“My good young man,” replied Miss Nightingale, in French, “more dead and wounded have passed through my hands than I hope you will ever see in the battle-field during the whole of your military career; believe me, I have no fear of death.” She then started with Mr. Anderson, who was very impatient at so much time being lost. Mr. Bracebridge and myself followed. P. M. was still in the redoubt, ensconced behind a gabion, looking through the telescope, when I suddenly called him. He came running out, as I had taken him by surprise, and he exclaimed, “I say, where the deuce are you all going!” “Oh, not far--only to the second trench.” “But, my dear sir, there is a great deal of danger.” Taking him by the arm, Mr. Bracebridge and myself commenced talking upon indifferent topics, and so got him to advance. As he saw Miss Nightingale before us, he managed to raise courage enough to keep from running away, while the cannonading and bursting of shells was heard plainer, and could be seen much better. He again said, “Why should we go to the trenches? This is very rash to risk one’s life for nothing; it is what I call giving a chance away.” To comfort him, I called Mr. Bracebridge and Miss Nightingale. “P. M.,” said I, “seems to fancy there is some danger in the trenches, and I wish to impress upon his mind that there is much less danger there than where we are”, when a shell came whistling over our heads, and Mr. Anderson hearing it, cried out, “A shell! a shell!” upon which P. M. immediately caught me by the shoulders with both hands, and placed himself in a crouching position behind me, which made us all laugh heartily at his expense, as the shell was not directed anywhere near us. I have frequently laughed since with Miss Nightingale at his idea that if the shell had struck me, he would have been any safer than if he had stood by himself. At all events, we arrived in the Three-mortar Battery without accident. It contained three large mortars, and instead of being two hundred yards, as Mr. Anderson had called the distance, was full half a mile from the Flagstaff, going towards Sebastopol, and quite exposed to fire, had they thought it worth while to play upon us. We had, however, an excellent view of the besieged city, such as very few amateurs can boast of having obtained. Before leaving the battery, I begged Miss Nightingale, as a favour, to give me her hand, which she did. I then requested her to ascend the stone rampart next the wooden gun carriage, and lastly, to sit upon the centre mortar, to which requests she very gracefully and kindly acceded. I then boldly exclaimed, “Gentlemen, behold this amiable lady sitting fearlessly upon that terrible instrument of war! behold the heroic daughter of England--the soldier’s friend!” All present shouted, “Bravo! bravo! hurrah! hurrah! Long live the daughter of England!”