The Book of the V.C. A. L. Haydon
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.
“I GOT