Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria

An important Light Brigade group of three awarded to Sergeant J. W. Wightman, 17th Lancers, who was severely wounded in no fewer than 13 places and taken prisoner in the Charge of the Light Brigade; he was later commissioned as Ensign in the Military Train, became Secretary of the Balaklava Commemoration Society and left one of the finest first-hand accounts of the charge

Crimea 1854-56, 3 clasps, Alma, Balaklava, Sebastopol (J. W. Wightman 17th Lancers) naming engraved in upright serif capitals, the second clasp with lugs removed and the last clasp loose on riband; Indian Mutiny 1857-59, no clasp (Serjt. Jas. Wightman, 17th Lancers.); Turkish Crimea 1855, Sardinian issue (J. W. Wightman. 17th Lancers.) naming re-engraved, plugged and fitted with scroll suspension, contact wear and polished, therefore fine and better (3) £6,000-£8,000

Glendining’s, February 1917 (£3-10-0), listed with 4 clasps and a ‘Central India’ clasp to the Mutiny; Sotheby’s, November 1986, now with correct entitlement as catalogued above.

James William Wightman enlisted in 1852 and was severely wounded and taken prisoner in the Charge of the Light Brigade on 25th October 1854. He rejoined his regiment in the winter of 1855, fought in the Indian Mutiny, and was promoted to Ensign in the Military Train in 1865.
In later years he became a member of the Balaklava Commemoration Society, signed the Loyal Address in 1887 and attended the annual dinners in 1890, 1892, 1895, 1897 and 1899.
The following extracts were taken from the recipient's Balaklava and Russian Captivity memoirs [published in The Nineteenth Century, No. 183, May 1892— [rare original copy sold with lot]:
"- And I remember as if it were but yesterday Cardigan's figure and attitude, as he faced the brigade and in his strong hoarse voice gave the momentous word of command, 'The brigade will advance! First squadron of 17th Lancers direct! Calm as on parade - calmer indeed by far than his wont on parade - stately, square and erect, master of himself, his brigade, and his noble charger, Cardigan looked the ideal cavalry leader, with his stern firm face and his quiet soldierly bearing. His long military seat was perfection on the thoroughbred chestnut 'Ronald' with the 'white stockings' on the near hind and fore, which my father, his old riding-master, had broken for him. He was in the full uniform of his old corps, the 11th Hussars, and he wore the pelisse, not slung, but put on like a patrol jacket, its front one blaze of gold lace. His drawn sword was in his hand at the slope, and never saw I man fitter to wield the weapon.
As I have said, he gave the word of command, and then turning his head toward his trumpeter, Britten of the Lancers, he quietly said, 'Sound the Advance!' and wheeled his horse, facing the dark mass at the farther end of the valley which we knew to be the enemy. The trumpeter sounded the ‘Walk;’ after a few horse-lengths came the ‘Trot.' I did not hear the 'Gallop', but it was sounded. Neither voice nor trumpet, so far as I know, ordered the 'Charge' - "
" - We had not broke into the charging pace when poor old Jim Lee, my right-hand man on the flank of the regiment, was all but smashed by a shell; he gave my arm a twitch, as with a strange smile on his worn old face he quietly said, ‘Domino! chum,’ and fell out of the saddle. His old grey mare kept alongside of me for some distance, treading on and tearing out her entrails as she galloped, till at length she dropped with a strange shriek. I have mentioned that my comrade, Peter Marsh, was my left-hand man; next beyond him was Private Dudley. The explosion of a shell had swept down four or five men on Dudley's left, and I heard him ask Marsh if he had noticed 'what a hole that b_ shell made on his left front. 'Hold your foul-mouthed tongue,' answered Peter, 'swearing like a blackguard, when you may he knocked into eternity next minute!' Just then I got a musket-bullet through my right knee, and another in the shin, and my horse had three bullet wounds in the neck. Man and horse were bleeding so fast that Marsh begged me to fall out; but I would not, pointing out that in a few minutes we must be into them, and so I sent my spurs well home, and faced it out with my comrades. It was about this time that Sergeant Talbot had his head clean carried off by a round shot, yet for about thirty yards further the headless body kept the saddle, the lance at the charge firmly gripped under the right arm. My narrative may seem barren of incidents of the charge, but amid the crash of shells and the whistle of bullets, the cheers and the dying cries of comrades, the sense of personal danger, the pain of wounds, and the consuming passion to reach an enemy, he must be an exceptional man who is cool enough and curious enough to be looking serenely about him for what painters call ‘local colour.' I had a good deal of ‘local colour' myself, but it was running down the leg of my overalls from my wounded knee.
Well, we were nearly out of it at last, and close on those cursed guns. Cardigan was still straight in front of me, steady as a church but now his sword was in the air; he turned in his saddle for an instant, and shouted his final command, 'Steady! steady! Close in!' immediately afterwards there crashed into us a regular volley from the Russian cannon. I saw Captain White go down and Cardigan disappear into the smoke. A moment more and I was within it myself. A shell burst right over my head with a hellish crash that all but stunned me. Immediately after I felt my horse under me take a tremendous leap into the air. What he jumped I never saw or knew; the smoke was so thick I could not see my arm's length around me.
Through the dense veil I heard noises of fighting and slaughter, but saw no obstacle, no adversary, no gun or gunner, and, in short, was through and beyond the Russian battery before I knew for certain that I had reached it.
I then found that none of my comrades were close to me; there was no longer any semblance of a line. No man of the Lancers was on my right, a group was a little way on my left. Lord Cardigan must have increased his distance during or after passing through the battery, for I now saw him some way ahead, alone in the midst of a knot of Cossacks. At this moment Lieutenant Maxse, his Lordship's aide-de-camp, came back out of the tussle, and crossed my front as I was riding forward. I saw that he was badly wounded; and he called to me,
For God's sake, Lancer, don't ride over me! See where Lord Cardigan is, pointing to him, 'rally on him!' I was hurrying on to support the brigade commander, when a Cossack came at me and sent his lance into my right thigh. I went for him, but he bolted; I overtook him, drove my lance into his back and unhorsed him just in front of two Russian guns which were in possession of Sergeant-Majors Lincoln and Smith, of the 13th Light Dragoons, and other men of the Brigade. When pursuing the Cossack I noticed Colonel Mayow deal very cleverly with a big Russian cavalry officer. He tipped off his shako with the point of his sword, and then laid his head right open with the old cut seven. The chase of my Cossack had diverted me from rallying on Lord Cardigan; he was now nowhere to be seen, nor did I ever again set eyes on the chief who had led us down the valley so grandly. The handful with the guns, to which I momentarily attached myself, were presently outnumbered and overpowered, the two sergeant-majors being taken prisoners, having been dismounted. I then rode towards Private Samuel Parkes, of the 4th Light Dragoons, who, supporting with one arm the wounded Trumpet-Major (Crawford) of his regiment, was with the other cutting and slashing at the enemies surrounding them. I struck in to aid the gallant fellow, who was not overpowered until his sword was shot away, when he and the trumpet-major were taken prisoners, and it was with difficulty I was able to cut my way out - "
" - A body of Russian Hussars blocked our way. Morley, roaring Nottingham oaths by way of encouragement, led us straight at them, and we went through and out at the other side as if they had been made of tinsel paper. As we rode up the valley, pursued by some Hussars and Cossacks, my horse was wounded by a bullet in the shoulder, and I had hard work to put the beast along. Presently we were abreast of the Infantry who had blazed into our right as we went down; and we had to take their fire again, this time on our left. Their firing was very impartial; their own Hussars and Cossacks following close on us suffered from it as well as we. Not many of Corporal Morley's party got back. My horse was shot dead, riddled with bullets. One bullet struck me on the forehead, another passed through the top of my shoulder; while struggling out from under my dead horse a Cossack standing over me stabbed me with his lance once in the neck near the jugular, again above the collar-bone, several times in the back, and once under the short rib; and when, having regained my feet, I was trying to draw my sword, he sent his lance through the palm of my hand. I believe he would have succeeded in killing me, clumsy as he was, if I had not blinded him for the moment with a handful of sand. Fletcher at the same time lost his horse, and, it seems, was wounded. We were very roughly used. The Cossacks at first hauled us along by the tails of our coatees and our haversacks. When we got on foot they drove their lance-butts into our backs to stir us on. With my shattered knee and the other bullet wound on the shin of the same leg, I could barely limp, and good old Fletcher said 'Get on my back, chum!' I did so, and then found that he had been shot through the back of the head—
The recipient's memoirs continue with a very enlightening account of his experiences as a P.O.W. in the Russian interior, and mention amongst other things a visit by the Grand Dukes Nicholas and Michael, and General Liprandi. He also reveals some useful information on Captain Nolan and Lord Raglan's famous order.

See Roy Dutton’s Forgotten Heroes - The Charge of the Light Brigade for further details and picture of Wightman wearing his medals, and another of the group as offered here; and also Lawrence Crider’s In Search of the Light Brigade which gives extensive biographical details of Wightman and his family with many photographs, details of his grave in Brompton Cemetery, and full transcript of his account of the charge, etc.

Sold with a photograph of Caton Woodville’s celebrated painting of the 17th Lancer’s at Balaklava which gives Wightman the most prominent central position (now the property of the National Army Museum), together with original correspondence from the Director of Coins and Medals at Sotheby’s in 1986, and copies of both former catalogue entries.