But the roll of brave men in the Royal Welsh is not exhausted by the mention of a single name. We are about to narrate the incident which forms the subject of the accompanying engraving, copied with no mean fidelity from that admirable collection of Mr. Desanges lately, in the Crystal Palace, known as the Victoria Cross Gallery. The incident here depicted occurred at the storming of the Redan on the 8th of September, 1855. Two hundred men of the Royal Welsh took part in that attack, and their loss in killed and wounded was very great. After the men of the 23rd had retired, it was found that Lieutenant and Adjutant Dyneley, an excellent young officer and a general favourite, was missing. It was reported that he had been struck down in the heat of the engagement, and some of the men described the spot where they had seen him fall. They would gladly have assisted him if they could have done so, but soldiers, while engaged, are expressly forbidden to leave their ranks for the purpose of carrying the wounded off the field. The Highlanders, when first raised, were constantly in the habit of doing this; they could not stand by and see the sons of their chiefs dying on the field of battle without attempting to assist them. No man knew their character or habits better than the late Lord Clyde, and it was in allusion to this practice that he spoke these simple words while his men were still in column at the Alma with the enemy in front:—“Now, men, you are going into action. Remember this: whoever is wounded—I don’t care what his rank is—whoever is wounded must lie where he falls till the bandsmen come to attend to him. No soldiers must go carrying off wounded men. If any soldier does such a thing, his name shall be stuck up in his parish church.”[2] The perfection of discipline is to make every unit in a regiment or an army act in unison with the whole like a piece of machinery, and it is evident that if every soldier were to follow out his own will the result would be inextricable confusion. It is hard for a man to see officer or comrade struck down by his side on the field of battle without being allowed to assist him; but on such an occasion he has no choice—the pleadings of humanity must yield to the voice of duty; he may turn aside his head in sorrow, but he must still advance. It was so with the Royal Welsh as they advanced against the Redan; they saw their gallant young adjutant fall, but there was the dark parapet in front, and their first duty was to gain that. And when our men were hurled from the ramparts into the ditch, where they were slaughtered without being able to offer any resistance, it was only natural that all their thoughts should be concentrated on themselves, and that the fate of young Dyneley should be forgotten. But it was different when the attack was over: there was a general feeling of regret for one whom all had loved. While they were lamenting his fate, it occurred to