By this time the Russian coast was in view. Breakfast was just over, and everybody was on deck--the weather being beautiful. Miss Nightingale, Mr. Bracebridge, and myself, with telescopes, were looking at the convent and the monastery, still inhabited by Russian monks. The first reports of the cannon of Sebastopol were here faintly heard--the wind being favourable, as the captain informed us. On the right hand, on a lofty high peaked mountain, the Russian picket was plainly seen mounting guard. An hour after we were in the Bay of Balaklava, in view of the Genoese Tower, planted on a high rock, at the elevation of about two hundred feet above the level of the sea, at the spur of a range of mountains extending along the shore. A few topmasts are all that can be seen on entering the gorge; and no one can imagine, though so near, that such a harbour is in existence as the one we were approaching. The signal having been given by hoisting the flag on the top of the Genoese Tower, we entered the far-famed, and now universally known, grand, though small, Harbour of Balaklava, the entrance to which seems impracticable. We then slowly threaded our way through that forest of masts and huge vessels piled and packed so close together in the little harbour. The principal vessels at that time lying there were.,--the _Himalaya_, _Jura_, _Ætna_, _Leander_, _Star of the South_, _London_, _Baraguay d’Hilliers_, &c. It is impossible to describe the animation of the scene better than by comparing it to the emigration of a large colony of ants from their habitation to a new quarter. Many people were aware that Miss Nightingale was coming that day in the _Robert Lowe_, and the decks of all the large vessels at anchor were crowded with curious spectators, in expectation of seeing that lady, of whose devotion to the sick and wounded they had heard so much. COSSACK BAY. We had no sooner entered the harbour than, to P. M.’s horror, he saw painted on the rock in large letters--“Cossack Bay.” At this moment, five or six ill-looking Bashi Bazouks, and as many Turks, with their large turbans, yathagans, kresses, daggers, firelocks, &c., were descending the mountain to the rock upon which the fatal name was written, and immediately caused P. M. to inquire if they were enemies. I replied that I thought they were, being upon Cossack Bay. “I say, Monsieur Soyer,” said P. M., “this is beyond a joke; for if those ugly fellows choose to fire upon us, they can do so as easy as possible.” “No doubt they can,” said I. “I shall not give them a chance,” cried P. M., and off he bolted.