But McQueen had become absorbed in his thoughts, and his agonies giving him but little disposition and energy to hear with attention anything that Brennan might say, the latter proposed to reconnoitre in the hope of discovering some means of bringing in succour or of escaping. The corporal assented, and Brennan stole away bare to the waist with a streaming wound bitten by the cold of a raw night. The battery above them was an earthen one well armed, but no gunners were in it. From its ditch he proceeded by a sort of ramp towards the Garden batteries, and came upon a strong structure built, as it seemed, out of a ship’s side. It was near the Flag-staff battery, and mounted many guns, forty-five of which he counted—some of very large calibre. Clear it was that he was in the heart of the Russian outworks. In that direction there was no escape, and as every step towards the creek bore the aspect of seeking danger when there was still a chance of evading it, he returned to the ditch, and threw himself by the side of the corporal. Time wore on sluggishly; moments were minutes, minutes hours. At length the morning broke; still he waited till it had sufficiently opened, to guide himself, to the best of his reason, aright; when, gathering up the wounded man, he bore him in his arms to a broken wall in front of a wine-press where had lived a Scotchman for more than twenty years before the war had driven him from his chosen homestead. Here Brennan, overpowered, laid down his comrade, for he was a massive man and deadly heavy. Concealing him in a secure place, and binding up his head with a handkerchief, Brennan dressed himself again in his worn coatee, and darted off for assistance, keeping well under the rocks which, overgrown with broom and wild vegetation, helped to cover him from observation. At last he made the bend of the ravine, and climbing up the steep, gained the top, where, crawling onwards among the heather and scrub he saw at the back of the hill the red points of six English tents—distant about fifty yards. It was a grateful sight, but he had not time fully to enjoy it; and so dashing up to the encampment, breathlessly demanded help for his suffering comrade. A few words to explain the nature of the painful adventure which had occasioned his unexpected appearance was more than enough for the officer of the 60th rifles in command. With two men of his regiment bearing a stretcher they hastened along the ravine guided by Brennan, now running, now walking to recover breath. It was a bright morning; hazard was in every step, but the errand was one of humanity, and they pushed on. At length they made the broken wall, from whence they carried the corporal for more than two miles to the tents of the rifle guard. In a few minutes medical aid was doing its best for the sufferer, but though his wounds were laved and dressed, the air had caught his torn bowels and gangrene was irretrievably at work. He was