ght up to the enemy's
guns, was shot dead with many other officers and men. Other officers
with small parties of men would dash forward, waving their swords, only
to meet the same fate.

"Come, boys," cried Marshall, who had been for some time under the
shelter of the parapet, "I'm resolved to gain my promotion to-day;
who'll follow? We'll take those guns."

Nearly twenty men sprang out with him and rushed forward. Poor fellows,
they were met as the others had been by an iron shower, which left not
one unhurt. Only three got back, and Marshall was not among them. I
would have tried to bring him off, but the others said he was among the
first killed. However, I resolved to go and look for him as soon as I
could, without the certainty of losing my own life, as I should have
done had I gone then.

It was sad to think that so many brave men should have lost their lives
to no purpose. A truce was arranged for a few hours that both sides
might bury their dead. The instant the white flag was hoisted on the
fortifications of Sebastopol, I hurried towards the Redan to look for
Marshall, before any of the burying parties should find his body if he
was killed. I had some slight hopes that he might still be alive,
though unable to move on account of his wounds. It was sad to see the
number of the bravest of our men who had fallen under the Redan. The
whole way up to the guns was strewed with bodies, and as I got nearer to
the guns, there were many corpses of Russians, who had attacked the
British as they were retiring. I looked eagerly about. There lay poor
Marshall. I took his hand. He would never grasp rifle again. Near him
lay a Russian soldier, whose bayonet, it seemed clear to me, had pierced
his breast, and who himself had been shot at the same moment by
Marshall's rifle, for the weapons lay crossed on the ground as they had
fallen from the grasp of the dying men. The Russian soldier had rolled
over on his side. I turned him round. Though his face was begrimed
with dust and smoke, I at once knew his features. They were those of
Shane McDermot. He had at length met the fate he deserved--too good for
him, many will say, but he had also been allowed to kill in revenge as
honest and brave and simple-hearted a soldier as ever fought for his
Queen and country. I felt inclined to kick the body of the seeming
Russian, but I did not. I saw at once that such would not be a worthy
or a Christian act. "He is in