CHAPTER X.
A GENERAL ACTION.
A long low line of coast trending along north and south as far as the
eye could reach; nearest at hand a strip of beach, smooth shingle cast
up by the surf of westerly gales; next, a swelling upland, dotted with
grazing cattle, snug homesteads, and stacks of hay and corn; beyond, a
range of low hills, steep-faced and reddish-hued.
The Crimea! The land of promise; the great goal to which the thoughts
of every man in two vast hosts had been turned for many months past.
On the furze-clad common of Chobham camp, on the long voyage out, at
Gallipoli, while eating out their hearts at irritating inaction; on
the sweltering, malarious Bulgarian plains, fever-stricken and
cholera-cursed; at Varna, waiting impatiently, almost hopelessly, for
orders to sail, twenty thousand British soldiers of all ranks had
longed to look upon this Crimean shore. It was here, so ran the common
rumour, that the chief power of the mighty Czar was concentrated; here
stood Sebastopol, the famous fortress, the great stronghold and
arsenal of Southern Russia; here, at length, the opposing forces would
join issue, and the allies, after months of tedious expectation, would
find themselves face to face with their foe.
No wonder, then, that hearts beat high as our men gazed eagerly upon
the Crimea.
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