At length I reached the grand breach—it was covered with many officers and soldiers; of the former, amongst others, was my old friend Hardyman of the 45th, and Lieutenant William Pearse of the same regiment; there were also two of the 5th whose names I forget, and others whose faces were familiar to me. Hardyman, the once cheerful, gay Bob Hardyman, lay on his back; half of his head was carried away by one of those discharges of grape from the flank guns at the breach which were so destructive to us in our advance; his face was perfect, and even in death presented its wonted cheerfulness. Poor fellow! he died without pain, and regretted by all who knew him; his gaiety of spirit never for an instant forsook him. Up to the moment of the assault he was the same pleasant Bob Hardyman who delighted every one by his anecdotes, and none more than my old corps, although many of his jokes were at our expense. When we were within a short distance of the breach, as we met, he stopped for an instant to shake hands. “What’s that you have hanging over your shoulder?” said he, as he espied a canteen of rum which I carried. “A little rum, Bob,” said I. “Well,” he replied, “I’ll change my breath; and take my word for it, that in less than five minutes some of the 'subs' will be scratching a Captain’s ——, for there will be wigs on the green.” He took a mouthful of rum, and taking me by the hand squeezed it affectionately, and in ten minutes afterwards he was a corpse! The appearance of Pearse was quite different from his companion; ten or a dozen grape-shot pierced his breast, and he lay, or rather sat, beside his friend like one asleep, and his appearance was that of a man upwards of sixty, though his years did not number twenty-five. Hardyman was stripped to his trousers, but Pearse had his uniform on; his epaulettes alone had been plundered. I did not see the body of General Mackinnon, but the place where he fell was easily distinguishable; the vast chasm which the spot presented resembled an excavation in the midst of a quarry. The limbs of those who lost their lives by that fatal explosion, thrown here and there, presented a melancholy picture of the remnants of those brave men whose hearts but a few short hours before beat high in the hope of conquest. It was that kind of scene which arrested the attention of the soldier, and riveted him to the spot; and there were few who, even in the moment of exultation, did not feel deeply as they surveyed the mangled remains of their comrades. I next turned to the captured gun, so chivalrously taken by the three men of the 88th. The five cannoniers lying across the carriage, or between the spokes of the wheels, showed how bravely they had defended it; yet they lay like men whose death had not been caused by violence; they were naked and bloodless, and the puncture of the bayonet left so small a mark over their hearts, it was discernible only to those who examined the bodies closely.