. Battles of the nineteenth century . be, wroteanother officer, even to those who visitedSebastopol! The long lines of tents, thethatched hovels of the native servants, the rowsof horses, the parks of artillery, the Britishsoldier in his grey linen coat and trousers, thedark Sikhs with their red and blue turbans, theAfghans with the same, their wild air andcoloured saddle-cloths, and the little Goorkhas,dressed up like demons of ugliness in their blackworsted Kilmarnock bonnets and woollen coats.In the rear are the booths of the native bazaars,and further out, on the plain, thousands of camels
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. Battles of the nineteenth century . be, wroteanother officer, even to those who visitedSebastopol! The long lines of tents, thethatched hovels of the native servants, the rowsof horses, the parks of artillery, the Britishsoldier in his grey linen coat and trousers, thedark Sikhs with their red and blue turbans, theAfghans with the same, their wild air andcoloured saddle-cloths, and the little Goorkhas, dressed up like demons of ugliness in their blackworsted Kilmarnock bonnets and woollen coats.In the rear are the booths of the native bazaars, and further out, on the plain, thousands of camels, bullocks, and horses that carry ourbaggage. The soldiers are loitering throughthe lines or in the bazaars. Suddenly analarm is sounded, and everyone rushes to histent. The Infantry soldier seizes his musketand slings on his pouch ; the artillerymangets his gun horsed ; the Afghan rides out toexplore ; and in a few minutes everyone isin his place. Such was the state of the camp in repose.And now for a picture, from another hand, of. the same camp when roused into action. Iwas out this night, wrote an officer, in one ofour principal batteries with a party of my Guides, placed there to protect the guns ; and I shallnever forget the scene at two oclock in themorning. The sight was a most magnificentone—all our batteries and all the city ones wereplaying as hard as they could, the shells bursting, round shot tearing with a whooshing soundthrough our embrasures, the carcasses (or largeballs of fire) flying over our heads, the musketryrolling and flashing, made the place as light asday. The noise was terrific, though the roar ofthe cannon was frequently drowned in the roarof human voices, for, when the whole city turned I^O BATTLES OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. out, there could not have been less than 20, 000voices all screanung at once. The mutineersyell of Allah . Allah ! Allah Akbar ! AllahAkbar I was answered by our jolly Englishhurrahs, and the din was most frightful. I neverrememb