His wish was soon gratified, for when his regiment, at Busaco, was running headlong with the bayonet against three of Reynier’s splendid battalions, Thorp, to the amazement of Colonel Wallace, was seen at the head of the 88th, not with his “mace of office” in his hand, but with his plumed hat, waving it high over his head, as he called out, “The Connaught Rangers for ever!” During the action the Sergeant-Major had been killed while fighting beside Thorp, and Wallace, on the field of battle, named him as Sergeant-Major, in place of the one he had lost. From this period up to the battle of Toulouse, Thorp was a distinguished man. Four times had he been wounded, but he was always up with his regiment in time for the next battle, often with his wounds unhealed. At the battle of Orthes, his conduct was so remarkable that his name was forwarded for an ensigncy. Thorp knew this, and at Toulouse, the last battle fought by the Peninsular army, he was resolved to prove that his recommendation was deserved. In this action his bravery was not bravery alone—it was rashness. Some companies of Picton’s division had been repulsed in an attack at the bridge-head, near the canal—which attack it has been said, and in my opinion truly said, should never have been made—when Thorp ran forward, and assisted in rallying the soldiers. The fire from the firearms and batteries of the French was incessant, and many officers and soldiers had fallen. There was one spot in particular that had been the scene of much slaughter to those who occupied it, and five officers, besides numbers of soldiers, had been already struck down by cannon-shot, and others wounded by musketry. Amongst the latter was Captain Robert Nickle, one of the most distinguished officers in the army. While he was hobbling to the rear, he observed Thorp standing in the midst of those who had fallen, the rest having been withdrawn out of fire from a position that should never have been occupied. For in the front of the French battery, and running in a direct line from the canal to this position, was a low narrow avenue or hedge, which ended within a few yards of where our people had formed after their repulse, and this avenue served as a guide, or groove, for the enemy’s range; they were now, however, more or less, under cover. In a moment of excitement, Thorp, with his cap in his hand, stood alone on this spot, saying, “Now let us see if they can hit _me_!” Nickle, who was passing at the moment, supported by two of his company—for his arm was badly shattered—called out to Thorp to leave the spot. “Oh, Captain Nickle,” replied Thorp, “they can’t hit _me_, I think.” Those were the last words he ever uttered. A round shot struck his chest, and, cutting him in two, whirled his remains in the air. Thus fell the gallant Thorp, and though his rank was humble, his chivalrous deeds were those of a hero. The day after his death the English mail brought the _Gazette_ in which poor Thorp’s name