The following morning the march was resumed across the plain for two or three miles to Balaclava, that small fishing village, with its land-locked harbour scarcely larger than a dock, which was destined to be the British base throughout the war. As the staff and leading troops approached the village, a deputation of the inhabitants came out bearing bread and salt as a token of submission. Almost at the same time a gun was suddenly fired from the ruins of the old castle on the heights, and a shell splashed into the marshes close by, followed by another. Lord Raglan, through an interpreter, asked the deputation the reason of this unexpected demonstration, as bread and salt and bursting shells seemed inconsistent with each other; but the only explanation they could give was that the small garrison had not been formally summoned to surrender. The troops of the Light Division at once swarmed up the heights, and half of C troop of Horse Artillery, under Brandling, came into action; the other half I took, by Lord Raglan's orders, up the steep hill overlooking the castle. Just as we got into action, the 'Agamemnon,' with Admiral Sir Edmund Lyons, arrived off the harbour, and the small garrison, finding themselves under a converging fire from three sides, hoisted a white handkerchief on a pole in token of surrender. Their armament consisted of four antiquated brass mortars. The commandant, an old Greek colonel, had been wounded in the foot, and was carried down to Balaclava, where he met the staff who had just ridden in. The commandant's wife, on seeing her husband's condition, rushed out of her house in a flood of tears, fell on his neck, and kissed him repeatedly. Lord Raglan, however, spoke kindly and reassured her. In the meantime some Russian ladies who had left Sebastopol and taken refuge in Balaclava, terrified by our sudden arrival, crossed the harbour in a small boat in the vain hope of escape. Accompanied by another officer I followed them across, and we tried to reassure them. Knowing nothing of their language this was a difficulty. We tried 'Buono, Russ buono,' but it was not sufficient. Fortunately, at length we found one who spoke a little French, and then they became comforted and returned with us to the village, and were taken care of. Such was the capture of Balaclava. Many years after, in 1872, on re-visiting the Crimea with the late Colonel Charles Gordon of Khartoum, we found that the old commandant (Colonel Mammoo) was still alive, being over eighty, and we called on him. He was much pleased to see us and to talk over old days, and said that he should never forget the kindness he had received from the English when a prisoner of war. The officers and men of the navy in the man-of-war which took him to Constantinople treated him, he said, like a prince.