Among those who won the Victoria Cross at Balaclava none gained it more
worthily than Major John Berryman, who served in the Crimea as
Troop-Sergeant Major in the 17th Lancers. This is how Major Berryman
describes the charge of the Light Brigade:--
"Gallop!" was the order as the firing became general. And here a
discharge from the battery in our front, whose guns were doubly
shotted, first with shot or shell, and then with case, swept
away Captain Winter and the whole division on my right. The gap
was noticed by Captain Morris, who gave the order, "Right
incline," but a warning voice came from my coverer in the rear
rank (Corporal John Penn), "Keep straight on, Jack; keep
straight on." He saw what I did not, that we were opposite the
intervals of the guns, and thus we escaped, for the next round
must have swept us into eternity. My attention here was
attracted to James Melrose, a Shakespearian reciter, calling
out, "What man here would ask another man from England?" Poor
fellow, they were the last words he spoke, for the next round
from the guns killed him and many others. We were then so close
to the guns that the report rang through my head, and I felt
that I was quite deaf for a time. It was this round that broke
my mare's off hind leg, and caused her to stop instantly. I felt
that I was hit, but not till I dismounted. Seeing that the
mare's leg was broken, I debated in my own mind whether to shoot
her or not, when Captain Webb came up to me, and asked me, was I
wounded? I replied, "Only slightly, I thought, in the leg, but
that my horse was shot." I then asked, "Are you hurt, sir?" He
said that he was, and in the leg, too; what had he better do?
"Keep to your horse, sir, and get back as far as you can." He
turned, and rode back. I now caught a loose horse, and got on to
his back, but he fell directly, the brass of the breast-plate
having been driven into his chest. Seeing that there was no hope
of my joining the regiment in the _mêlée_, and the 11th Hussars
being close upon me, I moved a little to the right, so as to
pass through the interval between the squadrons. Both squadrons
closed in a little, and let me pass through. I well remember
that Sergeant Gutteridge was the right guide of the 2nd
squadron. Finding that Captain Webb had halted, I ran to him,
and on inquiries found that his wound was so painful that he
could not ride any further. Lieutenant George Smith, of my own
regiment, 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 re-opened 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 me call to these men, Captain Webb asked what I
thought the Russians would do?
"They are sure to pursue, sir, unless the Heavy Brigade comes
down."
"Then you had better consult your own safety, and leave me."
"Oh no, sir, I shall not leave you now."
"Perhaps they will only take me prisoner."
"If they do, sir, we will go together."
"Don't mind me, look to yourself."
"All right, sir; only we will go together, whatever happens."
Just at this time I saw Sergeant Farrell coming by. I called to
him. He asked, "Who is it?" When told, he came over. I said, "We
must get Captain Webb out of this, for we shall be pursued."
He agreeing, we made a chair of our hands, lifted the Captain
up, and found that we could carry him with comparative ease. We
had got about 200 yards in this manner, when the Captain
complained that his leg was very painful. A private of the 13th
being near, Malone, I asked him would he be good enough to
support Captain Webb's legs, until we could procure a stretcher?
He did so, and several of the officers passed us. Sir G.
Wombwell said, "What is the matter, Peck?" (Captain Webb's
nickname.)
"Hit in the leg, old fellow. How did you escape?"
"Well, I was unhorsed and taken prisoner, but when the second
line came down, in the confusion I got away, and, seizing the
first horse I could, I got away, and I find that it is
Morris's."
Sir W. Gordon made the same inquiry, and got the same answer. He
had a very nasty cut on the head, and blood was then running
down his face. He was carrying his dress cap in his hand. We had
now reached the rear of the Greys, and I procured a stretcher
from two Infantry band boys, and a young officer of the "Greys"
gave me a "tourniquet," saying that he did not know how to apply
it, but perhaps I might. I put it on the right thigh, and
screwed it up. Doctor Kendal came here, and I pointed out what I
had done, and asked was it right?
"I could not have done it better myself; bring him along."
[Illustration: "I LIFTED THE CAPTAIN OFF."]
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, said:--
"Oh! it was grand, it was _magnifique_, but it is not war, it is
not war."
This officer was General Morris. We resumed our patient, and got
to the doctors (Massy and Kendal). I saw the boot cut off and
the nature of the wound, the right shin bone being shattered.
Farrell made an exclamation, and I was motioned to take him
away. I told him that I should go and see the end of it. He said
that he was too exhausted to do any more. Finding a horse in the
lines, I mounted him, although the animal belonged to the 4th
Light Dragoons, and thus dropped in behind the Duke of
Cambridge, and heard what passed. The Duke, speaking to Lord
Cardigan, said:--
"Cardigan, where's the Brigade, then?"
"There," said Cardigan.
"Is that all of them? You have lost the finest Brigade that ever
left the shores of England."
A little further on he spoke to Captain Godfrey Morgan (Lord
Tredegar):--
"Morgan, where's the regiment, then?"
"Your Royal Highness, that is all of them!"
"My poor regiment, my poor regiment!"
I now took my place in the ranks, and, in numbering off, being
on the extreme left, I counted 22. We fell back during the
night, and, being dismounted, I, with my servant, was left
behind. I suffered intensely with my head, and got a napkin and
tied it as tightly as possible round my brows. I also had time
to examine my wound, which was inside the calf of my leg. A
small piece about the size of a shilling had been cut clean out
of my leg; but except that the blood had run into my boots, I
felt but very little inconvenience from it. Cold water bandage
was all I used; but, unfortunately, scurvy got to it, and it was
a long time healing.