them, and for some time they were deaf to every appeal. But they were commanded by one who at least was a brave soldier. Brigadier Shelton was a man of iron nerves and dauntless courage. Where the fire was the hottest he stood unshaken by the danger that assailed him, and shamed the disordered crowd of men, no longer soldiers. The example of the one-armed veteran did more than his exhortations. The broken bands rallied, re-formed, and advanced to the attack. But again they gave way to the Afghan horse; and again Shelton’s expostulations and example brought the waverers back to their duty. The heavy guns from the cantonments were by this time playing upon the Afghan cavalry; the impetuosity of the enemy was thus restrained, and Shelton led up his men to the capture of the fort. In the meanwhile, the few brave men who had made good their entrance through the wicket were beset by the deadliest peril. Many of the garrison, discovering how small was the real number of their assailants, had returned with new courage to the fort. The devoted Englishmen had endeavoured to secure themselves by shutting the gate through which the garrison had escaped, and securing the chain with a bayonet. But the enemy had removed this slender obstacle, and rushed in upon the little storming party. Colonel Mackrell was found fearfully wounded and disfigured, and was carried into cantonments to die. Lieutenant Bird, with two Sepoys of the 37th N.I., sought refuge in a stable, which they barricaded and defended with a resolution that deserved and secured a crown of success. When the fort was carried by the British troops they were found, with exhausted ammunition, but alive and uninjured. Thirty of the enemy had been shot down by the gallant three.