Alexis Soyer

Visitors to Miss Nightingale—The floating drawing-room—Terrible cannonade—A sortie—Second series of visitors—Young Thomas, the drummer-boy—His devotion to Miss Nightingale—Balaklava mud—General Hospital—The Sanatorium—Rugged ascent—Extensive view—Dr. Henderson—Storm of the 14th of November described by an eye-witness—Tour round the hospital—An officer patient—Return to the Robert Lowe—Off to the camp—A party of equestrians—A perfect Babel—Small hospital at Kadikoi—Splendid array of camps—A regimental hospital—Lord Raglan’s house—Colonel Steele—General Hospital before Sebastopol—“The good lady of Scutari”—An ovation—A peep at Sebastopol—The Three-mortar Battery—P. M. dodging a shell—A striking scene—Losing the way—The Zouaves—Various adventures—A casualty—Once more on board.

NO sooner was it known that Miss Nightingale had arrived, than hosts of visitors poured in from all directions, amongst whom were Commissary Filder, Mr. Henderson, Chief Doctor at the Balaklava Hospital, the Clergyman, Doctor Sutherland, Mr. Anderson, &c., &c., which caused her to hold a kind of floating drawing-room. Mr. Bracebridge was also busily engaged, so I did not see him again till dinner-time. I despatched the four soldier cooks I had instructed and brought with me to the Sanatorium, as the troops were landing, and they were required on shore. Having settled my future plan of operations with my secretary, and closed our post for the next day, I was quite at liberty to accompany Miss Nightingale in the morning on her visit to the various hospitals, as we had previously decided.

The same evening, about nine, a terrible cannonade was heard from the besieged city, which produced more effect upon us than upon the initiated. The report of the fusillade was also plainly heard. This proved to be a sortie, which it appeared often happened, and produced no effect upon the inhabitants. Such, however, was not the case with P. M., though I tried to persuade him that there was no danger, “except,” said I, “in case the enemy should prove victorious, and retake Balaklava, which might happen through some ruse de guerre unknown to the allied army.” “Well,” said P. M., “but I did not bargain for that, and I assure you I very much regret having come at all. Oh, give me London and Red Lion Square before any of your seats of war, for I see no fun in glory.”

“Now we are in for it,” I said, “we must go bravely through it. Screw your courage to the sticking point, and Wigham Ward for ever!”

The next morning, at seven, everybody was up and busily engaged, when Mr. Bracebridge came and told me that Miss Nightingale had been up, writing since daybreak, and would be ready immediately after breakfast. About eight o’clock, in poured a second series of visitors. Among the earliest arrivals were Sir J. Macneil and Captain Tulloch; the former gentleman I had the pleasure of knowing at the Reform Club a few years back. We then had a short conversation touching the soldiers’ food, and cooking in general. Colonel Harding, Admiral Boxer, Commissary Filder, &c., came next. Miss Nightingale had given notice that she must be at the hospital by half-past ten, and was then upon deck ready to start. I took the opportunity of impressing upon her the necessity of leaving the ship at once, or the day would pass without our doing anything. We embarked in a small boat and went on shore, followed by young Thomas, the drummer-boy, whom I must introduce to my readers as a little wonder; and, although he had not taken time to grow to manhood, he did not like to be called a boy. Although but twelve years old, he always called himself Miss Nightingale’s and Mr. Bracebridge’s man. He was a regular enfant de troupe, full of activity, wit, intelligence, and glee. He had quitted his instruments and sticks, as he called them, to devote his civil and military career to Miss Nightingale, that lady having claimed his services. To her he was as devoted as an aide-de-camp to his general. Before the enemy could have approached his adored mistress, the drummer boy, would have been cut to pieces. This he told me himself at a later period, when a report was in circulation that the Russians were likely to attack Balaklava by the Kamara side. Miss Nightingale’s hut being the nearest that way on the Genoese heights, would certainly have been attacked first.

Though the weather was fine overhead, there was about ten inches of mud in the unpaved and uneven streets of Balaklava, which caused us to be half-an-hour going a distance that might, under ordinary circumstances, have been accomplished in ten minutes. On our arrival at the General Hospital, we were received by Miss Wear, the matron of the hospital, “under Miss Nightingale.” Miss Nightingale requested me to try and find Doctor Henderson, who unluckily, as we thought through a mistake, was waiting for us at the Sanatorium on the Genoese heights. In his absence, Miss Wear and the medical superintendent showed us over the wards, which were crammed full of sick and wounded. We then visited the general kitchen, which, though rather short of cooking utensils and accommodation, was kept tolerably clean. A civilian cook was engaged making rather good soup, but it had boiled too fast. At all events, it was a satisfaction to me to find some one willing to improve, as he observed. Promising to send him my receipts and have his kitchen comfortably arranged, and to supply him with a few tin utensils, we left him.

We next went to the extra-diet kitchen, which was anything but a comfortable one, though Mrs. Davis, who made the extra diets, managed pretty well, by dint of perseverance and a deal of trouble. She was compelled to use preserved soups, which are not wholesome for delicate or weak stomachs, and are, moreover, generally served up too strong, as scarcely any one who uses them will take the trouble to read the instructions pasted upon each case, and add the proper quantity of water required. These are at all times better adapted for persons in health than for the sick, always excepting the essence of beef (see Hospital Diets), which, when properly seasoned according to my receipt, is really very good. I made a list of what apparatus and kitchen utensils were required, and then we left Miss Davis, much pleased with Miss Nightingale’s kind remarks, my approbation of her services, and, above all, very proud of having, two days before, been visited and highly complimented by Lady Stratford de Redcliffe and the other ladies. Lord Stratford and family had passed us at sea the day before, on their return to Constantinople, on board the Caradoc; a circumstance I much regretted, as I had anticipated the pleasure of accompanying Lord and Lady de Redcliffe to the various camp and hospital kitchens. We then left the General Hospital, and ascended to the Sanatorium by a narrow and almost perpendicular road cut out of the rock; in consequence of the ups and downs, it took us full three-quarters of an hour to accomplish the distance, and very uncomfortably too, the roads being so dirty. The view during the ascent is transcendently beautiful and refreshing—the sight of the harbour beneath filled with ships, the chain of rocky mountains, distant view of the Guards’ camp, the village of Kadikoi, its Greek church, the Zouave camp, and the traffic of thousands below, busily running to and fro, formed a naval and military tableau which well repaid us for our trouble. On reaching the verge of the hill facing the grand tower, which proudly bore the British flagstaff, Miss Nightingale and myself made an involuntary halt to admire this splendid view.

“Did you ever see anything more picturesque than this, Mademoiselle? And were it not for the everlasting report of the cannon, could you not believe you were in the Land of Promise, redolent with the green bloom of nature, which almost covers those rocky mountains? Turn your eyes on that side towards the busy harbour—can you not imagine you are looking at Landseer’s celebrated pictures on one side of Peace and the other side of War?”

Miss Nightingale replied, “I had heard Balaklava was a very pretty place, but I did not expect to find anything so beautiful.”

“I believe, Mademoiselle, that gentleman coming down from the Sanatorium is Dr. Henderson? I recollect having seen him inquiring after you last evening.”

“So it is, Monsieur Soyer; I suppose he has waited so long for us, that he is coming back to the General Hospital.”

“Thomas,” said I to the boy, “run and tell that gentleman Miss Nightingale is coming, or he may take another road, and miss us.” A few minutes after, we met the doctor, who very much regretted not having met us at the General Hospital, according to promise. Several important cases sent from the trenches (among which was the amputation of an arm) had delayed him.

“I suppose, doctor, you use chloroform in all cases of amputation?”

“Yes, we do, Monsieur Soyer, and with very great success, not having lost a single patient since its application.”

By this time we had arrived at the hospital, which is composed of immense rows of huts, erected on the crest of the lofty mountain facing the sea, commanding a beautiful view of the bay. Miss Nightingale observed that no doubt the site was a healthy one, but that it would be very hot in summer and equally cold in winter.

“Well,” said the doctor, “we thought of that ourselves; but really Balaklava is so mountainous, that for the life of us, we could not pitch upon any other spot. However, the least breeze from the sea will be felt in summer, and in winter we must contrive to screen it somehow. Should we have another storm like that of the 14th of last November, we should be blown away.”

One of the men, hearing the storm mentioned, told me that he had witnessed it from beginning to end. I then asked him a few particulars, and he related the circumstance as follows, while Dr. Henderson and Miss Nightingale were walking among the ruins, talking over business matters.

“Would you believe it, sir—the furious waves seemed to fly right over the tower, and the shipping in the bay was almost invisible for a long time. In fact, we thought that all the vessels were lost; from the mass of water blown into the air, we took it to be the level of the sea or the beginning of a second deluge.” Pointing with his hand towards the bay, “That is the spot where the Prince was lost, and further on you see the place where the Retribution was at anchor, with the Duke of Cambridge on board. The storm lasted above ten hours. We were quite wet in the tower, and could not get out. Had we done so, we should probably have been blown down the hill or into the sea. In the ravine above sixty large poplar trees were torn up by the roots by one gust of wind.”

“How was it, in the first place, that you came to be there?”

“Why, you see, sir, we were stationed there to manage the signals for ships to enter the harbour, and I happened to be on duty at the time.”

“It must have been a fearful sight,” said I.

“Sight, sir!—there was nothing to be seen for many hours; and it was only towards night that it cleared up a little, and then we could see the masts of the shipping in the harbour, rolling about like a forest under the influence of the shock of an earthquake. The next day, I was put on fatigue duty, to bury the corpses washed on shore from the wreck of the Prince, and a dreadful job it was, I assure you, sir.”

“Where were they buried?”

“Over the way, on the edge of Leander Bay. You may see the spot from this,” pointing it out. “There are above twenty there, to my knowledge; but some were never found.” Thanking him for his information, I invited him to come and see me when my kitchens were open, and get a basin of good soup whenever he pleased. I then rejoined the doctor and Miss Nightingale, who were returning to the hospital.

We visited the various wards, each of which contained about thirty patients. Miss Nightingale had a kind word for all, and many a conversation with those who had been severely wounded. Having seen five or six of the wards, I begged Miss Nightingale to excuse my accompanying her through the others; as I wished, in order to lose no time, to go and visit the kitchens, and set my men to work, which plan she much approved of, saying that when she had seen the hospitals, she should like to visit the kitchens also. As I was going out, I met Mr. Bracebridge on horseback, coming to meet us. We went to the kitchens, which we found were built of mud, exposed to the open air, unroofed, and burning much fuel. I immediately fixed upon a spot to build a kitchen, and sketched a plan, which I submitted to the doctor and Miss Nightingale, who had then joined us. We also visited those mud mounts called cook-houses, looked over the provision stores, and departed. Miss Nightingale, Dr. Henderson, and myself, returned together by the same road, Miss Nightingale intending to visit an officer patient who was at the doctor’s house. Mr. Bracebridge being on horseback, was compelled to take another road. On reaching the doctor’s house, Miss Nightingale was introduced to the patient, who was suffering from a very severe attack of typhus fever. I stayed in the front room, making my sketch for the new hospital kitchens. At length Miss Nightingale retired, after giving words of consolation to the patient, and promising the doctor to send a nurse who would set him to rights.

As we were returning to the vessel, I could not help remarking that Miss Nightingale seemed much fatigued; upon which she replied, “I do feel rather tired, those roads are so bad.” I inquired about the patient she had visited.

“The poor young man,” said she, “is very ill. I very much fear for his life.” She then stated what a bad attack of fever it was. Upon this, I remarked, that it was very imprudent of her to remain so long near him.

“Oh, Monsieur Soyer, I am used to that.”

“Very true, Mademoiselle, but then it is in large airy wards, and not in small rooms, like the one you have just left.”

“I must say that I have been very fortunate through my Scutari campaign, and I hope to be as fortunate in the Crimea.”

“I hope so too, but would recommend you to be careful of your health, as I am sure the army cannot spare you.”

By this time we were near the Robert Lowe—a boat was ready to take us on board, and Mr. Bracebridge was anxiously waiting our arrival, to inform Miss Nightingale that Lord Raglan had been on board, and also to the General Hospital, in order to see her, and was very much disappointed at not having had that pleasure. It was arranged that we should visit the camp next day, and that I should go and deliver my official letter, and present my humble duty to Lord Raglan. Miss Nightingale decided upon taking that opportunity of returning his lordship’s visit. Doctor Sutherland and Mr. Anderson, of the Sanitary Commission, who happened to be on board, arranged about the horses, and the time of our departure the next morning.

At nine, we were all on shore and mounted. There were about eight of us ready to escort our heroine to the seat of war. Miss Nightingale was attired simply in a genteel amazone, or riding-habit, and had quite a martial air. She was mounted upon a very pretty mare, of a golden colour, which, by its gambols and caracoling, seemed proud to carry its noble charge. The weather was very fine. Our cavalcade produced an extraordinary effect upon the motley crowd of all nations assembled at Balaklava, who were astonished at seeing a lady so well escorted. It was not so, however, with those who knew who the lady was.

On the road to head-quarters, we met several officers whom I had the pleasure of knowing in England. All made inquiries respecting the lady in our party. As I knew that Miss Nightingale wished to preserve her incognito as much as possible, and especially in the camp, I referred them to Mr. Bracebridge. At that time the number of the fair sex in the Crimea numbered four, always excepting the Sisters of Mercy, who were never seen out.

It took us about half-an-hour to go from the Col of Balaklava to Kadikoi (about a mile distant), having to fight our way through a dense crowd of Greeks, Armenians, Jews, Maltese, &c.—hundreds of mules, horses, donkeys, artillery waggons, cannon, shot and shell, oxen and horses kicking each other, waggons upset in deep mud-holes, infantry and cavalry passing and repassing. The road was execrable, and not nearly wide enough for the immense amount of traffic. Amidst this Babel of tongues and deafening noise, we were obliged to speak at the top of our voices in order to make ourselves heard. Our horses, by way of enjoying the fun, kept prancing and kicking in all directions, particularly our fair lady’s palfrey, which could not be kept quiet. Many females would have felt very nervous in such a position; but Miss Nightingale appeared to rise above such weakness, and even, on the contrary, to take considerable interest in this her first introduction to the turmoils of war. We at length emerged from the crowd, without having sustained much damage. One of our cavaliers had part of his mackintosh carried away by a log of wood that projected from the back of a mule, and P. M. lost a strap, which nearly unseated him. His mule kept kicking and prancing about, which, one is constrained to confess, is not over pleasant, especially in a crowd—and such a crowd. As we were at last out of danger, we could not help laughing at the misfortunes of our friends. Such was our dÉbut on the soil of the seat of war.

Our first visit was to the hospital at Kadikoi, in a small Greek church at the end of the village. Upon our arrival, we were informed that the doctor was not in, so we promised to call again. We then galloped to the top of a high hill on the left, on which we could not help making a halt, as we were quite struck by the grandeur and novelty of the scene. We could plainly distinguish everything for five miles around us. The camps, with their myriads of white tents, appeared like large beds of mushrooms growing at random. The sound of trumpets, the beating of drums, the roar of cannon from Sebastopol, made a fearful noise, whilst military manoeuvres, and sentries placed in every direction, gave a most martial aspect to the landscape, backed by the bold and rugged range of mountains by which Balaklava is surrounded.

Having gazed for some time, highly delighted with the scene, so novel to us, we proceeded on our journey. As Miss Nightingale wished to see one of the small regimental hospitals, Doctor Sutherland recommended us to visit that of the 11th Hussars. We were received by the doctor, who very kindly showed us over. Miss Nightingale and myself inspected the kitchen, which, though far from being comfortable or convenient, was, at all events, very ingeniously contrived. Having made my notes, we called at two other regiments, and afterwards proceeded direct to head-quarters. Mr. Bracebridge and myself at once rode to Lord Raglan’s house, the front of which was crowded with staff officers and gentlemen on horseback. On asking whether his lordship was within, we were answered in the negative, and were informed that he would probably not return before dinner-time. I then inquired for Colonel Steele, his lordship’s secretary, for whom I also had a letter. That gentleman received us cordially, and having read Lord Panmure’s letter, promised to give me his utmost support. Mr. Bracebridge stated he had come to thank Lord Raglan in Miss Nightingale’s name, for his kind visit of the day before. I next inquired when I could see Lord Raglan. Colonel Steele replied, “When you like, Monsieur Soyer, but for a day or two he will be very much engaged, as he is preparing for the reception of the Sardinian army, which is shortly expected. Lord Raglan is aware of your arrival, and I will give orders for anything you may require in order to enable you to commence operations.”

“As I have a great deal to do at the Balaklava Hospital, I shall commence operations there, and will call in a few days to see the Commander-in-Chief.”

“Come whenever you like, Monsieur Soyer; Lord Raglan will be glad to see you. He has often spoken of you at the dinner-table.”

“Really! I am glad to hear that. I had the honour of knowing his lordship many years ago.”

“So he was saying.”

After having conversed with several officers whom I knew, I was about to retire, when Colonel Steele said that he would write a note that afternoon to the Chief Engineer, ordering him to send me some carpenters, and give me all the assistance I might require. I thanked the colonel, and retired.

Mr. Bracebridge had in the meantime joined Miss Nightingale, and informed her that, owing to Lord Raglan’s absence, he had not mentioned her intended visit, but merely mentioned his own. Dr. Sutherland then inquired if Doctor Hall was at home, and on being told he was not, we started direct to the General Hospital before Sebastopol, in anticipation of meeting him there. He had, however, been and left. The chief doctor was also absent on duty, as no previous appointment had been made. We were shown round by the superintendent. The hospital was quite full, having at the time about four hundred sick and wounded. The place was in consequence rather crowded, but, nevertheless, well ventilated, and everything seemed in good order. Dr. Sutherland made several remarks upon an improved system of ventilation. I went to see the kitchen, which I did not find in a better state than the one at the Sanatorium.

A short time after, Mr. Bracebridge came and informed me that Miss Nightingale wished to speak with me. Having passed a close review, I was about returning to our party, when I met Miss Nightingale coming towards this gipsy cooking encampment, in which there was considerably too much to do for so important an establishment. We promised to call next day, or the one following, to see Doctors Taylor and Mouatt, and retired through a long row of huts. Some of the men had found out that it was “the good lady of Scutari,” as they called her; for Miss Nightingale was then but little known by name, it being her first visit to the Crimea. I heard afterwards, that some of them had been patients at the Scutari Hospital, and had experienced the full benefit of that benevolent lady’s kind care and attention. A great number were waiting at the doors—sick and convalescent—and gave her three hearty cheers as we passed, followed by three times three. Miss Nightingale seemed much affected by so unexpected a reception, and, being on horseback, could only bow gracefully to them by way of returning thanks. Her horse being very restless, in consequence of the shouts of such a number of men, Mr. Anderson dismounted, and taking Miss Nightingale’s nag by the bridle, led it gently along.

We then proceeded through the English and French camps, which, for miles, surrounded the doomed Sebastopol. The scene, though more extensive, was not nearly so picturesque as when beheld from the top of the hill at Balaklava. The afternoon was then drawing on, and Dr. Sutherland advised us to go home, as it was a very difficult matter for one to find the way in the dark through the camp; but Mr. Anderson proposed to have a peep at Sebastopol. It was four o’clock, and they were firing sharply on both sides. Miss Nightingale, to whom the offer was made, immediately accepted it; so we formed a column, and, for the first time, fearlessly faced the enemy, and prepared to go under fire. P. M. turned round to me, saying quietly, but with great trepidation—

“I say, Monsieur Soyer, of course you would not take Miss Nightingale where there will be any danger.”

We soon after reached the flag-staff at the head of the Woronzoff Road, and the sentry informed us we must dismount, as we were in danger, at the same time pointing to the marks of a number of cannon balls and splinters of shell, which, he said, they sent whenever they saw a group of people, especially on horseback. He added that they would send a shot or a shell in a moment. Fortunately, P. M. did not hear this, or we should have lost his agreeable company. I mentioned this to Miss Nightingale and to Mr. Bracebridge, who both laughed heartily.

We then dismounted. The sentry begged of us to go into a kind of redoubt, built of stone, where there was a telescope. “There,” said he, “you will be in safety, and have a good view of the town.”

This was true enough; the day being clear, and the sun pouring its rays on the city, we could plainly discern the large buildings, Greek temple, church, club-house, hospital, barracks, the harbour of Sebastopol, and the fortifications—viz., the Malakoff, Redan, Quarantine, Fort Constantine, and the Flagstaff batteries—and could see every shot sent by the allied armies as well as by the enemy. The bursting of shells could easily be distinguished. We were about to retire, when Mr. Anderson proposed going a couple of hundred yards further—to the Three-mortar Battery. Miss Nightingale immediately seconded the proposal, but the sentry strongly objected, saying it was too dangerous; that only a few days before those mortars had poured a very heavy fire into the city, and that the Russians kept a good look-out upon them.

“Oh, never mind,” said Mr. Anderson; “I was there two days ago, and they have no powder to waste upon a few individuals.”

Although I was very anxious to get so far, and to go with them, I could not help observing to Miss Nightingale that there was a picket in the Woronzoff Road, to indicate the limits, and it was very imprudent of her to run such a risk for no purpose. I further remarked that, should any accident happen to her, no one would pity, but, on the contrary, blame her—that all the good she had done would fall into oblivion, and she would scarcely be regretted.

The sentry then repeated his caution, saying, “Madam, even where you stand you are in great danger; some of the shot reach more than half a mile beyond this.” Mr. Bracebridge, though of my opinion, did not say much to dissuade her. The sentry then said, “Well, madam, if you do not fear risking your life, I cannot prevent your going; but remember that, if anything happens, I have witnesses to prove that it was not through my neglect in not informing you of the danger you incur by going to the Three-mortar Battery.”

“My good young man,” replied Miss Nightingale, in French, “more dead and wounded have passed through my hands than I hope you will ever see in the battle-field during the whole of your military career; believe me, I have no fear of death.” She then started with Mr. Anderson, who was very impatient at so much time being lost. Mr. Bracebridge and myself followed. P. M. was still in the redoubt, ensconced behind a gabion, looking through the telescope, when I suddenly called him. He came running out, as I had taken him by surprise, and he exclaimed, “I say, where the deuce are you all going!”

“Oh, not far—only to the second trench.”

“But, my dear sir, there is a great deal of danger.” Taking him by the arm, Mr. Bracebridge and myself commenced talking upon indifferent topics, and so got him to advance. As he saw Miss Nightingale before us, he managed to raise courage enough to keep from running away, while the cannonading and bursting of shells was heard plainer, and could be seen much better. He again said, “Why should we go to the trenches? This is very rash to risk one’s life for nothing; it is what I call giving a chance away.”

To comfort him, I called Mr. Bracebridge and Miss Nightingale. “P. M.,” said I, “seems to fancy there is some danger in the trenches, and I wish to impress upon his mind that there is much less danger there than where we are”, when a shell came whistling over our heads, and Mr. Anderson hearing it, cried out, “A shell! a shell!” upon which P. M. immediately caught me by the shoulders with both hands, and placed himself in a crouching position behind me, which made us all laugh heartily at his expense, as the shell was not directed anywhere near us. I have frequently laughed since with Miss Nightingale at his idea that if the shell had struck me, he would have been any safer than if he had stood by himself.

At all events, we arrived in the Three-mortar Battery without accident. It contained three large mortars, and instead of being two hundred yards, as Mr. Anderson had called the distance, was full half a mile from the Flagstaff, going towards Sebastopol, and quite exposed to fire, had they thought it worth while to play upon us. We had, however, an excellent view of the besieged city, such as very few amateurs can boast of having obtained. Before leaving the battery, I begged Miss Nightingale, as a favour, to give me her hand, which she did. I then requested her to ascend the stone rampart next the wooden gun carriage, and lastly, to sit upon the centre mortar, to which requests she very gracefully and kindly acceded. I then boldly exclaimed, “Gentlemen, behold this amiable lady sitting fearlessly upon that terrible instrument of war! behold the heroic daughter of England—the soldier’s friend!” All present shouted, “Bravo! bravo! hurrah! hurrah! Long live the daughter of England!”

As the cannonade increased instead of diminishing, this gave a kind of martial note of approval to our solemn and enthusiastic ceremony.

We then left the spot, again to risk our noble selves, as I observed to our friend P. M.

“Oh,” said he, “I shall run.”

Upon this I observed, “You may do as you like; but you will thereby incur more danger, as they will take you for a deserter.”

“Oh, that’s true again; well, but you may say what you like about bravery—let me tell you, Monsieur Soyer, that I did not bargain for being brave, and I think the sooner we get out of this the better. Only listen to the roaring of the cannon.”

We all laughed heartily at his fears and wry faces. Such were never before seen in the Crimea. At last we regained the redoubt, quite safe and sound, which the French corporal on duty attributed to their not thinking it worth while to fire upon us, and partly to the presence of a lady. He remarked that ladies often came to this spot to get a view, and that he had never known the enemy to fire while they were present.

“Well,” I replied, “we certainly cannot extol their gallantry too highly. But can they distinguish persons at this distance from their camp?”

“Of course they can, from their advanced batteries. Persons coming this way can be seen plainly five minutes before they reach this spot, unless they come by the Woronzoff Road.”

The sun was by this time fast sinking in the vast ocean in front of Sebastopol, giving us to understand that night was about to spread its gloomy wings over the camp, and that in less than two hours it would envelope us in its mysterious darkness, as well as the besieged and their assailants. Alas! how many of those brave fellows who saw that sun set never beheld it rise again. Such was the subject of our conversation while remounting our horses, with hearts full of emotion, and of the awful grandeur of this great war, which, instead of comprising four or five battles, might well be called a single one, or the hundred battle war, lasting nearly fifteen months without intermission, excepting only the few hours when the flag of truce was hoisted, in order that the last religious rites to the mortal remains of the noble departed might be performed. Oh war! war! where is thy fair side? Thou art only a paraphernalia of destruction and misery!

We started at a sharp trot, and were hardly half way to Balaklava when the dusk of evening was settled over the noisy camps, through which we were then passing at full gallop. Mr. Anderson, knowing the road, as he thought, endeavoured to cross the camp by a short cut, when we were overtaken by night, and lost our way. What with the regiments sounding their bugles and the drums beating the retreat, it would have puzzled the coolest head and annoyed the best field-horses. Finding ourselves in one of the Zouave camps, we inquired of the men in which direction Balaklava lay. A group of about ten collected round us, and very politely pointed out the road. It was in a straight line, and not so much out of the way.

“But,” said they, “you cannot cut across the camp, as this is the first day we hold the ground, and you are certain to be arrested by the sentries, and clapped in the violon for the night.” They also informed us that it was imprudent to gallop through the camp, for if the colonel was about, or it was reported to him, he would be sure to stop us.

Another exclaimed, in French, “Don’t be afraid, friends; the colonel is not very severe in cases in which ladies are concerned. The officers are now devouring their popottes and taking their evening grog. There is no danger, captain; make the best of your way, as it is getting late, and there are a set of scamps prowling about who would think nothing of waylaying you for the sake of a five-franc piece.”

Miss Nightingale, Mr. Bracebridge, and Mr. Anderson were riding slowly in front; P. M. was anxious to know what the Zouaves said, so I translated it as above, for the edification of my brave companion. We then started at a smart pace, but could not come up with our avant garde. We made another halt near a group who were sitting on the grass close to their tent, playing some game with a set of mutton bones, and drinking coffee. Others were singing their favourite African song, the “Beau Zouave d’Afrique—Vlan—sont toujours en avant—Vlan—Vlan—Rataplan—plan—plan.” Upon inquiring if they had seen two gentlemen and a lady on horseback, they replied, “Yes,” and pointed out the road they had taken.

On asking them how they liked camp life, their answer was, “Oh, very much in Algeria, but not at all here; the weather is so bad, and that trench business is such dull work. We should prefer a battle once or twice a-week in the open field to being shot at like so many rabbits in the trenches.”

Upon asking what they were drinking, they said, “Coffee; would you like to taste it?” “With great pleasure,” said I. Upon which they gave me some. It was not bad, but required a little more sugar. “Well,” they said, “we sometimes buy some, as we are only allowed about enough for breakfast.” I requested their acceptance of a few shillings to drink la goutte, which one of them immediately refused, saying, “No, no, Bourgeois; we did not ask you to taste our coffee wishing to make you pay for it.”

“I know that, my dear fellow; this is to drink our health.”

“We will do that, then, and no mistake.”

“Good evening, my men, and thank you,” said I. P. M. then started off at a gallop. I immediately stopped him, pretending that if we were seen we were sure to be locked up all night, our lady fair not being with us, the colonel would not joke.

“Well,” said he, fiercely, “it would only be for one night, I suppose.”

“Yes, one at least.”

“I should prefer being locked up all night in the guard-house to venturing in the dark among so many brigands as the Zouaves say there are roaming about. There we should be in safety; while here we may be shot at any moment.”

As we were descending a deep ravine, we heard a female voice, and then the voices of gentlemen. I had no doubt but that these proceeded from Miss Nightingale and party, who were going slowly down the rocky side of the ravine. Leaping from our horses, we went faster on foot; and in about ten minutes succeeded, thanks to the light of the stars, in catching them. When within hail, I called out, “Who goes there?” The reply assured me they were our fair lady and her two cavaliers. On our joining them they said they almost felt afraid that we had been made prisoners; and Mr. Anderson said he had already given us up. Miss Nightingale and Mr. Bracebridge were of the same opinion, and they laughed heartily at P. M.’s description of our dreadful adventure, as he called it. We were then at the other side of the ravine, and close to a road which Mr. Anderson recognised as the one leading from Balaklava to head-quarters.

At last, we were in a fair way of reaching home that night, which P. M. had long despaired of. The conversation became very animated; and I much amused Miss Nightingale and party with my recital of what the Zouave had said respecting his colonel. I also related the coffee business—Miss Nightingale made particular inquiries as to its quality. Having replied to her questions, and being a little ahead, I arrived first at the top of a high hill, and immediately caught sight of the hundreds of lights in the little low shops at Kadikoi. We were all right at last; but the road being steep and very greasy, Miss Nightingale’s pony slipped fearfully, which induced Mr. Anderson, who was nearest to her, to dismount and lead it down the hill as far as the village. We then passed through Kadikoi, which presented a different scene to that of the morning, but still animated, from the groups of Turkish and Greek labourers returning to their quarters, and a quantity of drunken men rolling about. We reached the watering-place at the end of the harbour at last. Miss Nightingale’s pony, which was again led by Mr. Anderson—this spot being, night and day, full of horses—suddenly turned round to get to the trough, very nearly throwing Miss Nightingale off, and probably would have done so, had it not been held by Mr. Anderson, who received a tremendous knock in the face from the brute’s head. This accident made him bleed profusely, and gave him a pair of black eyes. Of this we were not aware until we arrived at the hospital, and could scarcely believe it when we did.

Miss Nightingale and a doctor attended him immediately; and upon inquiring when it happened, he coolly replied, “About ten minutes ago, while we were watering the horses.”

“But,” said Miss Nightingale, “you never mentioned it.”

“Of course not,” he replied; “why should I? it would only have made you nervous; and I knew that nothing could be done till we arrived here.” After his wound had been dressed, he declared that the shock was so violent at the time, he actually thought his head had been split open.

We regretted that, after having gone through such an adventurous day without accident, a casualty should have happened just at our return. Our valiant friend, P. M., quietly vowed never to go camp-ranging again, especially on a mule who was always bolting before or lagging behind, but never kept parallel with our steeds. Indeed, we called the animal Clockwork, as, when wound up, he would go fast enough, but when run out, nothing but re-winding would move him.

A few days after, by the merest chance, I found a leaf from our friend P. M.’s diary, of which, no doubt, a copy had been sent to his fair Dulcinea. It read as follows:—

We left Mr. Anderson, the horses were taken from us, and we went on board the Robert Lowe. The captain was in great anxiety about us, thinking that something had occurred to Miss Nightingale, who, indeed, appeared much fatigued with her glorious excursion. She made no remark on the subject; but, on the contrary, requested me to accompany her early the next morning to both hospitals. This I promised to do with great pleasure; and so ended that lady’s first visit to the camp hospitals in the Crimea.

Seven bells was striking—all was silent and at rest in the harbour—nothing was heard save the noise of the bells from the different ships, the booming of the cannon at Sebastopol, with now and then the sharp rattle of musketry, and the gloomy voice of the sentinel’s challenge—“Who goes there?”

“A friend.”

“Pass, friend. All’s well.”