Sevastopol

The flush of morning has but just begun to tinge the sky above Sapun Mountain; the dark blue surface of the sea has already cast aside the shades of night and awaits the first ray to begin a play of merry gleams; cold and mist are wafted from the bay; there is no snow-all is black, but the morning frost pinches the face and crackles underfoot, and the far-off, unceasing roar of the sea, broken now...