General Crauford, calling out, “Now, lads, for the breach!” led the way. We started off in double time, and got under fire, in turning the left corner of the wall. As we neared the breach, canister, grape, round-shot and shell, with fire-balls to show our ground, came pouring on and around us, with a regular hail-storm of bullets. General Crauford fell almost immediately, mortally wounded. Without a pause, however, we dashed onwards to the town, and precipitated ourselves into the ditch before the walls, never waiting for the ladders, which were carried by Portuguese, who ran away and never made their appearance until their use had been superseded by a series of jumps made by our men into a trench some sixteen feet deep; at length one or two ladders having been procured, they were instantly placed against the scarp of the trench, and up we mounted to attack the breach. The fire kept up there was most deadly, and our men for some minutes, as they appeared in small bodies, were swept away; however they still persevered, and gradually formed a lodgment. At this time on our right, where the third division were storming the second breach, we could hear a loud cheering which had a magical effect. Regardless of the enemy’s fire and every other impediment, the men dashed in over the breach carrying everything before them. I had got up among the first, and was struggling with a crowd of our fellows to push over the splintered and broken wall that formed the breach, when Major Napier, who was by my side encouraging on the men, received a shot, and, staggering back, would in all probability have fallen into the trench, had I not caught him. To my brief inquiry if he were badly hurt, he squeezed my hand, whilst his other arm hung shattered by his side, saying, “Never mind me—push on, my lads, the town is ours!” And so indeed it was, our men entering it pell-mell.