And now came our turn; we had waited for months for it, and at times almost longed for it. But it was a trying hour. As soon as the French flag was seen upon the Malakoff, our stormers sprang forward, led by Col. Windham; the old Light Division leading, consisting of 300 men of the 90th, about the same number of the 97th, and about 400 of the 2nd Batt. Rifle Brigade; and with various detachments of the 2nd and Light Division, and a number of Blue Jackets, carrying scaling ladders. Our men advanced splendidly, with a ringing British cheer, although the enemy poured a terrible fire of grape, canister, and musketry into them, which swept down whole companies at a time. We, the supports, moved forward to back up our comrades, but anyone with "half an eye" could see that we had not the same cool, resolute men, as at Alma and Inkermann; though some of the older hands were determined to make the best of a bad job; and I am happy to record that the old Inkermann men took it very coolly; some of them lit their pipes, I did the same. A brave young officer of ours, a Mr. Colt, told me he would give all he was worth to be able to take it as comfortably as some of our people did--it was his first time under fire--he was as pale as death and shaking from head to foot, yet he bravely faced the foe. The poor boy (for he was not much more) requested me not leave him; and he fell dead by my side, just outside the Redan.
The brave man is not he who feels no fear, For that were stupid and irrational; But he whose noble soul its fear subdues And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from. As for your youth whom blood and blows delight, Away with them; there is not in their crew One valiant spirit. _Joanna Baillie._
Our people were now at it in front; we advanced as quickly as we could, until we came to the foremost trench, when we leaped the parapet, then made a rush at the blood-stained walls of the Redan--we had a clear run of over 200 yards, under a murderous fire of grape, canister, and musketry. However any one ever lived to pass that 200 yards seemed a miracle, for our poor fellows fell one on the top of the other; but nothing but death could stop us. The musket balls whistled by us more like hail than anything else I can describe, and the grape shot cut our poor fellows to pieces; for we had a front and two cross fires to meet. It seemed to me that we were rushing into the very jaws of death, but I for one reached the Redan without a scratch. While standing on the brink of the ditch, I considered for a moment how best to get into it, for it appeared to be about twenty feet deep, with no end of our poor fellows at the bottom, dead and dying, with their bayonets sticking up; but the mystery solved itself, our men came rushing on with a cheer for Old England, and in we went, neck or nothing, scrambled up the other side the best way we could, and into the redoubt we went with a shout truly English. The fighting inside the works was desperate--butt and bayonet, foot and fist; the enemy's guns were at once spiked; some of the older hands did their best to get together sufficient men for one charge at the enemy, for we had often proved that they were no lovers of cold steel, but our poor fellows melted away almost as fast as they scaled those bloody parapets, from a cross-fire the enemy brought to bear upon us from the rear of that work. The moss of that field grew red with British blood.