ON reaching home, I found Cathcart’s Hill as quiet and deserted as I did on the 8th of September, but under less solemn circumstances, for Sebastopol had then fallen—whereas now it was likely to rise again like a phoenix from its ashes. The head-quarters of the Fourth Division were wrapped in deep repose. I could not even wake my groom to put my small charger into the stable; but this had often occurred before, and gave me the chance of learning how to attend to my own horse. It is true, it was nearly twelve o’clock; for in passing the Guards’ camp I had paid several visits, and the kind reception accorded would not have failed to detain the greatest misanthropist till a late hour. I had in particular called upon Colonel de Bathe and the members of the Madrigal Club, being anxious to ascertain from that body of artists when our great festival was to take place.

“To-morrow you are invited,” said Colonel de Bathe, “to dine with us at General Barnard’s, and we will settle that matter there.”

Having to meet Miss Nightingale the next day at the Land Transport Corps Hospital in order to accompany her for the last time through the camp, I managed to be there about ten o’clock. Miss Nightingale had not arrived; so I made an inventory of the various kitchen utensils which were to be sent back to England or Malta.

While I was waiting for the Sister of the Brave, I made it my duty to pay my respects to the illustrious Mrs. Seacole; and, like a good son or a ship in full sail, I was immediately received in the arms of the mÈre noire. On perceiving me, she exclaimed—

“Hallo, my son! I saw you at head-quarters yesterday!”

“Did you really? I didn’t see you, Mrs. Seacole.”

“I dare say you did not, my son. I was amongst the great dons in the vineyard, and had a very fine view of the proceedings. I met all my friends there.”

“No doubt you did, Mrs. Seacole.”

“Very kind they were, I assure you; they all shook me by the hand enough to last me for life. What do you think of the Russian general, Monsieur Soyer?” Before I could reply, she said, “He is a fine man, and no mistake; is he not, my son?”

She was in the act of dressing the wound of an Army Works Corps man, who had been thrown, and was cut severely in the forehead.

“What’s the matter with the poor fellow?” said I.

“He is getting better now. What will you take to drink, Monsieur Soyer?”

“Nothing at present; it is too early, my dear madam.”

“Don’t forget, before you go, to come and take a parting glass with an old friend. Mr. Day and myself will be very glad to see you, depend upon it. By the way, how is Miss Nightingale?”

“I thank you, she was quite well the last time I had the pleasure of seeing her. I have to meet her at the Land Transport Hospital this morning, by appointment.”

“What nice kitchens those are of yours at the Land Transport Hospital! I saw them several times; and the doctors and Mrs. Stuart are highly pleased with them, I assure you. How nice and clean the Sisters of Charity keep everything! You may say that of both hospitals.” Mrs. Seacole then said, “What nice things they prepare in the extra-diet kitchens for the patients! I tasted everything.—Pray give my respects to Miss Nightingale, and say, if I were not so busy I should run as far as the hospital, to pay my duty to her. You must know, Monsieur Soyer, that Miss Nightingale is very fond of me. When I passed through Scutari, she very kindly gave me board and lodging.”

This was about the twentieth time the old lady had told me the same tale. Shaking her by the hand—

“Good-bye, my son,” said she; “I wish you had let me taste some of that fine dish you made yesterday.”

“How could I, my dear mother? I did not know you were there.”

At this point of the conversation, the Egyptian beauty, her daughter Sarah, entered.

“My dear Sally, how are you?” said I. “I never see you in our alley now.”

“Go along with you!” said smiling Sally; “you are always making fun of me.”

“Fun of you, my dear?—never. I swear by your blue eyes and black hair, that I never do. Do I, mother?”

“If you did, it would not matter; a little innocent mirth now and then does one good. For my part, my son, I could not live without laughing.”

“Yes; but you told a certain colonel that it was I who was dressed as a Scotchman at the French ball given the other day in honour of the young Emperor.”

“What harm is there in that? All the great people were invited, and why should you not have been there?”

“Indeed, do you think mother or myself would go to such a place, where the women wear soldiers’ clothes? Not likely. And what soldiers?—the Scotch Brigade!”

We all laughed; and I then parted, quite pleased with Sally’s modesty. Sally richly deserves the title of the Dark, instead of Fair, Maid of the Eastern War.

On my return to the hospital, I found Miss Nightingale had arrived, accompanied by the chaplain, Mr. Hone, who informed me that she could not possibly go through the camp that day. As I was thus disengaged, I called upon Mrs. Stuart, in order to inquire whether she required anything in my department. To my astonishment, she informed me that a field-stove, of which she was greatly in want to heat water for the baths, had not arrived. As I had sent it with the others, which had reached their destination, I promised to inquire about it at once, and sent my engineer, Mr. Phillips, to see after it. It was, however, three days before it was found. I relate this fact out of hundreds which occurred during the campaign, to show the mishaps of so difficult an undertaking. This I must repeat, that I was well supported by the authorities, and my demands were always granted. To Colonel Macmurdo, and Captains Evans and Power, I am greatly indebted for their never-ceasing courtesy.

In conversation with Miss Nightingale, I did not forget to mention Mrs. Seacole’s kind inquiries. She said with a smile—

“I should like to see her before she leaves, as I hear she has done a deal of good for the poor soldiers.”

“She has indeed, I assure you, and with the greatest disinterestedness. While I was there this morning, she was dressing a poor Land Transport Corps man, who had received a severe contusion on the head. In order to strengthen his courage for the process, as she said, she made him half a glass of strong brandy and water, not charging him anything for it; and I hear she has done this repeatedly.”

“I am sure she has done much good.”

I told Miss Nightingale that I had despatched Mr. Phillips in search of the missing stove; and, as our visit was postponed, I bade her adieu, requesting her to drop me a line in the Fourth Division at any time she might require my services.

That day I had the pleasure of meeting Dr. Hall, who apprised me that the troops would shortly leave the Crimea, and the Sanatorium be closed. The Monastery was so already; and, as I had anticipated, the Land Transport Corps remained the last in the field. Passing to head-quarters, I found everything at a standstill. The Commander-in-chief was out, the precise order of the previous day seemed in abeyance, and General Wyndham was sitting to a celebrated Sardinian artist for his portrait. It was taken in his Redan dress, which was freed from the blood and dust of that day, as I think very injudiciously, which caused me to ask if it was the same; the general replied that it was. I believe the picture was for the King of Sardinia, to be added to his Majesty’s collection of the heroes of the Crimea.

Captain Ponsonby was occupied in his open-air photographic studio, taking portraits of everybody who came in his way, amongst them myself. Captain Hall was herborizing in his petite chambre upon some salad cress and cheroots. Colonel Blane was very busy writing and giving orders. Major Curzon and others of the Staff were very seriously occupied lunching. In the kitchen, the stoves were cooling, and all the cooks out. At the Post-office and Telegraph all seemed still. The printing press alone was slowly going.

Upon returning to the dining-room, I found only a few at lunch; several were smoking at the door-steps—in fact, compared with the day previous, the contrast was so great, that it appeared like a holiday after a week’s hard labour. The conversation turned upon the grandeur of the review, and the success of the entertainment, which seemed to have given great satisfaction to all.

In the evening a most charming entertainment was prepared for us at General Barnard’s. The company included General Rose; the French general, Bombaki; Colonel de Bathe, &c.

After an excellent dinner, at which a very fine turkey was the piÈce de rÉsistance,—(it had been reared under the farming care of Captain Barnard; this is a valuable quality in the Crimea: the turkey was accompanied by a delicious piece of boiled ration pork, and in addition two made dishes, two sweets, vegetables, &c.; the whole washed down by delicate claret cup À la Barnaby,)—the topic of conversation turned upon the great events of the previous day. Perfect harmony prevailed, when suddenly a warlike sound was heard round the general’s wooden dwelling. A friend entered, crying aloud, “The Russians—the Russians are coming!” and three Russian officers immediately entered, saying they had lost their way, and requesting a guide. The general’s first impulse was to give them hospitality, and then put them in their right way. Captain Barnard got up to usher them in, and soon returned with the new-comers, who, we perceived, had not only lost their way, but also their senses. Having seated themselves, the general asked them what they would take. “Tout ce que vous avez” (“Everything you have,” instead of “Anything you please”), one of them answered. To this the gallant general demurred, not being at all desirous of having his place pillaged, particularly in time of peace, after having escaped that sad tribute during the war. One of them was quite unmanageable: he spoke French, but was not such a good scholar as the Russian nobles generally are; he made sad havoc with that fashionable language, and used rude expressions, which were very unpleasant to the party. The Russians were anxious to explain what they had been doing at Kamiesch, the recital of which was much too droll to be pleasant. The noisiest of the party poured out a large tumbler of brandy, and, before any one could stop him, swallowed half of it, drinking the health of every mortal thing, including the French, English, Russians, and the Turkish Emperor’s. One who was more rational tried to appease him, but in vain. At all events, after an hour’s desultory conversation, owing to the great coolness of the general, we got rid of them, and they mounted their waggon, which was anything but a fashionable one. They were going to the Mackenzie Heights, and the French general, Bombaki, who was going that road, kindly undertook to point out the way. They said that they had finished twelve bottles of champagne at Kamiesch. Nice company this to drop in after an excellent petit dÎner, just as we were about commencing the harmony of the evening! This strange incident completely broke up our party. We fixed the great madrigal soirÉe at my hut for the 27th of May, hoping on that occasion to be more fortunate. We afterwards heard that the Russian officers were stopped at the Traktir Bridge, and locked up for a few days—no doubt to give them time to get sober.

We began to hope that in case we should be visited by any Czarewitchian company at our semi-grand concerto—and there were plenty daily in the camp—that they would call before, and not after, their visit to the then reckless town of Kamiesch, at which place a friend and myself had, a few days previous, witnessed several very comical scenes. This was owing to the influx of visitors from the different armies. It was more particularly the case at the theatre, where the funniest part of the performance was acted in the pit, stalls, boxes, and gallery, instead of upon the stage. On one occasion, General Pelissier was compelled to have a few of the new spectators boxed for the night in the guard-house, in order to be allowed to enjoy the privilege of his own private box.

In return for their visits to us, both French and English officers daily returned the compliment, and the Russians did all they could to make themselves agreeable. General Garrett met with a very cordial reception from Major-General Vassileffsky, who commanded after the departure of General LÜders. General Garrett, in return, invited him to the head-quarters of the Fourth Division, which invitation was graciously accepted by the Russian general. I was spending the evening with General Garrett, when he observed that he wished to give General Vassileffsky a lunch, but that it would be a difficult matter, as he had no convenience for that purpose.

“Never mind that, general,” said I; “send out your invitations, and leave the rest to me. A lunch for twenty or thirty shall be upon your table in due time.”

“They are coming to-morrow morning.”

“Rather short notice, general; but never mind, it will be all right in spite of time: difficulties are common enough in time of war. Pray leave the matter to Major Dallas and myself—we will turn out a lunch worthy of yourself and your guests.”

I immediately set to work, and in a few hours extra provisions and rations had taken various shapes and forms; some were being stewed, others baked, and some boiled. Everything was going on so smoothly, that I almost wished the lunch had been for that day. My men had returned from their daily regimental rounds, and were all at work. In the midst of this, the worthy general begged of me to give him a call, when he informed me that he was sorry to say that the Russian general’s visit was postponed, General Sir W. Codrington having invited him to head-quarters for that day.

“No matter,” said I; “if your lunch is not postponed too long, the provisions will improve, instead of deteriorating.”

“You think so?”

“I am sure of it, general. All the animal food we get in the camp is too fresh: the beast is no sooner slaughtered than it is either in the pot, oven, or on the gridiron.”

“We shall be about twenty.”

“So I perceive, and that my name figures amongst your illustrious guests. You must, however, general, leave me entirely free on that occasion; I will sit down to table when I think proper.”

“Do as you like, but you must sit down with us.”

“On that day, general, I claim precedence, and even command, over the head of your division.”

He laughed heartily, saying, “It shall be so. To-morrow there is to be a review of two divisions in honour of General Vassileffsky, and no doubt the lunch will come off the day after.”

“Very well, general; only give me due notice, I will answer for the rest. After such success at head-quarters, the Fourth Division must not fail.”

As there was nothing more to be done, I gave my people a holiday to see the ruins of Sebastopol, which they had not been able to do owing to the press of business. I thought I might as well go myself, as my engineer, Mr. Phillips, had not seen them. The horses were ordered—Mesnil and Phillips accompanied me. We mounted and galloped towards the dilapidated city, which, although from the hill it seems close at hand, afterwards appears to recede further and further. We arrived at the Ravin des Boulets—so called from the extraordinary crop of that article which lay there after the ploughing of that piece of land by the hand of Mars, the god of iron vegetables made of solid materials. Our gallant cockney Zouave, who had never smelt any other powder than gunpowder tea, was quite intrepid, and he mounted to the Redan as though he intended to take it by assault. He was always ahead; and no sooner had a view from that far-famed historical spot, of which he had so successfully taken possession, than the rage of valour seized upon him; no one could arrest his progress—he bounded off upon his steed several hundred yards in advance, shouting in frantic enthusiasm, “To Sebastopol! to Sebastopol!” My friend and myself were rather cooler upon the subject, and trotted slowly along the ravine direct to the Mast Battery. I called my invincible engineer back, telling him that he was going the wrong way, as we wanted to visit that battery before going into the city. He therefore returned.

“I tell you what,” said I, “young boiling-hot warrior from Snow-hill, if you had been here this time last year, you would not have charged like that; the Russians would have smashed your crown for you.”

No doubt they would, had I given them a chance; but I should have said with the coward, Peter Morrison, ‘The time to show courage has arrived, my brave fellow; let us hide ourselves.’ He had scarcely perpetrated this old joke, when a tremendous explosion was heard, shaking the earth under our horses’ feet and almost upsetting them. I made sure it was a mine that had been sprung; and a few seconds after, a thick short piece of wood, partially ignited, fell at about ten paces from my horse’s head. The animal began to kick, and we were enveloped in a dense cloud of smoke smelling of powder, and so thick that for a few seconds we positively could not see anything. I expected that my two friends had been blown into the air, and they thought that I had met with the same fate. We soon perceived there was no harm done. Our horses advanced a few paces; and upon turning the corner of the ravine, about ten yards in advance, we perceived three sailors lying dead, as we thought, and the ground about them covered with blood. Two of them were screaming; the other had one leg blown to atoms, and was badly wounded in the other. We lifted the man who was lying on his face, thinking that he was the worst of all, when to our surprise we found that he had not been touched, excepting by a few fragments of his friend’s limbs, which had fallen upon his back. His companion was slightly wounded in four places: it was a most extraordinary circumstance that his trousers were torn to ribbons, and a piece of the bridge of his nose was taken clean off, from which wound he bled copiously. We perceived that it was not a mine, but a thirteen-inch shell, which had exploded, though not a vestige of it remained near the spot; nothing but a train of burnt powder about five feet long and three inches wide could be seen near the poor fellows who had so imprudently risked their lives. We did all we could to alleviate their sufferings. It was extremely awkward to meddle with the first, who remained perfectly motionless, and no hospital was near nor doctor to be obtained. I gave a French soldier five shillings to run to the French camp and fetch a doctor: he did not succeed, but returned with a stretcher. I also sent to Sebastopol, but without success. I had just tied the poor fellow’s leg very tight above the knee, in order to stop the loss of blood, when General Dacres and a number of officers who had heard the report came to the spot. I told the general how the accident had occurred, as it had been explained to me by the man who set it going, as he called it. Although he was nearest to the deadly missile when it exploded, he was not even scratched.

The affair happened thus:—About half-way up the hill they found a live shell, and for amusement, as they said, rolled it about the ravine. In doing this some of the powder escaped, of which one of the party made a devil: this he placed on a stone. In the meantime the shell had rolled some distance, leaving in its course a train of powder. Not perceiving this, he set the devil on fire; it communicated with the train, and ignited the shell.

“How imprudent those foolish sailors are!” said General Dacres; “they are all alike.”

As no doctor made his appearance, the general observed the best plan would be to convey the wounded man on board the Gladiator steam-frigate: she was the first foreign ship of war that had entered the harbour. On our way we met two doctors who had been visiting the ruins. They examined the sailor’s wound, and having attended to it, followed him to the Gladiator’s boat, which was waiting at the floating bridge from the Karabelnaia to the French side. I saw him on board, and the surgeon of the ship, Dr. Thompson, immediately amputated his leg. The other two went their way, one of them patched up in four places, but able to walk. I afterwards heard from the doctor that his patient was doing well, and that he was a deserter, for which he would be punished. “A double gratification, doctor,” said I: “that’s what a sailor calls a day’s spree.”

The most remarkable part of the affair was the escape of the man who had set the shell a-going; he was not even scratched. The reason of this he explained thus:—“When I had set the devil on fire, to my surprise I saw the flame running towards the shell; I expected it would explode, and threw myself flat upon my face. My eyes! wasn’t it a rum ‘un!—it gave me such a blow on the pate—the report, I mean—I can hardly hear now.”

That man was not four feet from the shell when it exploded. I consider that we had a most miraculous escape, as our brave cockney observed, looking as pale as though, he hadn’t a drop of blood left, though generally possessing a regular rubicund face, the vermilion colour of which nothing but a good coat of whitewash could have affected. He was, in fact, quite stupified, and asked me if it was likely that another would burst. “Very likely,” said I, “if anybody sets it on fire.”

“You in particular, my young fellow,” said I, “have had a narrow escape. If I had not called you back, you would have been blown to atoms, as a large branch was sent clean off a poplar tree near which you were standing.”

The wooden fusee, a piece of the other fellow’s trousers, and a regular fright, were some of the trophies I gathered of this sad event.

On our way home, our Snow-hill friend, who could not get rid of the bomb-shell feeling, and felt rather shaky, related the following clever move on the part of himself and Mr. Mesnil. It occurred a few days before in one of the ravines, and he almost trembled in relating the anecdote.

“Ah,” said he, “you blame those poor fellows for setting fire to that shell. I’ll tell you what Mr. Mesnil and myself did the other day. As we were walking, we found a live shell, and being anxious to ascertain whether it contained those bundles of fused nails we had been shown by Joseph at Stuart’s canteen in the morning, we actually took up a sixty-four pound shot which was at hand, and pounded the shell four or five times, in order to split it, that we might inspect the contents. This did not succeed, so at length we gave it up in despair.”

“Never!” exclaimed I.

“We did, I assure you. Ask Mesnil.”

Calling him as he was riding on before, I asked him if it was true.

“Don’t mention it—it’s true enough. I have been thinking seriously about it; indeed, I feel quite nervous. What fools we were! and what luck to have escaped!”

“I never heard of such a senseless trick in all my life,” said I. “Hardly any one would believe it.”

“The danger and imprudence of the act would never have struck me, had I not witnessed this day’s accident. Let us change the conversation.”

After all, I must say it was very imprudent to leave them about in that manner. The soldiers were rightly enough ordered not to pick them up with the cannon-balls; but a hole should have been dug, and each shell buried separately: then no danger could possibly have occurred.

This plan I had en passant suggested to some of the authorities.

The next day another accident happened with a shell. A fatigue party were engaged picking up round shot, and one of the men had a shell upon his shoulder. His comrade perceiving it, said, “You have a live shell upon your shoulder, and we are not allowed to pick them up.” The man that was carrying it threw it down. It fell upon a stone, and immediately burst, wounding three or four of the party, as well as a poor rifleman who was sitting upon a rock at some distance eating his dinner. He was struck on the head by a splinter, which cut away part of his skull, exposing the brain. He was trepanned the next day; and although he at first did very well, he died a few days afterwards. Such accidents were of almost daily occurrence.

On reaching home I found a note from Major Dallas, General Garrett’s aide-de-camp, apprising me that the lunch would take place in two days. This delay gave us plenty of time to distinguish ourselves in the culinary department. Colonel Halliwell, our excellent neighbour, had left for good, as he was appointed to do duty at Balaklava. He was replaced by Captain Brooks, his secretary, who was superseded by Colonel Hugh Smith, and the latter by Major Willis. This department was of great importance and assistance to me in removing the stoves from one regiment to another. I here take the opportunity of thanking those gentlemen, whose kindness almost made me forget, as far as business was concerned, the worthy Colonel Halliwell, who had removed his head-quarters to Balaklava, and pitched his tent upon the top of the hill facing the Genoese Tower, called the Marine Heights. The Ordnance-house was his place of business and mess-room; but now and then the warrior gourmet elevated the gastronomic art to the highest pitch by giving small parties on the summit or pinnacle of the rocky mountain. This was the case one day when I called. The gallant colonel was very busy embarking troops, but found twenty minutes’ spare time, in which he concocted the most delicious Mayonnaise de homard I ever tasted, and which was partaken of by two Russian lady visitors. They were mother and daughter, of high birth, and accompanied by a Russian officer. The party had accepted the colonel’s invitation when he visited Bakschiserai. The elder lady was one of the maids of honour to the Dowager Empress of Russia. The lunch, though soon over, was exquisite, the colonel’s servant being every bit as good a judge of good things as his master. The champagne was as good as the Mayonnaise. As the colonel had to attend to business after lunch, the Russian officer, Colonel Halliwell’s aide-de-camp, two friends, and myself, had the pleasure of accompanying the ladies for a walk. Nothing proved more interesting to them than a visit to the Sanatorium Hospital, in hopes of seeing Miss Nightingale, of whom they had heard much. The former they saw, and were much pleased with it; but the good lady, to their chagrin, was absent at the Monastery. They consoled themselves by looking round her hut; but there was nothing to distinguish it from the others: it was, indeed, worse built, having been put up in a hurry. Their enthusiasm was the pure effect of imagination; and had we pointed out any other as the residence of that lady, it would have produced the same result.

The decline of the sun apprised our Russian visitors that time was flying; and they had far to go. We parted from them near the top of the Crow’s Nest, one of the finest spots in the world to get a view of a good sunset.

Early the next morning all the people in authority were astir. Generals, colonels, officers, and men in light marching order, might be seen quickly crossing and recrossing the plateau in every direction. I had, with my brigade of cooks, been busy since daybreak, and a white stream of communication had established itself between the general’s palazzo, built of fine white stone,[26] and the villarette of your humble servant, so conspicuously erected in almost the centre of the plateau. This was no other than my cooks in their white culinary attire, running like mad to and fro, fetching and carrying the portions of the collation which I had prepared in my kitchen. At ten, to the minute, the party were to sit down; at five minutes to ten the collation was on the table, and in military order. The bill of fare was as follows:—

My engineer, Tom Shell-proof, as we afterwards called him, undertook to gallop round to the various regimental kitchens, and see that all was in order.[27] This brought to my recollection the applicable and pithy remark made by my friend Mr. Charles Pierce, who, in the preface of his valuable work entitled The Household Manager,[28] says that “The warrior general who looks forward to the successful termination of his coming engagement, first, with careful study and practised thought, views in prescience each possible exigency, and provides a means to meet it, strategically considering the country in which his scene of action is laid, and the appliances in all respects necessary to his victory.” The school from which the author of the above-quoted work emanates is Chirk Castle, where, upwards of twenty years ago, I first made his acquaintance. His then young master, Colonel Myddleton Biddulph, is the present Master of the Household to her Majesty. Mr. Pierce was himself afterwards attached to the household of the reigning Duke of Lucca, and was fellow-servant and a most intimate friend of Baron Ward, who ultimately became not only Master of the Household, but Prime Minister, to the Duke of Parma. Mr. Pierce himself, as is well known, is maÎtre d’hÔtel to the Russian Embassy.

At ten to the minute, the Russians arrived. After the introduction, the guests sat down, and every jaw was soon doing its best; for in less than twenty minutes there were only the names of the various dishes to be seen, and they were upon the bill of fare—which was not eaten. The Russian general, who has only one arm, ate as much as two men with the use of both. A servant waited upon him, and carved his meat. Better looking men I have seen, but not more military. He seemed as hard and as round as a cannon-ball. Between three and five was the general’s hour of rising in time of peace. When he told me this, I said, “Then I suppose in war-time you don’t lie down at all, general?”

“Very little indeed,” was the reply.

“That I can conceive. But in time of peace you must admit four or five to be rather an early hour to call upon a friend, as you proposed doing to General Garrett.”

The general was a man of very agreeable manners—spoke French rather fluently—had a very quick eye—was no sooner seated than he took a survey of the company. The lunch was much relished—the speeches were short and to the point, and all went on to everybody’s satisfaction. The Russian general was particularly pleased, and highly complimented his host upon the dainty repast, which he could not conceive was to be had in the Crimea. His aide-de-camp informed me that he was a bit of an epicure, and always kept a good table when at home. Both the aides-de-camp were much taken with the engravings from the Illustrated News pasted round the walls of the general’s dining-room. They could not make out how it was that General Pelissier wore a Russian uniform, and Prince Menschikoff the French military order—that General Canrobert was dressed like the Emperor Alexander II., while his Majesty was dressed in the French general’s costume. Count Orloff wore the French imperial uniform; and above all, their general-in-chief, Prince Gortschikoff, appeared attired as a Highlander, while the Grand Duke Constantine was rigged out as a Zouave. They remained some time after the general had left the table, puzzling over these strange contradictions.

“This,” said I, “was done during the cut-throat time; but now we are at peace, and in future every one will carry his own head upon his shoulders, and each military man wear his own uniform and orders. War,” I continued, “is a mischievous evil, which turns everything topsy-turvy, while peace will restore every head to its proper owner.”

This explanation appeared to puzzle them more than the thing itself; so I showed them that the heads had been cut off with scissors and placed upon other bodies. This amused them so much, that the general had to wait some time for them. They were entirely engrossed by those illustrated pasquinades, which appeared to be quite a novelty to them.

The review followed. Lord Alexander Russell commanded. The very next morning, Colonel Lockhart of the 92nd Highlanders called at my hut, to consult me about a grand banquet which was to be given at Kamara to Sir Colin Campbell (only six miles off) before his departure for England. Though it was impossible for me to undertake it myself, being still fatigued from the effects of the exertions of the previous day, I could not refuse my assistance. After a great deal of trouble and persuasion, I prevailed upon Mr. F. Crockford to undertake it, and we made out the bill of fare.

The banquet took place on the 9th of May, 1856, to the entire satisfaction of all present; and a great day it was. The gallant general had reviewed his troops that morning, and he bade them adieu, as they were leaving the seat of war, where they had so nobly done their duty both in and out of the trenches. The air re-echoed with shouts at each sentence the worthy general uttered, till he was at last so moved by their enthusiasm that he—Sir Colin Campbell—shed tears. Such was the interesting scene which took place the morning before Sir Colin Campbell left his proud Scotch Zouaves in the mountains and vales of Kamara.

A few hours after that touching martial ceremony I had the honour of an interview with Sir Colin. He thanked me kindly for the trouble I was taking in getting up the banquet. I availed myself of this opportunity to request the general to favour me with his autograph. He smiled and consented. The document forms one of the most interesting relics in my Crimean archives, as the general addressed it to me, with the date, &c. (It was also countersigned by General Cameron.)

The banquet at night went off admirably, and the coup-d’oeil, for a battle-field, was brilliant. About a hundred sat down to dinner. Sir Colin Campbell made a very touching speech; so did General Cameron, who succeeded to the command, and Colonel Stirling, Sir Colin’s aide-de-camp. The evening closed merrily. After the generals and the Staff had retired, the bagpipes continued playing, and all that remained in the banqueting-hall commenced dancing—people, plates, dishes, bottles, and glasses included. The next day, Sir Colin, after paying a friendly farewell visit to all, embarked at Kamiesch on board the French mail.

A few days before Sir Colin Campbell’s departure, a grand dinner was given to General della Marmora at head-quarters, and Captain Ponsonby called upon me to ask whether I could not prepare something new in honour of the Sardinian general. I promised to turn my attention to the matter. As the dinner was fixed for the following day, I had but a short time to produce any novelty. The idea struck me that a new and well-iced beverage would be very acceptable during the hot weather. This led to the invention of the Crimean cup À la Marmora, which met with high approbation, and was quaffed with great gusto at the grand Marmora dinner at head-quarters. The receipt is as follows:—

RECEIPT FOR CRIMEAN CUP À LA MARMORA, OR POTAGE À LA
MER BLANCHE.

Proportions.—Syrup of orgeat, one quart; cognac brandy, one pint; maraschino, half-a-pint; Jamaica rum, half-a-pint; champagne, two bottles; soda-water, two bottles; sugar, six ounces; and four middling-sized lemons.

Thinly peal the lemons, and place the rind in a bowl with the sugar; macerate them well for a minute or two, in order to extract the flavour from the lemon. Next squeeze the juice of the lemons upon this, add two bottles of soda-water, and stir well till the sugar is dissolved; pour in the syrup of orgeat, and whip the mixture well with an egg-whisk in order to whiten the composition. Then add the brandy, rum, and maraschino; strain the whole into the punch-bowl, and just before serving add the champagne, which should be well iced. While adding the champagne, stir well with the ladle: this will render the cup creamy and mellow.

Half the quantity given here, or even less, may be made; this receipt being for a party of thirty.