Even already, then, it will be noted that a siege was in contemplation. Nobody, however, had any idea it would be a long one. The allied fleets had complete possession of the Black Sea. In a manner of speaking, Sebastopol was already besieged or blockaded. Our object was, or rather ought to have been, to isolate the Crimea from Russia. ([Vide map].) Seeing that the neck of land that joins it to the mainland is of no great width, this ought to have presented but few difficulties. We should thus have effectually prevented enforcements from pouring into Sebastopol.
But difficulties arose long before the allies were ready for embarkation that no one had dreamt of. While the French troops were still on their voyage from Marseilles, some cases of that terrible disease the cholera had broken out among the troops. The doctors made as light of it as they could, assuring those in command that, as soon as the army had landed and commenced active service, the plague would be stayed.
This was very far indeed from being the case. The cholera grew even more virulent after the men got under canvas. Here was an enemy, then, that seemed to fight on the side of "Holy Russia," and that, too, with terrible effect; for before the embarkation for the Crimea, the French army had about 10,000 dead or hors de combat, while nearly a thousand of our own brave soldiers had succumbed. The fleet, too, was attacked, and steamed away to sea in the hopes of safety. In vain. It was a terrible time on board some of our vessels; for the virulence of the plague seemed to know neither bounds nor limits, and the healthy part of the crews was engaged all day ministering to the sick, laying out the dead, or committing their bodies to the deep.
It was about this time that one beautiful morning—the sunshine glittering on the sea and casting a glamour over the greenery of hill and dale and woodland—our old friend the Gurnet steamed into the Bay of Balchik, some distance north of Varna. Embarkation was here busily going on, amidst a scene of such confusion and bustle as no one on board the Gurnet had ever before witnessed. The bay was covered with ships of every size and description—an immense forest of masts bearing flags of all kinds and colours, conspicuous among which were the British, French, and Turkish ensigns. In and out among the shipping plied the boats, with which the bay was so filled that scarcely could the water be seen. The noise and din were indescribable.
Well, if the embarkation of our troops was not conducted in so orderly a manner as one could wish to see, that of the French and Turks was confusion worse confounded.
Early that morning, before the Gurnet got in, and ere yet the grey clouds of the dawning day had changed to purple and gold, Jack Mackenzie, whose watch it was, had gone to the first lieutenant's cabin to make a report.
"Three men, sir," he said, "are swimming about a quarter of a mile off our weather-bow."
"What do they look like?" asked Sturdy.
"I can't quite make out, sir. Perhaps they are the survivors from some boat that has been capsized."
"Very well, Jack; lower the first whaler."