This side of the triangle continued along over the undulating ground, and some three miles farther, reached the right flank of the position of the Allies above Sebastopol, which formed the base of our imaginary triangle.

This position was a plateau, of which one side sloped down to Sebastopol; the end broke steeply off down into the valley of Inkerman, while behind the slopes were more gradual.  To the left it fell away gradually towards the sea.  This formed the third side of the triangle.  But between Balaklava and Sebastopol the land made a wide bulge outwards, and in this bulge lay the French harbor of Kamiesch.

From the Marine Heights to the crest looking down upon Sebastopol was a distance of some seven miles.  From the right of our position above Inkerman Valley to Kamiesch was about five miles.

A glance at the map will enable this explanation to be understood.

At the commencement of the siege the British were posted on the right of the Allies.  This, no doubt, was the post of honor, but it threw upon them an enormous increase of work.  In addition to defending Balaklava, it was upon them that the brunt of any assault by a Russian army acting in the field would fall.  They would have an equal share of the trench-work, and had five miles to bring up their siege guns and stores; whereas the French harbor was close to their camp.

It was tremendous work getting up the guns, but soldiers and sailors willingly toiled away, pushing, and hauling, and aiding the teams, principally composed of bullocks, which had been brought up from Constantinople and other Turkish ports.  Long lines of arabas, laden with provisions and stores, crawled slowly along between Balaklava and the front.  Strings of mules and horses, laden with tents, and driven by men of every nationality bordering the Mediterranean, followed the same line.

Parties of soldiers, in fatigue suits, went down to Sebastopol to assist unloading the ships and bringing up stores.  Parties of officers on ponies brought from Varna or other ports on the Black Sea, cantered down to make purchases of little luxuries on board the ships in the harbor, or from the Levantines, who had set up little shops near it.  All was life and gayety.

“It is all very well, Mr. Archer,” growled Dick Simpson, an old boatswain, as the men paused after helping to drag a heavy gun up one of the slopes, “in this here weather, but it won’t be no laughing matter when the winter comes on.  Why, these here fields would be just a sheet of mud.  Why, bless you, last winter I was a staying with a brother of mine what farms a bit of land down in Norfolk, and after a week’s rain they couldn’t put the horses on to the fields.  This here sile looks just similar, only richer and deeper, and how they means to get these big carts laden up through it, beats me altogether.”

“Yes, Dick,” Jack Archer answered, “but they expect to take the place before the winter comes on.”