"And those ships in Balaklava?"
"Yours again, sir; but don't be uneasy; things are managed better there now; occasionally the authorities root out a great demurrager, and send her off hopping after she has lain perdu some months doing nothing. The other day the Walmer Castle, a fine Indiaman, sir, was sent off at last—she had been in Balaklava since February, doing nothing but affording comfortable lodgings for a few of the authorities. But we won't talk of these things any more, for really the arrangements are much improved."
"Who are those officers in blue, with grey, yellow, and red facing's—apparently men of rank, with stars and crowns and lace on their collars?"
"They are of the Land Transport Corps—captains and quartermasters of brigade."
"Hallo! is there a theatrical company here? Who're the queer-looking chaps with the huntsmen-in-Der-Freischutz-caps and tunics, smoking short pipes, and driving their carts like so many Jehus?"
"Well, we have the Zouave Theatre and the Sailors' Theatre, but these men belong to Colonel McMurdo, and certainly they have let their hats get cruelly out of shape; they were neat enough and looked well while the rosettes were clean, but now——"
"And who are the gentlemen in grey, with black braid and swords, and pouch-belts and telescopes—some new riflemen, eh?—capital dress for sharpshooters."
"Why, dear me, sir, don't you know those are harmless civilians, who neither wish to shoot any one or to be shot at themselves? They are civil engineers and civilians belonging to your recently formed Army Works Corps."
"Hallo! here's another—what's he? a felt helmet with a spike in it and brass binding—a red frock with black braid—a big horse—a cavalry man, eh?"
"Well, he's one of the Mounted Staff Corps, and he gets as much as an Ensign in the line for being ready to go anywhere—when he's wanted."