"Balaclava and the Russian Captivity", The Nineteenth Century, May 1892, pp. 850-863.
I WISH to tell of what I, as a private soldier in the ranks of one of its regiments, saw of the doings of the Light Brigade in its memorable and glorious charge, and what befell in our Russian captivity my comrades and myself who had the ill fortune to become prisoners of war.
Of the manoeuvering of the early morning I shall say nothing, and that little of the glorious charge of the Heavy Cavalry, a good deal of which, with muttered anger at being restrained from striking in on the Russian flank, we Light-Bobs witnessed from our position near the hither end of the Causeway Ridge. We saw the straining gallop of the red-coated troopers and their swords flashing in the air; we heard the wild shout of the Inniskillings, and the hoarse roar of 'Scotland for Ever!' from the throats of the Greys and we, envious yet admiring, gave back a cheer and the brotherly shout 'Good Old Heavies!'
Trumpet-Major Joy, of the 17th Lancers, was Lord Lucan's field-trumpeter, and we men of that corps envied him his good luck, for we made sure he had charged with the Heavies; but this was not so, and, tied as he was to the divisional commander, he had the misfortune also not to share in the charge of the Light Brigade; wherefore we have been obliged to exclude him from our commemorative banquets ever since, as no man can take part in them who did not actually ride the charge down the valley.
The 17th Lancers had been unfortunate in regard of their commanding officers. Colonel Lawrenson, who had brought us out, went sick the day after the Alma, during which battle he rode almost doubled up, as we thought, with cholera. We did not greatly regret him, for we considered him a little two extra-dainty for the rough-and-ready business of warfare. When after the battle we and the 11th Hussars were sent forward after the retreating enemy, he called many a good soldier a coward for roughly handling Russian soldiers who resisted capture. An officer I tackled fired a pistol shot at me point-blank, which carried away one of the rings of my horse's bit. I pulled quick upon him and felled him with the butt of my lance, for doing which Colonel Lawrenson called me a coward - a word hard
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to stomach even from one's colonel. His successor, Major Willet, was a good soldier, but a tyrant.
Shortly before the day of Balaklava, the Cavalry had to turn out and stand to their horses all night in very bitter weather. Major Willet would allow neither officer nor man of his regiment to cloak and to do him justice he did not do so himself. This needless and wanton exposure - the other regiments were comfortably cloaked - wrought his own death; he was a corpse before sundown of the following day.
Captain Morris, who had been on staff duty, and who had seen much war service in India, then took command as next senior officer, and it was he who led the regiment in the charge. When he came to us from the staff, many of the fellows did not know him, dressed as he was in blue frock coat and forage cap with gold-edged peak. 'Who is he?' was their question 'Why Slacks!' was the reply. This was the nickname he brought from the 16th Lancers; no man of the corps knew the significance or origin of it.
When the Heavies and the Russians were having it out, Captain Morris moved out and spoke very earnestly to Lord Cardigan in front of the Light Brigade. We heard nothing of the short conversation except Cardigan's hoarse sharp closing words - 'No, no, sir!' - whereupon Captain Morris fell back, uttering the words as he wheeled his horse in front of the right squadron - 'My God, my God, what a chance we are losing!' - at the same time slapping his sword sharply against his leg as if in anger. I among others distinctly heard the words and marked the gesture, and we were not slow to believe that he had suggested to Cardigan that now was the time to strike the flank of the Russian cavalry, and that Cardigan had rebuffed him.
After the Heavies' charge the Light Brigade was moved the little way 'left back' and then forward, down into the middle of the upper part of the outer valley, and fronting straight down it, the Heavies remaining a little in advance to the right about the crest of the Causeway Ridge. We stood halted in those positions for about three quarters of an hour, Lord Cardigan in front of his brigade, Lord Lucan on our right front about midway between the two brigades.
I may here describe the composition of the first line of the Light Brigade, and my own particular place therein. On the right were the 13th Light Dragoons (now Hussars), in the centre the 17th Lancers, on the left the 11th Hussars, which latter regiment before the charge began was ordered back in support, so that during the charge the first line consisted only of the 13th Light Dragoons and the 17th Lancers. All three regiments were but of two squadrons each; the formation of course was two deep. I belonged to the right troop of the first (the right) squadron of the 17th Lancers; my squadron leader being Captain (now General) R. White, my troop leader Captain Morgan, now Lord Tredegar. On the extreme right of the front rank of the squadron rode Private John Lee, a grand old soldier who had long served in
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India and whose time was nearly up; I was next to him, and on my left was my comrade Peter Marsh.
As we stood halted here, Captain Nolan, of the 15th Hussars, whom we knew as an aide-de-camp of the head-quarters staff, suddenly galloped up to the front through the interval between us and the 13th, and called out to Captain Morris, who was directly in my front, 'Where is Lord Lucan?' 'There' replied Morris pointing - 'there, on the right front!' Then he added, 'What is it to be, Nolan? - are we going to charge?' Nolan was off already in Lord Lucan's direction, but as he galloped away he shouted to Morris over his shoulder 'You will see! you will see!'
Just then we had some amusement. Private John Vey, who was the regimental butcher and had been slaughtering down at Balaclava, came up at a gallop on a horse of a Heavy who had been killed, and whom Vey had stripped of his belt and arms and accoutred himself with them over his white canvas smock frock, which, as well as his canvas trousers tucked into his boots, were covered with blood-stains. His shirt-sleeves were rolled up above his elbows, and his face, arms, and hands were smeared with blood, so that as he formed up on Lee's right shouting - he had some drink in him - that 'he'd be d---d if he was going to be left behind his regiment and so lose the fun', he was indeed a gruesome yet laughable figure. Mr. Chadwick, the adjutant, ordered him to rein back and join his own troop in the 2nd squadron, and so I saw no more of him, but I afterwards knew that he rode the charge, had his horse shot, but came back unwounded, and was given the distinguish conduct medal.
I cannot call to mind seeing Lord Lucan come to the front of the Light Brigade and speak with Lord Cardigan, although of course I know now that he did so. But I distinctly remember that Nolan returned to the brigade, and his having a mere momentary talk with Cardigan, at the close of which he drew his sword with a flourish, as if greatly excited. The blood came into his face - I seem to see him now; and then he fell back a little way into Cardigan's left rear, somewhat in front of and to the right of Captain Morris, who had taken post in front of his own left squadron. And I remember as if it were but yesterday Cardigan's figure and attitude, as he faced the brigade and in his strong hoarse voice gave the momentous word of command, 'The brigade will advance! First squadron of 17th Lancers direct!' Calm as on parade - calmer indeed by far than his wont on parade - stately, square and direct, master of himself, his brigade, and his noble charger, Cardigan looked the ideal cavalry leader, with his stern firm face and his quiet soldierly bearing. His long military seat was perfection on the thoroughbred chestnut 'Ronald' with the 'white stockings' on the near hind and fore, which my father, his old riding-master, had broken for him. He was in the full uniform of his old corps, the 11th
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Hussars, and he wore the pelisse, not slung, but put on like a patrol jacket, its front one blaze of gold lace. His drawn sword was in his hand at the slope, and never saw I man fitter to wield the weapon.
As I have said, he gave the word of command, and then turning his head toward his trumpeter, Britten [sic] of the Lancers, he quietly said, 'Sound the Advance!' and wheeled his horse, facing the dark mass at the farther end of the valley which we knew to be the enemy. The trumpeter sounded the 'Walk'; after a few horse-lengths came the 'Trot'. I did not hear the 'Gallop', but it was sounded. Neither voice nor trumpet, so far as I know, ordered the 'Charge'; Britten [sic] was a dead man in a few strides after he had sounded the 'Gallop'.
We had ridden barely two hundred yards and were still at the trot, when poor Nolan's fate came to him. I did not see him cross Cardigan's front but I did see the shell explode, of which a fragment struck him. From his raised sword hand dropped the sword, but the arm remained erect. Kinglake writes that 'what had once been Nolan maintained the strong military seat until the direct form dropped out of the saddle;' but this was not so. The sword-arm indeed remained upraised and rigid, but all the other limbs so curled in on the contorted trunk as by a spasm, that we wondered how for the moment the huddled form kept the saddle. It was the sudden convulsive twitch of the bridle hand inward on the chest that caused the charger to wheel rearward so abruptly. The weird shriek and the awful face as rider and horse disappeared haunt me now to this day, the first horror of that ride of horrors.
As the line at the trumpet sound broke from the trot into the gallop, Lord Cardigan, almost directly behind whom I rode, turned his head leftward toward Captain Morris and shouted hoarsely, 'Steady, steady, Captain Morris!' The injunction was no doubt pointed specially at the latter because he, commanding the regiment one of the squadrons of which had been named to direct, was held in a manner responsible to the brigade commander for both the pace and direction of the whole line.
Later, when we were in the midst of our torture, and, mad to be out of it and have our revenge, were forcing the pace, I heard again, high above the turmoil and din, Cardigan's sonorous command, 'Steady, steady, the 17th Lancers!' and observed him check with voice and outstretched sword Captain White, my squadron leader, as he shot forward abreast of the stern disciplined chief leading the brigade. But, resolute man though he was, the time had come when neither the commands nor the example of Cardigan availed to restrain the pace of his brigade; and when to maintain his position in advance, indeed, if he were to escape being ridden down, he had to let his charger out from the gallop to the charge. For hell had opened upon us from front and either flank, and it kept open upon us during the minutes - they seemed hours - which passed while we traversed the mile and a quarter at the end of which
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was the enemy.
The broken and fast-thinning ranks raised ragged peals of wild fierce cheering that only swelled the louder as the shot and shell from the battery tore gaps through us, and the enfilading musketry fire from the Infantry in both flanks brought down horses and men. Yet in this stress it was fine to see how strong was the bond of discipline and obedience. 'Close in! close in!' was the constant command of the squadron and troop officers as the casualties made gaps in the ragged line, but the order was scarcely needed, for of their own instance and, as it seemed, mechanically, men and horses alike sought to regain the touch.
We had not broke into the charging pace when poor old John Lee, my right-hand man on the flank of the regiment, was all but smashed by a shell; he gave my arm a twitch, as with a strange smile on his worn old face he quietly said, 'Domino! chum', and fell out of the saddle. His old grey mare kept alongside of me for some distance, treading on and tearing out her entrails as she galloped, till at length she dropped with a strange shriek.
I have mentioned that my comrade, Peter Marsh, was my left hand man; next beyond him was Private Dudley. The explosion of a shell had swept down four or five men on Dudley's left, and I heard him ask Marsh if he had noticed 'What a hole that b---- shell had made' on his left front. 'Hold your foul-mouthed tongue' answered Peter 'swearing like a blackguard when you may be knocked into eternity next minute!' Just then I got a musket-bullet through my right knee, and another in the shin, and my horse had three bullet wounds in the neck. Man and horse were bleeding so fast that Marsh begged me to fall out; but I would not, pointing out that in a few minutes we must be into them, and so I sent my spurs well home, and faced it out with my comrades.
It was about this time that Sergeant Talbot had his head clean carried off by a round shot, yet for about thirty yards further the headless body kept the saddle, the lance at the charge firmly gripped under the right arm. My narrative may seem barren of incidents of the charge, but amid the crash of shells and the whistle of bullets, the cheers and the dying cries of comrades, the sense of personal danger, the pain of wounds, and the consuming passion to reach an enemy, he must be an exceptional man who is cool enough and curious enough to be looking serenely about him for what painters call 'local colour'. I had a good deal of 'local colour' myself, but it was running down the leg of my overalls from my wounded knee.
Well, we were nearly out of it at last, and close on those cursed guns. Cardigan was still straight in front of me, steady as a church, but now his sword was in the air; he turned in his saddle for an instant and shouted his final command, 'Steady! steady! Close in!' Immediately after-wards there crashed into us a regular volley from
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the Russian cannon. I saw Captain White go down and Cardigan disappear into the smoke. A moment more and I was within it myself. A shell burst right over my head with a hellish crash that all but stunned me. Immediately after I felt my horse under me take a tremendous leap into the air. What he jumped I never saw or knew; the smoke was so thick I could not see my arm's length around me. Through the dense veil I heard noises of fighting and slaughter, but saw no obstacle, no adversary, no gun or gunner, and, in short, was through and beyond the Russian battery before I knew for certain that I had reached it.
I then found that none of my comrades were close to me; there was no longer any semblance of the line. No man of the Lancers was on my right, a group was a little way on my left. Lord Cardigan must have increased his distance during or after passing through the battery, but I now saw him some way ahead, alone in the midst of a knot of Cossacks.
At this moment Lieutenant Maxse, his Lordship's aide-de-camp came back out of the tussle, and crossed my front as I was riding forward. I saw that he was badly wounded; and he called to me, 'For god's sake Lancer, don't ride over me! See where Lord Cardigan is', pointing to him, 'rally on him!' I was hurrying on to support the brigade commander, when a Cossack came at me and sent his lance into my right thigh. I went for him, but he bolted; I overtook him, drove my lance into his back and unhorsed him just in front of two Russian guns which were in possession of Sergeant-Majors Lincoln and Smith, of the 13th Light Dragoons, and other men of the Brigade. When pursuing the Cossack I noticed Colonel Mayow deal very cleverly with a big Russian cavalry officer. He tipped off his shako with the point of his sword, and then laid his head right open with the old cut seven.
The chase of my Cossack had diverted me from rallying on Lord Cardigan; he was nowhere to be seen, nor did I ever again set eyes on the chief who led us down the valley so grandly. The handful with the guns, to which I momentarily attached myself, were presently outnumbered and overpowered, the two sergeant-majors being taken prisoners, having been dismounted.
I then rode towards Private Samuel Parkes, of the 4th Light Dragoons, who, supporting with one arm the wounded Trumpet-Major (Crawford) of his regiment, was with the other, cutting and slashing at the enemies surrounding them [note 1]. I struck in to aid the gallant fellow, who was not overpowered until his sword was shot away, when he and the trumpet-major were taken prisoners, and it was with difficulty I was able to cut my way out.
Presently there joined me two other men, Mustard, of my own corps, and Fletcher, of the 4th Light Dragoons. We were now through and on the furthest side of a considerable body of the Russian cavalry, and so near the bottom of the valley that we could well discern the
Note 1: For this act of valour Parkes received the Victoria Cross.
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Tchernaya river. But we were all three wearied and weakened by loss of blood; our horses wounded in many places; there were enemies all about us, and we thought it was about time to be getting back. I remember reading in the regimental library of an officer who said his commander 'We have done enough for honour.' That was our humble opinion too, and we turned our horses' heads.
We forced our way through ring after ring of enemies, fell in with my comrade Peter Marsh, and rode rearward, breaking through party after party of Cossacks, until we heard the familiar voice of Corporal Morley [note 2], of our regiment, a great, rough, bellowing Nottingham man. He had lost his lance hat and, and his long hair was flying out in the wind as he roared, 'Coom 'ere! coom 'ere!, Fall in, lads, fall in!' Well, with shouts and oaths we had collected some twenty troopers of various regiments. We fell in with the handful this man of the hour had rallied to him, and there joined us also under his leadership Sergeant-Major Ranson and Private John Penn of the 17th. Penn, a tough old warrior who had served with the 3rd Light in the Sikh war, had killed a Russian officer, dismounted, and with great deliberation accoutred himself with the belt and sword of the defunct, in which he made a great show [note 3]. A body of Russian Hussars blocked our way. Morley, roaring Nottingham oaths by way of encouragement, led us straight at them, and we went through and out of the other side as if they had been made of tinsel paper.
As we rode up the valley, pursued by some Hussars and Cossacks, my horse was wounded by a bullet in the shoulder, and I had hard work to put the poor beast along. Presently we were abreast of the Infantry who had blazed into our right as we went down; and we had to take their fire again, this time on our left. Their firing was very impartial; their own Hussars and Cossacks following close on us suffered from it as well as we. Not many of Corporal Morley's party got back.
My horse was shot dead, riddled with bullets. One bullet struck me on the forehead, Another passed through the top of my shoulder; while struggling out from under my dead horse a Cossack standing over me stabbed me with his lance once in the neck near the jugular, again above the collar-bone, several times in the back, and once under the short rib; and when, having regained my feet, I was trying to draw my sword, he sent his lance through the palm of my hand. I believe he would have succeeded in killing me, clumsy as he was, if I had not blinded him for the moment with a handful of sand. Fletcher at the same time lost his horse, and, it seems, was wounded.
Note 2: Morley took his discharge in 1856, because he was not awarded the Distinguished Conduct a medal, which certainly should have been given him. He went to America, fought on the northern side all through the Civil War, was twice taken prisoner, and spent a year in 'Libby' prison, retired with the rank of captain, and is now employed in the War Department at Washington.
Note 3: Penn received the Distinguish Conduct medal, and the Queen presented him with a gold watch.
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We were very roughly used. The Cossacks at first hauled us along by the tails of our coatees and our haversacks. When we got on foot they drove their lance-butts into our backs to stir us on. With my shattered knee and the other bullet wound on the shin of the same leg, I could barely limp, and good old Fletcher said 'Get on my back, chum!' I did so, and then found that he had been shot through the back of the head. When I told him of this, his only answer was, 'Oh, never mind that, it's not much, I don't think.' But it was that much that he died of the wound a few days later; and here he was, a doomed man himself, making light of a mortal wound, and carrying a chance comrade of another regiment on his back. I can write this, but I could not tell of it in speech, because I know I should play the woman.
When we reached the Tchernaya, the Russians were as kind to us as the Cossacks had been brutal before. We found there a number of comrades; for some of us water was fetched, to others was given vodki [sic]. We were soon conveyed in bullock-carts to a village a little distance in rear, where our wounds were attended to. I placed on the window-ledge the bullet which had been extracted from my knee. The Russian sentry took it and asked by signs if it had wounded me. I nodded, whereupon the Ruski spat upon it and threw it out of the window, exclaiming, 'Sukin sin!' - son of a female dog.
A strange thing happened this afternoon. Private John Bevin, of the 8th Hussars, had been having his wounds dressed. A Russian cavalryman who was lying on the opposite side of the hut, and who had two desperate sword-cuts on the head and three fingers off, had been looking hard at Bevin for some time. At last he got up, crossed the floor, and made Bevin understand that he it was who had cut the Russian about so severely. Bevin cheerfully owned to the charge, and, pointing to the fragment left of its own right ear, gave the Russian to understand that it was he who had played the part of St. Peter. Whereupon the two fraternised, and Bevin had to resort to much artifice to escape being kissed by the battered Muscovite.
About four the same afternoon, when we were all very stiff and sore, General Liprandi, the Russian commander, was so good as to pay us a visit. He was very pleasant, and spoke excellent English. 'Come now, men' he asked, 'what did they give you to drink? Did they not prime you with spirits to come down and attack us in such a mad manner?' William Kirk, of the 17th Lancers, an unwounded prisoner who had lost his horse, was leaning against the door when Liprandi spoke. He had been punishing the Russian vodki a bit, and he stepped up to the General and said, 'You think we were drunk? By God, I tell you that if we had so much as smelt the barrel, we would have taken half Russia by this time!' Liprandi looked at him with a smile and remarked quite humorously, 'Indeed, then to be sure we should have had a poor chance!'
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Sergeant-Major Fowler, of the 4th Light Dragoons, had been run through the back by a Cossack lance, and was sitting in a corner. He was a fine, dignified soldier, a gentleman born I believe, and one of the handsomest men in the Light Brigade. To give more room in the carts to his comrades he walked every step of the fifty miles to Simferopol; his wound mortified, and he died within the week after his capture. Raising himself with great pain and difficulty, for his wound had stiffened, he stood upright and severely checked Kirk for his impertinent forwardness; then coming smartly to 'attention' before Liprandi and saluting the General, he said with great earnestness: 'On my honour, sir, except for the vodki that your men have given to some of them, there is not a man of us who has tasted food or drink this day. We left camp before daylight, and were continuously in the field until we became prisoners of war. Our uncooked rations are still in our haversacks. Our daily issue of a mouthful of rum is made in the afternoon, and, believe me, sir, we don't hoard it. I wish all the men who have gone to their account this day were as free of sin as they were of drink!'
Liprandi was moved. 'You are noble fellows' he said, 'and I am sincerely sorry for you. I will order you some vodki, and will send you also some pens, ink, and paper, for some of you at least have parents, wives, or sweethearts; so write and tell them that they can rely on your being well treated.'
Soon after the General had gone, the surgeons entered and set about amputating a leg of each of four men. They did not use chloroform, but simply sprinkled cold water on the poor fellows' faces. It seemed a butcherly job, and certainly was a sickening sight; nor was any good purpose served, for each of the sufferers died immediately on the removal of the limb.
At night we were served out, instead of blankets, with the greatcoats which the Turks had left behind when they evacuated the redoubts. They swarmed with vermin, but the night was bitterly cold, and we found them very acceptable. Next morning, General Liprandi paid us another visit to tell us that a flag of truce had been sent to him from the English camp, requesting permission to bury our dead; and that he had replied that the Russians were Christians and would undertake the decent interment of the English dead. He then asked whether we had any idea how many of our horses had been killed. Of course we had not, and he informed us that the number was 404. As he was leaving, he again denounced the charge as 'sheer madness' but repeated that we were 'noble fellows'
That same night we started for Simferopol, in one-horse carts, two men in a cart lying on straw. We travelled by night, covering the fifty miles in four marches. At the halting-place at Livadia a Russian officer annexed my spurs, but was civil enough to give me twenty copecks [sic] for them, which coin the Russian orderlies stole from me when carrying me into Simferopol Hospital. When we were stripped there, most of our uniforms were so stiff with blood that
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they could have stood on end of themselves. After a week's rest, it was found that the wounded limbs of several poor fellows were mortifying, and amputation in those cases was resorted to, but with very bad results, for of nine men operated on, only one survived.
On the 3rd of November the Grand Dukes Nicholas and Michael, sons of the Russian Emperor, came to Simferopol on their way to Sevastopol, and paid us a visit in the hospital. They asked us whether we were comfortable, and if they could do anything for us. We laid aside shyness in the presence of so great personages, and bluntly complained of the food served to us, which consisted of black bread [note 4], each loaf weighing from thirty to forty pounds, cabbage soup, which was to us horrible, made as it was of cabbage, small lumps of meat, vinegar and oil, which mixture was boiled in a large iron pot with garlic, after which the pot was brought into the ward, and the order of the day was that we should all sit round it with great wooden spoons, and dip into it for luck. He was indeed a fortunate man who chanced to fish out one of the sparse morsels of meat. The Grand Duke Nicholas said he was aware that it was not English soldiers' diet, but that it was exactly the same ration on which the Russian soldiers were marching and fighting; and he added that as we got further into the interior of Russia we should find our food improve. He said it was a great pity to see such fine men knocked about as we had been; and before leaving, told us that any complaints we should desire to make we were to report the same just as if we were with our regiments, and we might rely that they should be inquired into.
Plenty of visitors came to see us daily. A kind French lady, Madame Jacquemire, frequently brought us wine, grapes, and biscuits; she would go down on her knees by the bedside of the poor fellows who were waiting for death, and pray with them. The wounded Russians brought here after the battle of Inkerman, died like flies; every morning five or six carts piled high with dead bodies passed our windows on the way to the dead-pit. Every hole and corner of the great hospital was crammed with wounded men, three out of four of whom were the victims of bayonet wounds, so that the fighting must have been very close. They looked anything but pleasant at us Englishmen, and indeed there was one row. William Kirk of the Lancers, lying sick in the next ward to me among a number of Russian soldiers, was spit on by two of them. He [got] up like a shot, and went at the crowd of them with his fists. After a struggle he was overpowered, thrust by the orderlies into something like a strait-jacket, and tied down on his bed where he remained till the
Note 4: Mr. Kinglake errs in stating, on the authority of General Todleben, that the Russian soldiers subscribed of their pay to buy white loaves for the English prisoners. They were very friendly and kindly, they gave us of their vodki, and did buy for us milk with oil and vinegar, fruit, &c, but it was not until we reached Kharkoff that we saw white bread, and then it was supplied, not by soldiers; but by citizens.
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evening, when the surgeon released him, threatening him with severe punishment if he used his fists again. He died very soon after, and our suspicion was that he had been poisoned that same night.I felt greatly relieved when we became so far convalescent as to be able to quit this hospital and be sent on the march further into the interior. Each man received an outfit of long boots, a sheep-skin coat, a black coat, two rough shirts, pieces of rug for socks and a fur cap with flaps. It was on Christmas afternoon (1854) that we were removed from the hospital to the prison. The sergeant of the guard sold for us the Turkish greatcoats we had no further need of, and bought vodki for us with the proceeds. We kept our Christmas sitting round a big fire passing the bottle till the vodki was all gone, the Russian guard sharing with us as boon companions.
Next morning, in a blustering, freezing snow-storm we began our march, in company with a gang of convicts in leg-irons and each handcuffed to a long chain. They were soldiers who had misbehaved at Inkerman, most of them were Poles and we were told they were bound for Siberia. My knee was still bent, and I walked with a crutch, so that I soon fell behind a long distance. Two men of the escort were sent back for me, and the good fellows, pitying my painful condition, made a seat for me with their muskets, and in this 'king's chair', with an arm round the neck of each, they carried me to the end of the day's march.
During the rest of the long journey, which lasted for days I travelled in a bullock-cart by the officer's order. Our men and the escort were very friendly together; they used to march along singing and laughing linked arm and arm. We were billeted in the filthy huts of the Russian villages we passed through, and it must have been in the foul air of those stinking hovels where three of us, of whom I was one, caught a violent fever, raving in which we were left behind in the hospital of Alexandrovska, where we were well treated, and received the greatest kindness. Poor Brown [714 Private Thomas Brown, 17th Lancers] died two days after admission. Harris [1386 Private Amos Harris, 13th Light Dragoons] and myself at the end of a month were well enough to resume our march.
At Ekaterinovalow, a large and fine city, we were joined by three French soldiers two of whom were prisoners of war, one a deserter, and by two English infantrymen who were deserters. The Russian soldiers hated deserters and they always got the roughest of treatment; while the prisoners of war were billeted and were regarded by the escort as comrades the deserters were shoved into the prisons and we saw them only during the march.
At the daily roll-call before starting, when a prisoner's name was called, he would be patted on the back and called a 'good man'; when a deserter answered to his name, he would be pushed rudely to one side, spat on, and called a 'Sukin sin'. Of course we English prisoners never spoke to our two disgraceful countrymen; but I felt great pity for the French deserter when he told me his story. When in the advanced trenches, he said, his party was much annoyed by the fire of a Russian sharpshooter in
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an adjacent rifle pit, and the officer exclaimed that he wished to God some one would kill the fellow. Presently this man, by his own account, crept forward in the darkness, shot the sharpshooter and ran in under heavy fire from both sides. On his return the officer asked where he had been, and when he answered, instead of being praised as he expected, he was ordered into arrest. In his passion he ran at the officer, knocked him down, leaped out of the trench, and ran to the Russians under fire. I was told that soon after he left us he died broken-hearted at Tamboff.
During our three weeks' march from Ekaterinovalow to Kharkoff, we from time to time met very large bodies of reinforcements going toward Sevastopol, consisting for the most part of old men and young lads, scarcely able to carry their guns. They would point their guns at us and shout, 'Angleski! Sevastopol!' We used to advise them to make haste, because for the present the English had not got many Russians to shoot at.
At Kharkoff we were quartered in the prison, but were under no restrictions. Soon after our arrival a lady came into our room and asked us, in our own language, whether we were the English prisoners. When we told her we were, she took us all to her own house, and treated us with great kindness. When the time came to leave, she got permission from the Governor of the place for me to remain behind until the spring weather should come, and she furnished me with an outfit of clothes and linen. I was very comfortable under her roof, and I spent my time in making her a little flower garden with a pretty border. The good lady promised that it should never be destroyed or altered.
At Easter came the fine weather, and I rather reluctantly had to start for Veronesch [sic] with a fresh relay of prisoners. There I was heartily welcomed by my comrades, who had quite given me up for lost. Our Veronesch quarters were very comfortable; we had a large house assigned to us specially furnished for the occasion; we had the liberty of the whole town, and received many invitations to Russian houses. We lived well on white bread, beef, mutton, and plenty of eggs and milk; and we had one rouble each every five days for spending money. We resolved among ourselves that if any man of us disgraced the English good name by bad conduct, we should take the punishment of him into our own hands; and I am proud to say that only twice during the three months we spent in Veronesch did this infliction become necessary.
At the end of that time we got the route for Odessa, which we knew meant restoration to liberty. One fine August morning we left Veronesch, with the good wishes and regrets of its inhabitants, who crowded around us wishing us God-speed with great cordiality and earnestness. We returned in very different style to our upward journey - travelling in comfortable spring carts at the rate of fifty miles a day.
But when near Odessa a very unpleasant incident occurred. Arriving one night at a village where there was
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nothing to eat, we commissioned three of our number to go and buy provisions in an adjacent village on the other side of a river. On their way back, while waiting for a boat, they were suddenly attacked by six men with heavy clubs, who felled and all but stunned them. Recovering themselves they went vigorously at their assailants who had made a bad selection, for there were not three finer men in the British Cavalry than Bird (8th Hussars) [1209 Private William Bird], Cooper (13th Light Dragoons) [1526 Private George Cooper], and Chapman (4th Dragoon Guards) [635 Private Joseph Chapman]. Settling to business in good old English style, they severely punished their antagonists who bolted, but not before damaging our men considerably.
Next morning, the three cavalrymen recognised their antagonists among the soldiers of the port. Their faces indeed, would have betrayed them, battered and bruised as they were. Bird and his two comrades, savage at the unprovoked attack of the night before, were for taking further satisfaction, when the soldiers fixed bayonets and kept them off. The officer came up and gave the order to march, but we demanded that he should put the six men under arrest. He refused and struck Bird in the face. Bird knocked the officer down with a straight one from the shoulder; some of us grasped the muskets of the soldiers, others ran to a hut and armed themselves with stakes pulled out of its roof. Discretion, however, was thought the better part of valour when the officer ordered his man to load with ball-cartridge; but on our arrival at Odessa, Bird, Cooper, and Chapman reported the affair personally to the Governor, who placed the officer and the six men under arrest, and, as we were told, punished them severely.
Two days' march from Odessa we met a large batch of Russian soldiers who, taken at the Alma and Inkerman, had been prisoners of war in England, and, having been exchanged, were on their way home. They greeted us with great warmth, and evidently had found England a very pleasant country. 'Very good stout! very good beer! very good beef! Brighton very good! Russia got no Brighton! Russia no good! sorry to come back!' were their exclamations.
We were not allowed to enter the town of Odessa, as it was being fortified, but were quartered in a fine house on the outskirts standing in beautiful grounds. Here we got up theatricals, dancing, and all sorts of amusements and used to have our large room full of Russian visitors laughing at Private Warren's [probably 1515 Private Charles Christopher Warren, 13th Light Dragoons] ground and lofty tumbling, and joining in the chorus of our songs. But ten days after we reached Odessa, H.M.S. 'Agamemnon' came in under a flag of truce to take us off.
A good many of us were rather sorry to have to go, for we had enjoyed on the whole a very good time and had received most kind and friendly treatment. Our Odessa friends rigged us out in underclothing and crowded to the wharf to bid us farewell. There was much hand-shaking and not a few attempts to kiss us; but we could not stand that. As we left the wharf we gave our friends three hearty British cheers. Thirty-six [Crider says: sic, 58] men of the Light Brigade had been taken prisoners of war
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on the day of Balaclava. Of those only fifteen came out of captivity. Of twelve men of the 17th Lancers taken, there came back three, Privates Thomas Marshall, James McAlister, and James W. Wightman. We reached the camp of our regiment to all appearance perfect Russians, and were not at first recognised; but when we were, we received a hearty welcome from officers and man. But, alas, what a mortality among the old 'Deaths'!
To my great delight, however, my old comrade Peter Marsh was still to the fore, having weathered it all through without a scratch or a day's sickness. A few days after rejoining we three were tried by court-martial for being absent without leave for twelve months; of which charge we were honourably acquitted and returned to duty. My comrades and I saw some tough scenes in the Indian Mutiny, but on them I will not now enlarge.
My two steadfast chums Marsh and Mustard and I are now for some years settled down near to each other, and at our Annual Commemoration Banquet, and on Christmas Days and Bank Holidays, we three old comrades fight our battles o'er again, and thank God that we are alive to do so.
J.W. Wightman (late 17th Lancers)
Secretary, Balaclava Commemoration Society.
[Source: "Balaclava and the Russian Captivity", The Nineteenth Century, May 1892, pp. 857-863. ].
The editors are very grateful to Alan Turk for transcribing James Whiteman's memoir.