The Book of the V.C. A. L. Haydon
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.
CHAPTER IV.
THE CRIMEA.—THE HEROES OF INKERMAN.
The fierce battle on the plateau of Inkerman, in the early morning of November 5th, 1854, was the most desperate engagement of the whole war. It has, indeed, been described as “the bloodiest struggle ever witnessed since war cursed the earth.” The sixty thousand Russians who made a sortie out of Sebastopol were able through the heavy mists that hung over the field to take the British force of eight thousand men by surprise, and the fight at once became a hand-to-hand encounter rather than a pitched battle.
To call Inkerman the “soldiers’ battle” is to give our brave fellows who fought that day no more than their due. There was scant time for any plan of operations to be formed; as the guardsmen—Grenadiers, Coldstreams, and Scots—turned out of their tents at the warning bugle call it was to face immediately an enemy already entrenched behind battery and redoubt which belched forth shell and grape-shot incessantly. With bayonets fixed they went forward at the charge to silence those terrible flame-mouthed cannon and drive the Russians from battery and rifle-pit, and once among the foe British pluck could be relied on to carry the day.
What deeds of daring were done in the mist-shrouded glades and dells of Inkerman, in the valley and on the heights that commanded the British position, can never be fully chronicled. We know, however, how some of our gallant soldiers bore themselves, for in that titanic struggle acts of signal bravery were performed that were remembered afterwards and deemed worthy of recognition.
Charles McDermond and Thomas Beach, privates, made themselves conspicuous in saving the lives of two officers who were lying on the ground wounded and at the mercy of Russians, who never hesitated to kill a disabled man. So, too, did Sergeant George Walters of the 49th Regiment, who was more than a match for half a dozen Russians when Brigadier-General Adams got cut off. All three won their V.C.’s that day.
Of Lieutenant