A private of the 33rd (Duke of Wellington’s) Regiment was surprised and made prisoner by two Russian soldiers when an advanced sentry. One of the Russians took possession of his musket and the other of his pouch, and they marched him between them towards Sebastopol. It was not the direction which Tommy wanted to take, so he kept wary watch, and when he fancied his captors were off their guard, he sprang on the one who carried his musket, seized it, knocked the fellow down, and then shot dead the Russian who carried his pouch. Meanwhile the Ruskie from whom Tommy had taken his own musket rose up from his recumbent position, fired and missed his aim. Tommy promptly hit him on the head with the butt end of his musket. After this the Englishman proceeded at leisure to take off his foes’ accoutrements, and he returned to his post laden with spoils, being fired at by the Russian sentries and cheered loudly by the English pickets.
Getting rid of his Captors
An English private was taken prisoner by two Russians. When he thought they were off their guard he snatched his own musket and felled one of them, and then shot the other dead. The first tried to shoot the Englishman, but missed, and was then promptly hit on the head with the butt end.
But Lord Raglan himself gave several instances of great coolness under fire. He was sitting on horseback during the Battle of Inkermann, in the midst of a battery of artillery, watching our men working the guns. A very heavy fire was being directed against this part of the field, and one of his staff suggested the propriety of his not putting himself in quite so dangerous and conspicuous a place, especially as, from the number of bullets that came singing by, it was clear he was being made a mark for the enemy’s riflemen.
Lord Raglan, however, merely said: “Yes, they seem firing at us a little; but I think I get a better view here than in most places.”
So there he remained for some time, and then, turning his horse, rode along the whole length of the ridge at a foot’s pace. Some of the hangers-on about the staff found they had business elsewhere, and cantered unobtrusively away.
Towards evening of the same day Lord Raglan was returning from taking his last leave of General Strangways, who had been mortally wounded, and was riding up towards the ridge. A sergeant of the 7th Fusiliers approached, carrying canteens of water to take up for the wounded. As Lord Raglan passed, he drew himself up to make the usual salute, when a round shot came bounding over the hill and knocked his forage-cap off his head.
The man calmly picked up his cap, dusted it on his knee, placed it carefully on his head, and then made the military salute, all without moving a muscle of his countenance. Lord Raglan was delighted with the sergeant’s coolness, and, smiling, said to him: “A near thing that, my man!”
“Yes, my lord,” replied the sergeant, with another salute; “but a miss is as good as a mile.”