akes he will probably achieve success. But the soldier is more
dependent upon external influences. The only way he can hope to rise
above the others, is by risking his life in frequent campaigns. All
his fortunes, whatever they may be, all his position and weight in the
world, all his accumulated capital, as it were, must be staked afresh
each time he goes into action. He may have seen twenty engagements, and
be covered with decorations and medals. He may be marked as a rising
soldier. And yet each time he comes under fire his chances of being
killed are as great as, and perhaps greater than, those of the youngest
subaltern, whose luck is fresh. The statesman, who has put his power
to the test, and made a great miscalculation, may yet retrieve his
fortunes. But the indiscriminating bullet settles everything. As the
poet somewhat grimly has it:--

Stone-dead hath no better.

Colonel O'Bryen had been specially selected, while still a young man,
for the command of a battalion. He had made several campaigns. Already
he had passed through the drudgery of the lower ranks of the service,
and all the bigger prizes of the military profession appeared in view:
and though the death in action of a colonel at the head of his regiment
is as fine an end as a soldier can desire, it is mournful to record the
abrupt termination of an honourable career at a point when it might have
been of much value to the State.

The pressure now became so strong along the whole line that the
brigadier, fearing that the troops might get seriously involved, ordered
the withdrawal to commence. The village was however burning, and the
enemy, who had also suffered severely from the close fighting, did not
follow up with their usual vigour. The battery advanced to within 600
yards of the enemy's line, and opened a rapid fire of shrapnel to clear
those spurs that commanded the line of retirement. The shells screamed
over the heads of the West Kent Regiment, who were now clear of the
hills and in front of the guns, and burst in little white puffs of smoke
along the crest of the ridge, tearing up the ground into a thick cloud
of dust by the hundreds of bullets they contained.

A continuous stream of doolies and stretchers commenced to flow from the
fighting line. Soon all available conveyances were exhausted, and the
bodies of the wounded had to be carried over the rough ground in the
arms of their comrades--a very painful process, which extorted many a
gro