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I consider myself one of the most fortunate men in England to have been one of those spared out of the 600 about whom so much has been said and sung. Although my military career has been brief, I have seen a great deal. I have seen war in all its horrors. It is said to be "an ill wind that blows nobody good"; so it has been with me. I have learned to doubly appreciate home and all its comforts. Before going out to the Crimea I was accustomed to see, on these occasions, farmers looking happy and contented, and I was in the habit of thinking what a great nation England was, and how she flourished in all things; but since the war commenced I have seen the other side of the picture. I have seen an army march into an hostile country, and in the midst of farms flowing with milk and honey, and teeming with corn and every luxury—and there, in a few hours, all was desolation, one stone not being left on another, and the people made slaves to the invaders. How thankful we ought to be that we are not suffering at the hand of an invading army. Now that my military career is at an end I am sure that a great many of you will sympathise with my father, whose anxiety has been very great. We were out during the most dreadful period of the war, and it need not be wondered at that I yielded to the most earnest entreaties of my father to relinquish my connection with the army lest I should bring his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. My father thought that one such action as I have been in was sufficient to prove the mettle of his son. I will not further enlarge on the horrors and miseries of war. May you never see them as I have done, and may we all meet at this festive board next year.

Newport Agricultural Show,

December 18th, 1855.

I do not intend to say much about Balaclava to-day because you have heard the old story over and over again, and I am too old now to invent stories of Balaclava. On my way down here I stopped to receive a telegram worded in these terms:—"Fifteen survivors of the Balaclava Charge send your lordship hearty congratulations and affectionate remembrances on this day, the 54th anniversary." Well, recollections of a sad event are at any time, of course, unpleasant, but it is particularly sad to think that there are now only 15 survivors remaining out of the Light Brigade of 600. That attenuated number does not include myself, and there are three other officers still alive. You may be pretty confident that of these few survivors there were at least two or three with whom I conversed within a few hours of the Balaclava Charge. You can imagine those conversations. They were not very lively ones. They referred probably to some comrade who had been killed or to the difficulty of filling the place of some officer who had fallen; because when we drew up after the Balaclava Charge I was the officer in command of the decimated regiment. All my superior officers had been either killed or wounded, and I was placed in the difficult position to find men suddenly to fill the vacancies. So you can imagine the recollections of those survivors. Since that time there have been a number of gallant deeds on the part of the British army, and I hope that those gallant deeds will be remembered, just as the Balaclava Charge is remembered here. I hope the British nation will never forget such events as Trafalgar and Waterloo, but will always hoist a flag or do something else to commemorate them.

Balaclava Dinner, Bassaleg,

October 25th, 1908.

My own courage in the memorable charge was small, but the deed of daring conferred everlasting credit on the Senior Officers who took part in it. I trust that you will keep your offspring fully acquainted with the heroic deeds of the British Army, and induce them to display similar courage in the hour of their country's danger.

Balaclava Dinner, Castleton,

October 25th, 1890.

When a person gets beyond the allotted age of man there must, I think, be in his mind a melancholy thought regarding the possibility of his being present on a similar occasion twelve months hence. I am afraid that some men of my age would have to limp into a room, probably assisted by a crutch. Fortunately, however, I was able to walk into the room without a crutch and without assistance, and I am thankful for that to the Power above. The term "hero" is a term with which many soldiers do not agree. The mention of the word recalls to my mind the well-known lines of Rudyard Kipling:

"We aren't no thin red 'eroes,

An' we aren't no blackguards, too,

But single men in barracks,

Most remarkable like you."

I am sure the soldiers who fought with the Light Cavalry at Balaclava did not think themselves greater heroes than others in the Crimea who did their duty. Quite recently I read an article in a military magazine, it dealt with the question of the advance of cavalry and the arms which should be given them—the lance, the sword, and the rifle. The article commenced with the statement that it was the business of every soldier to go into action with the determination to try and kill someone. I suppose that is right in its way, but it was hardly the sentiment we went into action with. We went into action to try to defeat the enemy, but the fewer we killed the better. I have to confess that I tried to kill someone, but to this day I congratulate myself on the fact that I do not know whether I succeeded or no. In these days of long range guns our consciences are saved a great deal, and so far as killing anyone goes I always give myself the benefit of the doubt, so that the charge of murder cannot be brought against me.

Balaclava Dinner, Bassaleg,

October 29th, 1910.