however, had now come up, in two columns, and approached
the French to the right and left; there was really little
to fear, and the Piedmontese were forming for the
assault on the Flagstaff Battery, when some one among
the French in the Central Bastion—one of those unhappy
individuals upon whom the god Pan so often seizes at
moments when great destinies or great interests are at
stake, and makes him the instrument of ruin and
disorder—shouted out, 'Nous sommes tournés! ' in an
instant all was confusion; the whole force wheeled
about, and bolted bodily, flinging themselves across the
parapet, vastly quicker than on the previous occasions,
and ran back for dear life towards the trenches, under
showers of grape from the flanking batteries in the
bastion, and from the lunette on the left. On seeing
this, General de Salles became pale with rage, rushed
out, and threw himself in the path of the fugitives,
crying 'Canaille, vous allez deshonorer la France!
arretez! ' and, addressing himself to the officers,
'Messieurs, est ce que vous laissez filer vos soldats comme
cela? En avant! en avant! Vive l'Empereur! ' He
seized hold of some of the men, whirled them to the
right about, and inflicted upon them some of that
compendious vituperation of which only the French language
is capable. There was one little conscript—beardless,
slender, hardly able to trot under his musket, evidently
not long in the ranks, and fitter to be by his mother's
side than amidst the horrors of a deadly fight, who, in
an evil hour for him, attracted the general's notice by
his desperate efforts to reach some place of shelter. The
latter rushed towards him, tore one of his cotton
epaulettes off his shoulder, and shouted in his ear—
'Comment  vous n'etes pas Francais done!' The reproach
stung the poor boy to the quick; all his fiery chivalrous
French blood rose in him to repel it; his face flushed
up, and constantly repeating, 'Je ne suis pas Francais! '
ran back, mounted the top parapet, whirled his musket
about his head in a fury of excitement, and at last fell
into the ditch, riddled with balls. The result of General
de Salles' exertions, however, were favourable; the
column was rallied again, and went forward once more;
but this time there was no longer the same elan. They
bore up for a while gallantly, under such a storm of
grape as many who were there, and had seen many a
bloody day, declared they never saw equalled. If they
could not win, the poor fellows like our own at the
Redan, knew at least how to die, and died manfully,
by the hundred. At last they were all withdrawn to
the trenches, and the general sent for instructions to
General Pelissier as to whether he should renew the
attack or not. He received a reply in the negative."

The following particulars are related respecting
British officers engaged in the attack on the Redan:—
Among those who were wounded in the assault, and
have since died, was Lieut.-Colonel Gough, nephew of
Lord Gough, who commanded the 33rd. He received
three wounds, two in the hip and thigh, and one in the
arm. He was severely wounded at the battle of the
Alma, and had suffered a long confinement subsequently.
He had rejoined his regiment before he had fully
recovered, and his health had never been re-established
since. This circumstance appears to have hastened the
fatal result of his injuries. On the ground which had
to be traversed between the fifth parallel and the
Redan, Lieut.-Colonel Unett, commanding the 19th
Regiment, received a ball in the hip, which became
fixed in the thigh-bone. He was being carried hack to
camp, and had reached the first parallel in safety, when
a musket ball entered his neck and shattered his collar-
bone to pieces. He has since succumbed to his wounds.
—The following letter was written by Major Welsford,
of the 97th Regiment, within an hour of his death.

"Camp, Sept. 8.—My dear B——,This is about to be an
eventful day to some of us, as we are to storm the
Redan, the French the Malakhoff; and, as you say,
'would it were bedtime, Hal, and all were well.' But
I trust in Providence all will be well, and that I shall
be instrumental in making her Majesty a present of the
Redan, as I am to lead the Light Division storming
party; and, if God spare me, to be the first in and first
up. This is to be done by escalade. I am glad her
Majesty has seen my photographs, and I now send you
some more like them. No time for writing more, as
the drums are going. Remember me to Lady——.
They asked me if I liked the idea of active service; I
will tell them more about it when this day is over. God
bless you, my dear B—— . Believe me most truly
yours, A. F. WELSFORD."—Captain Bright, of the 19th,
who was doing the duty of paymaster, in the absence of
Captain Glendining from illness, and who might have
remained in camp if he had chosen, went at the head
of his company into action, was in the thick of it, but
came out unhurt. Captain Chippendall stood for a
long time, amidst a shower of musket-balls and grape,
on the first parapet of the Redan, waving his forage-
cap on the top of his sword to encourage the men to
come on. Nothing could exceed his gallantry. It is a
miracle that he escaped. At last he was pushed from
the parapet into the ditch, and fell among the heaps of
dead and dying.... Lieutenant Molesworth, though
a youngster—quite a lad, just joined—had the coolness
to light a cigar while up at the Redan, in the midst of
the fire. A shell burst over his head; one fragment
knocked the cigar out of his mouth, another struck him
on the back of the head and sent him senseless into the
ditch. It was not for many hours after he was carried
up to camp that he recovered from the first effects of
the blow from the piece of shell: it must have glanced
off, for the wound it made was very slight...... One
of the last remaining on the parapet of the Redan was a
gallant young boy, Lieutenant Massy, who had only
lately joined the regiment. Just at the last the poor
youth received a ball which broke his thigh-bone, and
he fell down towards the ditch. In the hurry he was
not noticed by the men who were retiring, and he was
left among the heaps of dead unable to move till an
early hour the next morning. Some men of the 93d
Highlanders then noticed him, and he was carried up
to camp, where he was given up for killed. Some
most interesting particulars of this noble boy's conduct,
are related by a brother officer. "I must give you,"
he says, "the history, in a few words, of a few hours in
the life of a hero, and, depend upon it, of a future great
man if he lives. He is in the next regiment to us, and
I have the details from a wounded sergeant of ours who
lay next him during the day and night of the 8th. I
allude to young Dunham Massy, of the 19th—I believe
the youngest officer of the army. He is now known as
'Redan Massy,' for there are three of the same name in
the regiment. This noble boy, in the absence of his
cousin, led the Grenadier Company, and was about the
first man of the corps to jump into the ditch of the
Redan, waving his sword, and calling on his men, who
nobly stood by him, till, left for nearly two hours without
support, and seized by a fear of being blown up,
they retired. Young Massy, borne along, endeavoured
to disengage from the crowd, and stood almost alone,
facing round frequently to the batteries, with head
erect, and with a calm, proud, disdainful eye.
Hundreds of shot were aimed at him, and at last, when
leading and climbing the ditch, he was struck and his
thigh broken. Being the last, he was of course left
there. Now, listen to this. The wounded around
were groaning, and some even loudly crying out. A
voice called out, faintly at first, loudly afterwards, 'Are
you Queen Victoria's soldiers? ' Some voices answered,
'I am! I am!' 'Then,' said the gallant boy, 'let us
not shame ourselves; let us show those Russians that
we can bear pain, as well as fight, like men.' There
was a silence as of death, and more than once he had it
renewed by similar appeals. The unquailing spirit of
that beardless boy ruled all around him. As evening
came on, the Russians crept out of the Redan and
plundered some of the wounded, at the same time showing
kindness, and in some cases giving water. Men, with
bayonets fixed, frequently came over the body of young
Massy. One fellow took away his havresack.
Sometimes he feigned death. At other times the pain of his
wound would not permit him. A Russian officer, with
a drawn sword, came to him and endeavoured to
disengage the sword, which the young hero still grasped.
Seeing that resistance was in vain, he gave it up. The
Russian smiled gently and compassionately on him,
fascinated, probably, by his youth, and by the bold
unfaltering glance which met his. When the works of
the Redan were blown up in the night by the retreating