“Where is your major? Major O’Shaughnessy, lads?” said I. “He’s in the church, with the general, your honor,” said the sergeant of the regiment, upon whom the mention of his officer’s name seemed at once to have a sobering influence. Assisting me to rise (for I was weak as a child), he led me through the dense crowd, who, such is the influence of example, now formed into line, and as well as their state permitted, gave me a military salute as I passed. “Follow me, sir,” said the sergeant; “this little dark street to the left will take us to the private door of the chapel.” “Wherefore are they there, Sergeant?” “There’s a general of division mortally wounded.” “You did not hear his name?” “No, sir. All I know is, he was one of the storming party at the lesser breach.” A cold, sickening shudder came over me; I durst not ask farther, but pressed on with anxious steps towards the chapel. “There, sir, yonder, where you see the light. That’s the door.” So saying, the sergeant stopped suddenly, and placed his hand to his cap. I saw at once that he was sufficiently aware of his condition not to desire to appear before his officers; so, hurriedly thanking him, I walked forward. “Halt, there! and give the countersign,” cried a sentinel, who with fixed bayonet stood before the door. “I am an officer,” said I, endeavoring to pass in. “Stand bock, stand bock!” said the harsh voice of the Highlander, for such he was. “Is Major O’Shaughnessy in the church?” “I dinna ken,” was the short, rough answer. “Who is the officer so badly wounded?” “I dinna ken,” repeated he, as gruffly as before; while he added, in a louder key, “Stand bock, I tell ye, man! Dinna ye see the staff coming?” I turned round hastily, and at the same instant several officers, who apparently from precaution had dismounted at the end of the street, were seen approaching. They came hurriedly forward, but without speaking. He who was in advance of the party wore a short, blue cape over an undress uniform. The rest were in full regimentals. I had scarcely time to throw a passing glance upon him, when the officer I have mentioned as coming first called out in a stern voice,-- “Who are you, sir?” I started at the sounds; it was not the first time those accents had been heard by me. “Captain O’Malley, Fourteenth Light Dragoons.” “What brings you here, sir? Your regiment is at Caya.” “I have been employed as acting aide-de-camp to General Crawfurd,” said I, hesitatingly. “Is that your staff uniform?” said he, as with compressed brow and stern look he fixed his eyes upon my coat. Before I had time to reply, or, indeed, before I well knew how to do so, a gruff voice from behind called out,-- “Damn me! if that ain’t the fellow that led the stormers through a broken embrasure! I say, my lord, that’s the yeoman I was telling you of. Is it not so, sir?” continued he, turning towards me. “Yes, sir. I led a party of the Eighty-eight at the breach.”