" It was five o'clock; none of the clocks in Sebastopol could be heard to strike, as the wind was very strong and blowing up the harbour and across the town. Each moment the weather became thicker and more wet, so that in a few minutes hardly any of the town was visible. The grim line of batteries, however, remained pretty well in view, though they also were as quiet as inside the walls. In the Malakoff a few soldiers could occasionally be distinguished in the embrasures, and a small party crossed between it and the Mamelon, but this was all. On the left of the Redan was some black mass, but whether soldiers or not it was impossible to say. It was now past five, and, though
the atmosphere was by no means clear, it was at least as clear, if not clearer, than it seemed likely to be at a later hour. Yet there were no signs in our batteries. The men were in them as usual; jjerhaps they displayed a little more bustle, but nothing to induce one to believe that they were preparing for a long and fierce encounter with a foe they were determined to vanquish, but whose defences, both in earthworks and guns, far surpassed theirs both in solidity and number.
" Suddenly, at about a quarter past five o'clock, three guns were fired from our left attack. In a second afterwards, running up and down the line, from the little mounds and hillocks near Inkermann — from the broad commanding positions of Chapman's and Gordon's batteries — from quiet, picturesque ravines where no one dreamed of guns lurking— high from the rear on steep and lofty ridges — and away down to the left, where the French works stretched out over low marsh-lands to Kamiesch — from every point of our lines, came a hundred streaks of flame and masses of smoke. For a minute after there was silence, and then the great concussion came rumbling on, slowly mastering both wind and rain, and swelling into a roar that seemed to fill the heavens and earth. The shells and balls of the first discharge made of themselves a perfect uproar, as they fell like iron hail full on the enemy's batteries. Some shot were short, and went bounding towards the work, scattering the earth like water; some were too high, and passed clear over everything into the town; but the great mass were well aimed and true, and passed full into the embrasures, clearing all before them. The shells burst everywhere about like crackers, and the stunning explosions of the great mortars made themselves conspicuous over every other noise, as the huge bombs rushed through them, carrying death and destruction into the Mamelon and Malakoff. After this first tremendous volley each gun worked as it could, and a regular file fire of mortars and heavy guns commenced upon the place.
" From a little after nine till past three all in the camp were left to their own conjectures as to the progress of the bombardment. The mist and rain were so dense, that it was difficult from the heights to distinguish the fire even of our nearest batteries; not only was it impossible to see what we were doing, but even to hear was difficult. The wind swept from the camp towards Sebastopol, and this, with the thickness of the atmosphere and rush of the rain, drowned almost every sound, except the dull and apparently very distant concussion of the large mortars.
" So perfect was this quietness, that it seemed quite impossible to realise in the deserted aspect of our camp that a struggle on which not only the reputation but the very existence of the troops engaged depended was taking place
THE EAST.
within half a mile of our lines, and that 154 English, nearly 200 French, and between 400 and 500 Eussian guns and mortars were firing away almost as fast as they could be loaded.