They found a tremendous difference in the camp. Large drafts had come out for the regiments that had served through the war, and many regiments had arrived to whom Alma, Balaclava, and Inkermann were but names. The cavalry had received such large drafts that they were almost new regiments. Huts had sprung up, and the men had more clothing than they knew what to do with. In June, fur coats, blankets, and woollen caps had arrived in thousands. The uniforms of the new arrivals were clean and smart, the men again looked more like soldiers than navvies, hundreds of remounts had been procured. The 10th Hussars and 12th Lancers had arrived from India and the Carbineers from England. There was an abundance of good food, an almost unlimited supply of war material, the hospital arrangements had been vastly improved, the health of the whole army was very good; and lastly, and most wonderful of all, a railway had been constructed between Balaclava and the camp! These things were so amazing that it took Jack and Linham some days to believe it all. They heard about the assault of the Malakoff, and the determined, but unfortunate attack on the Redan in June. This was sad news; but sadder still was the news of the death of the gallant, the kindly, the warm-hearted Lord Raglan. Bitterly mortified at the attempt of the Government to make him a scapegoat for their own gross mismanagement, he had worried in secret. The failure of the attack on the Redan and the death of a very dear friend and brother-officer, working on a constitution already weakened by the tremendous strain of the war, had caused an illness of which he died calmly and quietly on June 29th. The honour paid to his remains on their removal to the vessel which was to convey them to England spoke of the esteem in which he was held by the army. English, French, Sardinians, even the Russians themselves, paid the highest respect to his memory. Sergeant Linham seemed very depressed after his return to the regiment. ‘Here we are, Jack,’ he said, ‘stuck just in the same place; only it’s all so different. The officers are different, the men different, even our very uniform’s different, and what’s the use of it all, ha, hum! I want to know?’ Jack tried to cheer him up; but it was clear the sergeant was fretting, and it was evidently over the loss of his old comrades. There was, besides, another cause that made him downhearted that Jack did not know of till later--his wounded leg was causing him great pain and inconvenience. About the middle of August spies brought in word that the Russians were going to make a great effort to raise the siege, and consequently the Allies were kept on the alert. Jack’s squadron was moved down to Balaclava, close to the newly arrived Sardinian contingent, being brigaded under Jack’s old colonel, who had returned from England, having quite recovered.