TWO days later, I and my people started on board the Ottawa. The day of our departure was magnificently fine; the Bosphorus and Black Sea looked like a sheet of glass. I remarked to the captain, “One might cross the Black Sea in a caique.”

“Yes,” he replied, “in its present state; but who knows how soon we may have it dancing mountains high? I have seen it so before; and where would you be with your caique then, Monsieur Soyer?”

“Of course, you are right, captain; but I suppose it is not often thus at this time of the year.”

“Even at this time of year, I should be sorry to be one of the caidjees.”

Captain Bone was a very agreeable man—high-bred—educated at Oxford—well stored with bons-mots and good anecdotes—always laughing at other people’s jokes as well as his own—very severe on deck and very funny with his friends. He kept a good cook, and therefore a good table, looking sharply after it himself—spending, probably, no more money than other captains, but faring better—very anxious to please his passengers—and at all times very liberal. The proverb says, “Speak of a man as you find him;” and in this manner I speak of the worthy captain.

The ship was very full, especially of recovered invalids from Scutari. Numbers of doctors from Rankioi and Smyrna were on board, on their way to the Crimea, where their services were required. I had engaged a young Sardinian named Antonio, a good-looking youth with a very good voice. As the evening was fine, he and my Zouave began singing, which they did admirably, every one joining in chorus. Thus we spent a delightful soirÉe on the bosom of the Black Sea.

P. M., who by this time was becoming quite a brave man, still formed part of my suite. That gentleman’s intrepidity was such, that no one could prevent him from facing at all times the most animated fire—I mean the fire of a short pipe or a long cigar. My Zouave was everywhere about the vessel, which did not seem large enough for him and his four horses. I at last quieted him, by requesting he would think of nothing while on board but eating and drinking moderately, as well as singing a song at night when I required it. He promised faithfully not to throw my Armenian groom overboard, nor to smash the brains of my Italian servant Antonio, but to live like a Christian, in good fellowship with all, and sing when I pleased. One of my cooks, named Jean, an Albanian, while quarrelling, had threatened to cut another, named Victor, into four pieces, and throw them into a pickle-tub. He also gave up this professional job. They all shook hands, and the greatest harmony appeared to reign in my culinary troop.

My secretary, T. G., a gentleman of colour, now accompanied me for the second time to the Crimea; and the contrast presented by us, myself being equipped in an Oriental costume, T. G. clothed in white, and my Zouave rigged in full feather, was very great; and my suite always created a sensation throughout the camp, more especially when accompanied by the invincible P. M., who was attired in nankeen, a very peculiar style, he being an extensive patronizer of the eminent firm of Messrs. Nicoll.

All on board the Ottawa had for some time retired to their berths. I can seldom sleep at sea; so I was sitting on deck, smoking my cigar, now and then addressing a word to the man at the wheel and the second mate. We praised the fineness of the weather: the upper deck was as steady as a drawing-room floor, and the ocean seemed to belong to us alone.

It was nearly one o’clock, and Morpheus, who generally deserts me on such occasions, stole upon me softly like a zephyr. I felt inclined to submit, and went below to lie down. Wrapped in deep repose, I seemed to quit this world of realities, and to wander in the regions of dream-land. This continued till seven in the morning, when a tremendous crash awoke me suddenly, and I perceived that we were dancing mountains high.

The crash was caused by two glasses and a bottle of soda-water, belonging to my companion P. M. in the upper berth. They had been left upon the wash-hand stand; both glasses were smashed, and the bottle broken, with a tremendous report, making me fear that in the night we had, by mistake, approached too near to Sebastopol, and were being fired into by the batteries. Turning round, I perceived the supposed enemy on the cabin floor in a fearful state of dilapidation—the bottom of the soda-water bottle rolling to and fro, according to the will of the waves, which, it appeared, had risen to that pitch in an incredibly short space of time—a thing common enough in the Euxine, or Black Sea.

“Good heavens!” exclaimed P. M., “where are we?”

“Don’t be alarmed,” said I. “We are under fire; every man to his gun; so let us go up on deck and fight like Britons.”

“The devil we are! Oh dear, I can’t fight, I am so sick.”

“Then you must swim or sink.”

In less than a minute he rushed from the cabin, and concealed himself under the large dinner-table.

As I was dressed, I went upon deck.

“At half-past five,” said the mate on duty, “it began to rain, and the wind suddenly changed. At seven o’clock, a gust of wind actually bent the sails across the yards, taking us dead aback; and in less than an hour, the sea rose to the state you see it in now.”

The captain, who was giving his orders from the crossbridge, called out to me, laughing, “Well, Monsieur Soyer, where is your caique now? Are you ready for your breakfast?”

Of course I was, though I could not boast of having much appetite. The remaining part of the passage was very rough. The Ottawa rolled very much, having, if I recollect right, shot and shell for ballast. The contrast afforded by the sudden change from the calm of the previous day, no doubt caused us to feel its effects the more. At all events, we arrived in due time quite safe. An unexpected bad passage at all times makes everybody feel uneasy and low-spirited. The nearer I approached Balaklava, the more uneasy I felt. A kind of melancholy had come over me, and my feelings were so indescribable, that while we were entering the harbour of Balaklava, I was surprised to see the sun shining over that picturesque spot, and traffic going on as usual. Instead of a lugubrious veil hanging over the whole fleet, all was going on pretty much in the same manner as when I had left. Even nature seemed to have smiled upon the hills, valleys, and mountains, which were gayer than before.

Such a scene caused me to breathe more freely. I felt that the noble departed, who but a few days before were in enjoyment of health, honour, power, and rank, had been removed by their gracious Creator, and therefore, though Lord Raglan, Admiral Boxer, Sir J. Campbell, General Estcourt, and numbers of other great men, had been called away during my short absence, they were only summoned from this world—so, at least, we are bound to believe—to fulfil their mission in another and a better sphere.

On the day of our arrival, I paid my respects to several great personages, who, on account of the sad events before mentioned, were mostly new-comers, although they knew me either personally or by name. It was like beginning my mission afresh, making it not only very painful as far as feelings went, but also difficult. It was something like being compelled to build an edifice which had fallen to the ground when near its completion.

Such were my feelings upon my arrival on my second visit to the Crimea. As I could only remain a couple of days on board the Ottawa, as she was to return immediately to Constantinople, I employed my time in settling my plan of campaign.

First of all, I paid my respects to Admiral Freemantle, on board the Leander, and I was very kindly received. Next I went to Sir George Maclean, the new Commissary-General; and a more amiable gentleman I did not meet during my mission in the Crimea. He informed me that the dry vegetables from Messrs. Chollet had arrived, and that some had already been issued to the troops, and were highly approved of. I requested an order to go and inspect them in the stores, with which I was immediately favoured.

Having executed all Miss Nightingale’s commissions, as well as others, the next morning I started early for head-quarters, and arrived there about nine. Much important business was going on at the time. A number of horses, foaming with perspiration, were in the yard, the despatch-riders having no doubt quite forgotten that the success which attended their mission was owing to their poor quadrupeds. I was at once received by Colonel Steele, who was much pleased to see me. After expressing our regret at the lamentable events which had occurred since our last meeting, we entered upon business.

“Well, Monsieur Soyer,” said the colonel, “if you like to wait, you can see General Simpson; but, as to-morrow is Sunday, he will be able to grant you a longer interview. To-day he could not spare ten minutes.”

“Much obliged, colonel,” I replied; “and I will not fail to be here to-morrow at ten, as you advise.”

“Very well, Monsieur Soyer; I shall be here, and happy to see you.”

My Zouave, whom I had brought with me, had disappeared, leaving word with the man at the entrance-hall that he would return in ten minutes, but that he could not resist paying a visit to his old comrades, who were encamped that day at the French head-quarters. He was en petit costume, as I did not wish him to attract too much attention. I expected, when I learnt he had gone, that the ten minutes would be doubled and tripled, and probably extend to hours: I therefore made up my mind to go about my business in the different hospitals and regiments. First of all, I visited Dr. Hall, the authorities, and my friends round head-quarters.

In the afternoon I returned, but no Zouave had been seen. A note was handed to me by the canteen-man, worded thus:—

Upon receipt of this, having nothing better to do, I started for the French head-quarters. I soon found the regiment. This was not enough—I wanted my man. My next inquiry was for the canteen, quite sure that the cantiniÈre, whether blonde or brunette, no matter which, would have heard of him. It turned out as I had anticipated, and, not giving me time to ask twice, she said, “Yes, Monsieur, he is here—the dear fellow!” And so he was, fast asleep. He no sooner awoke and saw me, than he came and apologized, seemingly almost sober. I say seemingly, for all at once he began to sing and dance like a madman, harmoniously introducing me to his friends, whom I had the pleasure of shaking cordially by the hand.

Some of these recollected my former visit, so I begged of them to sit down. At the same time I offered them something to drink. The liquid material—viz., two quarts of wine and one of rum—with tin cups, was brought, and the French and Jamaica nectar was poured out, with a certain elegance and graceful smile, by the Crimean Bacchante, to these reckless children of Mars. In a short time many of them had fallen in the dreadful struggle. They were enfans perdus, and were all singing different tunes and dancing different steps.

The cantiniÈre was elegantly dressed in her Zouave uniform, ready for starting to the trenches: she wore a red gown, and trousers of the same material, a jacket like that worn by the men, and a red fez cap with a long tassel. She carried a stoup full of spirits, a large basket of provisions, and followed her companions like a trooper.

The Zouaves gave me a pressing invitation to go and see them perform, which I promised to do that day week. They were perfectly satisfied, though I was not at all, with my Zouave, Bornet. As he was not fit to follow me, I gave him up, and, after seeing his horse right and him wrong, I left him, and started alone for Balaklava, returning in solemn solitude to my nautical home—the Ottawa.

At six the next morning he was on board, busily engaged preparing for our departure, so soon as a spot could be selected in the camp for us to pitch our tents. The horses were landed, and my military pupils sent to different quarters, and set to work cooking. I retained three with me for the opening of my field-kitchens. As I approached my deserter, the Zouave, in order to reprimand him for his conduct the preceding day, he remarked, by way of apology, “I know, mon cher governor, what you are going to say—that is, if I play you any more such tricks, you will not keep me, as we agreed when you engaged me.”

“Certainly not,” said I.

“We will begin fresh to-day; but yesterday, you see, governor, the temptation was too strong for me. When I saw my old comrades Riflard and Franc Chatbeau, Panaudet, et la cantiniÈre—Beni Zoug Zoug—des vieux amis de la tente, with whom I had braved all dangers, and so few of us left—not more than fourteen or fifteen of our company—why, voyez-vous, it carried me away, and I could not help standing the picton (which means something to drink), like a Frenchman and a man. And what a fine lass la petite MÈre Jouvin is! Don’t she look well in her Zouave dress?”

“Certainly, but did she go to the trenches?”

“Of course she did. She was on duty last night. Her husband goes one night, and she the other.”

“Did you see her this morning?”

“I did. The darling had just returned for more liquor. She told me they had a kind of sortie, and for twenty minutes were peppering one another like fun, and no mistake. Rabbit-shooting, governor—rabbit-shooting! We lost about seventeen men, besides the wounded. But that’s nothing. Last year I saw three times as many knocked over in a sort of skirmish which only lasted ten minutes. We were half frozen and partly starved; and hundreds were found dead or nearly frozen, lying under shelter of those who had been shot, endeavouring to warm themselves before the bodies got cool.”

“Pray, Bornet, don’t recall those things to my mind: they are too painful; but, after all, are only the chances of war, and must be endured.”

“Well, governor,” said he, while cording a large box, “you have gained the esteem of the 3rd Zouaves; and should you require the services of the whole regiment, could it be spared, you would have them, including la petite MÈre Jouvin.”

In uttering the last word he gave an extra pull at the rope, which caused it to break, and bang went my Zouave flat upon his back. A general laugh was heard upon deck. He picked himself up quickly, and, rubbing his back, said, “By the explosion of a thousand shells, here is a stunning piece of straw.”

A gentleman present asked him if he had hurt himself. “Very well,” he replied, being all the English he knew, except “yes” and “no.”

Seeing everybody laugh, he went on working at the box, and singing his favourite refrain—

I perceived some spots of blood on his shirt-sleeve, and pointed them out to him. “Oh,” said he, “that’s no novelty. I’ve seen a sample of my blood before this, many times.”

On pulling up his sleeve, we found a deep scratch in his arm, from which the blood flowed pretty freely.

“You had better have it attended to,” said I.

“Bah! bah! nonsense! We Zouaves never trouble any one, particularly the doctor, about such trifles. Be kind enough to tie my pocket-handkerchief round it.”

This done, he kept at his work. Thus I discovered the determined character of these wild soldiers. They made up their minds to care for nothing—were ready either to fight or sing—be out all night without sleep, or comfortable under their tents—were content with much to eat and drink, or little—but so long as they had sufficient to sustain life, be gay, or at least appear so—never making a direct complaint, whatever might happen to them. In fact, though French soldiers like the rest of the army, they had created themselves a body of invincibles, and a company of very odd fellows, who would at all times much prefer robbing a man to wronging him; this being one of their mottoes:—“Nous aimons mieux voler que faire du tort.”

All on board the Ottawa was bustle and confusion. Although not half unloaded, they were receiving the sick, expecting to sail the same evening. We were busy removing to the Baraguay d’Hilliers. She was a transport, and full of hospital provisions. Captain Heath advised me to select her, as she was the vessel likely to remain the longest in harbour, and I should require a pied À terre in Balaklava. Under the direction of my Zouave, all our luggage was soon put on board; and about ten o’clock he was in full dress, it being Sunday. The horses were ready, and we started for head-quarters.