Alexis Soyer

Orders to start—An accident in port—Farewells—Colonel Dennis’s good luck—Admiral Boxer’s kindness—En route at last—Crimean Zouave flies—At sea—New scene of enchantment—A good dinner—Rough usage—A fog in the Black Sea—Out of our course—Fittings of the London—Enter the Bosphorus—Conversation with Miss Nightingale.

WE slept that night on board the Baraguay d’Hilliers, though all our baggage had been removed to the London, and at seven next morning we went on board. Miss Nightingale had passed a most excellent night, and the weather was very fine. Lord Ward, who had slept at the Commandant’s, came on board at half-past seven. After inquiring of Mrs. Roberts, the nurse, whether Miss Nightingale had been comfortable, he gave the captain orders for departure, which he had fixed for twelve o’clock, instead of nine. As the weather was so fine, he proposed that a sofa-bed should be placed upon deck, and that the captain should take us as far as the Bay of Sebastopol, where we might have a fine view of the besieged city, without incurring the slightest danger.

One of the mates told the captain that a vessel full of powder had taken fire in the night, and that Admiral Boxer had been there since two in the morning, working like a negro with the men, and therefore that he could not see him. I believe Lord Ward knew this, but did not speak of it for fear of causing alarm, and this was no doubt the cause of the delay in our departure. The deck was crowded the whole morning with visitors, particularly officials, who wished to pay their respects to Miss Nightingale; but the doctors had given positive orders for her to see no one. Balaklava was in a great state of excitement, on account of the fire on board the powder-ship. Some called it the Gunpowder-plot at Balaklava, and an attempt to destroy the British fleet. This was the opinion in the French camp and at Kamiesch. The fleet, by-the-bye, was at that time at least twenty miles from the supposed scene of explosion.

As there were several matters which I wished to settle before my departure, I asked the captain whether I could land for an hour.

“Certainly you can. I don’t think we shall sail before three o’clock; but be on board by twelve, if possible, or half past at the latest.”

“I shall be sure to return in time.”

I called at the Commissariat respecting the preserved vegetables, the samples of which were daily expected; next, upon Mr. Fitzgerald, the purveyor; and then went to the Abundance. On my way to the steamer, I met Mr. Bracebridge going to Colonel Dennis; and although I had already had the pleasure of saying good-bye to the colonel and his lady, I went back with him. The colonel, who had been seriously ill for several months, was to sail the next day for England, or Malta (I don’t exactly recollect which), and was saying how much he regretted being obliged to leave his regiment—that he feared the voyage would not do him much good, as the steamer he was going by was so full of sick. He had scarcely spoken the words, when in walked Admiral Boxer.

“Well, Dennis, my friend! I bring you good news.”

“What’s that, admiral?” said the colonel.

“Why, I have another vessel going to-morrow, with very few sick on board, and I have secured a good large cabin for yourself and lady.”

“Many, many thanks! my dear admiral,” said Colonel Dennis, in which his lady also joined.

“Ah! Monsieur Soyer, are you here? How are you to-day?”

“Quite well, admiral. I hope you are the same!”

“No; I am very tired.”

“Will you take a glass of wine, admiral,” said Colonel Dennis, “and sit down, a minute?”

“No, I thank you; my nephew is waiting lunch for me, and I have been up since three o’clock this morning helping to put out the fire on board that ship in the harbour.”

“Well, how did you leave it, admiral?” inquired the colonel.

“The powder is safe, but the vessel is much damaged.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Bracebridge; good-bye, Monsieur Soyer. I shall see you again—I am coming on board in an hour. You will not sail till three o’clock. Indeed,” said he, going out, “I must take some lunch first, for I feel very faint.”

“You’re right, admiral,” said I; “you work so hard, that if you don’t take care of number one, you will kill yourself.”

“No fear of that, Monsieur Soyer; nothing can hurt an old fellow like me.”

He then almost ran, instead of walking. Bidding the colonel and his lady adieu, Mr. Bracebridge and myself immediately went on board, fearing we might get late. Many visitors were still there, and the captain and Lord Ward begged of them to retire. A few minutes after, we were en route. The admiral was expected, but did not come; he sent some of his officials instead. As soon as we were under way, the couch was brought on deck—Miss Nightingale lying upon it. Mrs. Roberts held a white umbrella over her face to screen her from the extreme heat of the sun, fanning her at the same time. In the saloon, Lord Ward and myself were busily engaged in a most extraordinary sport, hunting the Crimean Zouave flies, which, no matter how you repulsed them, always came back to the charge. We had by this time entered the bay, but were still on half steam. Lord Ward bade Miss Nightingale farewell, as well as all on board, and went off in a small boat. We then shaped our course for Constantinople direct, it being too late to go and see Sebastopol. It was striking eight bells as we cleared the Bay of Balaklava.

We were at sea; and our heroine was where I had recommended her to be, viz., between heaven and the ocean.

Miss Nightingale remained on deck till nearly dusk. The sea was calm, and the burning sky was so strongly reflected upon its surface that we seemed to be rapidly traversing a lake of fire. The radiant face of the sun itself had for some time been concealed by the majestic rock upon which stands the monastery. The turbulent noise of the harbour was succeeded by a dead calm; even the zephyrs seemed to have deserted the collapsed sails, and nothing was heard but the rapid action of the paddles. Of all on board, only Miss Nightingale, her nurse, and myself seemed to enjoy this new scene of enchantment. The rest of the passengers were slumbering in the saloon. Even the turbulent voice of the cannon in and before Sebastopol was mute to our astonished and still-confused ears. Time, it is truly said, tries all! We were at the seat of war, looking at my watch, only eighty-seven minutes before.

Owing to the noise of a busy sea-port, as well as the succession of importunate visitors who, though not admitted, were announced and politely answered, Miss Nightingale must have been, I was well aware, much fatigued. I therefore did not touch upon any important subject of conversation, but begged of her to be prudent and return to her cabin before the evening dew began to fall. She could not help expressing her gratification at the sublimity of the sudden change. Her countenance appeared to have imbibed the balm of health, and to have extended it to her feeble frame.

“Did I not tell you true, mademoiselle,” said I, “when I begged of you to leave, were it only for a short time, ‘ces soucieux rochers, et cette terre d’esclaves?’”

She smiled, and requested the captain to have her removed to her cabin, which was immediately done.

Mr. and Mrs. Bracebridge, and myself, cheerfully obeyed the invitation of an intelligent silver bell which summoned us to dinner at his lordship’s table. I trusted a genuine appetite without the slightest reserve to a well-provided and well-conceived dinner, regretting only having lost the use of my substantial appetite. The wine was on a par with the dinner—excellent.

Early morn found me shaking hands with my illustrious confrÈre the chef, in his turret-like kitchen. I thanked him much for his capital dinner. “Pray what have we for to-day?” was the last political question I put to him. I am unwilling to append the bill of fare, as it might give an unexpected appetite to my readers, and thus induce them to drop this light reading for something more substantial. That would not answer my purpose, as I wish them to go on with the book without depreciating the cook. The night had been rather rough, and every one on board was ill. The day passed as it generally does when persons have been so roughly nursed by the mother sea. The dinner was probably excellent, but no one could tell—not even myself. Towards night, the rolling waves grew a little more sociable; so we entered into conversation, and the wine and grog circulated freely. The captain, like all captains who have never been sick or drowned, laughed at us, saying we were bad sailors.

“The title of ‘good sailor’ I am not ambitious to merit, captain,” said I.

Next morning, I was on deck walking to and fro with the captain; the night had been a little calmer than the previous one, but very foggy.

“Bless my soul!” said he, “what a bother it is we left Balaklava so late. It is just like his lordship—we never know when we are going to start. I would not give a fig for a voyage of pleasure at sea: business men, sir! business men for navigation. All is calculated and goes right; but for the present I don’t know where we are, it is so foggy. We are not far from the coast; but we can’t for the life of us get in, even if we were abreast of the entrance of the Bosphorus. We ought to have got under way, as I proposed, at nine o’clock. Have you good sight, sir?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Well, look with this glass to the right; I fancy I see the land about seven or eight miles off.”

“Yes,” said I; “the fog is clearing off on that side, and I believe it is the land.”

“In that case,” said the captain, “we are nearly thirty miles out of our way. Though it is very provoking, we may thank our stars the weather was more favourable than the night before.”

It was now nearly five A.M., and the dew was falling very fast. Feeling chilly, I went below, and reposed for a short time upon the sofa. Being thirty miles out of our course gave me time for a good rest before entering the Bosphorus; upon making which I was, at my request, called up. As the sun rose, the fog cleared off, though slowly; the captain made out a landmark, and found that we were, as he had before said, about thirty miles out of our course. The London was fitted up in a princely style; she had two funnels, and was very long. She rolled very much during the voyage, though the sea was not very rough; her being short of ballast was probably the cause. At all events, it made Miss Nightingale very ill.

However, our troubles were now at an end; we were slowly entering the mouth of the Bosphorus, amidst a shower of pearls, which gathered in millions upon the rigging and the deck. This was a great relief to us, after the grey fog and thick fine rain—besides being unaware of our exact position, and floating at hazard on the sea; though, thanks to the caution and watchfulness of the captain, we had been in no danger. It was like the opening of a fairy scene; the clouds were slowly disappearing, disclosing to our fatigued and overstrained eyesight the unique panorama of the Bosphorus. Its strong current appeared to overpower the steam, and we seemed to have come to a stand-still. The thousands who have returned from the arid and devastated soil of the Crimea, under its burning sun, must have enjoyed the refreshing sight I have here attempted to describe. Even Miss Nightingale had enjoyed it from her cabin. She had been removed to the beautiful saloon upon deck, where she had a good view of the enchanting panorama, and appeared almost recovered from her fatiguing voyage; which proves how near pain is allied to pleasure, and vice versÂ, particularly as refers to sea-sickness. Miss Nightingale requested to see me. I went and inquired after her health, which, she said, had improved since we entered the river. She then referred to various things she wished to have in her extra-diet kitchen, and to numerous other matters of importance connected with the hospitals. I requested her to keep her mind quiet, and to depend upon me.

“No doubt, mademoiselle,” said I, “I shall not have the pleasure of seeing you for some time, and I would certainly advise you not to go out till you are quite restored to health: I will, therefore, send you a journal of my daily proceedings by Mr. or Mrs. Bracebridge, whom I, of course, shall see every day.”

“Exactly, Monsieur Soyer; but I hope I shall soon be able to go about.”

“So do I, mademoiselle, but do not attempt it before you are quite well; and I can assure you, if I were your doctor, I should be very strict with you, as I hear you are more inclined to devote your kind attention to patients than to yourself.”

She smiled, and replied, “Well, Monsieur Soyer, one is much more gratifying to my feelings than the other.”

I then spoke about Lord Raglan’s visit, and expressed my regret at not having waited longer for him.

“I certainly did not expect to see him,” said Miss Nightingale.

“Ah, you may expect anything from his lordship, he is such an amiable and gallant man.”

“So he is, Monsieur Soyer; and he has always enjoyed that reputation.”

We were at last before the Great Barrack Hospital; the anchor was let down, breakfast was served, and highly relished by the assembled guests. The chef had distinguished himself upon a dish of semi-grilled and devilled fowl, an omelette aux fines herbes, &c. &c.; and thus ended our voyage on board the London. We returned our hearty thanks to the captain, doctor, and all on board, for their kind attention to us, and for the extreme kindness shown to Miss Nightingale; saw our luggage landed, and went on shore. Miss Nightingale would not land till the afternoon, the heat of the sun being so powerful.

Having apprised Lord W. Paulet of our arrival, I went my way, and Mr. Bracebridge his. At five o’clock we again met at the landing-place, and went for Miss Nightingale. One of the large barges used to remove the sick, manned by twelve Turks, was brought alongside. As the roof nearly reached the steamer’s bulwarks, Miss Nightingale was easily lowered upon it. Mrs. Roberts was kneeling at her side, and holding a white umbrella over her head. We went below; the sailors gave three cheers; and our dismal gondola soon reached the shore. Upon landing, the invalid was carried upon a stretcher by four soldiers, accompanied by Lord W. Paulet and Staff, Dr. Cumming (who had visited her on board), followed by an immense procession, to her private house—at which place all dispersed.

I do not recollect any circumstance during the campaign so gratifying to the feelings as that simple, though grand, procession. Every soldier seemed anxious to show his regard, and acknowledge his debt of gratitude to one who had so nobly devoted her soul and comfort to their welfare, even at the risk of her own life.