'When I surrender,' cried Colour-Sergeant Nolan, 'it will be my dead body!' Hour after hour of the unintermitting crash of the shells among the rocks and of the groans and screams of men torn and burst by the most horrible of all wounds had shaken the troops badly.

Spectators from below who saw the shells pitching at the rate of seven a minute on to the crowded plateau marvelled at the endurance which held the devoted men to their post.

Men were wounded and wounded and wounded yet again, and still went on fighting.

Never since Inkerman had we had so grim a soldier's battle.

The company officers were superb.