Alexis Soyer

Comfortable couch—A terrible sortie—The borrowed animal reclaimed—A bad position—Lord Raglan lends me another steed—General Estcourt—Female improvements—Visit to the French camp—A French canteen—A lively vivandiÈre—French regimental kitchens—Discoveries—Interview with Colonel Steele—Pertinent remarks—A carriage—Mrs. Estcourt and her sister—General Camp Hospital—Cathcart’s Hill—Strange reports—Concert À la Soyer—Receipt for a stew—Conversation with Sir John Campbell—A flag of truce—A good peep at Sebastopol—A cavalcade of amateurs—A sad spectacle—A narrow escape—Noisy night.

NEXT morning, I found myself wrapped up in a horse-cloth, with a pair of top-boots for a pillow. The unfeeling and ungrateful board to which I had intrusted my precious limbs, had by the morning stamped his patron’s seal upon my back. The following day we learnt that a terrible sortie had taken place in the night, and that there had been a severe loss of men on both sides. At an early hour the court-yard was thronged with officers; despatches were flying in every direction; the cannon was roaring as usual, but the fusillade had ceased. I then went to the stable for my pony, when I found the owner, Mr. Day, upon his back, just going home.

“Ah, Monsieur Soyer, I made sure that you had lost my pony as well as your own. I expected you back immediately, being in want of it.”

“I was not aware of that, or I would have walked from your place sooner than have deprived you of it.”

“Oh, never mind. Have you heard anything of your animal?”

“No! but I am going to look after him this morning. That is the reason why I slept at head-quarters last night.”

“I am going about the camp,” said he, “and will inquire for you.”

He then started, of course leaving me without a horse, and with dreadful pains in my back and legs, which I attributed to the softness of the bed with which I had been favoured; though I could not boast of a single feather, like that Tocrisse of a recruit, who took one out of his master’s feather bed, laid it down on the boarded floor of his hut, and next morning told his companions that his master must be foolish to sleep upon a feather bed.

“Why?” asked they.

“Why, if one feather is so hard, what must the lot the captain sleeps upon be?”

The worst of my position was, how to get another horse, as it was impossible for me to walk all day about the camp, being so stiff and tired. I went to Lord Raglan’s coachman, and inquired if he had one to spare. He replied—

“Monsieur Soyer, we can spare a pony for you, but you must ask permission of the master of the horse or Lord Raglan, as I have special orders not to lend one upon my own responsibility. I am sure his lordship will let you have it immediately.”

At this moment I caught sight of Lord Raglan’s valet, and I begged him to make the request; which he did, and came to tell me that his lordship desired I should have it by all means. Once more mounted, I made an early call upon the friends of the previous night, most of whom resided round head-quarters. I had the pleasure of being introduced to General Estcourt, who took me to see the printing press where my receipts for the army were done—some of which have appeared in the public press. Afterwards I went with him to his quarters, which, though small, were very neatly arranged. The taste was not military, and I thought that I detected the work of a female hand, which I could not help remarking to the general.

“You are right, Monsieur,” said he, smiling—“it has only lately been arranged by ladies. Mrs. Estcourt and my sister are here, and this is a little bit of their handywork. They are staying on board ship at Balaklava, and come here every day. Before they arrived I had only this small room (showing me his bed made upon boards) where I sleep as well as ever I did in my life. The only thing which awakes me in the night is when the cannon ceases firing—I am so used to it.”

“I believe that, general, and have no doubt you seldom miss hearing a report. In fact, you are the nearest of those at head-quarters to Sebastopol.”

I then inquired about the sortie of the previous night. The general said he did not know the result of it, and very kindly invited me to breakfast, which I declined, having to go round the French camp in search of my pony.

“I shall be happy,” said General Estcourt, “to do anything I can for you; and if you call in the afternoon, my wife and her sister will be here, and I will introduce you to them.”

Thanking him kindly, I retired, and proceeded round the French camp making inquiries; then to their head-quarters, where I met Captain Boucher, General Canrobert’s aide-de-camp, with whom I had the pleasure of travelling. He promised to introduce me to the general, who, he said, would be very glad to see me. Upon my telling him about my pony, he remarked—

“If he is in our camp you are sure to get him back, for we have put a stop to that kind of piracy by very severe punishment. They used to come and steal our horses from our very stables; but tell me what sort of a horse he is, and I will advertise him with the others, and we shall know in less than five or six hours if he is in our camp? the plan we have adopted cannot fail.”

Having described the animal to the captain, I thanked him for his kindness.

Considering my French review terminated, I thought of returning at once to the English head-quarters, having to see several of the authorities upon business. On my way I happened to pass by a nice French canteen. I inquired if I could get any breakfast? A rather stout vivandiÈre, dressed in the uniform of the Imperial Guard, very politely said to me:

“What a stupid question to ask! Do you think we have not everything required for the purpose here? Perhaps, Captain of the Lord knows what regiment, you think we have come out merely to thread pearls, sing ‘Partant pour la Syrie,’ and dance the Fandango.”

On my way I visited several regimental kitchens and tasted the soup. Some was better than at others. They had no vegetables excepting some vegetable marrow—more likely to spoil the soup than improve it. I made several important discoveries respecting the system of cooking pursued in the French camp, after visiting, with some of my new acquaintances, a row of twelve kitchens, which number, they informed me, was required for each regiment—being at the rate of one per company. One man was told off as cook for every squad or mess of sixteen. The buildings were composed of mud and stone, and covered an extent of about four hundred yards. I bade my brave companions farewell, and left them quite a happy man, having entirely forgotten horse and saddle, in making the discovery that in lieu of four hundred yards of space, a dozen buildings, and about eighty men for each regiment, an immense consumption of fuel, and smoke enough to blind three parts of the army—as the men were all cooks in turn—my system was simple, effective, and vastly superior to that even of the French, which had hitherto always been considered as preferable to the English. This was indeed the case, for all French soldiers understand a little cooking, and their canteen, pan was far superior to that in use amongst the English troops, which I condemned at first sight in the camp at Chobham.

I returned to head-quarters, intending to communicate my discovery to Lord Raglan; but learning that he was very busy, and would not be disengaged till evening, I went to Colonel Steele, who, in spite of the pressure of business, gave me an immediate audience, and promised to speak to Lord Raglan on the subject. Head-quarters were that day, in a manner, taken by storm. They were literally besieged, and this gave me an opportunity of getting acquainted with several officers and other officials whom I had not the pleasure of knowing—or, at least, only by sight. Amongst these were Sir George Brown, Sir W. Codrington, Sir Colin Campbell, Lord Rokeby, Captain Whitmore, and Brevet-Major A. Macdonald.

Lord Raglan passed me in the passage, and said, “You wish to see me, Monsieur Soyer?”

Knowing his lordship was much occupied, I replied, “Colonel Steele will give you the particulars that I came to communicate.”

“That will do; but have you found your horse?”

“No, my lord.”

“I have been to visit Miss Nightingale. She is still very ill. Bad job, bad job, poor lady!” he continued, walking away towards Colonel Steele’s office, with his hands full of papers.

After this I called upon Doctor Hall, with whom I had a few minutes’ conversation upon business. Louis was somewhere about, busily engaged, and, as usual, unwilling to give a direct reply, no matter what question you put to him. He came to see me. I inquired if he knew anything about the sortie of the previous night, upon which he answered that the black horse he rode the day before had thrown him in the mud, and made him in such a mess. I replied in his style:

“The sun is very hot to-day.”

Upon which he observed, “he never was there in his life.”

I begged of him to tell me how he was to-morrow.

“Don’t believe that,” said he; “it is quite false.”

An interesting young man indeed was Louis.

A very great curiosity then made its appearance, breaking the thread of our scientific conversation. What, reader, do you think it was? A carriage!—a thing unknown in the camp—or at least a bad imitation of one—drawn by two very obstinate mules, one pulling against the other, which seemed to amuse my intelligent friend Louis, who never liked to see anything going on smoothly. General Estcourt went out to meet it, and two ladies alighted. To this Louis thoroughly objected, saying—“Ladies, indeed! they are the two female Zouaves who performed in the Anglaises pour Rire, at the theatre in their camp. One,” said he, “is Jean Huguet—the other Panaudet, aide-de-camp to the drum-major of a regiment of cavalry. The first plays Lady Painbeche in that tragedy—the other, Lady Don’t-you-wish-you-may-get-it.”

Very fertile indeed was the brain of Louis at composition of the higher school; and, like Marplot, never wishing to see anything in its right light, he succeeded admirably. The sight of a carriage was something wonderful, but two ladies at once, and fashionably dressed, was too much good-luck. I advanced towards them, and had the honour of being introduced by the general to Mrs. Estcourt and his sister. The general invited me to walk in, and I had the honour of taking a glass of wine with the fair—who might well be called fairies at the time—ladies being so scarce, in fact, all but invisible, in the Crimea.

After a short, but very interesting, conversation with the ladies, I retired, leaving some copies of my receipts with Mrs. Estcourt, who kindly undertook to look at the proofs before printing. Thence I proceeded to the General Camp Hospital, and there met Doctor Mouatt, who told me he was waiting for the bricks for his oven from the Ordnance Office at head-quarters. I informed him that I had given in the plan for a kitchen, and endeavoured to convince him of the necessity of having it done at once.

“I am well aware of that, and it shall be attended to.”

All inquiries respecting my pony were fruitless. At last, upon asking at a canteen, a soldier told me he had heard of one being found in some regiment, but could not tell me which one, though he thought it was somewhere about Cathcart’s Hill.

On arriving at Cathcart’s Hill, I met Sir John Campbell, who invited me to take some refreshment and a glass of Bordeaux. We descended to his rocky abode in front of Sebastopol, whence you could trace every shot or shell which passed, as well as view the whole city. On recounting my adventure of the lost pony, and of my being absent two days from Balaklava,

“We heard,” said the aide-de-camp to Sir John, “that you had lost two ponies.”

“No! no!” said I, “one at a time is quite enough, captain.”

“I can assure you that is the joke at head-quarters. I also heard of your concert À la Soyer.”

“We spent a regular London evening,” I replied.

“I wish I had been there,” said the general; “we are getting very dull in our division. Before you go, Mons. Soyer, come and see my kitchen.”

“I will, general.”

Though very small, it was more deserving that title than the one at Lord Raglan’s.

“Here,” said Sir John, “is our ration meat; I am sure you cannot make a tempting dish out of these materials, especially from the salt meat, which requires so much soaking, it is so hard.”

“Well, general, I will not say I can make a dish worthy of Lucullus out of this; but I will try to make something palatable and fit to eat.”

“I can assure you, Monsieur Soyer, that if you succeed, it will be conferring a great boon upon the army; and you must give them the receipts.”

I did as follows: I cut about two pounds of salt beef, and as much salt pork, in pieces of about a quarter of a pound in weight, placed them, in a canteen pan with cold water, and set it on the fire. When lukewarm, I took the pan off, washed the meat well, and threw the water away. I then added three pints of fresh water, a quarter of a pound of onions sliced, two ounces of sugar, a teaspoonful of pepper, and two ounces of rice. I set it to stew and simmer gently for two hours. The general said:—

“You must come and dine with us about that time.”

“I should certainly much like to taste it, general; but I must be at Balaklava before seven o’clock to-night. To-morrow I am coming over to the General Hospital, and if you will be kind enough to order some to be saved for me, that I may taste it when I come, I shall esteem it a great favour.”

“I will do so, Monsieur Soyer, but try and be here to dinner. We shall dine about five o’clock.”

The stew by this time began to simmer, and upon tasting the broth, I found it already very palatable, without being too salt. I begged of the cook to let it simmer very gently, which he promised to do.

We prepared to separate. Before leaving, I said, “The soldiers will be able to do their rations the same way. I have recommended it to Commissary Filder, who has agreed to it, and consented that the salt rations should be issued the night before, thus giving the soldiers time to soak the meat well. In consequence of this, it will require less sugar; although it is rumoured that a quarter of an ounce is to be added to their daily rations. They will then have as much as they require; and when my new field-stoves are issued, they will admit both of the soaking and the cooking of the meat; and various messes can be made, almost impracticable in the small tin canteens now in use.”

I then told the general of my visit to the French kitchens, and what I had seen there. He agreed with me that they employed too many men, especially in time of war. It is true that the French soldiers understood cooking much better than our men did, but, nevertheless, their system admitted of great improvements. We were then standing in front of Sir John’s cave facing Sebastopol. Of a sudden all the batteries ceased firing, and Sir John exclaimed, “Hallo! there is a flag of truce hoisted on the Russian side, and it is accepted. No doubt it is for leave to bury the dead. Now is the time to have a good peep at Sebastopol, Mons. Soyer; you have two hours for that purpose.”

The generals, staff officers, and a number of military men who were present as lookers-on, started off; and I of course followed, making sure Sebastopol was not more than a mile and a half or two miles distant—which, À vol d’oiseau, it was not; but there were four or five deep ravines, which made the distance much longer. The few who started from the hill were joined by many on the road, and we soon formed a small cavalcade of amateurs. I understood, from several parties of whom I inquired, that we should have plenty of time to go and return before the recommencement of hostilities, and that there was not, therefore, the slightest danger. As it was on the French side the sortie had taken place, some went one way and some another; and only about six of us went towards the French trenches. Upon our arrival we experienced some difficulty in getting in, and it was full twenty minutes before they would admit us.

One of the gentlemen present—an English officer, unknown to me—wrote our names upon his card, and, by order of the commandant of a battery, we were allowed to enter. The sight is too painful to dwell upon, from the immense numbers of dead and wounded piled one upon the other. They were mostly young men, who had fallen so bravely in defence of their country in this glorious, though disastrous, combat. I could not help remarking, both in the French and Russian dead, that those who had been killed by gun-shots passing through the body lay as if they had fallen in to a sweet slumber, with a smile upon their cold lips, and a happy and pleasing expression of countenance, very different to the fearful and contorted appearance generally presented, when from our comfortable homes we are summoned by that “strict serjeant—Death,” in consequence of old age or illness. This induced me to say to my companions in the trenches, “It appears to me as if death had not time to convey them to his mournful shore, but that the genius of glory had unexpectedly stepped in, and taken possession of their souls, which were now happily ascending to heaven and a better world; while, on the contrary, those who have lost a limb or received serious wounds in the head, appear to have expired in the most painful torture.”

The funeral service was going on rapidly and solemnly on all sides. The main attack had been against the French, and their newly-arrived Imperial Guard suffered considerable loss. The greater part of the time allowed for the armistice had now elapsed, and we therefore thought of retiring. None of us were, however, acquainted with the French trenches, and it took us a considerable time to find our way out. I must have taken a wrong turn, or at least the man to whom I had entrusted my pony had done so, although I had given him a franc, and promised him another on getting out all right, merely to see that no one untied the pony. As he was on duty at the time, and agreed to do this, I trusted him with it. My friends found their steeds where they had left them. Pondering upon my ill-luck, and fearing the pony, which belonged to Lord Raglan, was also lost, I felt much perplexed, so I scrambled up between the gabions, and perceived, to my great joy, a man leading my pony about in the ravine. I met the person with whom I had left him, and he told me that his commanding-officer would not allow the pony to remain there any longer, as hostilities would begin again immediately, and being in sight of the enemy, they might think it belonged to a superior, and direct their fire that way; and having some other duties to perform, he gave my steed in charge of another man, and requested me to give the other man the franc I had promised him.

I ran off to the man, making sure I should reach him in two minutes, but it took me above twenty. Instead of going towards him, I got near the Russian side, and had it been dark instead of day, I have no doubt I should have been taken prisoner, from being unable in the short time left of the suspension of hostilities to retrace my steps. One of the sentries who had seen us came and advised me to be off as soon as possible, as the firing would begin again directly. Thanking him, I got my pony, and was no sooner mounted than the cannonade and fusillade thundered in every direction; and some missiles passed me much too close to be pleasant.

A regiment of French soldiers who had just been relieved from duty, and were on their way to their quarters, told me they were going to the Clocheton, a place of which I had heard, but did not know. I followed them, as the night was fast setting in and rain was falling. I passed it, with a jolly set of fellows, full of song, cognac, and rum; and, as I stood some drink, I was set down in their estimation as a gentleman. I afterwards slept upon some straw, on the floor of the canteen. My horse had a very good meal, and plenty of water, but was compelled to remain out all night, which annoyed me very much. It could not, however, be helped. We had a very noisy night, and several shots were heard hissing over our heads, as we were only a few hundred yards from the small house called the Clocheton, so celebrated and well known in the French camp. It was from that picturesque spot that Monsieur de Bazancourt wrote his popular history of the war.