THE CRIMEA.--IN THE BALACLAVA CHARGES.
It is not remembered as it should be that there were two brilliant
charges made at Balaclava, on that grey day of October 25th, 1854.
Tennyson’s stirring lines in honour of the Charge of the Light Brigade
have given enduring fame to the “noble Six Hundred,” but the exploit of
the “Three Hundred,” the Heavy Brigade, should make the name of Balaclava
equally thrilling to us.
The Heavy Brigade was composed of squadrons of the 4th and 5th Dragoon
Guards, Scots Greys, Inniskilling Dragoons, and the 1st Royals, under
the command of Brigadier-General Yorke Scarlett. At an early stage of
the fight Scarlett was proceeding with his brigade to the support of
the “thin red line” which was bearing the brunt of the Russian attack,
when suddenly a huge mass of Russian cavalry, Cossacks and others, 3000
strong, loomed up on the heights to their left.
The situation was a perilous one, as the General saw in a glance. The
launching of that great crowd of Russians upon the valley below meant
annihilation for his little force. With a quick command to “wheel into
line,” Scarlett gave orders for the brigade to form up, facing the enemy.
By some blunder, however, the movement was not properly executed, and
when the Russians flung out in a wide-spreading crescent to envelop the
few hundreds of British redcoats below them, two squadrons of the Scots
Greys with one of the 6th Inniskillings were left in front to receive the
first shock of the attack.
With that menacing horde of grey-coated, black-bearded Russians, poised
like a hawk about to swoop upon its prey, there was no time for pause.
Shrill on the air the “Charge!” rang out, and with Scarlett leading them,
the little advance body of “Heavies”--300 men of the Scots Greys and
Inniskillings--dashed off to meet the foe.
We have no such details of the fight as were forthcoming after the Charge
of the Light Brigade, but we know that it was a most desperate affair.
For every one of that handful of men, flung into a mass of the enemy that
outnumbered them many times over, it was a hand-to-hand struggle for
life of the most heroic kind. For a few moments they were lost to sight.
Then out of the heaving, surging multitude the black bearskins and brass
helmets of the Scotsmen and Irishmen broke into view here and there,
while their sabres flashed in the sun as they hewed their way through.
It was a battle of giants. What wonder that the Russians gave for a brief
moment under the fierce onset?
“There’s fear in their faces; they shrink from the shock;
They will open the door, only loud enough knock;
Keep turning the key, lest we stick in the lock!
Dear England for Ever, Hurrah!”
“Scarlett’s Three Hundred,” Gerald Massey.
At this juncture the other squadrons that had been left behind came
galloping to the rescue. Into the swaying mass they plunged, and soon
afterwards “Cossack and Russian,” reeling from the sabre-stroke as they
did again a little later, fell back in confusion. The peril was past, the
day won.
Of how Brigadier-General Scarlett, Lieutenant Elliot, Captain Williams
and Major Clarke of the Scots Greys, and the other officers who led that
fierce charge, bore themselves, the regimental records tell more than
do the history books. Very few escaped unscathed, and there were many
like Elliot, who had no fewer than fifteen wounds, sword cuts and lance
thrusts. And as with the officers, so was it with the men. There was
not one but proved himself a hero that day. We can well understand how
old Sir Colin Campbell was for once moved to emotion, as bareheaded he
greeted the victors with the words, “Greys, gallant Greys! I am an old
man, but if I were young again I would be proud to ride in your ranks!”
Where all men are brave it is not easy to single out any for special
distinction. But in that terrible death-ride there were two who merited
honour above their comrades, Sergeant-Major Grieve and Sergeant Ramage.
The former in the heat of the engagement saw an officer in imminent
danger of being cut down. Riding to the rescue, he swept like a whirlwind
upon the Russians, cutting off the head of one at a single blow and
scattering the rest by the fury of his onslaught. For this deed he won a
well-deserved Cross.
Sergeant Ramage, like Grieve also of the Scots Greys, saved at least
two lives on that day. He rescued first Private MacPherson, whom a body
of Russians had hemmed in and who was fighting against odds that must
have proved too much for him ultimately. Later on, when the “Heavies”
were covering the retreat of the Light Brigade, a private named Gardiner
was seen to be in a terrible plight. His horse was lagging behind the
others, and one of the private’s legs had been shattered by a round-shot.
The first to see Gardiner’s situation, Ramage rushed impetuously to his
help, and although exposed to a cross fire that placed him in momentary
danger for his life, he nobly carried in the wounded soldier to a place
of safety.
These were the actions that gained the brave sergeant the V.C., but
they do not complete the story of his exploits that day. After the
Charge of the Heavy Brigade, in which he had borne so distinguished a
part, Ramage’s horse, a stubborn brute, would not follow the retreating
Russians. No amount of spurring would induce it to go in any direction
save that of home. Nothing daunted, the sergeant dismounted and, leaving
his charger to find its own way back, actually rushed over on foot to the
nearest Russian lines, collared a man and brought him back prisoner!
The story of the Charge of the Light Brigade has been told a score of
times. There is nothing to be added to it now, for the voices of its
gallant leaders, of Cardigan, Morris, and Nolan, are hushed in death, and
we shall never know what were the true facts of the case. That “someone
had blundered” is at least certain. It is hard to believe that the order
was actually given for such a brilliant but useless charge.
Yet so Lord Cardigan interpreted the instructions brought to him by
Captain Nolan, as the Light Brigade, consisting of the 17th Lancers,
the 4th and 13th Dragoons, and two regiments of Hussars, was drawn
up in the North Valley, on the other side of those hills whereon the
Russian cavalry had been routed by Scarlett’s brigade. At the other
end of the valley was a strong force of Russians, formed up behind a
formidable battery of some thirty cannon. The order--wrongly given or
misunderstood--was that the Light Brigade should advance and carry these
guns.
It was over a mile from the brigade’s position to that of the Russians.
At a trot, then at a gallop, the Six Hundred, led by Cardigan in his
striking hussar uniform, set off on their death-ride. Tennyson’s words,
“Cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon in front of them
volley’d and thunder’d,” are literally true. When the astonished Russians
realised what was happening they opened a terrible fire with their
batteries. Shot and shell hurtled through the ranks again and again,
laying many a brave fellow low; but without wavering the Six Hundred
closed up the gaps and pressed on to their goal.
In a very few minutes from the time the fatal order was received the
Light Brigade had disappeared in the smoke of the Russian batteries,
riding clean over the guns and sabreing the gunners as they stood
linstock in hand at their posts. Then ensued as terrific a hand-to-hand
combat as has ever been chronicled.
“Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro’ the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel’d from the sabre-stroke
Shatter’d and sunder’d.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the Six Hundred.”
It was in that ride back, when a large body of grey-coated lancers rode
down upon their flank, and the Russian artillerymen rallying to their
guns fired indiscriminately into the mass of English and Russians, that
the other Balaclava Crosses were won.
Major John Berryman, the most distinguished of the seven heroes of the
Charge who were awarded the decoration, has told the story of his exploit
himself, told it modestly and simply as becomes a brave man, but we can
fill in the details of the picture for ourselves as we read.
At the time of the Charge Berryman was Troop-Sergeant-Major in the 17th
Lancers, well known as “the Duke of Cambridge’s Own” and “the Death or
Glory Boys.” In the last mad leap at the guns, the mare he was riding was
badly hit, and he dismounted, when he found that he too had been wounded
in the leg. As he stood debating in his mind whether or not to shoot the
mare, Captain Webb, on horseback, came up. He also had been struck in
the leg, and to his query as to what he had better do, Berryman replied,
“Keep to your horse, sir, and get back as far as you can.”
Webb thereupon turned and rode back, while the sergeant-major, catching
a loose horse, attempted to follow suit. But his new steed had its
breastplate driven into its chest, and hardly had he mounted ere it
fell to the ground. Giving up the idea of rejoining his regiment in the
mêlée, he was making his way back on foot when he caught sight of Captain
Webb, who had halted a little distance off, the acute pain of his wound
preventing him riding farther.
“Lieutenant George Smith, of my own regiment,” says Berryman in his
account, “coming by, I got him to stand at the horse’s head whilst I
lifted the captain off. Having accomplished this, I assisted Smith to
mount Webb’s horse and ride for a stretcher, taking notice where we were.
By this time the Russians had got back to their guns and reopened fire.
I saw six men of my own regiment get together to recount to each other
their escapes. Seeing their danger, I called to them to separate, but too
late, for a shell dropped amongst them, and I don’t think one escaped
alive.”
Hearing him call to the lancers, Captain Webb asked Berryman what he
thought the Russians would do. Berryman answered that they were sure to
pursue, unless the Heavy Brigade came to the rescue.
“Then you had better consult your own safety, and leave,” said the
captain.
Berryman shook his head. “I shall not leave you now, sir,” he replied,
adding that if they were made prisoners they would go together.
Just at this moment Sergeant Farrell hove in sight, and at Berryman’s
call he came over. The retreat of the Light Brigade from the guns was
already beginning, and the confusion and danger was augmented by the
onslaught of the Russian lancers, who had now ridden down upon the
devoted remnant.
[Illustration: “I GOT HIM TO STAND AT THE HORSE’S HEAD WHILST I LIFTED
THE CAPTAIN OFF.”--_Page 22._]
The position of the wounded officer and his helpers was indeed
precarious. Bullets and shells were flying by them, and at any moment a
Cossack lance might have laid them low. But neither Berryman nor Farrell
hesitated or thought of saving his own skin. Making a chair of their
hands, they raised the captain from the ground and carried him in this
way for some two hundred yards, until Webb’s leg again became very
painful. A private of the 13th Dragoons, named Malone, was requisitioned
to support the officer’s legs, and another start was made.
The rear of the Greys was at last reached in safety, and here the
sergeant-major procured a tourniquet which he screwed on to Webb’s right
thigh (“I could not have done it better myself,” said the regimental
doctor afterwards), together with a stretcher.
We will let Berryman take up the story himself at this point.
“I and Farrell now raised the stretcher and carried it for about fifty
yards, and again set it down. I was made aware of an officer of the
Chasseurs d’Afrique being on my left by his placing his hand upon my
shoulder. I turned and saluted. Pointing to Captain Webb, but looking at
me, he said--
“‘Your officer?’
“‘Yes.’
“‘Ah! and you sergeant?’ looking at the stripes on my arm.
“‘Yes.’
“‘Ah! If you were in French service, I would make you an officer on the
spot.’ Then, standing in his stirrups and extending his right hand, he
said, ‘Oh! it was grand, it was _magnifique_, but it is not war, it is
not war!’”
This French officer was General Morris.
Resuming their task, Berryman and Farrell got the captain to the doctors,
who discovered that the shin bone of his leg had been shattered. Farrell
turning faint at the sight of the terrible wound, the sergeant-major was
instructed to take him away, and this was the cause of bringing him near
enough to the Duke of Cambridge and Lord Cardigan to hear the former say
as he viewed the remnant that had come “through the jaws of Death, Back
from the mouth of Hell”:--
“Is that all of them? You have lost the finest brigade that ever left the
shores of England!”
And to Captain Godfrey Morgan, now Viscount Tredegar, who had led the
17th Lancers (thirty-four returned out of one hundred and forty), the
Duke could only say, “My poor regiment! My poor regiment!”
Sergeant Farrell and Private Malone, as was only fitting, also received
the Cross for Valour.
I have given the account of the brave deed of Berryman and his companions
at some length, because it is, to my mind, one of the most signal acts
of devotion in the chronicles of the V.C. A very large proportion of
those who have won the Cross distinguished themselves in the attempt,
successful or otherwise, to save life, and there is no act that is more
deserving of our fullest admiration. “Greater love hath no man than this,
that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
There were other lives saved in that death-stricken valley that day
besides Webb’s. Captain Morris, who led a troop of the 17th Lancers, was
taken prisoner by the Russians after a desperate encounter, but managed
to escape in the confusion. Grievously wounded and on foot, for his
second horse had been shot under him, he struggled towards the British
lines, until from sheer exhaustion he fell beside the dead body of his
brother-officer, Captain Nolan.
It is stated that the two officers, knowing the peril that faced them,
had each left in his friend’s charge a letter to be sent home if he fell
and the other survived. These letters were found in the breasts of the
two as they lay side by side.
Captain Morris, however, was luckily still alive. To his assistance
promptly came Sergeant-Major Charles Wooden of his own regiment, who
pluckily stood by his body until he saw a surgeon. The latter, who
proved to be Surgeon Mouat of the 6th Dragoon Guards (now Sir James
Mouat, K.C.B.), promptly went over to the wounded man, and despite the
heavy fire that was being kept up, dressed his wounds as coolly as if
he had been in the operating-room. His skill stopped the hemorrhage,
which undoubtedly saved the captain’s life, and for this, as well as for
getting the wounded man back to safety, the brave surgeon in due course
got his V.C. Sergeant-Major Wooden was decorated at the same time.
One other man of the 17th Lancers who distinguished himself in this
historic charge was the regimental butcher, John Veigh. Hearing that
the dash for the Russian guns was to be made, he left his work in his
bloodstained smock without seeking permission, borrowed a sabre, and rode
through the valley with his comrades. “Butcher Jack” cut down six gunners
and returned unhurt, still smoking the short black pipe which was in his
mouth when he joined in the ride.
The two remaining Balaclava Crosses were awarded to Private Samuel
Parkes, a Light Dragoon, and Lieutenant Alexander Robert Dunn, of the
11th Hussars.
Parkes’ exploit was a courageous rescue of Trumpet-Major Crawford, who,
on being thrown helpless to the ground by his horse, was furiously
attacked by a couple of Cossacks. Himself unhorsed, he fearlessly bore
down upon the cowardly Russians, and plied his sword with such vigour
that he sent them flying. The two were attacked again by a larger party
of Cossacks, but Parkes maintained such a sturdy defence that he was only
subdued when a shot struck his sabre out of his hand. He and Crawford
were made prisoners, and not released until a year later.
Lieutenant Dunn had the distinction of being the only officer of the
Light Brigade to win the V.C. When Sergeant Bentley of his regiment
fell behind in the dash back to safety, and was quickly set on by three
Russians, the lieutenant turned his horse and rode to his comrade’s
aid. Dunn was a less powerful man than Parkes, but he sabred two of the
Cossack lancers clean out of their saddles and put the third to flight.
Subsequently Lieutenant Dunn rescued a private of the Hussars from
certain death in similar circumstances. He survived the Crimean War and
rose to distinction in the service, but his career was cut short all too
soon by an accident in the Abyssinian campaign.