But the soldiers for whom these shelters were intended were even
then dying from exposure on the plains of Sebastopol. It was the first
lesson of unpreparedness.
Of this, however, the young engineer was then ignorant. He was in high
spirits over the prospect of action and seeing the world. He arrived
at Marseilles "very tired," as he writes to his mother, but not too
tired to give her a detailed description of what he has seen thus
far--"the pretty towns and villages, vineyards and rivers, with
glimpses of snowy mountains beyond."
On New Year's Day he reached his destination, Balaklava. It was the
depth of winter, and disaster stared the British in the face. The
Russians were having the best of it. They were out-generalling the
enemy at every turn. The British could do little more than dig in and
hang on, with the bull-dog stubbornness which has always marked them.
At first, the young lieutenant heard little of this. His duties as
construction engineer kept him busy six miles back of the battle line.
"I have not yet seen Sebastopol," he writes on January 3, "and do not
hear anything of the siege. We hear a gun now and then. No one seems
to interest himself about the siege, but all appear to be engaged in
foraging for grub." Two days later he writes: "We have only put up two
huts as yet, but hope to do better soon.
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