That in the description they gave of the opening of my kitchen at Scutari, in the number of the 14th inst., an error crept in, occasioned by the omission of a word, which entirely alters my sentiment, and if not contradicted would reflect much discredit upon the authorities at Scutari, [and thereby inflict a serious injustice. The sentence to which I referred appears in the paper thus—] “That I prepared my bill of fare according to the provisions allowed, which are at all times of an inferior quality;” whilst the passage should run as follows:—“That I prepared my bill of fare according to the provisions allowed, which at all times are of an inferior quality at Constantinople in comparison to English provisions.”
“I suppose you meant to say, the provisions to be obtained.”
“Exactly, colonel.”
“What do you wish me to do?”
“Merely to be kind enough to explain the error to Lord Raglan to-morrow, as it would appear very ungrateful on my part to the authorities at Scutari; more especially as I informed his lordship that those gentlemen had done everything in their power to assist me.”
“I had better do it at once. His lordship has just done dinner. I will go and show it to him; you can walk in with me.”
“No, I thank you; I had rather wait here.”
In a few minutes he returned with the paper, saying, “I have shown it to Lord Raglan, and he will make a note of it.”
He had scarcely uttered the words, when I heard his lordship inquiring in the corridor, “Where is Monsieur Soyer? where is he?” and in he walked, followed by his Staff, seven or eight in number, among whom was Dr. Pennefather. The Commander-in-chief was dressed in plain clothes, and looked very well, full of health and vigour. His fine open countenance, so characteristic of the man, was more brilliant than ever, and his conversation quite jocular. After alluding to the step I had just taken, and which, he observed, was very thoughtful on my part, he promised to have the parties informed of the mistake, and of my explanation.
“Monsieur Soyer,” (Lord Raglan, as he said this, was standing in the doorway, leaning on his right shoulder, with his legs crossed, and surrounded by several gentlemen, forming a group which I shall not forget as long as I live,) “you must have known my old friend Ude?”
“I did, my lord.”
“How many years were you at the Reform Club?”
“Above twelve. It was old Mr. Ude who gave the late Madame Soyer away when we were married; so we often visited him.”
“Lord Alvanley, who had apartments at Mr. Ude’s, lived there for years, and I frequently visited him,” said Lord Raglan.
“If so, no doubt your lordship will recollect a very interesting picture of a country girl going to market, with a basket of poultry under her arm?”
“I do, very well indeed, and I know it was painted by your wife. It was very cleverly done. But you had all her best pictures at the Reform Club. You showed them to me yourself.”
“I recollect doing so perfectly well.”
“She was a very talented woman indeed!” observed several of the gentlemen present, who had seen her pictures.
“She was an Englishwoman, was she not, Monsieur Soyer?” said his lordship.
“Yes, my lord; her maiden name was Emma Jones.”
“Of course,” rejoined one of the group, “her paintings were well known by that name.”
“So they were, captain, and fetched high prices too. I do not sell any now; on the contrary, I still have my gallery complete, and have bought in several since her death. I offered old Ude fifty guineas for the painting in his possession called ‘La Jeune Fermière;’ but he would not part with it, as it was presented to him by her. Previous to my departure from England for the East, I was advised by the chaplain of the cemetery to insert on the monument the country of her birth, as many believed her to be a foreigner. The inscription was simply ‘To Her.’ I then composed the following laconic epitaph:—
‘TO THE MEMORY OF MADAME SOYER.
England gave her birth,
Genius immortality.’”
“Very good indeed,” said his lordship. “I myself have seen the monument, which is considered one of the finest in Kensal-green Cemetery.
“I was saying, Soyer, that I frequently visited Alvanley; and we always knew when Ude and his wife were at home, for they never ceased quarrelling. They kept five or six dogs, and what with their barking and the quarrelling of master and mistress, I never heard such a noise in my life. I often wondered how Lord Alvanley could put up with it; but he said he was used to it, and could hardly feel comfortable anywhere else.”
“Talk of quarrelling, I believe they could not exist without it—not even on birthdays; and if you will allow me, I will relate a singular birthday anecdote.”
“Pray do, Soyer.”
“You must know that the old gentleman, though very avaricious, now and then came out in first-rate style with his gastronomic parties; but the great day of all was the 15th of August in each year—being the fête and birthday of the illustrious and far-famed Louis Eustache Ude. Upon these occasions, about four-and-twenty of his most devoted and illustrious disciples were invited, with their wives, to a most sumptuous dinner at his house. The grandeur of the gold and silver ornaments was actually cast into the shade by the elegance and succulence of the mets they contained. The choicest articles in season—viz., fish, flesh, poultry, vegetables, and fruit—seemed to have been waiting to come to perfection for this high-priest of the gastronomic art, and many culinary inventions which still delight the scientific palates of the epicures of the day had their origin at that Lucullusian anniversary.
“Upon one of these great occasions, Madame Soyer and myself were invited. As it was the first to which I had been invited, I was very anxious to go. About a week previous, so strong was my wish to be present at this feast, I asked the committee to grant me leave of absence from duty for one evening, and they kindly acceded to my request. To the minute, heure militaire, we were there, and were saluted upon our arrival by the usual dogmatic chorus, which for a few minutes prevented our hearing a word that was spoken. At length we were all seated, Mr. Ude at the top of the table, and Mrs. Ude facing him.
“It was, I must repeat, a most superb and elegantly laid-out board. The best part of the dessert, which is always refreshing to the sight, ‘particularly in the middle of August,’ had been made a perfect study. Soup was duly served, and highly praised by the culinary convives and judges. It was a bisque d’écrevisses. The Madeira was circulating cheerfully round the table, to the trinquing of glasses, after the old French fashion, when an unfortunate guest, having probably too far to reach a beloved friend, put his foot forward, and unfortunately deposited it upon the paw of one of the enfans chéris de la maison. Vermilion—that was the name of the plaintiff—being an enfant gâté, seized upon the leg, which happened to be bootless, as the unlucky guest wore thin shoes. The dog made a slight indenture with his teeth, causing him involuntarily to reply to the attack of Vermilion; three or four more of the four-legged tribe joined the battle-cry, and the noise was intolerable. The compliments which passed between the host and hostess were pithy and violent, though scarcely heard through the din, excepting by those who happened to be seated close to them. We were fortunately about the centre of the table, and all we could catch was—
“‘Oh, you stupid old man! why did you not lock the dogs upstairs, as I told you to do?’
“‘Be quiet, madam!’ replied Mr. Ude. ‘This is my birthday, and I will have no quarrelling.’
“‘No more will I; but why did you not lock up your dogs?’
“‘Well, madam, I am sure they were quiet enough till that stupid young man trod upon poor Vermilion’s paw.’
“‘Stupid young man, did you say? Mr. Ude, pray how dare you insult my relation? If any one is stupid here, it is you, Mr. Ude!’
“‘Will you be quiet, madam?’—‘No, I shall not!’
“‘What, not on my birthday! There, take that.’
“As he said this, he threw some almonds across the table, and his wife replied with some projectiles snatched up at random from other portions of the dessert. The dogs joined in the fray, and entirely upset the party. All the ladies left the table. The young man who had been bitten attempted to apologize; in return for which concession on his part, the great Louis Eustache and his amiable spouse returned a volley of abuse. An hour elapsed before anything like order could be established, when several ladies returned to the table, while a few remained to console the victimized spouse. The great Mr. Ude had bravely retained his important position, and, still violently excited, commenced helping the fish—a magnificent crimped Gloucester salmon, procured at Groves’s in Bond-street—which was by this time as cold as ice.
“‘Only fancy,’ ejaculated the enraged Amphitryon, ‘even on my birthday! Upon my word, she is a wretch! She never will—‘ Then, by way of parenthesis, to the waiter, ‘Go round with the sauce, you stupid! don’t stand there staring like a fool.’—‘Prosper! no, I’m sure she never, never will prosper!’
“At length something like harmony was restored; but only six ladies out of eleven returned; the others remained with Mrs. Ude, and, I believe, dined upstairs. Much to our sorrow and disappointment, one of the finest dinners of the season was served up cold, and entirely spoiled, through the pugnacity of Louis Eustache Ude’s favourite pup.”
All laughed heartily at the anecdote, particularly Lord Raglan, who then told us that Ude had called upon him several mornings respecting a cook he had applied for to Mr. Ude, for his brother, the Duke.
“Ude,” said Lord Raglan, “called several mornings, first with two dogs, then three, next four. At last I said to him, ‘I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Ude, for your kind visits respecting my brother’s cook, and shall be happy to see you at any time—but in future without your four-legged companions.’
“‘Why?’ asked the great chef, rather put out.
“‘My dear sir, if you want an explanation, inquire of the housemaid!’ He rushed out, and never called again; but he sent the cook all the same. Ude was an excellent manager, and a good cook, but had a very odd temper; he died very rich.”
“Very rich indeed.”
“To whom did he leave his fortune?”
“Oh, to his favourite pet, Madame Ude. She is still alive, and lives in the same house in Albemarle-street.”
“Really, I did not know that!”
“My lord, and gentlemen, I wish you good evening, and thank you for your kindness.”
“You must take some refreshment, Soyer, before you go. Order what you want. Steward, wait upon Monsieur Soyer.”
They then all went out, and sat upon the door-steps, smoking their cigars. Lord Raglan was that night in a very jovial mood: Colonel Steele observed to me, “Did you ever know or see a finer man for his age? Is he not still full of life and vigour, and the picture of an English nobleman?”
“He is, indeed; and I always notice that he has plenty of fun and jokes.”
“That is true; but more so with you, as you are not a military man. He is very strict on duty.”
As I was taking some refreshment, Lord Raglan came to me, and said, “Monsieur Soyer, I wish you would give my cook, Armand, the receipt to make that excellent French pot-au-feu you gave me when I saw you at the Reform Club.”
“I will; and those vegetables-chollet I have submitted to your lordship will be the very thing for it. They are made of common vegetables, exactly suitable for that soup. It is by far the best, most wholesome, and nutritious for the troops.”
“I am confident of that,” said his lordship, going back to his seat.
I then went out through the side door to fetch my mule, which P. Morrison had been walking about the courtyard along with his pony. Jumping upon it, I rode up to the group, to say good-night to Lord Raglan and all present.
“Hallo,” Lord Raglan exclaimed, “where is the charger you had the other day? What is that you are mounted upon?”
“A mule, my lord, belonging to Colonel Dennis of the Dragoons.”
“Ah, you are much safer upon that.”
“I feel so, I assure you, my lord. The charger to which you allude belonged to Colonel Hardinge.”
“So I heard.”
“It was a good joke on the part of the Commandant. I asked him to do me the favour of lending me his light pony, and he sent me his large charger, which ran away with me, but fortunately not towards Sebastopol.” At this they all laughed heartily; and I and P. Morrison departed.
When we were about half a mile from head-quarters, we heard a sharp fusillade in the direction of Sebastopol, and there was a lull in the cannonade and shelling, which had not ceased during my stay at head-quarters. We proceeded to the Turkish camp, situated on the heights to the right, from whence we could plainly see the firing. The Turkish soldiers were in high glee, singing, dancing, smoking, drinking coffee, and playing no end of Oriental instruments, which, however well tuned, were by no means in harmony. They were bivouacked all over the camp; some of the officers who were smoking offered us chibouques and coffee, which we declined, as it was then so late. We left, thanking them for their civility.
As we rode along, I could not help remarking to P. Morrison the extraordinary contrast of the two scenes, witnessed nearly on the same spot and within a short interval—the present one all fun and glee, the other a scene of death and carnage, where hundreds of human beings were being launched into eternity. Such are the chances and the variation of war. It was after twelve when we arrived at Balaklava, and were safe on board. My heroic companion related the terrible fright he had been in all the way back, having seen most dreadful things, in the shape of ghosts, brigands, and murderers. It is true that on one occasion we were arrested; but it was by a wide ditch, which we could not easily jump over without risking a bath with the frogs, it being one of the resorts of those aquatic quadrupeds. We had lost our way, the road being invisible, and no landmarks, as the camps were being daily changed from one spot to another. These were the tribulations caused by the printer or my illustrious secretary. The next morning the captain of the vessel came to my cabin, and informed me that Kertch and other places in the Sea of Azoff were taken.
The news of such a victory was most welcome, and the harbour was gaily decorated with hundreds of coloured flags of the Allied nations. Everything seemed to revive, and all felt anxious to visit the newly-conquered land of Kamara, which had been taken a few days before. In company with a few others, I started at four A.M. to visit these champs fleuris. Nothing could be more refreshing than the sight of that gorgeous harvest, which seemed to have suddenly sprung up amidst deserted and arid rocks, sand, and gravel, where all had before been condemned to exile. Nothing in my whole existence appeared more grateful and refreshing to the mind, as well as the eye, than the odour from those perfumed valleys of myriads of wild flowers, shaded from the burning heat of the sun by a tall verandah of long green grass, the top of which softly caressed the chests of our horses as they trotted through these thickly-populated floral prairies. Myriads of étoiles des champs, daisies, buttercups, bluebells, cornflowers, poppies, birdseyes, &c., and many others unknown in this country, were seen on every side. Clouds of butterflies were seen gaily sporting from flower to flower, taking from each a kiss perfumed by the zephyr of the morn. Even our horses seemed to enjoy the scene so fully, that we let them graze for about an hour. We then arrived near the charming rivulet and valley, the Tchernaya, which, though far from being as beautiful as many in France or England, possesses numerous charms to an uninitiated eye.
We mounted our horses, and went through the Kamara Mountains, the scenery of which resembles that of Devonshire, Wales, or the Highlands of Scotland. We returned home by the edge of the beautiful cliffs which border the Bay of Balaklava. Such a day is not to be easily forgotten, rendered still more agreeable by the cordial reception we met with from the officers in the French and Sardinian camps, and the presence of a most charming compagnon de voyage (Mr. Stowe), a very promising young man in high literature. The various notes he took on the spot are worthy of Thomson’s Seasons.
I heard from Mr. Bracebridge that Miss Nightingale was greatly improving, of which I was of course well aware, as I went every day to the Sanatorium to prepare a few light things for her lunch or dinner. He also informed me that her intention was to leave Balaklava shortly for Scutari; to which I replied, that having done all I could in the camp for the present, I was quite ready to go. As I had also heard that my field-stoves had arrived, and had been landed by mistake at that place, I decided upon going to fetch them myself. Mr. Bracebridge having found some round stoves which were sent out for winter use, proposed having the tops cut off and some pans introduced, which would make them similar to mine (as he thought). “At all events,” said he, “I shall make a trial, and show it at head-quarters.”
I very reluctantly consented to this. It took five or six days to make a strong tin pan, which, when done and fixed in the stove, we took to head-quarters, and showed to Lord Raglan and a number of generals present. I made some coffee in it (that being the quickest thing), which was approved of. But having brought my small model stove with me, I pointed out to Lord Raglan that each pan would cost thirty shillings, and the stoves would not be worth five shillings soon afterwards, as they would be burnt through, thus proving the superiority of my plan. Lord Raglan advised me to wait till my own arrived. Mr. Bracebridge and myself afterwards went to the General Hospital, and there saw Dr. Mouatt, who had not succeeded in getting the bricks for the kitchen oven.
Having completed our camp rounds, Mr. Bracebridge said he was compelled to leave me, upon some private business. I afterwards learnt that he went to the trenches, and, being both very imprudent and curious, was as nearly as possible taken prisoner or shot. He had appointed to meet me by five o’clock at head-quarters, but did not come. I paid Dr. Hall and a few friends round head-quarters a short visit, as I feared I might not have another opportunity previous to my departure from the Crimea. It was quite dark when I got back. Mr. Bracebridge had not returned, and we were beginning to fear that something had happened to him. The next morning he was on board early, and active as ever, recounting his adventures. I that morning went on board Lord Ward’s yacht, but its owner was on shore—so I left word that I would call again. The next day I had the honour of receiving the following invitation from Lord Ward, to go on an excursion in his yacht as far as Lukas, the palace of Prince Woronzoff.
Steam-ship “London,” Balaklava Harbour, Wednesday.
Sir,—You were kind enough to promise to visit me on board my ship, the London. To-morrow we propose visiting Yalta and Aloupka, calling on the way at the pretty country-seat belonging to Prince Woronzoff. If not engaged, will you go with us? You will perhaps at the same time be kind enough to give a few hints to my cook in the mysteries of the art of which you are so great a master.
I have the honour to remain, yours,
Ward.
About eighty persons were invited, and it was with regret that I was obliged to decline; but a day was indeed a day to me.
Miss Nightingale got better and stronger every day, and she seemed inclined to remain in the Crimea, observing that, owing to her illness, she had not done half she had intended to do. Every one, and especially the doctors, tried to persuade her that the change of air would do her an immense deal of good.
It was at last settled that a berth in the first convenient ship leaving the harbour for Scutari should be placed at Miss Nightingale’s disposal. The Jura was fixed upon, as she was then hourly expected, and had only to discharge cargo and return immediately. She had four hundred horses on board, and several hundred troops. The day before her departure Miss Nightingale was brought from the Sanatorium upon a stretcher, carried by eight soldiers, and accompanied by Dr. Hadley, the Reverend Mr. Parker, Mr. Bracebridge, myself, and several Sisters of Charity. When we reached the Jura, tackles were attached to the four corners of the stretcher, and Miss Nightingale was slung on deck by means of pulleys. We found a very disagreeable smell, caused by the great number of horses, which had only been landed that morning. Miss Nightingale was carefully carried to the chief cabin, a very comfortable one; yet even there the smell was very offensive. This I mentioned to the captain, who agreed with me, but said, “We shall no sooner get to sea than it will disappear.”
The invalid was therefore made as comfortable as possible, and the doctors and every one left. No sooner were they gone than Miss Nightingale fainted. I and the boy Thomas ran in every direction for a doctor. Dr. Hadley, who had just arrived at his residence on the Genoese Heights, came at once, and immediately ordered her to be removed to another vessel. Not being able to find either Captain Heath or Admiral Boxer, I thought of the Baraguay d’Hilliers, to which Miss Nightingale was at once safely removed, and where I hoped she would be very comfortable till we could get an order from the admiral for another ship. The same evening Admiral Boxer came on board to say that he would at once look out for one. The next afternoon Mr. Bracebridge and myself went to head-quarters, to apprise Lord Raglan of the cause of Miss Nightingale’s non-departure. His lordship was out, and Mr. Bracebridge left a message to the effect that he hoped Lord Raglan would not trouble himself about the matter, as Admiral Boxer would attend to it, and that Miss Nightingale was quite comfortable on board the Baraguay d’Hilliers. We then made a few farewell calls at the First and Third Divisions, and also at the Guards’ camp, near Balaklava.
It was nearly midnight when we were shouting, pianoly, “Baraguay d’Hilliers ahoy!” No reply was made to either the first or second hail, so I raised the dismal melody a few notes higher, which at last brought, to our astonishment, a beautiful boat manned by six smart oarsmen. The craft was handsomely painted, having a small red and white burgee at the stern. At first I thought it was an optical delusion, or a fairy scene raised by the magic power of Ondine, the queen of the waters. In less than two minutes they neared the shore, and one of the fairies addressed us thus: “Pray, are you the gentlemen who are accompanying Miss Nightingale?”
“We are,” said I.
“I and my men have been waiting for you, sir, these three hours.”
“How is that?” asked Mr. Bracebridge.
“I cannot tell you further, than that we were sent to fetch Miss Nightingale, and referred to you. I believe you are Mr. Bracebridge?”
“Yes; and I am at a loss to understand what you mean.”
“I’ve brought a letter from our master, Lord Ward, which will explain all.”
“Where is it?”
“I have delivered it on board; but the last orders from his lordship were, that if I had to wait all night, I was to bring you to him.”
“Why? Don’t you know?”
“Not exactly. But I am sure his lordship is still waiting for you; so you had better come as far as the London—it won’t take you ten minutes.”
We then jumped in. Mr. Bracebridge said, “I tell you how it is: no doubt Lord Ward has heard of what has happened, and probably intends to offer to take Miss Nightingale in his yacht to Scutari.”
“Very likely; but it would not do to accept the invitation without first obtaining the permission of Admiral Boxer.”
“We shall see, Mr. Bracebridge. Perhaps Lord Ward will lend it to the invalid; for he has only just arrived, and it is doing nothing.”
On getting on board the New London, we found that Lord Ward, tired of waiting, had retired to rest, having left special orders to be called the instant we arrived, no matter at what hour. As it was nearly one o’clock, we made all kinds of objections to his being disturbed, but in vain. The lamps were lit in the saloon, and we were invited to walk in. We found Lord Ward en robe-de-chambre, quite ready to receive us.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” said he.
We were about to apologize for being so late, when Lord Ward proceeded to say that he had heard of the non-departure of Miss Nightingale, and the cause, and that if she would accept his yacht, he should be happy to place it at her disposal to convey her to Scutari. He added, that she might take her own time, as he intended to remain a fortnight in the Crimea, and that no one should be on board excepting those whom she chose to take with her, and his medical attendant.
Mr. Bracebridge thanked Lord Ward in his own and Miss Nightingale’s name, and said that he would inform the lady of his lordship’s kind offer in the morning, and communicate her decision. We then left, thus terminating a most unexpected midnight conversation, on the 7th of June, 1855. Nothing was heard in the now peaceable harbour but the splashing of the oars of our fashionable oarsmen, who seemed at every pull to be smashing the Koh-i-noor diamond into hundreds of pieces while disturbing the transparent liquid. The flashes from the guns at Sebastopol were distinctly seen reflected, but not a sound was heard save our good-night to the fairy rowers, as we ascended the rope ladder of the bulky Baraguay d’Hilliers.
The following morning Mr. Bracebridge consulted with Miss Nightingale. The lady expressed her thanks for Lord Ward’s kind offer, but at the same time justly observed that the matter was in the hands of the admiral, as he might by this time have arranged with another vessel. Inquiries having been made, the admiral recommended Miss Nightingale to accept Lord Ward’s offer, remarking the advantage of having the vessel to herself, while it would be morally impossible for him to give her a passage with the same facilities. It was then decided that the offer should be accepted. Lord Ward soon after called for an answer, and was highly gratified by that lady’s acceptance. He returned on board his vessel, to have every preparation made for her reception. Miss Nightingale was to go on board at four in the afternoon, and sail at eight or nine the next morning. Mr. Bracebridge, Lord Ward’s medical attendant, the Honourable Mr. Wellesley, and myself, were the only persons to accompany her. For the last time I went my hospital and camp rounds; and in the latter part of that day I thought of going once more to head-quarters, to acquaint Colonel Steele of the final arrangements for our departure. I met the Rev. Mr. Wright, the clergyman, in front of the General’s house, and asked him where Omer Pacha’s tent was situated, being anxious to leave my card with his excellency before leaving. Mr. Wright kindly pointed out the spot. As I was entering the house, I met Lord Raglan coming out.
“Oh, here you are, Monsieur Soyer! I heard you were gone, or going, with Miss Nightingale. When do you start?”
“Early to-morrow, in Lord Ward’s yacht.”
“So I hear. I am very glad of it. She will be much more comfortable.”
“Doubtless, my lord.”
“Let me see (looking at his watch); where are you going?”
“Back to Balaklava direct, my lord, having only to make a call for a minute in the Turkish camp.”
“If I thought I should not be too late, I would go with you, to say farewell to her.”
“Pray don’t give yourself so much trouble. It is getting very late, and must be near your dinner-time. I will inform Miss Nightingale of your kind intentions—that will be quite sufficient.”
“Wait a few minutes.”—“I will.”
It was getting dusk, and having waited nearly twenty minutes, I made inquiries as to whether it was likely that Lord Raglan was going to Balaklava.
“No,” was the answer from one of the Staff, “for he is very busily engaged.”
I started for the Turkish camp. On my arrival there, I found that Omer Pacha was dining out; so I left my card and respectful compliments, and took the road through the artillery camp. This gave me an opportunity of visiting Colonel St. George, who resided near the small village of Carrara, about two miles from Balaklava. The kind reception I met with from the Colonel, whom I had not seen since I left Scutari, caused some little delay, and I did not get on board till nearly nine o’clock. To my surprise, I learned that Lord Raglan had just left the London, after paying a farewell visit to Miss Nightingale. This I could hardly believe to be true—the space of time was so short. I much regretted not having waited longer, though certain that his lordship could not be offended, as I had left a message with the man on duty in the entrance hall to the effect that I was informed that he was not coming.
Orders to start—An accident in port—Farewells—Colonel Dennis’s good luck—Admiral Boxer’s kindness—En route at last—Crimean Zouave flies—At sea—New scene of enchantment—A good dinner—Rough usage—A fog in the Black Sea—Out of our course—Fittings of the London—Enter the Bosphorus—Conversation with Miss Nightingale.
WE slept that night on board the Baraguay d’Hilliers, though all our baggage had been removed to the London, and at seven next morning we went on board. Miss Nightingale had passed a most excellent night, and the weather was very fine. Lord Ward, who had slept at the Commandant’s, came on board at half-past seven. After inquiring of Mrs. Roberts, the nurse, whether Miss Nightingale had been comfortable, he gave the captain orders for departure, which he had fixed for twelve o’clock, instead of nine. As the weather was so fine, he proposed that a sofa-bed should be placed upon deck, and that the captain should take us as far as the Bay of Sebastopol, where we might have a fine view of the besieged city, without incurring the slightest danger.
One of the mates told the captain that a vessel full of powder had taken fire in the night, and that Admiral Boxer had been there since two in the morning, working like a negro with the men, and therefore that he could not see him. I believe Lord Ward knew this, but did not speak of it for fear of causing alarm, and this was no doubt the cause of the delay in our departure. The deck was crowded the whole morning with visitors, particularly officials, who wished to pay their respects to Miss Nightingale; but the doctors had given positive orders for her to see no one. Balaklava was in a great state of excitement, on account of the fire on board the powder-ship. Some called it the Gunpowder-plot at Balaklava, and an attempt to destroy the British fleet. This was the opinion in the French camp and at Kamiesch. The fleet, by-the-bye, was at that time at least twenty miles from the supposed scene of explosion.
As there were several matters which I wished to settle before my departure, I asked the captain whether I could land for an hour.
“Certainly you can. I don’t think we shall sail before three o’clock; but be on board by twelve, if possible, or half past at the latest.”
“I shall be sure to return in time.”
I called at the Commissariat respecting the preserved vegetables, the samples of which were daily expected; next, upon Mr. Fitzgerald, the purveyor; and then went to the Abundance. On my way to the steamer, I met Mr. Bracebridge going to Colonel Dennis; and although I had already had the pleasure of saying good-bye to the colonel and his lady, I went back with him. The colonel, who had been seriously ill for several months, was to sail the next day for England, or Malta (I don’t exactly recollect which), and was saying how much he regretted being obliged to leave his regiment—that he feared the voyage would not do him much good, as the steamer he was going by was so full of sick. He had scarcely spoken the words, when in walked Admiral Boxer.
“Well, Dennis, my friend! I bring you good news.”
“What’s that, admiral?” said the colonel.
“Why, I have another vessel going to-morrow, with very few sick on board, and I have secured a good large cabin for yourself and lady.”
“Many, many thanks! my dear admiral,” said Colonel Dennis, in which his lady also joined.
“Ah! Monsieur Soyer, are you here? How are you to-day?”
“Quite well, admiral. I hope you are the same!”
“Will you take a glass of wine, admiral,” said Colonel Dennis, “and sit down, a minute?”
“No, I thank you; my nephew is waiting lunch for me, and I have been up since three o’clock this morning helping to put out the fire on board that ship in the harbour.”
“Well, how did you leave it, admiral?” inquired the colonel.
“The powder is safe, but the vessel is much damaged.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Bracebridge; good-bye, Monsieur Soyer. I shall see you again—I am coming on board in an hour. You will not sail till three o’clock. Indeed,” said he, going out, “I must take some lunch first, for I feel very faint.”
“You’re right, admiral,” said I; “you work so hard, that if you don’t take care of number one, you will kill yourself.”
“No fear of that, Monsieur Soyer; nothing can hurt an old fellow like me.”
He then almost ran, instead of walking. Bidding the colonel and his lady adieu, Mr. Bracebridge and myself immediately went on board, fearing we might get late. Many visitors were still there, and the captain and Lord Ward begged of them to retire. A few minutes after, we were en route. The admiral was expected, but did not come; he sent some of his officials instead. As soon as we were under way, the couch was brought on deck—Miss Nightingale lying upon it. Mrs. Roberts held a white umbrella over her face to screen her from the extreme heat of the sun, fanning her at the same time. In the saloon, Lord Ward and myself were busily engaged in a most extraordinary sport, hunting the Crimean Zouave flies, which, no matter how you repulsed them, always came back to the charge. We had by this time entered the bay, but were still on half steam. Lord Ward bade Miss Nightingale farewell, as well as all on board, and went off in a small boat. We then shaped our course for Constantinople direct, it being too late to go and see Sebastopol. It was striking eight bells as we cleared the Bay of Balaklava.
We were at sea; and our heroine was where I had recommended her to be, viz., between heaven and the ocean.
Miss Nightingale remained on deck till nearly dusk. The sea was calm, and the burning sky was so strongly reflected upon its surface that we seemed to be rapidly traversing a lake of fire. The radiant face of the sun itself had for some time been concealed by the majestic rock upon which stands the monastery. The turbulent noise of the harbour was succeeded by a dead calm; even the zephyrs seemed to have deserted the collapsed sails, and nothing was heard but the rapid action of the paddles. Of all on board, only Miss Nightingale, her nurse, and myself seemed to enjoy this new scene of enchantment. The rest of the passengers were slumbering in the saloon. Even the turbulent voice of the cannon in and before Sebastopol was mute to our astonished and still-confused ears. Time, it is truly said, tries all! We were at the seat of war, looking at my watch, only eighty-seven minutes before.
Owing to the noise of a busy sea-port, as well as the succession of importunate visitors who, though not admitted, were announced and politely answered, Miss Nightingale must have been, I was well aware, much fatigued. I therefore did not touch upon any important subject of conversation, but begged of her to be prudent and return to her cabin before the evening dew began to fall. She could not help expressing her gratification at the sublimity of the sudden change. Her countenance appeared to have imbibed the balm of health, and to have extended it to her feeble frame.
“Did I not tell you true, mademoiselle,” said I, “when I begged of you to leave, were it only for a short time, ‘ces soucieux rochers, et cette terre d’esclaves?’”
She smiled, and requested the captain to have her removed to her cabin, which was immediately done.
Mr. and Mrs. Bracebridge, and myself, cheerfully obeyed the invitation of an intelligent silver bell which summoned us to dinner at his lordship’s table. I trusted a genuine appetite without the slightest reserve to a well-provided and well-conceived dinner, regretting only having lost the use of my substantial appetite. The wine was on a par with the dinner—excellent.
Early morn found me shaking hands with my illustrious confrère the chef, in his turret-like kitchen. I thanked him much for his capital dinner. “Pray what have we for to-day?” was the last political question I put to him. I am unwilling to append the bill of fare, as it might give an unexpected appetite to my readers, and thus induce them to drop this light reading for something more substantial. That would not answer my purpose, as I wish them to go on with the book without depreciating the cook. The night had been rather rough, and every one on board was ill. The day passed as it generally does when persons have been so roughly nursed by the mother sea. The dinner was probably excellent, but no one could tell—not even myself. Towards night, the rolling waves grew a little more sociable; so we entered into conversation, and the wine and grog circulated freely. The captain, like all captains who have never been sick or drowned, laughed at us, saying we were bad sailors.
“The title of ‘good sailor’ I am not ambitious to merit, captain,” said I.
Next morning, I was on deck walking to and fro with the captain; the night had been a little calmer than the previous one, but very foggy.
“Bless my soul!” said he, “what a bother it is we left Balaklava so late. It is just like his lordship—we never know when we are going to start. I would not give a fig for a voyage of pleasure at sea: business men, sir! business men for navigation. All is calculated and goes right; but for the present I don’t know where we are, it is so foggy. We are not far from the coast; but we can’t for the life of us get in, even if we were abreast of the entrance of the Bosphorus. We ought to have got under way, as I proposed, at nine o’clock. Have you good sight, sir?”
“Well, look with this glass to the right; I fancy I see the land about seven or eight miles off.”
“Yes,” said I; “the fog is clearing off on that side, and I believe it is the land.”
“In that case,” said the captain, “we are nearly thirty miles out of our way. Though it is very provoking, we may thank our stars the weather was more favourable than the night before.”
It was now nearly five A.M., and the dew was falling very fast. Feeling chilly, I went below, and reposed for a short time upon the sofa. Being thirty miles out of our course gave me time for a good rest before entering the Bosphorus; upon making which I was, at my request, called up. As the sun rose, the fog cleared off, though slowly; the captain made out a landmark, and found that we were, as he had before said, about thirty miles out of our course. The London was fitted up in a princely style; she had two funnels, and was very long. She rolled very much during the voyage, though the sea was not very rough; her being short of ballast was probably the cause. At all events, it made Miss Nightingale very ill.
However, our troubles were now at an end; we were slowly entering the mouth of the Bosphorus, amidst a shower of pearls, which gathered in millions upon the rigging and the deck. This was a great relief to us, after the grey fog and thick fine rain—besides being unaware of our exact position, and floating at hazard on the sea; though, thanks to the caution and watchfulness of the captain, we had been in no danger. It was like the opening of a fairy scene; the clouds were slowly disappearing, disclosing to our fatigued and overstrained eyesight the unique panorama of the Bosphorus. Its strong current appeared to overpower the steam, and we seemed to have come to a stand-still. The thousands who have returned from the arid and devastated soil of the Crimea, under its burning sun, must have enjoyed the refreshing sight I have here attempted to describe. Even Miss Nightingale had enjoyed it from her cabin. She had been removed to the beautiful saloon upon deck, where she had a good view of the enchanting panorama, and appeared almost recovered from her fatiguing voyage; which proves how near pain is allied to pleasure, and vice versâ, particularly as refers to sea-sickness. Miss Nightingale requested to see me. I went and inquired after her health, which, she said, had improved since we entered the river. She then referred to various things she wished to have in her extra-diet kitchen, and to numerous other matters of importance connected with the hospitals. I requested her to keep her mind quiet, and to depend upon me.
“No doubt, mademoiselle,” said I, “I shall not have the pleasure of seeing you for some time, and I would certainly advise you not to go out till you are quite restored to health: I will, therefore, send you a journal of my daily proceedings by Mr. or Mrs. Bracebridge, whom I, of course, shall see every day.”
“Exactly, Monsieur Soyer; but I hope I shall soon be able to go about.”
“So do I, mademoiselle, but do not attempt it before you are quite well; and I can assure you, if I were your doctor, I should be very strict with you, as I hear you are more inclined to devote your kind attention to patients than to yourself.”
She smiled, and replied, “Well, Monsieur Soyer, one is much more gratifying to my feelings than the other.”
I then spoke about Lord Raglan’s visit, and expressed my regret at not having waited longer for him.
“I certainly did not expect to see him,” said Miss Nightingale.
“Ah, you may expect anything from his lordship, he is such an amiable and gallant man.”
“So he is, Monsieur Soyer; and he has always enjoyed that reputation.”
We were at last before the Great Barrack Hospital; the anchor was let down, breakfast was served, and highly relished by the assembled guests. The chef had distinguished himself upon a dish of semi-grilled and devilled fowl, an omelette aux fines herbes, &c. &c.; and thus ended our voyage on board the London. We returned our hearty thanks to the captain, doctor, and all on board, for their kind attention to us, and for the extreme kindness shown to Miss Nightingale; saw our luggage landed, and went on shore. Miss Nightingale would not land till the afternoon, the heat of the sun being so powerful.
Having apprised Lord W. Paulet of our arrival, I went my way, and Mr. Bracebridge his. At five o’clock we again met at the landing-place, and went for Miss Nightingale. One of the large barges used to remove the sick, manned by twelve Turks, was brought alongside. As the roof nearly reached the steamer’s bulwarks, Miss Nightingale was easily lowered upon it. Mrs. Roberts was kneeling at her side, and holding a white umbrella over her head. We went below; the sailors gave three cheers; and our dismal gondola soon reached the shore. Upon landing, the invalid was carried upon a stretcher by four soldiers, accompanied by Lord W. Paulet and Staff, Dr. Cumming (who had visited her on board), followed by an immense procession, to her private house—at which place all dispersed.
I do not recollect any circumstance during the campaign so gratifying to the feelings as that simple, though grand, procession. Every soldier seemed anxious to show his regard, and acknowledge his debt of gratitude to one who had so nobly devoted her soul and comfort to their welfare, even at the risk of her own life.