This account of the fierce struggle between the Brigade and overwhelming masses of the Russians, written in the private diary of an Officer of the Regiment, gives a few of the confused events that took place immediately near him. Colonel Tower belonged to No. 1 company, and as Colonel Wilson was with No. 8 company, a few words describing what occurred about him may be also reproduced. “Amid a dense fog raged wholesale murder; the mortal strife was hand to hand, foot to foot, muzzle to muzzle, butt-end to butt-end. It must not be supposed that we always stood rooted on our ground, that we never budged. No, the fight rested not steadfast for an instant. It was now backward, now forward, now sideways. Here, a Grenadier party, after a frantic tussle, would be forced by overwhelming swarms out of the battery; there, a knot of Coldstreamers would arrest the advance of an entire Russian battalion; in another place, a cluster of Fusiliers, rallying after a repulse, would fling themselves upon a column, and with the sheer might of strong hearts, arms, and steel, send it slap-dash over the height’s crest. This ceaseless wrestling to and fro accounts for the Sandbag battery being occupied alternately by men of the different Guards Regiments (or, more properly speaking, by mixed parties of the three Regiments larded with brave Liners). Whenever Pavloff succeeded in ousting one band of defenders from the work, a comrade batch would rush in, and, by a combination of bullet, bayonet, and gun-stock, thrust forth the intruders.... “Time marches so marvellously fast in battle, that it is utterly impossible for men, plunged in the _mêlée_, to form an idea of how they stand with the clock. I have therefore no notion at what period reinforcements reached us. All I know is, that towards the end of the fight I saw many Linesmen fighting intermixed with Guardsmen.... Despite melting ranks, despite fresh regiments which continued to stream up the hillside, despite the growing scarcity of ammunition, the English clung to their battery with the grip of despair. If, by chance, the bull-dog’s hold was for an instant shaken off, the next moment his teeth closed tighter than ever on the sandbags....