The left wing of the regiment, under Major Vandeleur, had been, in the mean time, engaged in a contest equally murderous, equally hopeless, and equally unfortunate. It had penetrated a considerable way into one of the main streets of the town before a single enemy appeared: two mounted videttes were at length observed retiring slowly, and, as they retired, constantly looking up to the tops of the houses, evidently giving directions to the armed men, who were as yet concealed behind the parapets. Major Vandeleur ordered his men to advance in double-quick time; a terrific shout now burst from behind the parapets, and, in an instant, a dreadful fire of musketry, accompanied by hand-grenades and other missiles, carried death through the British ranks. Revenge or even resistance was out of the question; nevertheless the men remained undismayed, and continued to press on. A deep trench with a parapet cut across the street stopped them but for a moment; they carried it at the point of the bayonet, though with immense loss, and, finally, surmounting every obstacle, succeeded in reaching the river, where they found themselves exposed to an enfilading fire from the guns of the citadel, at about three hundred yards’ distance: they broke open a house, but it afforded no protection, the yard being surrounded by other parapeted houses, from whence an incessant and destructive fire was poured upon them; artillery was brought against them, and a large body of troops surrounded them in a _cul-de-sac_, from which either advance or retreat was impracticable. For three hours and a half did this devoted little band protract the hopeless struggle, and not until they were nearly annihilated, and until the firing had ceased on every other point, and until, like their comrades under Colonel Duff, they had expended the last ball cartridge that could be found even in the pouches of their dead or dying companions, did they adopt the sad alternative of surrender.