British Camp outside Sebastopol, Crimea 14th November 1854 It began around four in the morning, a roaring wind that wakened them and flapped the canvas around their ears. It developed in a steady sequence of gusts that increased in strength so that by five the tent was wrenching at the guy-ropes and the single central pole was bending with the strain of holding the rain-sodden canvas in place. "The whole tent is going to collapse," Lieutenant Elliot grabbed hold of the pole in alarm. "Here, Windrush, give me a hand here!" Jack watched for a second, threw on his jacket and greatcoat against the cold and joined Elliot. Immediately he grappled the pole; he felt the pressure of the wind threatening to rip the entire edifice down. "It"s stormy!" Jack had to shout above the increasing howl.