ON reaching the London, I found Mr. Bracebridge dressed and waiting for me to go and dine on board the Baraguay d’Hilliers, with Sir John Macneil and Captain Tulloch. We had that evening a most interesting conversation on all kinds of army stores and provisions. Sir John, who took a vital interest in my mission, gave me several important hints, and I submitted my opinion of the salt as well as fresh meats—fresh and dried vegetables, and especially the bread, which at that period arrived daily from Constantinople, but which, in consequence of its being sometimes put on board ship before it had got quite cool, lost a great deal of its nutritive quality during the passage. Had it been made in the Crimea of the same materials, it would have been very good. I was informed that bakeries were to be established. I told Sir John that I had made a kind of bread-biscuit, somewhat like common bread, but baked in flat cakes about twelve times the size of an ordinary biscuit; it would keep for months, and then eat well, though rather dry; it would soak well in tea, coffee, or soup, and be very palatable; it was made of three parts flour and one of peameal, and was reported upon by the medical gentlemen as being very nutritious and wholesome. A few days later I had the pleasure of showing some to those gentlemen, and they both highly approved of it. I afterwards had some made on board the Abundance. I submitted it to them, and they pronounced it excellent.[13]

The evening we spent on board the Baraguay d’Hilliers will not be soon forgotten. After a short nautical and nocturnal trip upon the water, we arrived safely in our old London. On our way to the Baraguay d’Hilliers, Mr. Bracebridge informed me that Miss Nightingale was pronounced out of danger, and that the news had been telegraphed to London. The medical men were of opinion that she should return to Scutari, and after a few days’ rest proceed to England. Although out of danger, she would not be able to quit Balaklava for eight or ten days. The next morning, at seven o’clock, I was at the Sanatorium kitchen, which was finished. I set my soldier-cooks to work, and all went on admirably. It was then ten o’clock, so I called upon Dr. Hadley (the chief doctor at the Sanatorium, who had succeeded Dr. Henderson, and to both of these gentlemen I must return my sincere thanks for their assistance and kindness), and requested him to come and taste some extra diets and soups I had prepared for the convalescents. Recollecting that I had not called upon Lord Raglan’s chef de cuisine, I mentioned the circumstance to Dr. Hadley, stating how much I wished to do so, but that I had no horse. Dr. Hadley very kindly offered me his pony, a fine grey, smartly caparisoned, which I at once accepted. When I had mounted, Dr. Hadley said—“Soyer, if you fall off, mind and get up again; for,” said he, “joking apart, though the pony is very quiet, recollect the road to Balaklava is a queer one, therefore take care of yourself. We should not mind so much if we had done with, you; but as we really require your services, for our own sakes take care of yourself.”

“I will do so,” said I, laughing, “were it only for the sake of your pony, which might get loose if I were to fall off, and you might not recover him again.”

“Never mind the pony,” said he: “you may lose him; but, whatever you do, don’t lose the saddle. We had better have a bit of supper on your return this evening, off that Yorkshire ham—you can cook it on your bivouac stove.”

“So we will, Doctor. I shall be back at six.”

“Don’t stay in the camp after dark; I can assure you it is a very dangerous place. Robberies and murders are of frequent occurrence, though we hear but little about them. We have no police, and no newspapers are published here, so we know nothing but what passes in our own circle.”

“You are perfectly right, Doctor; though I am not afraid, as I never travel without a revolver; yet it is best to be upon the safe side.”

Having fixed upon six o’clock for my return, and seven for supper, I started. There were about twenty convalescents outside the wards, enjoying the warmth of the sun’s rays. They were all in high glee at hearing our dialogue, which seemed to revive them from a state of lethargy to the consciousness of life.

The ride from the top of the Genoese heights to Balaklava harbour, by a new road, through mud, over rocks, rivulets, &c., and mounted upon a strange nag, was anything but pleasant to my feelings as a horseman. At all events, after numerous slippery evolutions on the part of my new charger, I found myself safe at the bottom of the ravine; but here another difficulty presented itself. The quay of the harbour was encumbered with French and Sardinian waggons, mules, and horses. The French, who had a wine depÔt there for the troops, were strongly fortified with about a hundred pipes of wine, instead of gabions. So crowded was the road from the immense traffic and the unloading of shipping stores, that it took me nearly half-an-hour to ride a few hundred yards. This brought me as far as the Commissariat, where I had to call upon Commissary Filder. I found that he had just returned from head-quarters. We had about ten minutes’ conversation upon business. I related the result of my visit to the various provision stores—made remarks upon the same, and particularly upon the dry vegetables at that time issued to the troops. He then referred me to Under-Commissary Adams, to whom I promised a scale for a fresh composition of dry vegetables in cake, more suitable for the troops, in lieu of the finer and more expensive quality then issued in boxes. They were composed of one vegetable only, and were much too highly dried, having thus lost their aroma as well as their nutritious qualities. I therefore proposed that the firm of Messrs. Chollet, in Paris, should prepare a sample of cakes of dried vegetables, to be called coarse julienne, for the army. Each hundredweight of fresh vegetables was to consist of the following proportions:—

Twenty pounds of carrots, twenty pounds of turnips, ten of parsnips, fifteen of onions, twenty of cabbage, five of celery, and ten of leeks; with one pound of aromatic seasoning, composed of four ounces of thyme, four of winter savory, two of bayleaf, four of pepper, and an ounce of cloves; the whole to be pulverized and mixed with the vegetables.

Each cake was to serve for one hundred men, and to be marked in compartments of ten rations each, like chocolate cakes, instead of being marked upon the wrapper, which is always torn off when the vegetables are issued, and the soldiers cannot tell about quantity. This plan will obviate that evil; for I had seen in camp piles of this excellent vegetable rising pyramidically from the soldiers’ canteen pan while cooking, in consequence of their having put in the best part of three days’ rations instead of one. The dry rations are issued for three days at a time.

My proposition having met with the approval of the authorities, was at once forwarded to the War Office.

I also promised to submit to Commissary Filder’s notice several plans for improvement in the distribution of the meat.

“Monsieur Soyer,” said he, “anything you may propose or point out as an improvement will, so far as it is practicable, be carried out. Lose no time; the sooner you let us have it the better.”

After this interview, I went to inspect the kitchen, where I saw Mr. Fitzgerald, the purveyor, to whom I also made my report. As this is the first time I have had the pleasure of introducing this gentleman to the notice of my readers, it would be an omission on my part were I not to return my grateful acknowledgments for the readiness with which he at all times assisted me to obtain what I required for the hospitals in the Crimea. It is true he was at first rather reluctant; this I attributed to his not having received the proper instructions from the authorities.

Having the best part of the day before me, I set off at a gallop towards head-quarters, intending to keep the promise I had made Lord Raglan respecting his dilapidated culinary department, and also to make the acquaintance of M. Armand, his chef de cuisine. As I was not well acquainted with the road across the country, I made up my mind to follow the high one which passes close to head-quarters. When about half-way, I perceived a group of officers standing by the road-side round a kind of tent much like a gipsy tent, but considerably larger. This excited my interest, and I was riding towards it, when, to my astonishment, several voices called out—“Soyer! Soyer! come here—come this way!” I readily complied with the invitation, and found two or three gentlemen whom I had the pleasure of knowing. During our conversation, an old dame of a jovial appearance, but a few shades darker than the white lily, issued from the tent, bawling out, in order to make her voice heard above the noise, “Who is my new son?” to which one of the officers replied, “Monsieur Soyer, to be sure; don’t you know him?”

“God bless me, my son, are you Monsieur Soyer of whom I heard so much in Jamaica? Well, to be sure! I have sold many and many a score of your Relish and other sauces—God knows how many.”

“My dear lady,” said I, “don’t blame me for that; I assure you I am not at all offended with you for so doing, and shall allow you to sell as much more in the Crimea.”

“So I would if I could only get them. Bless me, I had a gross about ten days ago, and they are all gone; nor can I get any more for another month perhaps. Come down, my son, and take a glass of champagne with my old friend, Sir John Campbell.”

I immediately alighted, and Sir John came towards me and shook me heartily by the hand, saying, “Welcome to the seat of war, Monsieur Soyer!”

“Many thanks, general, for your kind wishes. I had the pleasure of leaving my card at Cathcart’s Hill the other day.”

“You did; and I was very sorry that I was out when you called; but mind, you must come and dine with me some day.”

“Thank you, general, I shall do myself the honour.”

“Now, Mrs. Seacole, give us another bottle of champagne.”

“Mrs. Seacole,” I exclaimed; “is that lady the celebrated Mrs. Seacole?”

“Of course,” said the general.

She then came forth from her bivouac cellar, with two bottles in her hands, exclaiming, “I shall stand mine, and no mistake.”

We all declared it would never do for a lady to stand treat in the Crimea.

“Lord bless you, Monsieur Soyer,” said the lady, “don’t you know me?”

“Yes, I do now, my dear madam.”

“Well, all those fine fellows you see here are my Jamaica sons—are you not?” said she, opening the champagne, and addressing the general.

“We are, Mrs. Seacole, and a very good mother you have been to us.”

“I have known you, general, for many years.”

“Well, here’s a health to all.”

We emptied our glasses, and returned the compliment. The general then left, again expressing his desire to see me at Cathcart’s Hill.

“Walk inside, walk inside, my sons; you will be better there—it is not so hot. Go in, Monsieur Soyer.”

No sooner had we entered than the old lady expressed her desire to consult me about what she should do to make money in her new speculation, in which she had embarked a large capital, pointing to two iron houses in course of construction on the other side of the road. She told me that her intention was to have beds there for visitors, which I persuaded her not to do, saying, “All the visitors—and they are few in number—sleep on board the vessels in the harbour, and the officers under canvass in the camp. Lay in a good stock of hams, wines, spirits, ale and porter, sauces, pickles, and a few preserves and dry vegetables—in short, anything which will not spoil by keeping.”

“Yes,” said she, “I mean to have all that.”

“In that case you will no doubt make money, as you are so well known to all the army.”

“I assure you, the last time Lord Raglan passed here, he spoke to me for more than ten minutes, and promised to do all he could for me.”

“That’s right,” we all said.

“I know Miss Nightingale too. She was very kind to me when I passed through Scutari, on my way here; she gave me lodging and everything I required, in the hospital.”

“We passed this way a few days before Miss Nightingale was taken ill,” said I.

“I know you did; and I am sure, if the lady had known I was here, she would have called to see me. Thank God, I hear she is quite out of danger.”

“Yes, she is improving.”

“When you see her, present my best respects, and tell the dear lady that I shall go and see her.”

“I will, Mrs. Seacole. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, my son.”

On getting up in a hurry to be off, I missed my horse, and found one of the officers’ chargers, which had been left in charge of the same man to whom I had given mine, led by a Zouave. Upon inquiring of the Zouave where the man had gone, he informed me that he did not know, but that he had given him a shilling (which he showed me) to hold this animal for, as far as he could understand, about an hour, while he went on the grey in the direction of head-quarters. I called Mrs. Seacole out, and told her what had happened. She stepped up to the Zouave, and he began talking so fast, that I shall not forget the expression he made as long as I live. His speech may be thus translated: “By the name of Jupiter! I have neither stolen nor sold your horse. Look at me! (showing his corporation.) If you like, captain, to lend me this quadruped, I will soon find the voyiou (meaning a low rascal). There is my name and the number of my regiment. We are encamped near the French head-quarters.”

All this time Mrs. Seacole had been looking about, and every grey pony she saw far or near was mine—at least in her eyes. The two officers mounted their horses, and went one one way and the other another, but soon returned, having found nothing. Having sent in all directions without being able to obtain any trace of the pony, we concluded that the animal was lost. I take this opportunity of publicly thanking those two gentlemen for the vivid interest they took in trying to find the borrowed steed. I very much regret that I do not recollect their names. They will no doubt remember the circumstance if this little work falls into their hands.[14]

All our efforts to find the pony being useless, I made up my mind to walk back to Balaklava. Just as I was thanking Mrs. Seacole for her extraordinary exertions, Mr. Day, her partner, came in, and he advised me to go at once to the Hue and Cry, at head-quarters.

“How am I to do this?” I asked.

“Take my pony. It is not twenty minutes’ ride from hence; and you will stand a good chance of getting it back, especially if the man who held it was an Englishman. He is sure to be found in the English camp.”

Thanking him for his kindness, I mounted, and started full gallop for head-quarters. I made inquiries at the Post-office, where I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Russell, who introduced me to Mr. Angel, the postmaster. I then inquired for the Hue and Cry, and related the circumstances under which I had lost my pony. All seemed highly amused. They laughed heartily at my expense, and I could not help joining in the merriment. Mr. Angel invited me to dine with him, having a few friends that evening to join his popotte.

“I am much obliged, my dear sir; but I am staying at Balaklava, and I suppose you dine late.”

“About six o’clock,” replied Mr. Angel. “You can sleep here. We have no bed, it’s true; but I can lend you a blanket; and there is a small hut, which is empty, you can have all to yourself. Mr. Bracebridge slept there the night before last, when on a visit to Captain Boucher, a friend of his.”

“Oh, as far as that goes, I shall be comfortable enough.”

“Then you will dine with me?”

“I will,” said I, “and am much obliged for your kind invitation.”

I thought by accepting it, I should have an excellent opportunity of looking out for my pony in the morning, if I did not happen to find it that night; I therefore went to the Hue and Cry, and gave the best description, to my knowledge, as I had not had the honour of his acquaintance long, and did not know of any private marks by which he might be recognised. They gave me but faint hopes of seeing it again, and by way of comforting me, showed me a long list of missing horses, mules, and ponies, enough to fill half a column of the Times.

“I don’t care so much about the pony, as that can be replaced; but the saddle is a new one from London, and neither the animal nor the saddle belong to me.”

“You may, perhaps,” said one, “find the horse, but not the saddle, especially if it is gone to the French camp, for, believe me, the Zouaves are very fond of English saddles, as well as everything they can get hold of which does not require feeding; so they will probably keep the saddle and turn the horse loose. At all events, we will do what we can for you; but I advise you to look out for yourself.”

It was then about four o’clock, and I had an hour’s ride about the camp, but it was all in vain. Every inquiry proved fruitless; and I could not obtain the slightest clue to the lost pony. I could not help smiling when I recollected Dr. Hadley’s last words, “You may lose the horse but don’t lose the saddle.” Hoping for better luck next day, I returned to head-quarters, and begged Lord Raglan’s groom to give Mr. Day’s pony a night’s lodging. Making sure Monsieur Armand would be in, I went to see him. He was rather busy, but he received me very politely, and showed me what he called his kitchen, though it had not the slightest claim to the title, as it was all but destitute of culinary utensils. The provisions were of inferior quality; but, as he told me, the best he could procure. I then offered my services if I could be of any use in getting stoves or a small oven erected.

“Ever since I have been here,” he replied, “I have been asking for one or two charcoal stoves and a few shelves, but not a thing can I obtain for love or money.”

“Upon my word you surprise me! How can that be in the house of the Commander-in-chief? Truly, every one has much to do.”

“Such is the case.”

“Never mind; I think I shall be able to get something done for you, as his lordship has spoken to me upon the subject.”

“I shall be much obliged to you if you will,” said he; and then pointed out the principal things he required, which were soon afterwards furnished.

As it was nearly six o’clock, I left him, and returned to the Post-office, where a sumptuous table was laid out. There was actually a tablecloth and real plates, knives, forks, and various kinds of glasses. In fact, for the Crimea, it was as the French say, Épatant. We sat down six to dinner; and had some very strong preserved soup, a very nice tough fowl—the remainder of the bill of fare was made from the ration meat. We had very good wine; and, perhaps, never was a dinner better relished, or accompanied with more mirth and jokes. Russell the great was the hero, besides having an Angel for the host. Towards eight o’clock, the party amounted to about fifteen, as far as we could discern through the clouded atmosphere with which the room was filled. Every one was smoking; some large chibouques, long and short pipes, a few cigars, but no cigarettes. The unexpected increase to our party, I must observe, was partly owing to our vocal abilities, several lively choruses having attracted Mr. Angel’s illustrious neighbours, as the denizens of the woods were allured by the melody of Orpheus.

Our mirth at last became so boisterous that it not only brought around us men of all ranks, but attracted the attention of the Commander-in-chief, who sent to inquire what the noise was about. This we considered a rather inharmonious inquiry, but found that, by decreasing the pitch of our vocal organs from allegro to piano, we should produce as much effect, with less noise, as his lordship wisely called it; though I heard the next day, that Lord Raglan, who was sitting at his door enjoying the fresh air with several gentlemen of his staff, enjoyed it, and gave orders that we should not be disturbed. Complaints poured in from the numerous tents which surrounded head-quarters. It was then about ten o’clock, which is equivalent to twelve or one p.m. in London. The mot d’ordre from our chairman was, “Tell those who cannot sleep to join our bacchanalian party.” So many took the hint, that no room could at length be obtained in the modern Crimean Temple of Momus.

At last the order took a more positive character, for the very Angel who was presiding, observed, and very justly, that they were all playing the devil with him, and still more so with his cellar, which being but meagerly stocked, could not long stand so severe an attack. He therefore begged all new comers to go back to their quarters, and bring or send the liquid requisite to keep up the spirits of the guests till midnight—which was done. Every one, like Cinderella, disappeared, by slipping quietly out at the most convenient opportunity.