He was in search of agents whom he could employ as
emissaries into the enemy's lines.
Putting up his horse, he mixed amongst the motley crowd that thronged
the "sutlers' town," as it was called, which had sprung up half-a-mile
outside Balaclava, to accommodate the swarms of strangers who, under
the strict rule of Colonel Harding, had been expelled from the port
itself.
The place was like a fair--a jumble of huts and shanties and ragged
canvas tents, with narrow, irregular lanes between them, in which the
polyglot traders bought and sold. Here were grave Armenians, scampish
Greeks from the Levant, wild-eyed Bedouins, Tartars from Asia Minor,
evil-visaged Italians, scowling Spaniards, hoarse-voiced, slouching
Whitechapel ruffians, with a well-developed talent for dealing in
stolen goods.
As McKay stood watching the curious scene, and replying rather curtly
to the eager salesmen, who pestered him perpetually to buy anything
and everything--food, saddlery, pocket-knives, horse-shoes, fire-arms,
and swords--he became conscious of a stir and flutter among the crowd.
It presently became strangely silent, and parted obsequiously, to
give passage to some great personage who approached.
This was Major Shervinton, the provost-marshal, supreme master and
autocrat of all camp-followers, whom he ruled with an iron hand.
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