They were led by General Sir James Simpson, a portly, fierce-looking gentleman. With them came a civilian: an odd cove about fifty years of age, over six feet in height and blessed with a nose like a hawk’s beak, with muttonchop whiskers that were vast bushes as black as you please, and a stovepipe hat that made him look ten feet tall. (Legend has it that a stray Russkie shot—the like of which winged constantly through our midst like tiny, deadly birds—one day threaded a neat hole through this headpiece; and the gentleman, as cool as you like, doffed the piece, inspected the hole, and promised on his return to England to invoice the Czar’s Embassy for the repair!) This fellow picked his way through the mud, peering into our earthworks and studying our amputees and other sick, and his concern and grim humor were evident for all to see.

You will, I hope, recognize from my description the famous Sir Josiah Traveller, author of all those engineering marvels which have made the Manchester industrialists so famous at home. But as far as I know anti-ice gadgetry had never before been employed in a theater of war.

Well, here was Sir Josiah come to the Peninsula to advise us on that very issue.

I was not, of course, privy to the debates which followed Traveller’s arrival, and my report is necessarily based on hearsay. General Simpson was strongly in favor of the deployment of Traveller’s new shells, the quicker to resolve the investment. But Raglan would have none of it. Would the old Duke have used such devilish devices, the same Duke who forbade even the use of the lash on drunkards? (So I imagine Raglan arguing.) No, gentlemen, he would not; and nor would Lord Fitzroy Raglan countenance such a deviance. The traditional methods of investment, as refined for centuries, could not fail; and they would not fail here.

Well, Raglan carried the day; and an assault on the fortress was planned.