who had striven to escape by the rear, repulsed by the steady fire of the 68th, returned to the pa, and increased the panic by the suddenness of their attack. The cry rose among our men that the enemy were being reinforced by the arrival of fresh troops: some one, it is said, gave the order to retire. Be that as it may, the day was already lost; the panic became general; soldiers and sailors rushed in a confused mass to the walls, and precipitated themselves into the ditch below. It was at this moment that Captain Hamilton came up with his supports: he came soon enough to find a death of glory on the walls of the Gate Pa, but too late to turn the tide of war. The supports were borne back by the flood of fugitives, and the Maoris remained masters of the field. The soldiers blame the sailors as the cause of this disastrous retreat, and the sailors are ready enough to retaliate. It is matter of regret that they should have been mixed up together during the attack. Both fight well in their own way, but they fight best apart. The soldier has not the dash of the sailor, and the sailor is wanting in the steadiness of the soldier. It is certain that on entering the pa both became mixed up together, and the confusion which thus ensued prevented the officers from exercising that authority over the men which they might otherwise have done. When a panic once sets in, all discipline is at an end. The officers encouraged the men by voice and example; they remained at the post of duty when those under their command began to retreat; this fact alone is sufficient to explain the great disproportion between officers and men killed and wounded. It is painful to relate that our soldiers and sailors abandoned their wounded officers to their fate, and left them in the hands of the enemy; but there was one honourable exception. Samuel Mitchell, captain of the foretop of Her Majesty’s ship _Harrier_, who formed one of the storming party, did all that could be expected from the British sailor in the hour of danger. He entered the pa with Commander Hay, and when that officer was mortally wounded he refused to leave him, though repeatedly urged by him to consult his own safety. The gallant sailor listened to the voice of humanity, and refused to leave his dying officer; raising him in his arms, he carried him outside the pa amid a shower of bullets. There must have been a cherub aloft watching over his safety and sheltering him from danger; no hostile bullet reached his person; the body of his leader was rescued from falling into the hands of the enemy. Mitchell, on this occasion, was doing duty as captain’s coxswain, and his heroic deed was not overlooked or forgotten. It was reported to Commodore Sir William Wiseman, who recommended him for the decoration of the Victoria Cross, and we are glad to observe, from the _London Gazette_ of the 26th of July, that this honourable distinction has been awarded to him. Long may he be spared to wear it!—a living