they nearly always do, and by sheer blind luck on Raglan’s part, and idiot bravery among our fellows, the thing went otherwise.
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Jul 21, 2020 00:26
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Have a map! I like this one. South is at the top. The British units, in red, are at the left, while the French, in gray, are at the right.  The original plan was for both armies to push forward, but Raglan changed his mind and decided that the French/Egyptian force should break through through on the lightly defended right to flank the Russians, while the British waited. But the spot he choose to have them wait was in range of the Russian artillery. Raglan did have them lie down so they presented less of a target. However, the right was lightly defended because the heights were much steeper there -- up to 50 meters high -- and the French struggled to make progress. They were eventually able to scale the cliffs by climbing trees, but it took much longer than expected. quote:Nolan and I were to and fro like shuttlecocks to St Arnaud; he was looking like death, and jabbering like fury, while a bare half-mile away his little blue-coats were swarming up the ridges, and being battered, and the smoke was rolling back over the river in long grey wreaths. The Brits lay under fire for 90 minutes until Raglan gave the order to advance in response to the French repeatedly begging him to do something to take the heat off them. quote:There was a great reek of black smoke drifting along the banks from a burning hamlet right before us, and the white discharge of the Russian batteries rolled down in great clouds to meet it. The huge wavering lines of infantry vanished into it, and through gaps we could see them plunging into the river, their pieces above their heads, while the crash-crash-crash of the Russian guns reverberated down from the bluffs, and the tiny white spots of musket-fire began to snap like fire-crackers along the lips of the Russian trenches. And then the ragged lines of our infantry appeared beyond the smoke, clambering up the foot of the bluffs, and we could see the shot ploughing through them, tearing up the ground, and our guns were thundering in reply, throwing great fountains of earth up round the Russian batteries. Willy beside me was squirming in his saddle, yelling his head off with excitement, the little fool; it made no odds, for the din was deafening. Although the river was low in September, it was still difficult for the troops to cross, especially with Russians firing on them from the heights. Even when they were across the river, the troops had become completely disorganized and clung to the base of the bluffs, where they couldn't be hit from above. Raglan, with Flashman (unwillingly) and Willy behind him, fords the river, which is already full of corpses. It's impossible to see anything in the clouds of smoke produced by the gunfire, and Raglan continues upward until they reach a point partway up Telegraph Hill where they can see the battlefield clearly. quote:I’ll never forget that sight. Ahead and to our left rose the bluffs, bare steep hillside for five hundred feet. We could see the Russian positions clear as day, the plumes of musket smoke spouting down from the trenches, and the bearded faces behind them. Directly to our left was a huge redoubt, packed with enemy guns and infantry; there were other great batteries above and beyond. In front of the big redoubt the ground was thick with the bodies of our men, but they were still swarming up from the river, under a hail of firing. And beyond, along the bluffs, they were still advancing, a great sprawling mass of scarlet coats and white cross belts, clawing their way up, falling, scattering, reforming and pressing on. For a mile, as far as one could see, they were surging up, over that hellish slope with the dead scattered before them towards the smoking positions of the enemy. Here's Billy Russell, who didn't think much of Raglan's little sightseeing expedition: Russell posted:I may inquire was there any generalship shown by any of the allied generals at the Alma? We have Lord Raglan, as brave, as calm, as noble, as any gentleman who ever owned England as his mother-land—trotting in front of his army, amid a shower of balls, "just as if he were riding down Rotten Row," with a kind nod for every one, leaving his generals and men to fight it out as best they could, riding across the stream through the French riflemen, not knowing where he was going to, or where the enemy were, till fate led him to a little knoll, from which he saw some of the Russian guns on his flank, whereupon he sent an order for guns, seemed surprised that they could not be dragged across a stream, and up a hill which presented difficulties to an unencumbered horseman—then, cantering over to join the Guards ere they made their charge, and finding it over while he was in a hollow of the ground. Although confused and demoralized, the infantry eventually managed to force their way uphill and silence the artillery at the Great Redoubt. The Russians sent an infantry column that was able to throw them back, but then ran into fire from the Grenadier Guards and Coldstream Guards, who were following up the first advance. The Russians only had smoothbore muskets, while the Brits were using the new Minié rifled muskets, which gave them enough of an edge to win the battle for the hill. Meanwhile, Raglan was trying to have guns brought up Telegraph Hill to provide cover, and guess who got sent to give the order? quote:“Too good to miss, by George!” cries he, and turning, caught my eye. “Down with you, Flashman! Guns, at once!” and you may understand that I didn’t need telling twice. Leaving Willy with Raglan, Flashman gladly quits the exposed position on the hill as the British and Russian infantrymen start exchanging fire. Before he gets too far, he looks back and sees Raglan finally getting off the hill – and then spots Willy, waving his sword, rushing towards the battle. quote:”Come back, you German lunatic!” I yelled, and Raglan must have heard me, for he checked his horse and turned. Even with the shot flying and the screaming and the thunder of the guns, with the fate of the battle in his hands, those ears which were normally deaf to sense caught my words. He saw me, he saw Willy, careering away along the bluffs among the infantry, and he sang out: “After him, Flashman!” I was thinking, hey, Flashy hasn't done anything too vile this book yet, especially compared to the last one. Willy charges into the fight, but his horse bucks and he falls out of the saddle and doesn't get up. As the Brits continue to push the Russians back, Flashman carefully picks his way up the hill to where Willy is lying, turns him over, and finds that half his face has been blown off. quote:[A]s I forced myself to look at what was left of Willy, I found myself babbling aloud: “Jesus, what’ll Raglan say? I’ve lost Willy—my God, what will they say?” And I began cursing and sobbing—not for Willy, but out of shock and for the folly and ill-luck that had brought me to this slaughterhouse and had killed this brainless brat, this pathetic princeling who thought war was great sport, and had been entrusted to my safe-keeping. By God, his death could be the ruin of me! So I swore and wept, crouched beside his corpse. Meanwhile, the French had finally captured Telegraph Hill (and St. Arnaud would go on to claim that the French had won the battle themselves, with no British help), giving the allies control of the heights as the British continued their steady drive up the hill. The Russians were forced to retreat toward Sevastopol. Total casualties: French 1,600, British 2,000, Egyptians 500, and Russians about 5,000. Wikipedia posted:At the top of Telegraph Hill, the French captured the abandoned carriage of Menshikov. In it they found a field kitchen, letters from the Tsar, 50,000 francs, pornographic French novels, the general's boots, and some ladies’ underwear. On the hill were abandoned picnics, parasols and field glasses, left behind by the spectators from Sevastopol. Note here that Raglan's entire "strategy" was to throw his army straight ahead against a superior fortified position, in the teeth of artillery fire. Russell, for instance, comments that it might have been safer to just turn to the east and cross the Alma upstream from Menshikov's fortifications, which would at least force Menshikov to abandon his prepared position and come after the allies. If the infantry had not been able to maintain the pressure up the hill, and if the Brits hadn't had their technological edge, it's easy to imagine the disaster that could have resulted. Selachian fucked around with this message at 01:32 on Jul 22, 2020 |
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Jul 22, 2020 01:08
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Of all of the misinterpretations of Flashman's cowardice, the idea that he's shedding manly tears over his lost comrade in that scene is probably my favorite.
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Jul 22, 2020 02:16
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Clutching the Colours to his breast, the brave Hector of Afghanistan 
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Jul 22, 2020 02:32
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Selachian posted:The Russians only had smoothbore muskets, while the Brits were using the new Minié rifled muskets, which gave them enough of an edge to win the battle for the hill. Selachian posted:Meanwhile, the French had finally captured Telegraph Hill (and St. Arnaud would go on to claim that the French had won the battle themselves, with no British help) Xander77 fucked around with this message at 08:50 on Jul 22, 2020 |
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Jul 22, 2020 08:31
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quote:"just as if he were riding down Rotten Row," Rotten Row is a sandy bridleway in Hyde Park, much favoured by the upper classes of the day for demonstratively poncing around on horses.
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Jul 22, 2020 11:40
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But meanwhile, Flashman has other things on his mind, namely facing Raglan. quote:He was all stern reproach when finally I stood in front of him, covered in dust, played out with fear, and doing my damndest to look contrite—which wasn’t difficult. Flashman tries, again, to pretend he hadn't heard Raglan's order, but Raglan says he should have known immediately that Willy needed his help without having to be ordered. quote:He came up to me, and his eyes were full of tears, the maudlin old hypocrite. “I can guess at your own grief; it has moved not only Airey, but myself. And I can well believe that you wish that you, too, could have found an honourable grave on the field, as William of Celle has done. Better, perhaps, had you done so.” He sighed, thinking about it, and no doubt deciding that he’d be a deal happier, when he saw the Queen again, to be able to say: ‘Oh, Flashy’s kicked the bucket, by the way, but your precious Willy is all right.’ Well, fearful and miserable as I was, I wasn’t that far gone, myself. Raglan turns Willy's gear over to Flashman as, he says, a reminder of his failure. quote:He looked at the things; one of them was a locket which Willy had worn round his neck. Raglan snapped it open, and gave a little gulp. He held it out to me, his face all noble and working. “Look on that fair, pure face,” cries he, “and feel the remorse you deserve. More than anything I can say, it will strike to your soul—the face of a boy’s sweetheart, chaste, trusting, and innocent. Think of that poor, sweet creature who, thanks to your neglect, will soon be draining the bitterest cup of sorrow.” After the battle, collecting the wounded is even more of a mess than usual because the Brits left their ambulances and medical staff behind in Bulgaria. Flashman is miserable with anticipation of what the royals might do to him after Willy's death. He spends a while with Nolan and Russell, who are chatting while Russell finishes writing his account of the battle. Nolan is upset that the cavalry didn't pursue the fleeing Russian infantry to inflict more damage. In fact, the cavalry did absolutely nothing during the battle, which led to Lucan being dubbed “Lord Look-on.” The Russians who escaped Alma were able to safely fall back to Sevastopol to recover and reorganize, representing another wasted opportunity. quote:The clever men were for driving on hard to Sevastopol, a bare twenty miles away, and with our cavalry in good fettle we could obviously have taken it. But the Frogs were too tired, or too sick, or too Froggy, if you ask me, and days were wasted, and the Ruskis managed to bolt the door in time. Flashy is being unfair here – Raglan was equally hesitant to press the advantage. After Alma, St. Arnaud was too ill to continue, and turned over the French command to Canrobert. He died on the way back to France. After a few days, the allied forces continued south again. The initial plan had been to take Sevastopol by way of the Star Fort on the north side, but it was considered too well fortified, so instead the army marched around to the south side of the city, which was less built up. Meanwhile, Menshikov had left the city, retreating to the northeast where he could get reinforcements, while leaving a garrison of 18,000 men to defend the city.  Many of Raglan's subordinates wanted him to attack Sevastopol right away, and it might have succeeded – the garrison Menshikov left was mostly sailors and marines, not trained in city defense. But Raglan, once again, was unwilling to take the risk. quote:What was worse, the carnage at Alma, and the cholera, had thinned the army horribly, there was no proper transport, and by the time we had lumbered on to Sevastopol peninsula we couldn’t have robbed a hen-roost. With Sevastopol buttoned up, Raglan decided to besiege it. The British took the town of Balaclava, south of Sevastopol, which had a small port so they could receive supplies, while the French went west to the port of Kamiesch, since Balaclava's port wasn't big enough for both armies. This meant that the Brits were leaving the door open on their eastward flank, which would prove to have absolutely no negative consequences whatsoever. quote:So the siege was laid, the French and ourselves sitting down on the muddy, rain-sodden gullied plateau before Sevastopol, the dismalest place on earth, with no proper quarters but a few poor huts and tents, and everything to be carted up from Balaclava on the coast eight miles away. Soon the camp, and the road to it, was a stinking quagmire; everyone looked and felt filthy, the rations were poor, the work of preparing the siege was cruel hard (for the men, anyway), and all the bounce there had been in the army after Alma evaporated in the dank, feverish rain by day and the biting cold by night. Soon half of us were lousy, and the other half had fever or dysentery or cholera or all three—as some wag said, who’d holiday at Brighton if he could come to sunny Sevastopol instead?
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Jul 23, 2020 05:18
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Soldiering sounds pretty drat miserable.
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Jul 24, 2020 01:53
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How are u posted:Soldiering sounds pretty drat miserable. War, war never changes
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Jul 24, 2020 01:53
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Flashman isn't feeling well himself. quote:I spent several weeks on the flat of my back with what was thought at first to be cholera, but was in fact a foul case of dysentery and wind, brought on by my own hoggish excesses. On the march south after the Alma I had been galloping a message from Airey to our advance guard, and had come on a bunch of our cavalry who had bushwacked a Russian baggage train and were busily looting it. Like a good officer, I joined in, and bagged as much champagne as I could carry, and a couple of fur cloaks as well. The cloaks were splendid, but the champagne must have carried the germ of the Siberian pox or something, for within a day I was blown up like a sheep on weeds, and spewing and skittering damnably. They sent me down to a seedy little house in Balaclava, not far from where Billy Russell was established, and there I lay sweating and rumbling, and wishing I were dead. Part of it I don’t remember, so I suppose I must have been delirious, but my orderly looked after me well, and since I still had all the late Willy’s gear and provisions—not that I ate much, until the last week—I did tolerably well. Better at least than any other sick man in the army; they were being carted down to Balaclava in droves, rotten with cholera and fever, lying in the streets as often as not. While recuperating, Flashy hears from Nolan that Fanny Duberly is still with the army, living aboard ship in the bay at Balaclava, and that Cardigan has had his yacht brought down and is staying there rather than with his men (claiming that his health requires it). There are also rumors of Russians coming in from the east. Flashy stays in bed as long as he decently can, but eventually has to admit he's ready for duty again. On the evening of October 24, he gets called back to headquarters. quote:Whether I’d exerted myself too quickly, or it was the sound of the Russian bands in Sevastopol, playing their hellish doleful music, that kept me awake, I was taken damned ill in the night. My bowels were in a fearful state, I was blown out like a boiler, and I was unwise enough to treat myself with brandy, on the principle that if your guts are bad they won’t feel any worse for your being foxed. They do, though, and when my orderly suddenly tumbled me out before dawn, I felt as though I were about to give birth. I told him to go to the devil, but he insisted that Raglan wanted me, p.d.q., so I huddled into my clothes in the cold, shivering and rumbling, and went to see what was up. The word in headquarters is that enemies have been sighted to the east, and messengers are being sent all over the peninsula. quote:“My dear Flashman,” says Raglan, when his eye lit on me, “why, you look positively unwell. I think you would be better in your berth.” He was all benevolent concern this morning—which was like him, of course. “Don’t you think he looks ill, Airey?” Airey agreed that I did, but muttered something about needing every staff rider we could muster, so Raglan tut-tutted and said he much regretted it, but he had a message for Campbell at Balaclava, and it would be a great kindness if I would bear it. (He really did talk like that, most of the time; consideration fairly oozed out of him.) I wondered if I should plead my belly, so to speak, but finding him in such a good mood, with the Willy business apparently forgotten, I gave him my brave, suffering smile, and pocketed his message, fool that I was. Flashman slowly rides back to Balaclava, stopping a few times for attempted (but unsuccessful) puking, arriving just as the sun comes up, and stops at the sight that greets him. quote:On the left of the plain, where it sloped up to the long line of the Causeway Heights, our cavalry were deployed in full strength, more than a thousand horsemen, like so many brilliant little puppets in the sunny distance, trotting in their squadrons, wheeling and reforming. About a mile away, nearest to me, I could easily distinguish the Light Brigade—the pink trousers of the Cherrypickers, the scarlet of Light Dragoons, and the blue tunics and twinkling lance-points of the 17th. The trumpets were tootling on the breeze, the words of command drifted across to me as clear as a bell, and even beyond the Lights I could see, closer in under the Causeway, and retiring slowly in my direction, the squadrons of the Heavy Brigade—the grey horses with their scarlet riders, the dark green of the Skins, and the hundreds of tiny glittering slivers of the sabres. It was for all the world like a green nursery carpet, with tiny toy soldiers deployed upon it, and as pretty as these pictures of reviews and parades that you see in the galleries.  To the right, Flashman can see Colin Campbell's Highland regiment (the 93rd) along the road – fortunately for him, a safe distance from the Russian artillery, which is starting to find its range. He starts riding for the Highlanders. quote:But before I’d got halfway to the crest I came on their outlying picket breakfasting round a fire in a little hollow, and who should I see but little Fanny Duberly, presiding over a frying-pan with half a dozen grinning Highlanders round her. She squealed at the sight of me, waving and shoving her pan aside; I swung down out of my saddle, bad belly and all, and would have embraced her, but she caught my hands at arms’ length. And then it was Harry and Fanny, and where have you sprung from, and all that nonsense and chatter, while she laughed and I beamed at her. She had grown prettier, I think, with her fair hair and blue eyes, and looking damned fetching in her neat riding habit. I longed to give her tits a squeeze, but couldn’t, with all those leering Highlanders nudging each other. Fanny offers Flashy some breakfast haggis, which he declines, and a Highlander sergeant tells him that Campbell is with the Heavy Brigade. The Heavy Brigade are closer to the Russian guns and starting to retreat, so Flashman rides closer through the Light Brigade until he runs into “his” unit, the 17th Lancers. Someone tells him that Campbell has headed back toward Balaclava, and after taking a moment to take stock of the situation, Flashman turns back toward the Highlanders. As he picks his way through the 17th and then the 11th Hussars, he finds himself confronted by Lord Cardigan. quote:And who should it be but my bold Lord Cardigan, with Squire Brough and his other toadies, all in great spirits after a fine comfortable boozy night on his yacht, no doubt. The Russians start firing again, artillery now hitting closer, and both the light and heavy cavalry start shifting westward. The fire turns south, toward the Highlanders, and Flashman hurries to avoid it, finally finding Campbell with his unit again. Campbell reads Raglan's note and dismisses it as “oot o' date” but asks Flashman to wait until he writes a message back to Raglan. quote:I looked towards the Heights, and my heart came up into my throat. Campbell orders the Highlanders to form a double line as the Turks panic, throw down their weapons, and run for it. Flashy notes Fanny Duberly riding nearby, but as she sees what's happening, she turns and heads after the Turks. quote:I looked towards the Russians; they were rumbling down the slope now, a bare half-mile away; Campbell shouted again, and the long scarlet double rank moved foward a few paces, with a great swishing of their kilts and clatter of gear, and halted on the crest, the front rank kneeling and the second standing behind them. Campbell glanced across at the advancing mass of the Russian horse, measuring the distance. The second rank fires at Campbell's command, the cavalry charge thoroughly broken and confused only a few yards away from the Highlanders. Campbell orders them to stand firm and reload as the Russians draw back, retreating back to the heights.  Writing about this incident, Billy Russell referred to the Highlanders as "a thin red line tipped with steel," and the Highlanders' stand immediately became famous as the Thin Red Line. But Flashy's day is just getting started.  We haven't seen the last of Colin Campbell in Flashy's story either -- after serving with distinction in the Crimea, he was made commander-in-chief for India just as the Mutiny broke out. But that's the next book. Here's Fanny's account of her morning and the Thin Red Line, from her Journal Kept During the Russian War. Fanny Duberly posted:Feeling very far from well, I decided on remaining quietly on board ship to-day; but on looking through my stern cabin windows, at eight o'clock, I saw my horse saddled and waiting on the beach, in charge of our soldier-servant on the pony. A note was put into my hands from Henry (her husband), a moment after. It ran thus: "The battle of Balaklava has begun, and promises to be a hot one. I send you the horse. Lose no time, but come up as quickly as you can: do not wait for breakfast." Selachian fucked around with this message at 05:39 on Jul 24, 2020 |
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Jul 24, 2020 05:36
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