Letter from Private William Pearson (1353), 4th Light Dragoons, to his parents.

Camp, near Sebastopol, Oct. 26

My Dear Parents,-

I take the pleasure (having stolen a few moments) to write these few lines to inform you that I am, God be thanks for it, enjoying good health, after having been engaged in a hard fought battle with the Russians on the 25th of October. I am, however, sorry to say that a great many of my poor comrades met with their death-wounds, but in a heroic manner. The Light Dragoon regiments got a dreadful cutting up, among which were my regiment (the 4th Light Dragoons), the 17th Lancers, the 8th Hussars, the 13th Light Dragoons and the 11th Hussars. Of the five regiments just mentioned we can scarcely muster what could complete one regiment. My regiment (the 4th Light Dragoons) came from England 300 strong and now we have not more that 100 left from deaths, from sickness, and killed in battle. However, what are left of us are all very thankful that we have been so fortunate, after the great hardships we have undergone since we left Old England. Oh! how thankful I am!

Dear parents, I am sorry I have not much time now, as we expect every moment to go back and attack the enemy, who are in sight of us. We gave them a great slaughtering yesterday, and at day-break this morning our big guns are at work slaughtering at Sebastopol, which has been the case for the last 12 days. A great many of the Russian artillery soldiers, together with many of the townspeople, have been killed, and the town set on fire.

Dear mother, do not alarm yourself about me, I have a good opinion I shall see you again. I shall never forget the 25th of October – shells, bullets, cannon-balls, and swords kept flying around us. I escaped them all, except a slight scar on my nose from the bursting of a shell, and a slight touch on the left shoulders from a cannon-ball, after it had killed one of our horses; but, God be thanked, it did not disable me. The Russians fight hard and well, but we will make them yield yet. Dear Mother, every time I think of my poor comrades it makes my blood run cold, to think how we had to gallop over the poor wounded fellows lying on the field of battle, with anxious looks for assistance – what a sickening scene! In one part of the battle I lost my horse, owing to the one in front of me being shot dead, and my poor horse fell over it, and I was unhorsed; but, fortunately for me, I saw another that some poor fellow of the 8th Hussars had been killed from; I mounted it in a moment and was in the rank again. On our return from the charge I got my own horse again; he had galloped to the camp, and, dear parents, I was glad when I saw him there, as if I had got half the world given to me!

Dear mother, after the battle of Alma I wrote to [censored]; I hope she got the letter. Give my kindest love to her, as also to Mr. Grazebank and poor Agnes, grand-father &c. I have not time to say more, as things look rather queer, and as if we will soon be engaged again with the enemy. I hope to hear from you soon, and when I return to Old England, if God spares me, I will tell you all. Corrie, from Pooly Bridge, and Bob Mitchell, of Penrith Town-head are both well. I often think of you, and I am sure you daily pray for my safe return. Tell – to write to me. Will write again, but it is hard work to get stamps and paper. When I wrote to [censored], after the battle of Alma, we had only lost two men: but in this battle we have lost the better half. But I keep in good heart. We have hitherto thrashed the Russians, and we shall do so again.

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