It is many a long year now since the misty October morning when with my regiment, the 17th Lancers, I rode up that fatal valley where so many of my gallant comrades fell. Yet, as I read Mr Lynn’s description of the charge, I seemed to see and hear it all again: my comrades’ faces grim and set, the fine figure of Lord Cardigan leading us, poor Captain Nolan wildly trying to direct us out of the course we were following, the rattle of rifle-fire, the crash of the shells, the blazing of the guns all round us, the constant gaps in the ranks as man and horse went down, the ever-increasing speed till we were in amongst the Russian gunners and avenging those who had fallen.
I shivered again when I read of the awful storm of November and of the miseries of the road to Balaclava. My heart beat with pride at the tale of Inkermann, so well is the story told.
Many of the characters in the story I recognise—Jack Blair, Sergeant Barrymore, Sergeant Linham, Captain Norreys, Pearson, Brandon, and so on. I knew them under different names in the old regiment, but they were the same men.
If any boy is interested in what we did, what we suffered, and what part in the Crimean war my regiment played, let him read Blair of Balaclava. As a survivor of the Light Brigade I can truly say that had Mr Lynn soldiered with me and ridden by my side in the charge he could not have given a truer account of our doings in the Crimea in 1854 and 1855.
(Signed) James Mustard,
late 17th Lancers.
Sergeant James Mustard, the writer of the fore-going letter, was born in St James’s, Piccadilly, on January 13th, 1829.
Coming of a family of soldiers, a love for the profession of arms was born in him, and he joined the 3rd Light Dragoons, in London, on May 1st, 1850. Two years later he transferred, at Canterbury, to the 17th Lancers.
He went out to the East with his regiment in April 1854, was present at the affair of the Bulganak and the battle of the Alma. He rode in the front rank of the ‘Immortal Six Hundred,’ going down the valley immediately behind Lord Cardigan and his orderly trumpeter, Brittain of the 17th Lancers, who died of his wounds received in the charge. He reached the guns in safety, and, after using his lance with good effect against the Russian gunners and the cavalry formed behind them, started, with a little group of his own regiment and the 8th Hussars, on the return ride. He had a personal encounter with a Polish Lancer, whom he worsted; then continuing on his way, went to the assistance of Trumpeter Landfried of the 17th, who came safely out of the fray.
Sergeant Mustard had received a severe wound; but owing to the intense excitement became aware of the fact only by accident. To describe this event the writer quotes the sergeant’s own words: ‘We were coming back along the valley when a chum of the 13th Light Dragoons, named Hetridge, rode up to me. “Jim,” he said, “lend me your sword, for I’ve lost mine in the fight.” I still held my lance, though the shaft had been chipped by a bullet. I turned to draw my sword to hand it to Hetridge, when, to my amazement, I found I had neither sword, scabbard, nor belt. A canister-shot had caught me on the left hip, and cut away sword, belt, overalls, and pants, and laid bare a great red patch of bleeding flesh. Another inch would have smashed my hip and killed me.’