One of these was his despatch to Balaclava to make inquiries for the
knapsacks of the regiment. They had been left on board ship, and the
transport had been expected daily in Balaclava harbour. The men were
sadly in want of a change of clothes, and neither these nor the little
odds and ends that go to make up a soldier's comfort were available
until they got their packs. McKay was directed to take a small party
with him to land the much-needed baggage and have it conveyed by hook
or crook to the front.
He left the camp late in the afternoon, and, striking the great
Woronzoff Road just where it pierced the Fediukine Heights, descended
it until he reached the Balaclava plain. A few miles beyond, the
little town itself was visible, or, more exactly, the forest of masts
that already crowded its little land-locked port.
Here, on the right of the communications between the English army and
its base, a long range of redoubts had been thrown up and garrisoned
by the Turks. These crowned the summit of a range of low hillocks,
and, in marching to his point, McKay paused on the level ground
between two hills. The Turks on sentry gave him a "Bono Johnny!" as he
passed, by way of greeting; but they were far too lazy and too sleepy
to do more.
It was evident they kept a poor look-out, and doubtful strangers were
as free to pass as British friends.
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