The Light Division meanwhile maintained its reputation in the vigorous struggle in which they were now engaged. Sir George Brown, their General, was severely wounded, and borne from the field, his white hair streaming in the wind, and his face deadly pale, from the acuteness of his suffering. A five-gun battery, under the direction of Sir Thomas Troubridge, Major of the 7th Fusiliers, did good service against the advancing columns of the enemy; but the brave fellows who manned it suffered terribly from the fire from the batteries of the town. Sir Thomas himself had his right leg and left foot carried away by a thirty-nine pounder from the Round Tower, or Malakoff. Notwithstanding the severity of the injury, and the excruciating agony he must have endured, he refused to permit his men to carry him to the rear; but ordered them to lift him to a gun-carriage, whence, streaming with blood, he continued to give the word of command, nor quitted his post till the enemy were routed.
Seeing the desperate nature of the contest, Sir George Cathcart conceived the idea that by descending the side of the hill, he might take the enemy in flank, and so relieve the Guards from the unequal struggle in which they were engaged. He despatched General Torrens, with portions of the 46th and 68th regiments on this duty. They advanced rapidly, but from either hand rained the bullets of the Russian riflemen, concealed in the brushwood. The horse of General Torrens fell pierced by five bullets, and on every side, the number who were struck down attested the severity of the fire to which they were exposed. Torrens himself received a ball through his lungs, and was carried senseless from the field. Sir George Cathcart, seeing the fierce opposition which his brigade sustained, immediately dashed forward with the remainder of his men, and fearlessly charged the enemy. Too late he saw the error into which he had been led. He was perfectly surrounded by the enemy, who held the high ground commanding the valley into which he had led his brigade, in the hopes of making a vigorous flank attack. For some time, his little band returned sharp volleys to the enemy’s rifles. Then a cry was raised that their cartridges were exhausted. There was no retreat, and the fierce fire poured like hail into their ranks. “You have got your bayonets!” shouted their dauntless leader, and dashed forwards followed by his men. As he raised himself in his stirrups, a bullet pierced his brain, and the heroic Cathcart, the subduer of the Cape savages, fell headlong from his horse, quite dead. By his side fell Colonel Seymour, Adjutant-General of the Fourth Division, sharing his leader’s fate. He was wounded before Sir George, but concealed his hurt. When the General fell, Colonel Seymour dismounted to render him assistance. The brigade had swept on, unable to pause in their career, and then the enemy rushing on the wounded Seymour cruelly murdered him, as he stooped over the body of his friend, and consummated their infamy by basely stabbing with their bayonets the insensible body of the noble Cathcart.