It took us about half-an-hour to go from the Col of Balaklava to Kadikoi (about a mile distant), having to fight our way through a dense crowd of Greeks, Armenians, Jews, Maltese, &c.--hundreds of mules, horses, donkeys, artillery waggons, cannon, shot and shell, oxen and horses kicking each other, waggons upset in deep mud-holes, infantry and cavalry passing and repassing. The road was execrable, and not nearly wide enough for the immense amount of traffic. Amidst this Babel of tongues and deafening noise, we were obliged to speak at the top of our voices in order to make ourselves heard. Our horses, by way of enjoying the fun, kept prancing and kicking in all directions, particularly our fair lady’s palfrey, which could not be kept quiet. Many females would have felt very nervous in such a position; but Miss Nightingale appeared to rise above such weakness, and even, on the contrary, to take considerable interest in this her first introduction to the turmoils of war. We at length emerged from the crowd, without having sustained much damage. One of our cavaliers had part of his mackintosh carried away by a log of wood that projected from the back of a mule, and P. M. lost a strap, which nearly unseated him. His mule kept kicking and prancing about, which, one is constrained to confess, is not over pleasant, especially in a crowd--and such a crowd. As we were at last out of danger, we could not help laughing at the misfortunes of our friends. Such was our début on the soil of the seat of war. Our first visit was to the hospital at Kadikoi, in a small Greek church at the end of the village. Upon our arrival, we were informed that the doctor was not in, so we promised to call again. We then galloped to the top of a high hill on the left, on which we could not help making a halt, as we were quite struck by the grandeur and novelty of the scene. We could plainly distinguish everything for five miles around us. The camps, with their myriads of white tents, appeared like large beds of mushrooms growing at random. The sound of trumpets, the beating of drums, the roar of cannon from Sebastopol, made a fearful noise, whilst military manœuvres, and sentries placed in every direction, gave a most martial aspect to the landscape, backed by the bold and rugged range of mountains by which Balaklava is surrounded.