active 1835-1883 Thomas Faughnan

ARMISTICE—CESSATION OF HOSTILITIES—EXCHANGE OF COINS—HEIR TO FRENCH IMPERIAL THRONE—TREATY OF PEACE—INVITATIONS—GRAND REVIEW—REMOVAL OF THE ARMY—EMBARKATION—THE VOYAGE—SHIP ON FIRE—ARRIVAL AT MALTA—JOIN THE RESERVE BATTALION—PROCEED TO ALEXANDRIA—THE VOYAGE—ARRIVAL—VISIT PLACES OF RENOWN—VISIT CAIRO—THE NILE—ARRIVAL—THE CITY—BAZAARS.

At the end of February, 1856, the diplomatists at Paris agreed upon an armistice during the discussion of a treaty of peace. The immediate effect was observable in the Crimea, as soon as the several commanders had received information. On the morning of the 1st March, a white flag was hoisted on the Tchernaya bridge, and near it assembled the Russian commander, a staff of officers, and a troop of Cossacks. The English commander with his staff, accompanied by others from the French and Sardinians, descended across the valley to the bridge where they met the Russians with whom they discussed the details of an armistice. The cessation of hostilities was to last one month, during the consideration of the treaty. Through the aid of their interpreters they decided that the Tchernaya river was to be the boundary between the opposing armies. The quietest month spent by the allied armies in the Crimea was the month of March, 1856. Hostilities were entirely stopped, and yet none could say whether they might not commence again with all their horrors. The diplomatists at Paris had one month to decide the question of peace or war.

The commanders, while maintaining their boundary arrangement, did not prohibit friendly meetings of the opposing armies on their respective banks of the boundary line, where the officers and soldiers frequently assembled to look at each other in peace and try to converse in a friendly manner across the stream, when the exchange of coins and other small articles or mementoes took place, and an interchange of civilities such as "bono Johnny," "bono Francais," "bono Roos," besides other complimentary expressions. This intercourse was kept up during the month of the armistice. For the rest, the operations of the month differed little from those of the camp at Aldershot, all the divisions being exercised and reviewed in the open spots all round the camp. Sometimes the Russians held their reviews on the same day that we did, with the glittering bayonets of each full in view of the other, and both alike safe in the conviction that no unfriendly shot would disturb the pageant.

On the 23rd of this month, festivities in the French camp celebrated the birth of an heir to the French imperial throne; bonfires were kindled, guns fired, reviews held, horse-racing on the banks of the Tchernaya, healths drank by the French and their allies, even the Russians participated in the rejoicings, for they lighted fires all along their lines.

April brought with it the treaty of peace. Before the hour had arrived when the armistice would have expired, news was received that the treaty had been signed at Paris. When peace was proclaimed, an interchange of invitations took place between the Russian army and the allies. The Russian soldiers came over to our camp, in small parties at a time, and we did the same to their camp, each party in charge of a non-commissioned officer. I and twelve privates visited the Russian camp and their bazaar, which we found much the same as our own. All sorts of English goods were sold there, even "Bass's bottled ale," and "Guiness's porter," at a dollar a bottle. Their bread was as black as your boot; the coffee-houses were crowded with English, French and Russian soldiers, drinking, singing, and dancing; and the interchange of any amount of "bono Johnnys," "bono Roos," and "bono Francais," trying to make each other believe that they were great friends.

On the 17th April, the British and French troops had a grand review on the heights near St. George's Monastery (at which General Luders, the Russian commander, with his brilliant staff, was present). They were formed up in line of continuous quarter distance columns of battalions, when the commanders of the different armies with their gorgeous retinue of staff and cavalry officers rode along the line, with the bands of each regiment playing in succession; after which they marched past the grand assemblage of commanders and staff, in quick time, each regiment marching past in grand division style, with its band playing in front. General Luders returned deeply impressed with the appearance of the allied armies, and expressed himself much gratified at the attention shown him by the allied forces. Duties of a more serious character, however, now demanded the attention of the Generals. Large armies were to be removed from the Crimea, and vast stores of provisions and ammunition; besides all the round shot the Russians had fired at us during the siege, which we had gathered and carried on our back to the railway depÔt for shipment to England with all the commissariat stores brought down from each divisional depÔt at the front where they had been collected in such immense quantities. Day after day, during the summer months, did the various regiments leave the Crimea, some for Malta, others for the Ionian Islands, the West Indies, or Canada, but the greater part for England. All the camp equipage and stores for each regiment had to be brought into transport order, and everything brought to Balaklava for shipment.

About the 10th of May the 17th Regiment marched from their old camp on Cathcart's Hill, and embarked at Balaklava at two o'clock in the afternoon, on board the steam transport "Sir Robert Low." At 3 p.m. we moved slowly out between the rocks which overhang the narrow entrance to the harbour. We were all on deck with tears in our eyes, taking a last sad look towards "Cathcart's Hill" where we had left so many noble comrades behind in that cold desolate plateau, so far away from friends and relatives; these thoughts filled us with sadness. As our ship glided through the beautiful calm, blue waters of the Euxine, the land faded from our view. We then turned our thoughts homewards after giving thanks to God for the great mercy he had shown in bringing us safely through all the death struggles and hardships which our brave troops had suffered; and now that we were returning alive we had every reason to be thankful.

The weather being fine, we made the passage across the Black Sea in 48 hours. The second day at two p.m., we passed the old fortress of Riva which commands the entrance to the Bosphorus, passing Constantinople at 3 o'clock, taking a last look at that strange old city, with its picturesque sights, the tall minarets and the blue waters of the Bosphorus catching the golden light as the sun dipped behind the distant hills. We rounded Seraglio point and steamed down the Marmora, passing the Seven Towers on our right, and slowly the beautiful city faded from our view forever. We had a smooth passage across the Sea of Marmora. Next morning at ten o'clock we passed Gallipoli. On the 14th May, at 9 o'clock in the evening, as our ship was running at the rate of ten knots an hour, an alarm of fire came from the cook's galley. The troops were immediately formed up along the decks, and the pumps manned. After a quarter of an hour's hard work we mastered the fire, and put it out, but not before it had burned a large hole in the ship's deck, and destroyed the galley. We had in truth a narrow escape, the fire nearly getting the better of us. On the morning of the 17th May we arrived at Malta, where we received orders to proceed to Quebec. The Regiment being over the strength of non-commissioned officers, those who had families at home got the preference of remaining behind, and joining the reserve battalion at Malta. I was one of the latter; after bidding good-bye to the old regiment, with tears in my eyes, I disembarked with twelve others and joined the reserve battalion. The regiment proceeding to Canada next morning at 8 o'clock, we after landing, were quartered in Strada Reale Barracks.

The garrison was at this time filled with the soldiers of more than one nation, and the medley of tongues was rather bewildering to the ears, as was the diversity of costume to the eyes. There were the Italian and German Legions promenading the streets in their gay uniforms, Malta fencibles, English artillery and infantry. The large number of soldiers in such a small place made it a perfect military hot-house.

The Strada Reale, with its lazy moving crowds and singular architecture, was soon entered. Lights were beginning to brighten the shop-windows and streets; occasionally sparkling from the numerous bay-windows above; but though the night was approaching, the air, deeply impregnated with the fumes of tobacco and odour of garlic, was close and suffocating, more especially from the intense heat exhaled from the arid rock, which had all day blazed under a fierce sun. The barracks were so crowded, and the weather so hot, that the doctor ordered the 17th under canvas at St. Frances' Camp. An order detailed your humble servant, Corporal Faughnan, to proceed on June 6th, by one of the Peninsular and Oriental Company's steamers, to Alexandria, there to take over some marine invalids according to written instructions, and take charge of them to Malta.

June 6th. At nine o'clock, a.m., I embarked on board the steamer for Alexandria. As we passed out of the harbour at 9.30, the sky was blue and pleasant, the air balmy and clear. The Island, like a blue cloud in the distance, faded away, and again the trackless waste of waters stretched like a boundless expanse around us.

June 9th. It is now three days since we left Malta. We should have been in harbour to-day, but have been retarded somewhat by head winds.

June 10th. Expecting to enter port this morning, I was early on deck. We were already in sight of land. As we neared the coast, one of the first things that caught my attention was the number of windmills, standing upon an eminence along the shore; at first they reminded me of a line of soldiers in skirmishing order, but as we neared them they lifted their tall, circular forms, and stretched out their sheeted arms, like huge sentinels keeping watch along the coast. The entrance to the harbour is a tortuous and difficult one; vessels cannot get in by night or by day without a very experienced pilot. We were straining our eyes to catch the first glimpse of the strange land, and there, just upon that projecting point of land we are now passing, where you see an insignificant lighthouse, stood a famous and costly tower, bearing upon its top, as it lifted its colossal form above the waves, a beacon-light to guide the mariner to his haven. It is said to have been so lofty it could be seen one hundred miles at sea—which of course, is a mistake. The gigantic tower of white marble was erected by the old Egyptian kings three hundred years before the birth of Christ. It was one of the "seven wonders of the world." But here we are safe at our moorings. How strange everything looks. There are the hulks of a number of great old ships, rotting away and falling to pieces into the water. They were once the Viceroy's fleet. The flags of many nations float from the masts around us. There is a boat approaching with a Union Jack flying, and manned with blue jackets.

After landing the passengers, we had to pass through the Custom House. A liveried servant in Turkish costume, guarding the door, politely bowed us through, and we stood before the receiver of customs. He wore a rich Turkish costume, a magnificent turban on his head, a gold-hilted sword by his side; he addressed us in English and called all our names from a list; as we answered we passed on. No other questions were asked; personal baggage is seldom examined at this port. We had scarcely passed the door before we were surrounded by a crowd of donkey boys in blue shirts and red fez caps. They began pulling and snatching at our baggage for the privilege of taking it to a hotel. Luckily, an omnibus,—a European innovation,—from the very hotel we had selected, stood at the entrance, and we made a sudden dash into it. A crack of the driver's whip, and we were whirling through the dirty, narrow streets of the Turkish quarter of the city. We soon emerged into the English part of the town, and a magical change came over the scene; a fine open square ornamented with fountains and surrounded with beautiful stone houses presented a most inviting appearance. A runner from the hotel conducted me to the Marine Hospital, when I presented the order for the invalids to return with me to Malta, when the surgeon informed me that two of the men had had a relapse and could not be removed for some time. This gave me a good opportunity to visit several of the renowned localities, places of antiquity, and monumental records, that the ravages of war and the wreck of time have failed to obliterate. During the voyage I had made the acquaintance of two Frenchmen, and after I got back to the hotel they were pleased when I told them that I would have to stop at Alexandria for some time, and did not know how long; they could speak English pretty well and we got quite familiar. The hotel was kept by a Frenchman, and the business of the hotel was conducted on the European plan, but the floors and walls were constantly crumbling, scattering sand and lime upon clothes and furniture, and affording plenty of hiding places for bugs and fleas. Of the presence of the latter we had too strong demonstration, but fleas in Egypt are as common as sand on the sea shore, and we made up our mind to pay the tribute of blood demanded by those pests, with the resignation of martyrs.

We next visited Cleopatra's Needle, since removed to London. Of these remarkable obelisks there are two, just within the walls and near the sea shore at the northeast angle of the city—one is standing, the other has fallen down and is now nearly buried in the ground. They are of the same material as Pompey's Pillar, red granite, from the quarries of upper Egypt. These two obelisks stood about seventy paces apart; the fallen one lies close to the pedestal; its length, in its mutilated state, is sixty-six feet, and was given, many years ago, by Mohammed Ali to the British Government, who have lately brought it home. The standing one is about seventy feet high, seven feet seven inches in diameter at the base, and tapering towards the top about five feet.

Next day we visited the Catacombs, which are about three miles outside the city; the Frenchmen hired a guide and we all rode on donkeys. The grounds near the entrance were once covered with costly habitations and beautiful gardens. The vast extent of these underground tenements, their architecture, symmetry, and beauty; the more wonderful from the fact that they are all chiselled out of the solid rock, must excite the greatest wonder and admiration. In these tombs, generation after generation have laid their dead; Egyptians, Persians, Greeks, Romans and Saracens have, no doubt, in turn used them, and different nations have here blended in the common dust, at least such is the common opinion. Ancient Alexandria, with all her magnificence and splendour, is now nothing but heaps of ruins. The modern city stands upon the ruins of the past—well may we say the great, immortal past. An Egyptian city at night is a gloomy place—business suspended, shops all closed, no amusements, no meetings, no windows next the street to shed even a little light upon the gloomy alleys; all is involved in Egyptian darkness, but silence is not there, for dogs are among the wondrous speakers of this land. They howl about in packs like wolves, owning no master, making night hideous with their row and fights; in addition to this, the watchman's yell rang through the city every quarter of an hour; it woke me more than the guns before Sebastopol; a calm of fifteen minutes succeeds, and again the lengthened shout assures the citizen "all is well." Being disturbed by the watchman's call, howling of dogs, bugs and fleas, we could not sleep, so we were up early and had breakfast at seven o'clock, after which we all agreed to visit Cairo, and at once proceeded to the railway station, which, by the way, has only been lately constructed. The present facilities for reaching Cairo can only be appreciated by those who have been familiar with the former slow locomotion of canal and river. Then it was by the toilsome process of wind and oars. Now a first-class railroad of about one hundred miles connects the cities. At ten a.m., the signal was given, and we struck out into the great delta of the Nile; away to the left is the harbour of Aboukir, where the immortal Nelson with his fleet met the French in 1798. His victory was complete; all the French ships except two, were captured, and the victor was rewarded with the title, "Baron Nelson of the Nile."

The immense green plain stretched out each side of us as far as the eye could reach. Crops of some kind are raised all the year round, except while the soil is covered with water from the inundation of the Nile. There is no cold weather to prevent the growth of vegetables. Look out of the carriage window: do you see that long line of water just by the side of us? It is the Nile. The Nile! The famous Nile, that has a place in history with the Euphrates and the Jordan;—for thousands of years sending out a living flood from its mysterious and hidden sources, rolling onward through this great valley, and emptying itself, by its seven mouths, into the blue sea; a river which the Egyptians worshipped, and whose waters, by the rod of Moses, were turned into blood.

About 5 p.m., our train came to a halt in the station of Grand Cairo. We landed on the platform amid the strangest crowd of human beings I had ever seen congregated. There was the Turkish official, with his great loose sleeves and flowing robes, gold hilted sword and turbaned head, loathsome looking beggars, wretched women and squalid children. As we emerged from the station, a hotel porter, in English costume, addressed us in English, "Shepherd's hotel, sir? Omnibus just here, all right!" and in fifteen minutes we were in a good European hotel, built in the oriental style, with a large open court and pleasure-grounds; terms only two dollars a day. After tea, which was ready on our arrival at the hotel, we took a walk through the city. The streets are numerous, narrow and crooked, there being but one in the business part of the town wide enough for a carriage; this public thoroughfare being only about 35 feet wide, many of the others are not more than ten feet. The upper stories of the houses projecting over the lower ones, and the large prominent windows projecting still beyond the houses, the windows of the upper stories are brought so near together, you could easily step from one to the other. The bazaars are very busy places, and are thronged by a mixed and motley multitude of people, camels, horses, donkeys, men, women, and children, mingled together in strange confusion, while the noise and bustle present a wild and striking scene that can be nowhere witnessed but in an Arabic city. Amid this wild confusion may be seen a great variety of oriental costumes. But the turbaned heads predominate, the black of the Copt, the blue-black of the Jew, the green and white of the Moslem are mingled in strange variety. There moves a lordly Turk with loose sleeves and flowing robes, with all the solemn dignity of his nation; the grandee, with his rich flowing robes of silk and lace, loose breeches, white stockings and yellow slippers; the swarthy skinned, half naked fellah, the bare-faced, half-dressed, toil-worn country woman with tatooed lips and eyebrows, and by her side the dignified lady with long, close veil, red trowsers, long yellow boots, and dress of richly-embroidered cloth. These ladies ride astride of donkeys; the ample folds of their long veils and loose robes almost hide the little animal from view.