Night closed around that conquering band, The lightning showed the distant field, Where they who won that bloody day, Though few and faint, were fearless still. The aspect of the field was awful--dead and dying mutilated bodies in all directions. Many of our men had been wounded frequently with shot and bayonet; others were cut limb from limb, and yet a spark of life remained. Many had perished by the bayonet and it was noticed that but few had fallen with one thrust. In and around the 2-gun battery the sights were sickening. Our Guardsmen, and 41st, 47th, and 49th, lay locked in the arms of the foe with their bayonets through each other--dead. Some of our officers and men were found dead, with no fewer than twelve or fifteen bayonet wounds; the appearance of the poor fellows who had been thus tortured was painful. To describe the scene would be impossible--the result of eight hours' hand-to-hand conflict--it was horrible to look upon. Scarcely did any field in the whole Peninsula war present, as the result of conflict, such a murderous spectacle as the terrible sights that now lay before us. There were literally piles of dead, lying in every posture that one could imagine; I may say that there were acres of defaced humanity--ghastly wounds from sword, bayonet, grape, and round shot; poor fellows literally shattered--and yet with life still in them. Others lay as if they had been asleep--friend and foe mixed together. In some parts of the field our men lay in ranks as they had stood; and the enemy in columns, one on the top of the other. The Russian Guardsmen lay thick all over the field. Upwards of 2000 dead were found belonging to the enemy. Just outside the 2-gun Battery the wounded were numerous, and their groans were pitiful; while cries of despair burst from the lips of some as they lay, thinking perhaps of wives and helpless little ones far away. The Russian dead were buried in large pits by themselves; and our people and our gallant allies, the French, were laid side by side. For hours during that dreadful night of woe and victory, the wailing of a poor dog--which had followed his master--could be distinctly heard. The faithful creature had found his master's body, and he pierced the night air with his lamentations. Such was the field of Inkermann. That was keeping up Gunpowder Plot with a vengeance. * * * * * The letter I sent to my parents on this occasion was as follows:-- Camp before Sebastopol, November 6th, 1854. My dear Parents,