"It was about 11.15 a.m., and our heavy guns were firing in such a way as I have never heard before. The batteries fired in volleys or salvoes as fast as they could load and fire, the balls passing a few feet above our heads, while the air seemed full of shell. The enemy were not idle; for round shot, shell, grape and musket balls were bounding and whizzing all about us, and earth and stones were rattling about our heads like hail. Our poor fellows fell fast, but still our sailors and artillery men stuck to it manfully. We knew well that this could not last long, but many a brave soldier's career was cut short long before we advanced to the attack--strange some of our older hands were smoking and taking not the slightest notice of this 'dance of death.' Some men were being carried past dead, and others limping to the rear with mangled limbs, while their life's blood was streaming fast away. We looked at each other with amazement for we were now under a most terrible fire. We knew well it meant death to many of us. Several who had gone through the whole campaign shook hands saying, 'This is hot,' 'Good bye, old boy,' 'Write to the old folks for me if I do not return.' This request was made by many of us. I was close to one of our Generals, who stood watch in hand, when suddenly at 12 o'clock mid-day the French drums and bugles sounded the charge, and with a shout, 'Vive l'Empereur' repeated over and over again by some 50,000 men, a shout that was enough to strike terror into the enemy. The French, headed by the Zouaves, sprang forward at the Malakof like a lot of cats. On they went like a lot of bees, or rather like the dashing of the waves of the sea against a rock. We had a splendid view of their operations, it was grand but terrible; the deafening shouts of the advancing hosts told us they were carrying all before them."