more lively craft going in the same direction
We land at last amid slush, and snow, and
slippery loose stones. The sky over our
heads is inky black, and the clouds on the
verge of the horizon look white. The ships
in the pretty harbour (for pretty it is, in
spite even of the scowl of winter), are
indistinct and shadowy from the thick fall of
snow which lies upon every spar, amid the
folds of their drooping pennants,—on their
paddle-boxes, and their light sticks aloft,—
on the rim of the captain's hat, as he paces
the deck thoughtfully; wondering, perhaps, if
the little worm which eats holes in the
bottoms of vessels when at anchor in these seas,
is already silently feasting upon his; or
perhaps he is too well-educated to know anything
about so unclassical a subject as this
voracious little worm—a terrible reality,
nevertheless.

The doctors have spurred hurriedly away,
so have the officers and the foraging servants,
though their horses look gaunt and shaggy.
In colour they are quite rusty, as if their coat
were made of iron wire which had been for
some time exposed to the rain.

There is an old, old look about Balaklava;
a tumble down air which especially belongs
to things and places that were once in the
possession of those strange trading Italians of
the middle ages. The town, a miserable
place, lies at the foot of a range of hills
on the east,—and the sea, shut in by the
mountains, makes the harbour look almost
like a lake. The ruins of an old Genoese
fortress frown grimly down upon it, and
seem as shadowy and indistinct as the ships
in its covering of snow. On the hills towards
Baidar lie the tents of the Highlanders and
Turks, together with a contingent of marines
and some sailors.

We are soon made aware of the near
neighbourhood of Turks and sailors.

Sailor (with great contempt, and at the top
of his voice). "Blow them Turks! I say,
you bono Johnny,—drat you! ahoy! ahoy!
you beggar."

Turkish soldier (with much courtesy).
"Bono Johnny! oo, oo, oo, Bono Johnny!"
he waves his pipe blandly as he speaks, and
assumes an air of puzzled jocularity, as if he
was aware that there was some pleasantry
going forward, without being clearly able to
divine the nature of it.

Sailor (now roaring with tremendous energy).
"Ahoy! I say, give us a light! Do you
think nobody wants to smoke but yourself,
you son of a sea-cook?"

Turk (swaying his head from side to side
smilingly). "Bono Johnny! Bono Johnny,
oo, oo, oo."

Sailor (speechless with indignation for a
moment, as if this were really too much for
him). "None of that, or I'm jiggered if I don't
spoil your old mug for you. Give us a light.
Why don't you come, you beggar? I speak
plain enough, and loud enough too, don't I?"

Turk (perceiving at last that there is to be
another row with an infidel, though unable
to understand why) drops his arms by his
side, and looks, blushing and wondering, at
the excited seaman. He twiddles his thumbs,
he shuffles with his feet, he looks the picture
of listless incapacity, like most of his countrymen
when in difficulties.

The sailor meantime marches up to him
and attempts to light his pipe. The Turk
is a petty officer. He has formerly been
the aga of a village, and he looks upon this
proceeding as a direct insult, an action at
variance with all his previous ideas of courtesy
and good breeding. It is indeed an
action similar to that which eating out of the
plate of a stranger or drinking out of his
glass, unasked, would be in England.

The Turk withdraws his pipe therefore,
and his looks display how deeply he thinks
his dignity is wounded.

And the sailor takes him by the ear—
by the left ear, for I paid particular attention
to the circumstance. He then stands upon one
leg, and begins to execute a species of hornpipe,
tugging at that ear to time. It is a
singular, though not to me a very agreeable
sight, to see the Turk tucking in his
twopenny, and following the stout tar in these
agile movements. Were he to do otherwise
he must make up his mind, I fear, to part
with his left ear altogether, for the sailor
holds it with a grasp like a vice, and
gives satisfactory evidence how far human
flesh and how far human patience can
stretch.

"Hulloh, Jack! What are you about with
that poor fellow?" says a small man
smothered in clothes, who now approaches the
pair. "Here, I'll give you a light and some
baccy too."

"Lord love you, guv'ner, them beggars
aint fit for nothing else but monkey's allowance,
they aint. Why, I'm blessed, guv'ner,
if I wasn't a hallooin' to un for an hour,
to give us a light, and he wouldn't!
Howsomedever, they'll larn by and by, how this
here is British ground; won't they, sir?"

"Ay, ay, Jack."

The truth was, the sailor was as racy
a tar as ever chawed a quid; and the Turk
was perhaps as good a Mussulman as any
going. But the best folks do not always
agree, when they try to force their ideas on.
each other.

"What! No mustard with your beef, sir?"
cried Matthews, stranger, at the coffeehouse.
"Confound you, sir, you shall have mustard!"
How often have I seen that stranger
applying his principles to other things than
steaks and spices!

On the whole, Balaklava appeared to be
"the thing," and it was generally expected of
us to express the utmost satisfaction at being
there. Every one we met spoke of it in the
holiday language used by country cousins
who came up to London from the wilds of