being quite expended. From the want of interior accommodation and the smoke of the burning house, it was found impossible to carry off all the sick, and, with most heartfelt sorrow and regret, we could not save a few poor fellows from a terrible fate.

"Seeing the hospital burning, and desperate attempts being made by the enemy to fire the roof of our stores, we now converted two mealie-bag heaps into a sort of redoubt, which gave a second line of fire all along, Assistant-Commissary Dunn working hard at

LIEUTENANT BROMHEAD.

this, though much exposed, thus rendering most valuable as

sistance.

"Darkness then came on. We were completely surrounded, and, after several furious attempts had been gallantly repulsed, we were eventually forced to retire to the middle and then to the inner wall of our kraal, on the east of the position we at first had. We were sustaining throughout all this a desultory fire, kept up all night, and several assaults were attempted, but always repulsed with vigour, the attacks continuing until after midnight, our men firing with the greatest coolness, not wasting a single shot. The light afforded by the burning hospital proved a great advantage. At 4 a.m. on the 23rd of January firing ceased; and at daybreak the enemy were passing out of sight over the hill to the south-west. We then patrolled the ground, collecting arms from the dead

bodies of the Zulus, and strengthened the position as much as possible. We were still removing thatch from the roof of the store, when about 7 a.m. a large body of the enemy once more appeared upon the hills to the south-west. I now sent a friendly Kaffir, who had come in shortly before, with a note to the officer commanding at Helpmakaar, asking help. About 8 a.m., however, the British Third Column appeared, and at sight of this the enemy, who had been gradually advancing towards us, commenced falling back as our troops approached.

"I consider the enemy which attacked us to have numbered about 3,000; we killed about 350. Of the steadiness and gallant behaviour of my whole garrison I cannot

speak too highly. I wish especially to bring to your notice the conduct of Lieutenant Bromhead, of the 2-24th Regiment, and the splendid behaviour of his company, B, 2-24th; of Surgeon Reynolds, in respect of his constant attention to our wounded under fire, assisting them when they fell; of Acting-Commissary-Officer Dalton, to whose energy much of our defences was due, and who was severely wounded while gallantly assisting in the fight; Assistant-Commissary Dunn, and others.

"The following return shows the total number present at Rorke's Drift on January 22nd, 1879-Eight officers, 131 non-commissioned officers and men; total, 139. The following is the list of killed." (Here follow the names.) "Total, fifteen, and twelve wounded, of whom two have since died.

(Signed) JOHN R. M. CHARD, Lieut. R.E. "To Colonel Glyn, C.B., commanding 3rd Column."

On Land and Sea-The Wreck of the Queen Victoria-A Noble Captain-A Brave Lad-Stopping a Plug-hole-The Loss of the Birkenhead-Marvellous Discipline-Every Man at his Post-The Burning of the Kent-Captain Cobb Scuttles his Ship-Labouring and Waiting-A Railway-van on Fire-Private Timothy O'Hea-London WatchmenLondon "Peelers "-Gallantry of the Police-The London Fire-Brigade-Conductors Sunshine and ChapmanSplendid Exploits-The Royal Humane Society-The Ice and the Parks-Cases of Rescue cited-The Quiver Life-boat at Margate.

T is almost impossible to take up a newspaper without coming across some incident in which a gallant deed is recorded as having occurred in the prosecution of some every-day duty: perhaps by a policeman who, single-handed, has resisted a crowd, rescued a sufferer, and perchance saved life and property; or, it may be, by some fireman who has plunged into the flames, regardless of all consequences to himself, in the hope of rescuing some perishing one in a remote part of the doomed building; sometimes a mere paragraph tells the story of a night-long struggle in the face of death by the crew of a life-boat; or of a perilous but vain attempt of some employé of the Humane Society to rescue from drowning

"One more unfortunate,

Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!"

Sometimes a simple and well-known sentence, "The captain was the last to leave the ship," epitomises a story of splendid heroism, unchronicled in detail only because such instances are of daily occurrence, and because it was the heroism of only every-day duty.

In this chapter we shall call attention to some brave deeds born out of the circumstances in which men were placed in chance moments, or in consequence of the trade, profession, or office they have voluntarily elected to follow; and the perusal may inspire our readers to take a stronger interest in certain classes of the community to whom are entrusted the protection of our lives and property, and whose claim to our regard is oftentimes ignored or overlooked.

The snow was falling heavily one night in the winter of 1853, as the Queen Victoria, under the command of Captain Church, ploughed her way from Liverpool towards Dublin. A hundred and twenty persons were on board, crew and passengers, and all, save the watch on deck, were sleeping in utter ignorance of any threatening danger. Steadily fell the snow, enveloping everything in a heavy, dense, impenetrable cloud; steadily the Queen Victoria continued on her way; when suddenly, looming through the snow, the mate, who was on the look-out on the starboard bow, saw, at a distance of not more than twenty yards, the dark and rugged cliffs of Howth, a little to the north of Bailey Light. Too late rang out the frantic order to stop, yelled by the terrified man; crash went the vessel with appalling strength and suddenness on the rocks.

Before the shock of the collision had ceased, the captain was on deck, and taking in at a glance the position of affairs, gave orders to reverse the engines. While this was being done the passengers and crew came streaming up on deck in the wildest terror.

Away from the rock came the fated vessel, backing into deep water, but almost instantaneously it was found that she was sinking rapidly, and the captain determined to run her on shore. A scene of indescribable misery ensued on board; the merciless snow fell thick and fast upon the nearly naked passengers who had turned out from their warm beds; the dark waves dashed around and over the vessel; the roar of the waters as they dashed against the fatal rocks was deafening; but above it all rose the shrieks of women and children as they clung to those nearest at hand in the frenzy of despair.

In the midst of this scene Captain Church was perfectly calm, and not only directed with clearness the movements of his ship, but endeavoured to keep order among the passengers, by indicating the only available means of escape. But it was beyond human power to control that agitated mass, and a rush was made to the boats.

Struggling for life, an eager crowd of passengers took up their places in the starboard quarter-boat, but in the excitement proper precautions were not taken to secure the rope, and in consequence the boat slipped from her davits into the sea, and all the unhappy occupants of the boat perished.

Profiting by the painful experience of these unfortunate people, whose dying cries rang in their ears, the larboard quarter-boat was lowered, and seventeen persons were safely launched upon the heaving billows. But scarcely a moment had elapsed when it was discovered that the boat was leaking fast, and the danger of her going down was most imminent.

One or two of the men on board courageously stuck to the oars, and did their best to preserve order among their panic-stricken companions; but their efforts would have been useless had it not been for the heroic conduct of a young lad, who, being small, with great coolness and presence of mind groped with his hand all over the bottom of the

boat until he found that the plug-hole was open, and immediately thrust his finger into it and resolutely held it there. Finding that the water did not rise, some degree of confidence returned. One of the men baled out the water with his hat, and after a severe row for half a mile, fourteen out of the seventeen were safely landed on the rocks. But three of the party could not bear to think of their shipmates perishing without a strong effort to save them, and the two rowers, one a shipowner and the other a young man-of-war's man, turned the boat's head towards the wreck. There was one other with them, the little lad who might have saved his life by jumping on shore with the others, but whose courage kept him at the post of duty and honour; his finger was still in the plug-hole, and there he had determined to keep it so long as it was possible to save life.

Arrived at the scene of the wreck, it was found that she had gone down bodily, bow foremost, her masts alone being visible above the water, but to them ten or twelve were clinging with that tenacious grip which comes with the hand-to-hand conflict with death.

Joyfully they hailed the boat as she came towards them through the darkness, and five of the men were taken safely from the foremast; but while they were thus engaged other boats from a passing vessel came to the rescue, and the whole of the fourteen were saved.

The captain and the mates went down with the ship, engaged, up to the moment when the waters overwhelmed them, in directing the passengers into the best ways of preserving their lives. Brave, noble fellows were they; their manly hearts steeled against thought or sense of fear by that heroism which has made men sacrifice themselves in willing martyrdom; and not less noble was the lad who still kept his finger in the plug-hole of the rescuing boat. Fifty-three out of the hundred and twenty on board were saved, and out of that number twenty-two owed their lives to the courage of that boy who did his duty, quietly stuck to the post of danger, and heroically ventured his life to save the lives of his fellow-sufferers.

One of the most terrible disasters that ever happened at sea occurred in February, 1853, when, a few miles off the shore of Point Danger, on the South African coast, the Birkenhead, laden with troops, struck on a reef of sunken rocks and went down, causing 454 out of 638 persons, who had left Simon's Bay but a few hours before, to perish.

It is, as we have said, not only not unusual to find individual instances of heroism in every great shipwreck, but, on the contrary, almost every wreck has its story to tell of such instances. It is, however, a rare thing to find a vessel crowded with doomed men, and every man acting with calm, manly heroism down to the very moment of death. Such, however, was the case with those on board the Birkenhead.

With a smooth sea the gallant ship was steaming along at the rate of eight and a half knots an hour. The sky was clear, and there was no thought of danger. The soldiers were down below in their hammocks, many, perchance, dreaming of wife and child and home, when the ship with terrific violence struck a rock, which penetrated through her bottom just aft the foremast. So violent and so sudden was the catastrophe, that it is thought the men in the lower troop deck must have been drowned in their hammocks. The rest of the men and all the officers came up on deck, and in a few brief but calm words Major