RECEIPT FOR CRIMEAN CUP À LA MARMORA, OR POTAGE À LA
MER BLANCHE.
Proportions.—Syrup of orgeat, one quart; cognac brandy, one pint; maraschino, half-a-pint; Jamaica rum, half-a-pint; champagne, two bottles; soda-water, two bottles; sugar, six ounces; and four middling-sized lemons.
Thinly peal the lemons, and place the rind in a bowl with the sugar; macerate them well for a minute or two, in order to extract the flavour from the lemon. Next squeeze the juice of the lemons upon this, add two bottles of soda-water, and stir well till the sugar is dissolved; pour in the syrup of orgeat, and whip the mixture well with an egg-whisk in order to whiten the composition. Then add the brandy, rum, and maraschino; strain the whole into the punch-bowl, and just before serving add the champagne, which should be well iced. While adding the champagne, stir well with the ladle: this will render the cup creamy and mellow.
Half the quantity given here, or even less, may be made; this receipt being for a party of thirty.
I perceived that my anticipation had been fully realized, and that after the proclamation of peace, the whole camp was converted into an immense banqueting-hall. The continued demand for my assistance in reference to dinner-parties, and invitations to the same, almost made me regret the war-time, during which I used to live in comparative peace, at least as far as high cookery went, having only to attend to my duties, which of course I did not neglect. In addition to all this, I felt compelled, in return for all these polite invitations, to tender hospitalities at home, and thus kept my camp establishment a regular petit Lucullusian temple.
The day fixed for the grand festival was at this period drawing near; the number invited increased daily, while the temple only occupied the same space of ground. The places were measured to an inch, and it was found that it would just hold fifty-four with ease, or sixty if they were packed like sardines in a tin box. The number was therefore limited to fifty. To do the thing well for such a party in the Crimea, required both judgment and perseverance. In the intervals between the hours of duty, I laid out my plans, how I should not only please, but also astonish my illustrious guests. A number of regiments were daily leaving; and this caused fresh invitations to be made and issued, in order to fill up the vacancies. At last the day arrived. The morning was very wet, and the sky clouded; two of my men were ill, as was usually the case when anything of importance was about to take place; and consequently the commencement was inauspicious. Owing to the rain, to my great annoyance, the muddy soil of the Crimea accumulated in the hut, caused by the ingress and egress of half-a-dozen soldiers, who had been kindly granted for a few hours to fetch some green plants from a distant ravine to ornament my fête champêtre and harmonical soirée. It was nevertheless very refreshing to see for the first time on the rocky summit of Cathcart’s Hill the green branches of the valley and the wild flowers of the fields. In less than two hours, the entrance of the villarette, which before only presented the appearance of a comfortable lucifer match box, or fifth-rate kiosque à la Turque, assumed quite a rural aspect. My six brave fellows had mounted, not to the assault, but on ladders and cross-beams, those indispensable ornaments in such a villarette, and, as if by enchantment, had transformed it into a perfumed bosquet, or retreat worthy of the goddess Flora. Bunches of flowers, wild lilac, green branches, and evergreens were profusely spread all over both the interior and the exterior of my villarette. These were interspersed with small flags—red, blue, green, and yellow paper lanterns. These decorations gave it quite a fairy appearance. Wax lights were profusely distributed all round; and in the centre hung a chandelier of original shape, constructed by the celebrated Tom Shell-proof, of Snow-hill, London. The entrance was ornamented by a bold bunch of evergreens and many-coloured flowers. Twelve glass lamps, procured at an immense expense for this occasion only, were carefully cleaned, trimmed, and hung along the front and roof of the hut. They had been painted in blue stripes with ultramarine, by the celebrated theatrical artist, Corporal Stainer. By twelve o’clock the interior was finished—tables, benches, sideboards and all. The only thing to be done was to clear out about half a ton of mud, as that sadly interfered with the general appearance of the now enchanting spot.
All was progressing satisfactorily in the cooking department; the weather began to clear up, and at length everything seemed to smile upon my final and most difficult undertaking. Had this festival proved a failure, my guests, who would, no doubt, have been polite enough not to say anything on the point before me, must have formed a very unfavourable opinion of my gastronomic knowledge, which I should not have had another chance of retrieving. It was therefore of the utmost importance that a failure should not occur, or even be thought of. To my sorrow, I suddenly perceived that the turf which had been freshly put down a few days previous in my grand green grass-plot and avenue had turned quite yellow, from the effects of a burning sun. My outside illumination—viz., lamps made out of ration fat, which then could only be obtained by purchase (the soldiers knowing the value of it)—would not consequently produce the effect I intended—the reflection of light upon the green turf. Ambitious as I was of producing quite a novel impression upon the minds of my guests, I felt much vexed at this failure. While deeply pondering over the affair, in walked Colonel de Bathe, with a most extraordinary long face. He said, “You see me quite in despair: we have lost Major Neville and his brother, two of our best madrigal singers, and I really do not think we can sing at all. You have spoken so highly of our singing-club, and the company you have invited will all be disappointed.”
“Do come, colonel,” I replied, “and, if necessary, I will sing myself.”
“I will come; but we shall be very imperfect.”
“Never mind: we will make up for that by wit, bon-mots, and frolic.”
I succeeded in reassuring the worthy colonel, and he left, promising to come early. A few minutes afterwards, a man entered, and informed me that I could not have the knives, forks, crockery, glasses, &c., which Mr. Crockford had promised, as they had not been returned from Kamara. He added that they would probably be back in the evening or early the next morning. The French rolls I had ordered at Little Kamiesch the day before could not be made in time, and the baker sent to know if common bread would not do as well. “I should think it would,” said I, in no pleasant mood. No more American ice was to be had at Kamiesch; and this was indispensable for the crowning triumph of the affair, upon which I relied so much—viz., my new cup à la Marmora. There were, in addition, innumerable culinary vexations. It was by no means certain that the promised band from the Rifles would favour me by attending, as Lord Alexander Russell was absent, and General Garrett did not like to grant the necessary permission in his absence, and no one knew when his lordship would return.
A MODERN BOTANICAL GARDEN—NATURE OUTDONE. VISITORS ARE articularly requested not to touch The FLOWERS
A MODERN BOTANICAL GARDEN—NATURE OUTDONE.
Let me observe, the way I first saw the grass turn was not under the influence of my friend, merry champagne. Not at all; but it had playfully acted upon my mind, and given me an entirely new and original idea. No matter how ridiculous it may appear to my reader, it was original. This was to go to the theatre and get a pot of opal green colour, and set some military artists to paint the grass, which was quickly done to perfection. In fact, it was so well executed, that the horses picketed near were actually taken in, and played all manner of capers to get loose and have a feed. My guests were astonished, and could not account for the sudden change, having noticed how brown it looked in the morning. Well, reader, what think you followed this sudden bright green inspiration? Why, the arrival of the crockery, &c., bread, and the American ice, two fresh waiters, and Mr. Crockford’s cook, who rendered great assistance.
Twilight was conquered by ration fat, lampion-shells were profusely and artistically placed on the then green grass, tables sumptuously laid out, the chandelier and wax lights ignited, the globe lamps in front of the villarette blazing in volcanic splendour, the band of the Rifles playing, and the noble company as nobly arriving. O Vatel! you felt gloriously, for your banquet had succeeded; and while your wealthy patron, the Prince de Condé, was receiving from Louis XIV. the praise due to your genius, you were no more. All honour to your manes! I, like you, immortal Vatel, had all the horrors of an unexpected failure before my eyes. The idea of suicide did not come into my mind, as it did to yours, noble defunct and incomparable chef! probably because I had not the honour of wearing the sword of the courtier. Though I had a stock of guns, swords, bayonets, &c., the idea of suicide never struck me, inasmuch as all these weapons were taken as trophies from the Russians, who were now friends and brothers, and those emblems of carnage would have been disgraced if soiled with the blood of so humble an individual as myself. On the contrary, though inclined to despair, I lost no time, but opened a bottle of champagne for a friend who had just popped in. At the second glass—mirabile dictu!—the thick curtain which shaded my brow vanished; the unsightly brown grass turned green, and everything appeared couleur de rose; and though no material amelioration had yet taken place, I felt that success was certain. Nil desperandum! How many men who have ceased to live through an anticipated failure would now be living had they struggled against adverse fate, and not been led away by the dread of an imaginary evil!
The soirée was indeed in jeopardy; but in revenge I had the gratification of receiving from every guest invited a polite note, worded thus: “General, Colonel, or Captain So-and-so, will be very happy to spend the evening at Monsieur Soyer’s villarette.” General Wyndham, who was at one time uncertain whether he could come or not, sent his aide-de-camp to inform me that he should be able to attend, and to know the hour. Everything, in fact, tended to render my position more unpleasant; and the proverb, “Plus on est de fous, plus on rit,” was anything but clear to my mind. It would be clear enough if a good supper and good entertainment were provided; but if the contrary, I should say, “Plus on est de fous, moins on rit.” It was three o’clock, P.M., and nine was the hour on the invitation cards. There remained but six hours for success or failure.
O Vatel! my noble master in the science of curée, I then for the first time understood the true extent of your devotion to your art. Humiliation and dishonour awaited you; and Death—yes, Death! god of Starvation, with his frail, bony limbs—was grinning at you. Fortunately you lived in an era of gastronomic grandeur, when a chef de cuisine bore a high rank, and had your own aristocratic weapon wherewith to do the noble deed which gilds your name.
The gallant Colonel de Bathe was the first to arrive, with plenty of musical support. The programme was settled. Each noble general, as he arrived, was received à la militaire, not, as the song says, “sans tambour ni trompette,” but sans cérémonie. Every one being acquainted, introductions were not necessary.
At half-past nine the band, which had performed all the while, ceased playing, and the grand madrigal concert commenced, followed by glees, &c., and at intervals the band played lively quadrilles, polkas, &c., till eleven o’clock, when the supper took place. The band melodiously accompanied the knife-and-fork chorus, the champagne galop, and pop, pop of the confined corks. Shortly after, the amiable Lord Rokeby, who had kindly undertaken the office of chairman, made a most affable and, to me, interesting speech, dilating in high and flattering terms upon my mission to the East.
After supper, the band again ceased, and, while they enjoyed their nocturnal repast, madrigals, glees, duets, solos, &c., followed in rapid succession. All of a sudden (I happened at the time to be in the back room) an alarm was given by General Wyndham, who called out, “Soyer, Soyer, your hut is on fire!” The general was getting up, when a young officer sprang from beam to beam till he reached the top of the hut, where a large paper lantern had taken fire and ignited the roof. My principal fear was for my picture, painted by the late Madame Soyer, called the “Young Bavarian;” which was the admiration of all my Crimean visitors, and well known in London amongst the connoisseurs, having repurchased it at the sale of the great Saltmarsh collection, at Messrs. Christie and Mason’s, in the year 1846—(subsequently, when travelling in the South of France, I met on my route the illustrious Horace Vernet, and in Paris, had the honour of showing him this painting in his study at the Institute, when he expressed his opinion in the following words:—“That no female artist had ever painted in such a bold style, nor with such a truthfulness of colour and design.” He added, it was worthy of the pencil of Murillo). It hung directly under the conflagration. But, thanks to the gymnastic agility of our unknown fireman, calm was soon restored; the band recommenced playing, and the punch à la Marmora circulated freely, for everything was abandoned for that exciting mixture, even grogs and champagne. At about two o’clock Lord Rokeby and General Craufurd left. I then introduced a comic song, in which all joined, including between two or three hundred spectators who had collected round the hut. As the hour advanced, the company diminished; but at five in the morning there were still a few guests inquiring for their horses. And thus ended the last party on Cathcart’s Hill previous to the breaking up of the Fourth Division and its return to England.
The following is an account, from the Times, of the banquet, and of the names of some of my noble visitors:—
This evening, a number of distinguished guests honoured M. Soyer with their presence at supper at his villarette near Cathcart’s Hill. The exterior of the hut was illuminated with lamps fed with ration fat; the interior was embellished with numerous wreaths and festoons of the beautiful natural plants and flowers now so abundant over the less-trodden parts of the plateau. Some glees of Kücken, Mendelssohn, Fleming, &c., very well executed by Mr. Clarke Dalby, Major Colville, R.B., Colonel de Bathe, Scots Fusilier Guards, and others, formed an agreeable introduction to an excellent supper—a triumph of culinary art over Crimean resources, which was, however, soon subjugated in its turn by the ferocity and unconquerable steadiness of the British appetite. Lord Rokeby proposed M. Soyer’s health, and passed a high eulogium on the services he had rendered to the army by his exertions to promote good cooking and the use of palatable food; and M. Soyer returned thanks with propriety and feeling, acknowledging the aid and support he had received from generals, officers, and privates in the introduction of his improvements.
Among the guests were General Wyndham, Chief of the Staff; General Lord Rokeby, General Lord W. Paulet, Colonel Lord Alexander Russell, Lord Sefton, Sir Henry Barnard, General Garrett, General Craufurd, Colonel Blane, Colonel Hardinge, Colonel P. Fielding, Colonel Drummond, Colonel Ponsonby, Major Dallas, Lieutenant-Colonel Hugh Smith, and about thirty other officers. About this time twelve months the long rangers, of which we wisely held our tongues for fear the Russians would find out how unpleasant they were, and redouble their attentions, might have interrupted the proceedings very abruptly.
A final trial—Distribution of the Order of the Bath—Letter from Lord Gough—Farewell to the battle-field—Bonfires—Grand coup-d’œil—Lord W. Paulet’s farewell party—Parting visits—Depredations—Morning parade catechism—Stuart’s canteen—The Theatre Royal of the Fourth Division—The scenes shifted—Soyer’s new invention—Pilgrimage through a deserted camp—Sanatorium Hospital—Six cemeteries—Trip to Odessa—Return to Balaklava—A pleasant surprise—The yacht Sylphide—Letter from W. H. Russell—Departures—The Nightingale Monument—The last day—General Codrington’s letter—The keys of Balaklava given up to the Russians—The place retaken—A parting invitation—Good-by to the Crimea.
THE following day I begged Sir William Codrington to fix a day for my final trial, when I intended to place twelve stoves in the 56th Regiment, then quartered at the back of the vineyard facing head-quarters, and thus cook for the whole regiment. This would afford Sir W. Codrington an opportunity of judging of their efficacy, and enable him to give his opinion upon the subject. Lord Gough had arrived to distribute the Order of the Bath; and, as his lordship was to remain a couple of days longer in the Crimea, I was anxious that he should be present at the inspection. The following Sunday was fixed for the purpose, and the inspection was to take place after divine service. Accordingly, Lord Gough, Sir W. Codrington, General Wyndham, General Barnard, General Garrett, Colonel de Bathe, Colonel Blane, Colonel Walker, Captain Ponsonby, with their respective Staffs, were present, and tasted the various kinds of food I had caused to be prepared by two soldiers only for the whole regiment, about six hundred strong. About thirty gentlemen had assembled; and they all expressed in high terms their satisfaction and approval, not only of the quality of the food produced from the soldiers’ rations with so little trouble, but also of the small quantity of fuel consumed in its preparation. In corroboration of this, I the next day received the following letter from Lord Gough:—
Lord Gough begs, with his compliments, to inform Monsieur Soyer that he had much pleasure in seeing his new cooking-stoves for the army. Any measures which Monsieur Soyer may have in view to simplify the cooking arrangements of the soldier will always meet with Lord Gough’s hearty approval.
Sebastopol, 10th June, 1856.
The French as well as the English camps diminished daily. Each evening was ushered in by large bonfires, indicative of the early departure of either French or English troops. This style of farewell to the battle-field was generally adopted in both armies; but some of the French, not satisfied with burning their lumber and loose wood, which was very properly allowed by the authorities for those joyful volcanoes, commenced setting fire to their huts, kitchens, &c.; for which they were very severely reprimanded by their general, who, instead of allowing them to start the following day, as intended, kept them in camp to the last—compelling them to bivouac upon the spot, and thus fully enjoy the consequences of their folly, having no kitchens to cook in, nor huts to lie under. This was a good lesson for the remainder of the army.
The Fourth Division, under the command of Lord William Paulet, received orders to depart. Every regiment distinguished itself more or less by its peculiar style of bonfire. They were to be fired simultaneously on the eve of their departure. Some were raised to the height of thirty feet; one even exceeded that, with a base of at least sixty feet in circumference, being composed of not less than ten or twelve tons of wood and rubbish, brought together by the men of the 57th Regiment, who worked very hard for some days in getting it ready. The night arrived, all the bonfires, with the exception of the large one, which was kept for the last, were fired; and when the smaller ones were about half consumed, this monster was ignited in four places. The coup-d’œil was indeed grand. The burning of Sebastopol had not offered such a column of fire in one spot; added to which, all the regiments composing the division had joined, and were dancing round that mountain of flame—shouting, singing, playing on marrow-bones and cleavers, and upon hundreds of tin camp-kettles as a substitute for drums. The camp was richly illuminated for miles around till about ten o’clock, when, as usual, all mustered in military order. The burning sky had recovered its former azure splendour; the stars were twinkling and shooting; and the next day nothing remained to tell the tale to the new-comers but a kind of large black seal, about eighty feet in circumference.
That evening I had the pleasure of joining a farewell party, given by Lord W. Paulet to a number of friends at his head-quarters. The time passed very merrily and agreeably, leaving a most delightful impression upon the minds of all.
The next morning, at daybreak, the whole of the division were on their way to Balaklava. A long red line was seen marching in the distance; the sound of the bands playing “Cheer, boys, cheer,” was faintly heard, gradually receding from both sight and hearing. Those brave fellows were then off for good. The Guards had left their camp some days before; but they went in detachments—the Coldstreams first, the Grenadier Guards next, and the Fusiliers last. I paid my respectful farewell visits to Lord Rokeby, General Craufurd, Colonels Drummond, Foley, &c. &c.
Upon this occasion, Colonel Foley invited me to lunch at their grand mess-room, which invitation I accepted with great pleasure. Every one being on the move, invitations to dinner entirely disappeared from the order of the day. The rations were the only provisions which graced the last day’s bill of fare. Still, the salt pork, beef, and the fresh meat were very good, and highly relished by a Crimean appetite: added to which, the remains of a good English cheese, a salad à la Zouave, and good English draught ale, completed the sumptuous gala. While freely partaking of the gallant colonel’s hospitality, a number of officers joined us; amongst whom I recognised the scion of a celebrated epicure, who sat next me, and commenced manipulating in his plate a most relishing sauce. Upon tasting this, I could not resist exclaiming—
“Oh! Sefton, Sefton! may your noble ashes repose in peace in your tomb! The glory of your name has not faded: your grandson, the youthful Lord Sefton, is an epicure!”
Some of my stoves remained in use in the Crimea till the day of the departure of the First Division. I was in duty bound to watch over and rescue them from the hands of the marauding Tartars, who seemed to claim as their own everything left behind by each regiment, even previous to the surrender of the Crimea by the Allied Governments.
All that remained of the British army consisted of the 20th with two Scotch regiments at Kamara, and a body of the Land Transport Corps at Cathcart’s Hill, (the Land Transport Corps were even at that time raising their bonfires); and the 56th Regiment at head-quarters, as Sir William Codrington’s body-guard. So few troops being left upon such a vast space, made it not only very dull, but also very unsafe, compelling us to keep loaded guns and revolvers at the head of our beds. The precaution was most necessary, for, with all our care, we were daily and nightly robbed by the Tartar Jews who infested the camp. Tents actually disappeared, and several huts were fired in the English camp; and no one could detect the authors of these outrages.
The Fourth Division retained its name and the ground, but that was all. The chief of that colossal body alone remained—General Garrett having to the last maintained his head-quarters upon the memorable spot. The loss most felt upon Cathcart’s Hill was the departure of Lord Alexander Russell’s brigade of Rifles, who were in the habit of parading and exercising daily upon the plateau. A parting dinner given to his lordship by General Garrett, and to which I was invited, closed merrily enough; but the day after their departure the camp was as desolate as a desert; only one regiment, the 20th, remained. General Garrett and myself were the only proprietors on that far-famed spot, Cathcart’s Hill, though no end of new tenants were arriving in shoals; I mean the rats from deserted camps, who boldly took possession of our head-quarters. All around had in a few days assumed such an aspect of desolation, that it appeared to me like a sudden exile from a lively and brilliant capital to a deserted rock: the beating of drums, sounding of trumpets, and the harmony of the bands; as well as the eternal morning parade catechism of the drill-serjeant, shouting with all his might, “Fall in! eyes fifteen paces to the front!”—or occasionally, as the French would say, “Les yeux fixes et la tête à quinze pas!” “Shoulder arms! slope arms!” Now and then, an awkward fellow would be thus apostrophized by the witty Serjeant: “Now, my man, has not your country been generous enough to present you with a musket? Then, do your country justice by learning the use of it.”
The profound silence which succeeded the tumult of camp life would have depressed the greatest philosopher. Stuart’s celebrated canteen, attached to the theatre, and which appeared in the series of engravings already published, was on the move; and Stuart’s head man, Joe, was at his last score of bottle-breaking, when I called and ordered half-a-dozen of pale ale.
“You may boast,” he exclaimed, “of being the last served here, for we are going off to Kadikoi immediately.” I then walked into the theatre. The stage offered a singular coup-d’œil: the figure of a child, as well as a black doll, were hanging by the neck from a cross beam at the top of the stage; the elaborately-painted curtain was torn into ribbons, the scenery partly whitewashed over, and the furniture of the apartment of Serjeant Blowhard was thrust into Miss Greenfinch’s bedroom; while Slasher and Crasher had left the theatre in a most dilapidated state. Female attire, including wings, ringlets, caps, bonnets, bunches of flowers, crinolines, and toilets of all fashions, bedaubed with chalk, bismuth, vermilion, and red brickdust, instead of carmine, were scattered about the stage in such a state that a French chiffonnier would not have disgraced his hamper by including them amongst its contents. The painting-room floor was like a rainbow; all the powdered colours had been kicked in every direction, forming a mulligatawny of shades enough to puzzle an Owen Jones and his disciples. The benches in the stalls and pit were piled up into a formidable barricade. Nothing had been respected but her Majesty’s royal arms, which ornamented the centre of the proscenium. These had been painted by Major Dallas, General Garrett’s aide-de-camp.
By the aid of a ladder, I carefully removed them, with the intention of placing them amongst my Sebastopol trophies, as a memento of the dramatic art in the Crimea. Upon leaving this desolated skeleton temple of Melpomene, I inquired of Mr. Stuart’s bottle-breaker the cause of this awful disorder. He told me, frankly enough, that so far as the wardrobe was concerned, the rats had taken possession, but that for the remainder, himself and a few friends had done the work of devastation by way of closing the season. Thus terminated the dramatic performances in the Theatre Royal of the Fourth Division; and it was, no doubt, a fair specimen of what happened in other divisions, if left in the hands of similar good managers.
Indeed, I could not but feel hurt at this sudden devastation, for it was only a few evenings before that this tumble-down temple of Momus was gloriously shining through the resplendent glare of a dozen brown candles, and that the celebrated band of the Rifles (by permission of Lord A. Russell) was delighting a crowded audience numbering upwards of five hundred soldiers, when, at the end of the first piece, to the astonishment of all, and myself in particular, a distinguished artist and “non-commissioned” poet came forward, who, though not in the style of Victor Hugo or Moore, but rather in the poetless “or you-go-not style,” poured forth the following song, to the amusement of the audience, who at its conclusion encored it most lustily. The “poetry” (?) ran as follows:—
My presence being discovered, the whole of the troops rose en masse, and favoured me with three cheers, when, mounting a bench, I addressed them as follows:—
“My worthy friends and brave fellows, allow me to express to you my most profound gratitude for the honour you have conferred upon me thus unexpectedly. My humble services have often been approved of by your superior officers, but believe me, nothing can be more gratifying to me than your genuine and spontaneous approval of my endeavours to improve the cooking of the soldiers’ rations; and now that peace has re-established order amongst us all, I shall only be too happy to devote my time in instructing you in the plain art of cookery; for, believe me, it is the desire of her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen, and your superiors, that you should live well, long, grow fat, and die happy.”
Shouts of laughter and rounds of cheers terminated this unexpected dramatic impromptu. The performance in consequence terminated twenty minutes later than usual.
On leaving this heap of ruins, I felt as though haunted by a day-mare instead of one worthy of Young’s Night; but I persisted in conquering the feeling, and in continuing my sorrowful pilgrimage. As if to add to the gloomy appearance of the deserted camp, the sun, which long threw his burning rays upon the dry soil, disappeared behind vaporous clouds, and rain fell fast. Nevertheless, nothing could prevent me carrying out my first idea, which was to visit in all their loneliness the various camps. I reasoned thus with myself:—“I am probably the only person who has the chance of doing this, and, therefore, the only person who will be able to tell the tale.” In spite of the great desire I had to continue my journey, as evening was approaching, I was compelled, though reluctantly, to put an end to my camp review until the day prior to my evacuating the Crimea; therefore I returned to Balaklava, which place, together with Kamiesch, alone showed signs of martial movement, the latter less so than the former. The French troops got away before our own, and at last there were as many Russians as French at Kamiesch. I had scarcely anything to do, which was not amusing after having had so much business continually upon my hands. Mr. Crockford asked me whether I should like to take a trip to Odessa. I jumped at the proposal with delight. That gentleman kindly allowed me to invite a few friends, and assured me that the trip would only occupy five or six days, going and returning. In less than four hours the list was filled, and two days afterwards we were on board the Belle Alar, but under more prosperous circumstances than on our former pleasure expedition. The weather was fine, the vessel properly ballasted, and furnished with provisions of all sorts, besides a cargo of goods. Our appetites were first-rate; and after thirty-eight hours of fair steaming, we came in sight of the far-famed city of palaces—Odessa, into the harbour of which we were at once admitted.
Thanks to General Lüders, who obtained of the governor a suspension of quarantine, and Brigadier-General Staunton, whose arrival had been telegraphed, we were allowed to enter even without passports. Among the fortunate tourists were General Staunton, Colonel Smith, Major Earle, Mr. William Russell, Mr. Angel, Mr. Crockford, and myself.
During the trip, our party was as turbulent as the ocean was calm. Each day commenced and ended with shouts of laughter, contrasting singularly with the former melancholy days in the camp. I need not relate that which is so well known to every one—that the most successful parties are those which are got up à l’impromptu. This was the case with this delightful trip; so much so, indeed, that some who came on board at five o’clock were not aware of it till two or three.
I do not think I can give a better idea of this delightful trip than by republishing the following descriptive letter, which appeared in the Times:—
Soyer at Odessa.
To the Editor of the Times.
Sir,—From the arid and partly-deserted soil of the Crimea, and the everlasting view from Cathcart’s Hill of the now silent ruins of Sebastopol, nothing can be more refreshing to the mind than the aspect of a civilized and inhabited town.
I and a few friends agreed to make a trip by water to the famed city of Odessa, where we are now enjoying the favours of peace, and it is with great pleasure that I return our sincere thanks to the authorities and inhabitants of that city of palaces for the most cordial and charming reception which could have been conferred upon strangers after such a destructive war.
Being anxious to visit the public buildings, military hospitals, and the various institutions, I expressed my wishes to General Lüders, which his Excellency not only acceded to, but deputed his aide-de-camp, Colonel Scariatine, to accompany us in our visitorial pilgrimage.
The party consisted of Brigadier-General Staunton, 4th Division, Adjutant-General Colonel Smith, Major Earle, and myself.
This noble man, who spoke excellent French and English, was indeed a valuable cicerone. The most important of the institutions we visited are the Military and Civil Hospitals, the Foundling Institution, the Salles d’Asile, and the Hospital of the Sisters of Charity. We were received at, and shown over, the Hospital by the chief medical officer, Dr. Grime, and staff; at the Foundling, by the director, Mr. Fourman; at the Salles d’Asile, by the inspectress, Madame Pera Ergard; and by the Superior of the Sisters of Charity, Madame Marie Retchakoff—one of the latter had just arrived from Bakschiserai; she had been all through the campaign, and was slightly wounded in the trenches. She related that several sisters were killed in Sebastopol, and many wounded during the siege; the latter are now recalled to St. Petersburg, and enjoy the favour and patronage of the Empress. These ladies were most anxious to hear of Miss Nightingale’s doings, and spoke of her with the greatest veneration. They listened with much interest to my account of that excellent lady’s efforts in the cause of humanity.
All these institutions, though based upon similar principles to those in England and France, possess a type of their own, both as regards the expense and management. Cleanliness, simplicity, and judicious economy seem to be closely studied in all the establishments.
The culinary department, which, of course, was of vital interest to me, I found extremely clean and well constructed, though rather complicated. The boilers are made of wrought iron, which I at first sight feared was copper, but the lids only were made of that showy but dangerous metal in such vast establishments, where the apparatus is in continual use and tinning difficult to be often repeated.
We were at the Orphan’s School in time to taste their food, which consists of a basin of soup, one pound of meat, one ounce of oatmeal, and one pound and a half of white bread. The soup is of a thinnish nature, and strongly flavoured with pleasant aromatic herbs, the whole forming, no doubt, a very wholesome and nutritious food, and well adapted to the climate. Their beverage, which is the one of the soldiers, is called Quielyë and Chtschy in Russian, and Quataee in the Polish language. It is made with rye, mead, and a small portion of hops, requiring only a few hours to prepare it.
I must say that to an uninitiated palate it is anything but a pleasant drink, but, no doubt, very refreshing and agreeable when used to it; for after drinking one goblet of it my thirst was allayed for several hours during one of the hottest days I had experienced for some time.
Now, a few words for the epicures. The sturgeon, which is here abundant, and in England despised and valueless, forms a principal and an exquisite article of food, which is partly owing to the method they have of dressing it. On my return I intend to try and reinstate this queenly fish in its pristine fame.
Fresh caviar, which is made from the roe of the fish, is daily eaten by the Russian population as an introduction to the dinner. Crawfish of an extraordinary size are caught in the small rivulets close to the town; they are cheap and very plentiful. The tail and claws are generally the only parts eaten, and tons weight of the part which makes the exquisite bisque d’écrevisses are monthly thrown away.
The receipt of this excellent soup I have promised to send to the worthy host of the Europa Restaurant, he having promised to give it a trial, and thereby enrich his already luxurious bill of fare.
With the highest consideration, I have the honour to remain, your very obedient,
A. Soyer.
Europa Hotel, Odessa, June 23.
We left the far-famed city of Odessa, and thus joyfully terminated our trip to that land of new friends.
Upon our return to Cathcart’s Hill, we found that General Garrett and suite had removed to the commandant’s house at Balaklava, the general having succeeded to that important post at the departure of Colonel Hardinge, which post he retained till the final close of this great political and military drama. My majordomo, my engineer, and followers, were not able, with all their bravery, to resist the nightly attacks of the Tartar camp-rovers. Robbery it was impossible to prevent; for they in one night, as I heard, cleared off everything out of doors, as well as an old bell tent and a box with the servant’s clothes. The matter at last grew so critical, that my people were obliged to fire upon them in the night at random. Such Arabian marauders are worthy of the finest type of Zouaves for pillaging.
I found also, on my return, that my people had, immediately after I set off on my trip, left the hill, at the recommendation of General Garrett. He kindly sent word that he did not consider it safe for them to remain there any longer. They were quartered in one of the wards close to the General Hospital, where some of the Sardinian sick remained. They had all daring, adventurous, and extraordinary anecdotes of what had occurred during my absence to relate. Shell-proof, in particular, pretended to have wounded several in the nocturnal engagements.
On his departure for Odessa, Mr. Wm. Russell had left his iron castle, with his farm-house, stables, garden, and dependencies, in a most nourishing condition; but upon his return that gentleman found the castle pulled down, folded up, and packed ready for removal by land pirates. He thus describes his feelings on the occasion:—
My dear Monsieur Soyer,—What do you think? I am now a houseless, homeless wanderer: they have pulled down my house, so it is really time for me to evacuate the Crimea. The shell of the house only stands; and as I am not a lobster or an oyster, that will scarcely give me a shelter; so I must hang out on Cathcart’s Hill, in the old cave where Sir John Campbell lived long ago.
W. H. Russell.
Upon returning to Balaklava, we found it but a dismal place. Everybody you met—and the number was not great—quietly asked, “What, not gone yet!—when are you going?”
“In a few days,” was the general reply, or perhaps “to-day” or “to-morrow.”
For my part, I told every one who inquired that I had gone, and what they saw going about dressed like me was only my shadow. Joking apart, I may state, for the information of those whom I respect and who deserve to know the truth, my reason for remaining so long was this: I was in duty bound to see the remainder of my field-stoves, which were in use till the last moment of the campaign, shipped for England. Not only was I responsible for them, but I had to give my official report to Sir William Codrington, and close the mission entrusted to me by the British Government.
Glad was I to be once more at liberty, as my health, though partially restored, was anything but satisfactory. The Commander-in-chief had gone to Odessa only for a few days, it is true; but during his absence there was nothing doing. Balaklava was deserted, the camp lifeless; Kadikoi still more so—not a hut, tent, shed, store, canteen, shop, or stable, was inhabited. Brick and stone houses, as well as hospitals, were to let at the very moderate price of nothing at all, and glad to get tenants at that rather reduced rate. It was not at all extraordinary for one to rise a poor man in the morning, and at night find oneself a large proprietor. Every person, upon leaving, presented you with rows of houses, shops, &c., which they could not sell or take away. Nevertheless, all was stale, flat, and unprofitable, as a day or two after coming into possession you yourself had to give them up. Riding through the camp, even at mid-day, was a dangerous experiment, as it was invaded by hundreds of people of all kinds and tribes, who prowled about, pillaging everything they could put hands upon. Therefore Balaklava was the only safe quarter, and dull enough into the bargain. The heat was great, and amusement scanty. Like the song of the Manchester operatives, “we had no work to do-oo-oo.” Eating little, drinking much, and sleeping all day, was our principal occupation. I removed from the General Hospital to a very comfortable hut, then recently occupied by an officer of the Commissariat, comprising three rooms, a stable, and yard.
About noon one day, while in deep slumber, I was suddenly aroused by a joyful voice. It came from Captain Hall, General Codrington’s aide-de-camp. “Hallo!” said he, “I fear I am disturbing you.”
“Not at all, captain; pray walk in—I have nothing to do. I was taking an Oriental nap, which calms one’s senses, to that extent that I had in imagination travelled as far as England and back again to my duty in the East in less than half an hour.”
“I have done more extraordinary things than that,” said he. “By the same conveyance I have been as far as the East Indies and back to head-quarters in the Crimea in twenty minutes.”
“You have certainly beaten me; and I think the human mind can at any time beat the electric telegraph for speed.”
“What do you intend doing to-morrow?”
“The same as to-day, captain—nothing.”
“Captain Leyland and family have just arrived in the harbour in the beautiful yacht, the Sylphide. I have spoken to him about you, and he will be glad to make your acquaintance. They called upon you at Cathcart’s Hill, but you were at Odessa. If you like to see that gentleman at once, I will introduce you.”
In a short time we were climbing up the side of the bulky Sylphide, an immense yacht. From her deck, her beauty was seen to the best advantage. The real Sylphide was, however just perceptible, surrounded by a group of gentlemen and ladies, beneath a large union-jack which formed an awning upon deck. This was no other than Miss Leydell, a beautiful lady eighteen years of age, with blue eyes, fair hair, rows of pearls for teeth—in fact, a real Sylphide, a sight of whom would have driven Taglioni to despair. After I had had the honour of an introduction to her sylphideship and the surrounding group, the conversation became animated. The topic was upon a monster gipsy party which was to take place the following day in the valley of Baidar, and to which I received an invitation, no sooner made than accepted by your humble servant. The captain then offered to show us over his yacht, which might be compared to a nobleman’s floating house, for elegance, perfection, and comfort.
The Land Transport Corps and Commissariat had all left, and only the General-in-chief and Staff remained, forming the last link of the chain which still bound them to the Crimean soil. They were at the time preparing for an excursion to Odessa, on a visit to General Lüders. The excellent account of the courteous reception we had received at his hands, as well as from the inhabitants of that beautiful city, rendered them more anxious to go. Miss Nightingale was preparing for her departure. I was waiting the closing of the Land Transport and General Hospitals, to see my field-stoves embarked; and after delivering them in person to Captain Gordon, I was anxious to follow. Balaklava church, now deprived of its sacerdotal character, was being prepared for the reception of the Commander-in-chief upon his return from Odessa, as head-quarters had been given up to the original proprietors. General Wyndham, accompanied by his aide-de-camp, had left for England.
The Algiers had arrived in port, to conduct Sir William Codrington to England, via, Constantinople and Malta. A few days afterwards, Miss Nightingale and nurses left for Scutari. All the hospitals in the Crimea were then closed.
A few days after the departure of Miss Nightingale, a marble monument of immense size arrived, and was erected, by an order left by that lady, between the Sanatorium heights and the Sardinian graveyard and monument, situated on the peak of a mountain. It is perceptible from a great distance at sea. The Nightingale Monument is a monster marble cross, twenty feet high, of beautiful Marmora marble. I believe it was ordered and paid for by that benevolent lady, and dedicated by her to the memory of the brave, and the deceased Sisters of Charity. Nothing was written upon it when we left; but the following line was, as I was informed, to be inscribed:—