MISS Nightingale was at this period gradually recovering, and the time for her departure drew near. That lady and Mr. Bracebridge had both expressed their wish for me to return to Scutari with them, which I was also very anxious to do. I wanted to give an important coup d’oeil at the hospitals there, which were still very full. So I made the most of my remaining time; visited the French, Turkish, and Sardinian camps, and their hospitals, from each of which, I am proud to say, I gleaned some important and useful dietetic information. It was, however, better suited to the camp than to the permanent hospitals. What struck me most in the French and Sardinian treatments, which are based upon a similar system, was this—viz., that too much liquid of a weak nature was administered to the patients, and in too great quantities—especially as the climate had so great a tendency to produce diarrhoea, dysentery, and cholera.

I had remarked during my stay at Scutari, and when the hospital was filled with patients suffering from those diseases, that the succulent mutton and barley broth I had introduced was selected daily from the dietary by the English doctors, in preference to beef-tea, chicken-broth, &c.; as well as the receipts for plain boiled rice, savoury rice, slightly curried rice, rice-pulp, ground rice-pudding, sago-jelly, sago-panada; and for beverages, strong rice-water, barley-water, and arrowroot-water, in preference to lemonade during the first stage of those diseases; and that numbers of these light though nutritious dishes were selected by the doctors when the disease was at its height.

Though I am aware that in different countries men have different constitutions, I also remarked that the Turkish system of diet closely resembled the English, as they used a great deal of rice, flour—stewed, broiled, and boiled meats, &c. &c. In giving this opinion, en passant, it is only with the intention of submitting to the public, if not to the faculty, things which struck me forcibly during my visits to those important establishments, in which everybody has and ever will take a national interest. Nor can I bring these few remarks to a close without returning my grateful thanks to the authorities in these various establishments for their very courteous attention upon all occasions.

We remained about a fortnight longer in the Crimea, which time I spent in attending to my duties both in the camp and in the hospitals. One morning I had the pleasure of being introduced to Lord Ward, who was very anxious to see Miss Nightingale, as he had a number of letters as well as parcels for that lady. On my informing his lordship that Miss Nightingale was ill, and would not be able to see any one for some time, I believe he forwarded them to her. As I was very desirous of seeing his vessel, he very kindly invited me to visit him on board; and we parted—I to meet Mr. Bracebridge, and to accompany him on our long-promised visit to Mr. Upton; and Lord Ward, to pay his first visit to head-quarters and the camp.

In a short time we arrived at Mr. Upton’s house, and were very kindly received. Mr. Upton is a very short, fair man, still young, and very pale. His daughters are two of the prettiest little girls I ever saw, aged respectively nine and eleven years. He seemed to have suffered much from his confinement, but spoke highly of the treatment he had received from the English while in captivity. His goods were exposed on view, and the sale was to take place a few days after. Having been set at liberty, he was about to return to his native place, near Atherstone in Warwickshire. Everything connected with that gentleman and his family, as well as what relates to his late father, is too well known to require to be repeated.

Six days had elapsed, and I had received no news of the lost pony. The endeavours to find his saddle were also fruitless; and the pony was quite a secondary consideration. This put me in mind of a most extraordinary case of absence of mind in a man who had been gambling, and unexpectedly found himself in great distress, having nothing left but his horse, which was starving for want of provender. On a sudden, a bright idea flashed across his mind. In order to save it, he went and sold the horse to buy some hay. Had the Doctor found the saddle, it was ten to one against his being able to purchase another pony, they were so scarce at the time.

On the seventh day, I happened to be riding triumphantly through the camp with my tall guardsman Thomas before me. He was carrying a fine piece of roast-beef—or at least beef for roasting—which I had begged of the captain of a vessel who came from Alexandria, and intended for Lord Raglan. But I must here observe that it would have been dangerous to cross the camp with such a precious treasure unguarded, as some of those marauding Jack Sheppards of Zouaves would have thought nothing of taking possession of it. They always went in strong bodies, and were ever on the look-out for prey. I said to myself, “If, in the middle of the road, and under my own eyes, they will steal a horse, nothing is more certain than they will try to borrow this”—the word “steal” was not allowed to be mentioned in the French camp, the word “borrow” sounding more genteel.

The loss of the beef, added to the rumoured loss of the four horses, would indeed have afforded abundant materials for fun; so I sent my avant-guard by the road on foot, instead of across country, and followed him on horseback. This plan gave me an opportunity of seeing Mrs. Seacole, to thank her for her kind exertions, although the missing pony had not been found. On reaching her place, I found several mounted officers taking refreshment; when Miss Sally Seacole (her daughter), whose name I have not yet introduced, called out—“Mother, mother! here is Monsieur Soyer!” This announcement brought her out immediately, and she exclaimed, “Good luck to you, my son! we have found your pony: come down. Here are some officers who say they have had a grey pony like yours in the stables of their regiment these last few days. Didn’t you say so, gentlemen?”

“Yes, Monsieur Soyer!” said one, “but you must look sharp, for they are going to sell it to-morrow, if no one claims it.”

“Many thanks for the warning. I will ride over directly. Pray, what is the number of the regiment?”

“The 93rd—fourth division—near the Woronzoff-road. I am almost sure it is yours.”

“Well, my son,” said Mrs. Seacole, “didn’t I tell you that it would be found?”

“Really, Mrs. Seacole, I don’t know what I shall give you for the trouble you have taken in this affair. At all events, here is something on account,”—saluting her upon her deeply-shaded forehead, at which every one present laughed and joked.

“Gentlemen,” said I, “I knew you would be surprised; though it is very natural for a son to kiss his mother. At any rate, you cannot say that, upon this occasion, I have shown my love and taste for the fair sex.” A hearty laugh concluded this innocent bit of fun.

My guardsman, Thomas, who had continued his journey, had by this time nearly reached his destination. After a sharp gallop I caught him, and just in time to rescue the piece of beef he had carried safely so far. I found him drinking brandy with several of the French Imperial Guard, at their canteen; and he was exhibiting the choice piece, which I had wrapped up so carefully in a cloth and packed in a basket. It was the admiration of all who formed the merry group. They said to him, “Anglais roast-beef—bono Johnny.” This was all their conversation upon the subject previous to its capture, which I have no doubt would have been the case had I not made my appearance. Seeing the imminent danger in which the choice morsel was placed, and aware that nothing but a ruse de guerre could rescue it from the hands of the enemy—

“Thomas,” said I, in French, “how dare you stop drinking in this way, when you know that General Canrobert must have that beef roasted for his dinner; and it is already past three o’clock. (“By Jupiter!” said one of them, “it’s no go—it’s for the Commander-in-Chief.”) Go along with you! (He began to inquire what I said.) Don’t answer me, sir, or you shall have a night in the guard-house. Pray, my fine fellow, which is the nearest way to the French head-quarters? I had better carry it myself—I shall be there first. Give it me,” said I, taking the basket, and ordering Thomas to follow.

Bidding the astonished soldiers adieu, I galloped off with my prize. Upon arriving at head-quarters, I rated Thomas for his stupidity, and went to the kitchen to ask for a large dish to put the beef on. It quite astonished Monsieur Armand, as he had seen none of that quality before. Indeed, it contrasted strangely with some beef he had upon the table.

“You are more comfortable now,” I said, “since those few additions have been made to your kitchen?”

“Very much so; and I am extremely obliged to you for what you have done.”

“You have a very good roasting fireplace. Will you be kind enough to have that piece of beef roasted to a turn for Lord Raglan’s dinner to-morrow, as it is Sunday?”

“Yes,” said he; “it comes quite À propos; and I will roast it as well as I can, but must suspend it by a cord, as I have no spit.”

“Do so—that will be more camp fashion; but pray don’t bake it, for that would spoil it, and you don’t know the trouble I had to get it as far as this in safety.”

I then told him about Thomas and the French soldiers, at which he could not help laughing, saying, “It has had a narrow escape, for those devils of Zouaves will steal the coat from your back. A few days ago they stole a whole sheep from that bit of a larder I have here in the yard.”

“You had better give it to the steward to keep in his pantry till to-morrow—it will then be safe.”

“I will do so.”

As Thomas was carrying it into the house, we met several officers, who inquired whence it came. I went and showed it to Colonel Steele, begging that he would be kind enough to offer it to Lord Raglan, with my respects. While I was in Colonel Steele’s room, in walked Sir George Brown and his aide-de-camp.

“Bravo,” said the latter, looking at it; “you have indeed improved the ration meat, if this is a specimen.”

“It is,” I replied; “but I am sorry to add that it is both specimen and stock.”

“It is certain,” said the general, “I have seen no such meat since I left England. Where does it come from?”

“Alexandria, general.”

“Oh, that’s a long way to bring it in large quantities.”

“Truly, general; but this is only an out-of-the-way piece. I think we may shortly have plenty, and at a moderate price, and from a nearer place. No time is lost; but, as the proverb says, ‘the world was not created in a day.’”

At this moment Lord Raglan came in, quite by chance. “Hallo, Monsieur Soyer,” said he, “what have you got there?”

“A piece of ration beef, my lord, with a certain addition of fat; and I beg your acceptance of it for to-morrow’s dinner. I have seen Armand about it, and he has promised to do it to a turn.”

“That’s very kind of you,” said his lordship, giving his orders to the colonel, and inquiring, at the same time, about a very important telegraphic despatch.

“But I must again tell you, as I mentioned once before, you will not find my cook a first-rate cordon bleu.”

“Well, my lord, no doubt he does his best, according to the quality of the provisions, which, your lordship must be aware, are not first-rate. At all events, I shall trust this marvel to his skill; and if he does it to a turn, as he has promised, he will prove the correctness of my countryman’s words—Brillat Savarin—who says, in his Physiologie du GoÛt, ‘On devient cuisinier, mais on est nait rÔtisseur.’”

“That is a charming work of Savarin’s,” said his lordship. “Well, Soyer,” continued he, “this certainly looks like English beef. Where does it come from?”

“From Alexandria, my lord. I dined the other day on board the Etna, and we had a splendid piece of roast beef for dinner. I at once claimed a portion for your lordship’s table; and the captain ordered the best piece to be put by—and here it is.”

“Very kind of him, very kind—and of you too, Monsieur Soyer.” As Lord Raglan said this, he turned and gave his orders to Colonel Steele.

“Have you found your pony?”

“I believe so. I hear it is in the stables of the 93rd Regiment, and I am going to look for it directly.”

“You are lucky,” said he; “for some fellows have actually stolen thirty live sheep and several mules from here.”

“Have they indeed?”

“Yes, I assure you it is too true. Is it not, Steele?”

“So I was told.”

“Oh, I hear Miss Nightingale is soon going back.”

“Yes, as soon as she is sufficiently strong to bear the voyage.”

Lord Raglan then left the room. Never was there a man at all times more composed and collected than he was; and he always had a kind word and smile for those around him, even at the most critical times.

Several days had by this time elapsed since the departure of the expedition for Kertch, and no news of its movements had been received. The harbour looked very dull. Not knowing how to spend my evening, I went with a friend to Kadikoi, and dined there. Whilst at table, an officer who knew me, and who was reading the last number of the Illustrated London News, addressed me with a “Hallo, Monsieur Soyer, they have got you in the Illustrated this week.”

“Have they?” said I. “Oh, I see—it is the last letter I sent from Scutari.”

“Yes, it is,” he replied.

“About the opening of my kitchen? Yes, and here is the sketch. I did not notice that before.”

He then passed the paper to me. On perusing the letter, I perceived that the printer had made a slight mistake, and one of vital importance to me, as it operated to the detriment of the purveyor-in-chief at Scutari, as well as to the authorities. The blunder was as follows. In one passage of my letter I made special remarks upon the inferior quality of the provisions to be obtained at Constantinople. They had inserted the inferior quality of provisions purchased at Constantinople. I hardly knew how to rectify such a serious mistake, so I at once resolved to go and explain the matter to Lord Raglan, before he could hear from any other quarter, of what he might suppose to be my ill-feeling towards a party from whom I had previously informed his lordship I had received the greatest assistance and kindness. I immediately returned to the Baraguay d’Hilliers, and found Peter Morrison on board. I showed him the paper; and he at once approved of my resolve, and offered to accompany me to head-quarters.

Though rather late—it was dusk—I borrowed a pony from the Commandant and a mule from Colonel Dennis. By way of a change I rode the mule, and off we went in true campaigning style. We were overtaken by night before we could reach head-quarters. It was at all times imprudent to be out after dark, as violence and robbery were of daily occurrence. At length, after a dÉtour of about a mile, we saw the gleam of several lights, and riding towards them, found ourselves safe at head-quarters, having fortunately hit upon the place. The party were at dinner. After waiting a short time, the steward came and told me that dinner was over, and the gentlemen were taking their wine. I then begged him to inform Colonel Steele of my arrival, and say I should feel obliged if he would step into his room for a few minutes, as I had something important to communicate. Upon receiving my message, Colonel Steele immediately came out.

“Good evening, colonel. Very sorry to disturb you.”

“Never mind that, Monsieur Soyer. But what brings you here so late at night? Are you staying here?”

“No, my dear colonel; I am still at Balaklava, but on the Baraguay d’Hilliers instead of the London.”

“Indeed. Well, she’s a much better vessel. But what can I do for you?”

“I will tell you. I am much annoyed at a mistake which has occurred in the printing of a letter of mine which has appeared in this number of the Illustrated London News. There are only two words misplaced, but they entirely alter my meaning. Pray read those few lines, colonel,” I continued, giving him the paper, and pointing them out; the letter being to the following effect:—

“I suppose you meant to say, the provisions to be obtained.”

“Exactly, colonel.”

“What do you wish me to do?”

“Merely to be kind enough to explain the error to Lord Raglan to-morrow, as it would appear very ungrateful on my part to the authorities at Scutari; more especially as I informed his lordship that those gentlemen had done everything in their power to assist me.”

“I had better do it at once. His lordship has just done dinner. I will go and show it to him; you can walk in with me.”

“No, I thank you; I had rather wait here.”

In a few minutes he returned with the paper, saying, “I have shown it to Lord Raglan, and he will make a note of it.”

He had scarcely uttered the words, when I heard his lordship inquiring in the corridor, “Where is Monsieur Soyer? where is he?” and in he walked, followed by his Staff, seven or eight in number, among whom was Dr. Pennefather. The Commander-in-chief was dressed in plain clothes, and looked very well, full of health and vigour. His fine open countenance, so characteristic of the man, was more brilliant than ever, and his conversation quite jocular. After alluding to the step I had just taken, and which, he observed, was very thoughtful on my part, he promised to have the parties informed of the mistake, and of my explanation.

“Monsieur Soyer,” (Lord Raglan, as he said this, was standing in the doorway, leaning on his right shoulder, with his legs crossed, and surrounded by several gentlemen, forming a group which I shall not forget as long as I live,) “you must have known my old friend Ude?”

“I did, my lord.”

“How many years were you at the Reform Club?”

“Above twelve. It was old Mr. Ude who gave the late Madame Soyer away when we were married; so we often visited him.”

“Lord Alvanley, who had apartments at Mr. Ude’s, lived there for years, and I frequently visited him,” said Lord Raglan.

“If so, no doubt your lordship will recollect a very interesting picture of a country girl going to market, with a basket of poultry under her arm?”

“I do, very well indeed, and I know it was painted by your wife. It was very cleverly done. But you had all her best pictures at the Reform Club. You showed them to me yourself.”

“I recollect doing so perfectly well.”

“She was a very talented woman indeed!” observed several of the gentlemen present, who had seen her pictures.

“She was an Englishwoman, was she not, Monsieur Soyer?” said his lordship.

“Yes, my lord; her maiden name was Emma Jones.”

“Of course,” rejoined one of the group, “her paintings were well known by that name.”

“So they were, captain, and fetched high prices too. I do not sell any now; on the contrary, I still have my gallery complete, and have bought in several since her death. I offered old Ude fifty guineas for the painting in his possession called ‘La Jeune FermiÈre;’ but he would not part with it, as it was presented to him by her. Previous to my departure from England for the East, I was advised by the chaplain of the cemetery to insert on the monument the country of her birth, as many believed her to be a foreigner. The inscription was simply ‘To Her.’ I then composed the following laconic epitaph:—

‘TO THE MEMORY OF MADAME SOYER.
England gave her birth,
Genius immortality.’”

“Very good indeed,” said his lordship. “I myself have seen the monument, which is considered one of the finest in Kensal-green Cemetery.

“I was saying, Soyer, that I frequently visited Alvanley; and we always knew when Ude and his wife were at home, for they never ceased quarrelling. They kept five or six dogs, and what with their barking and the quarrelling of master and mistress, I never heard such a noise in my life. I often wondered how Lord Alvanley could put up with it; but he said he was used to it, and could hardly feel comfortable anywhere else.”

“Talk of quarrelling, I believe they could not exist without it—not even on birthdays; and if you will allow me, I will relate a singular birthday anecdote.”

“Pray do, Soyer.”

“You must know that the old gentleman, though very avaricious, now and then came out in first-rate style with his gastronomic parties; but the great day of all was the 15th of August in each year—being the fÊte and birthday of the illustrious and far-famed Louis Eustache Ude. Upon these occasions, about four-and-twenty of his most devoted and illustrious disciples were invited, with their wives, to a most sumptuous dinner at his house. The grandeur of the gold and silver ornaments was actually cast into the shade by the elegance and succulence of the mets they contained. The choicest articles in season—viz., fish, flesh, poultry, vegetables, and fruit—seemed to have been waiting to come to perfection for this high-priest of the gastronomic art, and many culinary inventions which still delight the scientific palates of the epicures of the day had their origin at that Lucullusian anniversary.

“Upon one of these great occasions, Madame Soyer and myself were invited. As it was the first to which I had been invited, I was very anxious to go. About a week previous, so strong was my wish to be present at this feast, I asked the committee to grant me leave of absence from duty for one evening, and they kindly acceded to my request. To the minute, heure militaire, we were there, and were saluted upon our arrival by the usual dogmatic chorus, which for a few minutes prevented our hearing a word that was spoken. At length we were all seated, Mr. Ude at the top of the table, and Mrs. Ude facing him.

“It was, I must repeat, a most superb and elegantly laid-out board. The best part of the dessert, which is always refreshing to the sight, ‘particularly in the middle of August,’ had been made a perfect study. Soup was duly served, and highly praised by the culinary convives and judges. It was a bisque d’Écrevisses. The Madeira was circulating cheerfully round the table, to the trinquing of glasses, after the old French fashion, when an unfortunate guest, having probably too far to reach a beloved friend, put his foot forward, and unfortunately deposited it upon the paw of one of the enfans chÉris de la maison. Vermilion—that was the name of the plaintiff—being an enfant gÂtÉ, seized upon the leg, which happened to be bootless, as the unlucky guest wore thin shoes. The dog made a slight indenture with his teeth, causing him involuntarily to reply to the attack of Vermilion; three or four more of the four-legged tribe joined the battle-cry, and the noise was intolerable. The compliments which passed between the host and hostess were pithy and violent, though scarcely heard through the din, excepting by those who happened to be seated close to them. We were fortunately about the centre of the table, and all we could catch was—

“‘Oh, you stupid old man! why did you not lock the dogs upstairs, as I told you to do?’

“‘Be quiet, madam!’ replied Mr. Ude. ‘This is my birthday, and I will have no quarrelling.’

“‘No more will I; but why did you not lock up your dogs?’

“‘Well, madam, I am sure they were quiet enough till that stupid young man trod upon poor Vermilion’s paw.’

“‘Stupid young man, did you say? Mr. Ude, pray how dare you insult my relation? If any one is stupid here, it is you, Mr. Ude!’

“‘Will you be quiet, madam?’—‘No, I shall not!’

“‘What, not on my birthday! There, take that.’

“As he said this, he threw some almonds across the table, and his wife replied with some projectiles snatched up at random from other portions of the dessert. The dogs joined in the fray, and entirely upset the party. All the ladies left the table. The young man who had been bitten attempted to apologize; in return for which concession on his part, the great Louis Eustache and his amiable spouse returned a volley of abuse. An hour elapsed before anything like order could be established, when several ladies returned to the table, while a few remained to console the victimized spouse. The great Mr. Ude had bravely retained his important position, and, still violently excited, commenced helping the fish—a magnificent crimped Gloucester salmon, procured at Groves’s in Bond-street—which was by this time as cold as ice.

“‘Only fancy,’ ejaculated the enraged Amphitryon, ‘even on my birthday! Upon my word, she is a wretch! She never will—‘ Then, by way of parenthesis, to the waiter, ‘Go round with the sauce, you stupid! don’t stand there staring like a fool.’—‘Prosper! no, I’m sure she never, never will prosper!’

“At length something like harmony was restored; but only six ladies out of eleven returned; the others remained with Mrs. Ude, and, I believe, dined upstairs. Much to our sorrow and disappointment, one of the finest dinners of the season was served up cold, and entirely spoiled, through the pugnacity of Louis Eustache Ude’s favourite pup.”

All laughed heartily at the anecdote, particularly Lord Raglan, who then told us that Ude had called upon him several mornings respecting a cook he had applied for to Mr. Ude, for his brother, the Duke.

“Ude,” said Lord Raglan, “called several mornings, first with two dogs, then three, next four. At last I said to him, ‘I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Ude, for your kind visits respecting my brother’s cook, and shall be happy to see you at any time—but in future without your four-legged companions.’

“‘Why?’ asked the great chef, rather put out.

“‘My dear sir, if you want an explanation, inquire of the housemaid!’ He rushed out, and never called again; but he sent the cook all the same. Ude was an excellent manager, and a good cook, but had a very odd temper; he died very rich.”

“Very rich indeed.”

“To whom did he leave his fortune?”

“Oh, to his favourite pet, Madame Ude. She is still alive, and lives in the same house in Albemarle-street.”

“Really, I did not know that!”

“My lord, and gentlemen, I wish you good evening, and thank you for your kindness.”

“You must take some refreshment, Soyer, before you go. Order what you want. Steward, wait upon Monsieur Soyer.”

They then all went out, and sat upon the door-steps, smoking their cigars. Lord Raglan was that night in a very jovial mood: Colonel Steele observed to me, “Did you ever know or see a finer man for his age? Is he not still full of life and vigour, and the picture of an English nobleman?”

“He is, indeed; and I always notice that he has plenty of fun and jokes.”

“That is true; but more so with you, as you are not a military man. He is very strict on duty.”

As I was taking some refreshment, Lord Raglan came to me, and said, “Monsieur Soyer, I wish you would give my cook, Armand, the receipt to make that excellent French pot-au-feu you gave me when I saw you at the Reform Club.”

“I will; and those vegetables-chollet I have submitted to your lordship will be the very thing for it. They are made of common vegetables, exactly suitable for that soup. It is by far the best, most wholesome, and nutritious for the troops.”

“I am confident of that,” said his lordship, going back to his seat.

I then went out through the side door to fetch my mule, which P. Morrison had been walking about the courtyard along with his pony. Jumping upon it, I rode up to the group, to say good-night to Lord Raglan and all present.

“Hallo,” Lord Raglan exclaimed, “where is the charger you had the other day? What is that you are mounted upon?”

“A mule, my lord, belonging to Colonel Dennis of the Dragoons.”

“Ah, you are much safer upon that.”

“I feel so, I assure you, my lord. The charger to which you allude belonged to Colonel Hardinge.”

“So I heard.”

“It was a good joke on the part of the Commandant. I asked him to do me the favour of lending me his light pony, and he sent me his large charger, which ran away with me, but fortunately not towards Sebastopol.” At this they all laughed heartily; and I and P. Morrison departed.

When we were about half a mile from head-quarters, we heard a sharp fusillade in the direction of Sebastopol, and there was a lull in the cannonade and shelling, which had not ceased during my stay at head-quarters. We proceeded to the Turkish camp, situated on the heights to the right, from whence we could plainly see the firing. The Turkish soldiers were in high glee, singing, dancing, smoking, drinking coffee, and playing no end of Oriental instruments, which, however well tuned, were by no means in harmony. They were bivouacked all over the camp; some of the officers who were smoking offered us chibouques and coffee, which we declined, as it was then so late. We left, thanking them for their civility.

As we rode along, I could not help remarking to P. Morrison the extraordinary contrast of the two scenes, witnessed nearly on the same spot and within a short interval—the present one all fun and glee, the other a scene of death and carnage, where hundreds of human beings were being launched into eternity. Such are the chances and the variation of war. It was after twelve when we arrived at Balaklava, and were safe on board. My heroic companion related the terrible fright he had been in all the way back, having seen most dreadful things, in the shape of ghosts, brigands, and murderers. It is true that on one occasion we were arrested; but it was by a wide ditch, which we could not easily jump over without risking a bath with the frogs, it being one of the resorts of those aquatic quadrupeds. We had lost our way, the road being invisible, and no landmarks, as the camps were being daily changed from one spot to another. These were the tribulations caused by the printer or my illustrious secretary. The next morning the captain of the vessel came to my cabin, and informed me that Kertch and other places in the Sea of Azoff were taken.

The news of such a victory was most welcome, and the harbour was gaily decorated with hundreds of coloured flags of the Allied nations. Everything seemed to revive, and all felt anxious to visit the newly-conquered land of Kamara, which had been taken a few days before. In company with a few others, I started at four A.M. to visit these champs fleuris. Nothing could be more refreshing than the sight of that gorgeous harvest, which seemed to have suddenly sprung up amidst deserted and arid rocks, sand, and gravel, where all had before been condemned to exile. Nothing in my whole existence appeared more grateful and refreshing to the mind, as well as the eye, than the odour from those perfumed valleys of myriads of wild flowers, shaded from the burning heat of the sun by a tall verandah of long green grass, the top of which softly caressed the chests of our horses as they trotted through these thickly-populated floral prairies. Myriads of Étoiles des champs, daisies, buttercups, bluebells, cornflowers, poppies, birdseyes, &c., and many others unknown in this country, were seen on every side. Clouds of butterflies were seen gaily sporting from flower to flower, taking from each a kiss perfumed by the zephyr of the morn. Even our horses seemed to enjoy the scene so fully, that we let them graze for about an hour. We then arrived near the charming rivulet and valley, the Tchernaya, which, though far from being as beautiful as many in France or England, possesses numerous charms to an uninitiated eye.

We mounted our horses, and went through the Kamara Mountains, the scenery of which resembles that of Devonshire, Wales, or the Highlands of Scotland. We returned home by the edge of the beautiful cliffs which border the Bay of Balaklava. Such a day is not to be easily forgotten, rendered still more agreeable by the cordial reception we met with from the officers in the French and Sardinian camps, and the presence of a most charming compagnon de voyage (Mr. Stowe), a very promising young man in high literature. The various notes he took on the spot are worthy of Thomson’s Seasons.

I heard from Mr. Bracebridge that Miss Nightingale was greatly improving, of which I was of course well aware, as I went every day to the Sanatorium to prepare a few light things for her lunch or dinner. He also informed me that her intention was to leave Balaklava shortly for Scutari; to which I replied, that having done all I could in the camp for the present, I was quite ready to go. As I had also heard that my field-stoves had arrived, and had been landed by mistake at that place, I decided upon going to fetch them myself. Mr. Bracebridge having found some round stoves which were sent out for winter use, proposed having the tops cut off and some pans introduced, which would make them similar to mine (as he thought). “At all events,” said he, “I shall make a trial, and show it at head-quarters.”

I very reluctantly consented to this. It took five or six days to make a strong tin pan, which, when done and fixed in the stove, we took to head-quarters, and showed to Lord Raglan and a number of generals present. I made some coffee in it (that being the quickest thing), which was approved of. But having brought my small model stove with me, I pointed out to Lord Raglan that each pan would cost thirty shillings, and the stoves would not be worth five shillings soon afterwards, as they would be burnt through, thus proving the superiority of my plan. Lord Raglan advised me to wait till my own arrived. Mr. Bracebridge and myself afterwards went to the General Hospital, and there saw Dr. Mouatt, who had not succeeded in getting the bricks for the kitchen oven.

Having completed our camp rounds, Mr. Bracebridge said he was compelled to leave me, upon some private business. I afterwards learnt that he went to the trenches, and, being both very imprudent and curious, was as nearly as possible taken prisoner or shot. He had appointed to meet me by five o’clock at head-quarters, but did not come. I paid Dr. Hall and a few friends round head-quarters a short visit, as I feared I might not have another opportunity previous to my departure from the Crimea. It was quite dark when I got back. Mr. Bracebridge had not returned, and we were beginning to fear that something had happened to him. The next morning he was on board early, and active as ever, recounting his adventures. I that morning went on board Lord Ward’s yacht, but its owner was on shore—so I left word that I would call again. The next day I had the honour of receiving the following invitation from Lord Ward, to go on an excursion in his yacht as far as Lukas, the palace of Prince Woronzoff.

About eighty persons were invited, and it was with regret that I was obliged to decline; but a day was indeed a day to me.

Miss Nightingale got better and stronger every day, and she seemed inclined to remain in the Crimea, observing that, owing to her illness, she had not done half she had intended to do. Every one, and especially the doctors, tried to persuade her that the change of air would do her an immense deal of good.

It was at last settled that a berth in the first convenient ship leaving the harbour for Scutari should be placed at Miss Nightingale’s disposal. The Jura was fixed upon, as she was then hourly expected, and had only to discharge cargo and return immediately. She had four hundred horses on board, and several hundred troops. The day before her departure Miss Nightingale was brought from the Sanatorium upon a stretcher, carried by eight soldiers, and accompanied by Dr. Hadley, the Reverend Mr. Parker, Mr. Bracebridge, myself, and several Sisters of Charity. When we reached the Jura, tackles were attached to the four corners of the stretcher, and Miss Nightingale was slung on deck by means of pulleys. We found a very disagreeable smell, caused by the great number of horses, which had only been landed that morning. Miss Nightingale was carefully carried to the chief cabin, a very comfortable one; yet even there the smell was very offensive. This I mentioned to the captain, who agreed with me, but said, “We shall no sooner get to sea than it will disappear.”

The invalid was therefore made as comfortable as possible, and the doctors and every one left. No sooner were they gone than Miss Nightingale fainted. I and the boy Thomas ran in every direction for a doctor. Dr. Hadley, who had just arrived at his residence on the Genoese Heights, came at once, and immediately ordered her to be removed to another vessel. Not being able to find either Captain Heath or Admiral Boxer, I thought of the Baraguay d’Hilliers, to which Miss Nightingale was at once safely removed, and where I hoped she would be very comfortable till we could get an order from the admiral for another ship. The same evening Admiral Boxer came on board to say that he would at once look out for one. The next afternoon Mr. Bracebridge and myself went to head-quarters, to apprise Lord Raglan of the cause of Miss Nightingale’s non-departure. His lordship was out, and Mr. Bracebridge left a message to the effect that he hoped Lord Raglan would not trouble himself about the matter, as Admiral Boxer would attend to it, and that Miss Nightingale was quite comfortable on board the Baraguay d’Hilliers. We then made a few farewell calls at the First and Third Divisions, and also at the Guards’ camp, near Balaklava.

It was nearly midnight when we were shouting, pianoly, “Baraguay d’Hilliers ahoy!” No reply was made to either the first or second hail, so I raised the dismal melody a few notes higher, which at last brought, to our astonishment, a beautiful boat manned by six smart oarsmen. The craft was handsomely painted, having a small red and white burgee at the stern. At first I thought it was an optical delusion, or a fairy scene raised by the magic power of Ondine, the queen of the waters. In less than two minutes they neared the shore, and one of the fairies addressed us thus: “Pray, are you the gentlemen who are accompanying Miss Nightingale?”

“We are,” said I.

“I and my men have been waiting for you, sir, these three hours.”

“How is that?” asked Mr. Bracebridge.

“I cannot tell you further, than that we were sent to fetch Miss Nightingale, and referred to you. I believe you are Mr. Bracebridge?”

“Yes; and I am at a loss to understand what you mean.”

“I’ve brought a letter from our master, Lord Ward, which will explain all.”

“Where is it?”

“I have delivered it on board; but the last orders from his lordship were, that if I had to wait all night, I was to bring you to him.”

“Why? Don’t you know?”

“Not exactly. But I am sure his lordship is still waiting for you; so you had better come as far as the London—it won’t take you ten minutes.”

We then jumped in. Mr. Bracebridge said, “I tell you how it is: no doubt Lord Ward has heard of what has happened, and probably intends to offer to take Miss Nightingale in his yacht to Scutari.”

“Very likely; but it would not do to accept the invitation without first obtaining the permission of Admiral Boxer.”

“We shall see, Mr. Bracebridge. Perhaps Lord Ward will lend it to the invalid; for he has only just arrived, and it is doing nothing.”

On getting on board the New London, we found that Lord Ward, tired of waiting, had retired to rest, having left special orders to be called the instant we arrived, no matter at what hour. As it was nearly one o’clock, we made all kinds of objections to his being disturbed, but in vain. The lamps were lit in the saloon, and we were invited to walk in. We found Lord Ward en robe-de-chambre, quite ready to receive us.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” said he.

We were about to apologize for being so late, when Lord Ward proceeded to say that he had heard of the non-departure of Miss Nightingale, and the cause, and that if she would accept his yacht, he should be happy to place it at her disposal to convey her to Scutari. He added, that she might take her own time, as he intended to remain a fortnight in the Crimea, and that no one should be on board excepting those whom she chose to take with her, and his medical attendant.

Mr. Bracebridge thanked Lord Ward in his own and Miss Nightingale’s name, and said that he would inform the lady of his lordship’s kind offer in the morning, and communicate her decision. We then left, thus terminating a most unexpected midnight conversation, on the 7th of June, 1855. Nothing was heard in the now peaceable harbour but the splashing of the oars of our fashionable oarsmen, who seemed at every pull to be smashing the Koh-i-noor diamond into hundreds of pieces while disturbing the transparent liquid. The flashes from the guns at Sebastopol were distinctly seen reflected, but not a sound was heard save our good-night to the fairy rowers, as we ascended the rope ladder of the bulky Baraguay d’Hilliers.

The following morning Mr. Bracebridge consulted with Miss Nightingale. The lady expressed her thanks for Lord Ward’s kind offer, but at the same time justly observed that the matter was in the hands of the admiral, as he might by this time have arranged with another vessel. Inquiries having been made, the admiral recommended Miss Nightingale to accept Lord Ward’s offer, remarking the advantage of having the vessel to herself, while it would be morally impossible for him to give her a passage with the same facilities. It was then decided that the offer should be accepted. Lord Ward soon after called for an answer, and was highly gratified by that lady’s acceptance. He returned on board his vessel, to have every preparation made for her reception. Miss Nightingale was to go on board at four in the afternoon, and sail at eight or nine the next morning. Mr. Bracebridge, Lord Ward’s medical attendant, the Honourable Mr. Wellesley, and myself, were the only persons to accompany her. For the last time I went my hospital and camp rounds; and in the latter part of that day I thought of going once more to head-quarters, to acquaint Colonel Steele of the final arrangements for our departure. I met the Rev. Mr. Wright, the clergyman, in front of the General’s house, and asked him where Omer Pacha’s tent was situated, being anxious to leave my card with his excellency before leaving. Mr. Wright kindly pointed out the spot. As I was entering the house, I met Lord Raglan coming out.

“Oh, here you are, Monsieur Soyer! I heard you were gone, or going, with Miss Nightingale. When do you start?”

“Early to-morrow, in Lord Ward’s yacht.”

“So I hear. I am very glad of it. She will be much more comfortable.”

“Doubtless, my lord.”

“Let me see (looking at his watch); where are you going?”

“Back to Balaklava direct, my lord, having only to make a call for a minute in the Turkish camp.”

“If I thought I should not be too late, I would go with you, to say farewell to her.”

“Pray don’t give yourself so much trouble. It is getting very late, and must be near your dinner-time. I will inform Miss Nightingale of your kind intentions—that will be quite sufficient.”

“Wait a few minutes.”—“I will.”

It was getting dusk, and having waited nearly twenty minutes, I made inquiries as to whether it was likely that Lord Raglan was going to Balaklava.

“No,” was the answer from one of the Staff, “for he is very busily engaged.”

I started for the Turkish camp. On my arrival there, I found that Omer Pacha was dining out; so I left my card and respectful compliments, and took the road through the artillery camp. This gave me an opportunity of visiting Colonel St. George, who resided near the small village of Carrara, about two miles from Balaklava. The kind reception I met with from the Colonel, whom I had not seen since I left Scutari, caused some little delay, and I did not get on board till nearly nine o’clock. To my surprise, I learned that Lord Raglan had just left the London, after paying a farewell visit to Miss Nightingale. This I could hardly believe to be true—the space of time was so short. I much regretted not having waited longer, though certain that his lordship could not be offended, as I had left a message with the man on duty in the entrance hall to the effect that I was informed that he was not coming.