LIVES OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE
The E.J. Boys Archive

DATE

IN PROGRESS - NOT FOR PUBLICATION

WEBB ACCOUNTS OF HIS DEATH & THE AWARD OF VCs

Wounded in the leg at Balaclava, the shin being completely pulverised. He was seen by John Berryman of the 17th Lancers (who was returning on foot back down the valley after his horse had been shot) to be unable to ride any further from the agony of his wound. Going to him he lifted him out of the saddle, Lieutenant Percy Smith, 13th Light Dragoons holding the reins meanwhile and then riding off for a stretcher.

[PB: Quote the VC citations.]

Balaclava: Sergeant Berryman, ? Sergeant Farrell and Corporal Malone attempting to rescue Captain Webb. Painting by Harry Payne [date?]. Webb is portrayed much older than his years - he was only 22. Notice the young, fresh-faced "Sergeant" Malone, on the left.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Although urged by Webb to save himself, Berryman stayed with him under a heavy fire. Later he was joined by 795, Sergeant John Farrell of the same regiment and both remained with him until they were joined by a third man, 1440, Corporal Joseph Malone, 13th Light Dragoons, when they managed to carry him off between them.

All three of his rescuers were awarded the Victoria Cross.

Severely wounded in action at Balaclava and died at Scutari, two days after the amputation of a leg, on the 6th of November 1854.

Troop Sergeant-Major John Berryman's account in Strand magazine [date?]:

As he approached the guns at the end of the valley:

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 Crimea, 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."

"[ADD IMAGE: "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.

James Nunnerley's account, as described to Captain Percy Grove

870 James Nunnerley, 17th Lancers, said in his memoir that after his horse had been shot under him, himself being knocked down and trodden on by riderless horses and regaining his feet, he observed one of the 13th Light Dragoons under a dead horse, the rider (J. Malone) not being able to free himself. He dragged the horse off him and set him at liberty and accompanied him a short distance.

He had no sooner got clear of his foes than he was knocked down and ridden over by a number of riderless horses, together with a few Hussars. Having regained his feet, he observed one of the 13th Light Dragoons under his horse, which had been killed, the rider (J. Malone) not being able to free himself. he dragged the horse off him, and set him at liberty, and accompanied him a short distance till he fell in with Sergeant John Farrell of his own regiment. He assisted Farrell to carry Captain Webb out of danger on a stretcher, which had been brought to their aid by Sergeant John Berryman.

This story, coupled with Private James Lamb's account of how he and Malone drew lots for the V.C., would make it appear that the latter's award was almost pure chance.

Balaclava: Sergeant Malone gains the VC. Painting by Harry Payne [date?].

(Click on image to enlarge)

[PB, Jan. 2015: There are two James Lamb, 13LD, accounts. Notice how few names or ranks he mentions, which makes identification difficult, and in Harper's Monthly Magazine [US], [date], he doesn't even mention Malone's part:

Lamb's account in Strand Magazine [date?]

After his horse was shot under him, he set off back up the valley:

...I managed to get some distance up the valley towards our lines, and when near No. 3 redoubt I saw two men supporting a wounded officer of the 17th Lancers. One of the men was a trooper belonging to my own regiment, and the other was one of the 17th Lancers. The officer was faint and exhausted from lose of blood, and was feebly asking for water.

Neither of the men who were helping him had their water-bottles with them, and mine had been shot through in the cross fire when the Russians first opened fire upon us at the commencement of our deadly ride. I saw no chance of getting water other than by searching among the dead bodies on the battlefield.

I accordingly retraced my steps, and was soon fortunate enough to find a calabash, half full of water, strapped to a dead trooper's saddle. I snatched up this calabash, and, as I made my way back, pulled out the stopper and had a good drink, as I was frightfully parched myself.

[ADD IMAGE: "I succeeded in reaching the wounded officer."]

I had to get along as sharply as I could, for the enemy were again on the move; but I succeeded in reaching the wounded officer without any mishap and gave him the water, which he gratefully acknowledged, and, turning to us, said, "Men, leave me here, and seek your own safety." But we would not leave him, and the other two troopers carried him off the field while I limped along by his side, ready to render any assistance I could should the necessity arise.

As we were moving painfully along I saw a trooper of another regiment, who had been severely wound, and another endeavouring to get him off the field, but they were getting along very slowly. I went to their assistance, leaving the two men with the wounded officer, whom they eventually succeeded in carrying safely from under fire. I afterwards heard that this officer died the next morning, after having had one of his legs amputated.

My comrade and myself managed to get the wounded trooper safely into our lines.

[Source: pp.2-3.]

James Lamb's account in Harper's Monthly Magazine (1908)

"As I went on I saw one of the captains - Captain Webb it was - lying on the ground, and there was two troopers trying to help him. And one of them called to me. 'Lamb,' he says, 'can't you give Captain Webb a drink of water?'

"Now, my water bottle was strapped to my saddle; we could carry our bottles that way if we wanted, or strapped to ourselves, and I always kept mine strapped to my saddle to keep my sword arm free.

"So I hadn't any water, and there was Captain Webb, wounded and suffering. And afterwards he died, sir.

"Well, I felt that of course I must get that water for the captain, and so I went back, picking my way over horses and men, looking for an unsmashed bottle. I suppose it seemed queerlike, to see me just walking hack again the wrong way, but I never took thought o' that. I just wanted to get some water for Captain Webb, for he was a fine officer, and he was suffering. I wouldn't think of calling it bravery. I just wanted to get some water, and pretty soon I found it, strapped to the saddle of a dead horse.

"I unfastened it, and all in a minute it came to me that I never was so thirsty in all my life. That thirst, it was something awful the way it come over me the minute I got that water bottle in my hand. Till then I never thought of such a thing - you don't, while you're fighting, you know. Well, I had never knowed such thirst, and there I was with water in my hand, and so I took a pull at it before I started back for Captain Webb.

"There was enough for us both," he added naively.

"I got back to the captain. 'Men, leave me and save yourselves,' he was saying; but he felt better with the drink of water, and then the two troopers helped him to get ahead.

"And now I saw a lancer close by, and I helped him on, and carried him on my back for a little.

"Now, don't think it was bravery at all. When there's something to do like this you don't notice shells or such things; that's all."

He was silent for a little, going over and over the events of the long-past battle. Then he said, wistfully:

"I almost got the V.C. for that little matter of the drink of water. For some of the men or the officers saw it, and so, when it was decided to pick a man from each of the five regiments for the V.C. - for they said that though every man deserved it, yet they couldn't give it to every one of us - well, for the 13th, it was decided that it was between my comrade Malone and me, and we were told to draw lots for it. And Malone he drew first, and so he got it."

To Lamb's mind it is clear that Malone won because he drew first. "He drew first, and so he got it," he repeated, still aggrieved after all this time. "Well, he's dead this many a year. A fair man he was, and he got the V.C. fair, but he had the first draw."

[Source: James Lamb, "Personal Narrative of the Battle of Balaclava, as told by a survivor, at his home in Battersea, and set down by Robert Shackleton", Harper's Monthly Magazine (1908), p.305-306.]