Lord have mercy upon us.Gospodi pomilore nass.
Lord have mercy upon us.Gospodi pomilore nass.
Shortly after the return of Sir W. Codrington, Sir John Hall, the chief doctor, and Dr. Mouat departed. The only acting parties now left upon the Crimean shores after the awful struggle were, General Sir William Codrington, Admiral Freemantle, Rear-Admiral Stewart, General Garrett, Colonel Halliwell, Major Dallas, Captains Hollis and Barnard, Colonels Hugh Smith and Ross, and Captain Gordon; Mr. Osborn, the Commissariat officer, and Mr. Fitzgerald, the purveyor.
The last day, so anxiously waited for and so sweetly anticipated, had arrived. It was ushered in by nightly burnings of huts and canteens.
The day before our departure, and the one prior to the surrender of Balaklava to the Russians, being fixed for my grand review, after in vain endeavouring to induce several individuals to accompany me, I had to go alone, as nobody else took any interest in my solitary pilgrimage.
Even my Snow-hill Zouave at the same time pretended that he had too much to do to waste his valuable time, as he called it—valuable indeed was the word; for at that instant my Cockney Zouave, the brave, was busily engaged making a family drawing. A Stanfieldwould have been at a standstill at the ingenuity of this modern Joseph Vernet, as a marine painter. Miss Nightingale’s carriage had the night previous arrived at my domicile from a store in the Land Transport Corps camp, where I rescued it from a heap of vulgar wagons; it was now standing before the door of my hut, which faced the General Hospital, and had attracted the attention of Mr. Landells, the corresponding artist of theIllustrated London News, who was first struck at the many peculiarities of this vehicle, and afterwards more so with the production of my artist, when he broke out into a genuine shout of laughter, after gazing for an instant on my Zouave’s picture. Nothing for originality could have matched it, but a late Turner, in itsdemi-chef d’œuvre, from which the halo of glory had departed, and age had left genius alone galavanting from his palette to its now immortal canvas. Turner did I say—yes, and without disgracing the name of that great man; for in the presence of Mr. Landells, my modern Stanfield, who was anxious to gather as much as he could for the edification of his large family on a small sheet of foolscap, and being compelled from the great heat of the morning sun to keep in-doors, would occasionally get up and peep round the corner. On being asked by Mr. Landells how he could see from where he was sitting the entire range of the harbour, and more particularly the Genoese Tower, which was situated directly opposite the back of my hut, my clever Zouave, disgusted with Mr. Landells’ ignorance of the rudiments of sketching, and vexed at being disturbed, quietly replied, “D—- n it! did you not see me turn round the corner.”
“Pray don’t, my dear sir,” I exclaimed, “interrupt my artist; as you may perceive he is a regular Turner—round the corner, I mean.”
With the courage of Don Quixote, but without a Sancho Panza, I undertook my grand military review. I could not but regret the absence of my brave travelling gent, Peter Morrison, who, through an assumed illness, had three months previous abandoned the field of glory, thus terminating his brave and brilliant military career;for had he been still with me, I might have depended upon his formal refusal to follow me.
It was six in the morning: the sun was shining feebly through watery clouds; the breeze blew freshly; the road was moist, my pony in good order, sandwich-case full, leather bottle filled with brandy-and-water, and my revolver loaded. My mind was full of anxiety and wild reverie, for I was about to pass a review of, to me, a defunct army, with the fortunes of which I had been so intimately connected during the war. I knew that upon my return to England I should only meet a few fragments of this splendid force, and not the entire mass, as I had done in the Crimea. I had twelve hours before me.
I commenced at the Sanatorium Hospital, which had been to me such a scene of animation and vivid interest. A mournful silence reigned in this small wooden city. My kitchens had suffered the least in the terrible ordeal; all the framework and brick stoves were still standing, and looked just as if waiting to be again put in action. The grand row of huts forming the various wards, without being much disturbed, were rather in a state of dilapidation. Lastly, I visited Miss Nightingale’s sanatorium residence, situated on the peak of a rock at the end of the row of huts. This wooden palace, with its rough verandah, was divided into three separate apartments, giving it a more cheerful appearance than the rest. The iron stove, and its rusty pipe, beds, &c., had been removed, but the remainder of the furniture was intact. Tables, benches, wooden stools, empty pots and bottles which had contained medical comforts, a few rags, a piece of an apron, no end of waste paper, a pair of wooden shoes, and a live cat that appeared to have lived upon the remnants of the kitchen-diets, or more likely the rats, met my inquiring gaze. I caught Miss Puss and closeted her in Miss Nightingale’s store-room, with the wooden stool in daily use, intending to send for both at night. The latter I proposed to keep as a relic, and to restore the former to society by either taking him on board ship or letting him loose in the town. I sentmy servant; but the pillage had commenced—the cat was gone, and I only got the stool.
Anxious to continue my tour of inspection, I ascended the mountain towards the old Sardinian camp, lately occupied by a few English regiments shortly before embarkation. In the space of a few hundred yards I passed not less than six cemeteries—viz., the one for the Sisters of Mercy and doctors, Sailors’ Hospital, Sanatorium, a large Turkish one, and two belonging to the Sardinian troops. Leaving the Marmora Monument on the left and the Nightingale Cross on the right, I merely cast acoup-d’œilto the tumble-down Sardinian hospital and fragment of camp, and took the road to Kamara. Not a soul did I meet for three miles while crossing the rustic road, cutting immediately through the peak of these lofty mountains, with their base in the Euxine on one side, and on the other, through deep ravines, solemnly reposing on Balaklava’s glorious plain. No, nothing but a poor horse, who had been ineffectually shot, was grazing near a pool of blood. Life, the mother of all, seemed to have rescued him from the grasp of Death—the animal was no longer bleeding, the perforation made by the bullet appeared to be healing up. I gathered him a heap of grass, gave him some water from an adjacent rocky rivulet, washed his wound, and to my regret abandoned him.
Shortly after, I crossed through the late camp of the Highland Division, through the vales, dales, and rocky mountains of Kamara. Russian officers and soldiers had taken possession of Sir Colin Campbell and General Cameron’s head-quarters, with its green turret. Although no sentries were posted, any quantity of Tartars were wandering about laden with spoils of the deserted camp. What a contrast! Only a few days ago this picturesque spot was all life and animation; indeed the cloth was hardly removed from the festive board, the echo of the shrill pibroch was still vibrating through the adjacent mountains. It was there, only a short time since, that I bade farewell to the brave generals, Sir Colin Campbell and Cameron. Space will not allow me further to descant on the past beauties of this scene; a volume could be filledwith its splendours. Not a mile from there stand the fortifications, and mud-built huts of the Sardinians, looking more like a deserted rabbit-warren than the abode of an army; it was on this spot they bravely withstood the attack of the enemy at the battle of the Tchernaya on the 16th of August, 1855. Gipsy families had taken possession of a farm and small church on the left, which is so well known. I looked with amazement at the once blooming gardens of the French camp, and the myriads of wild flowers. Death and desolation seemed then to be the only attendants on this once fascinating scene. Crossing the plain of Balaklava at full gallop, over the celebrated ground where the grand charge of cavalry took place, a distance of several miles, I perceived a white speck: it was the remains of the grand ball-room built by the French in honour of the birth of the Imperial Prince. Heaps of ruins were perceptible at a great distance; this was the once over-populated, but now deserted, Kadikoi. A few minutes after I reached the plateau of Inkermann, arriving near the celebrated windmill where, at the time of this battle, his Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge and staff were encamped (seeAddenda). I next proceeded through the park of artillery, and went direct to the Light Division’s head-quarters, carefully inspecting the late abode of Lord William Paulet, where once more I met with a most cheering reception, this time from a Tartar family who had taken possession, and they supplied myself and horse with refreshment. The only gloomy reminiscence from this spot was the sight of the numerous graveyards, where mother earth had wrapped in her bosom all that was mortal of many hundreds of her brave sons. At the bottom of the ravine the watering-place for the horses still remained. The water, as usual, was gurgling on its way from tub to tub; an abandoned mule was alone slaking his thirst where once hundreds of horses were to be seen drinking. From here it took me only a few seconds to reach the Second Division and General Barnard’s head-quarters. The Russians by this time had indeed taken possession of all he had left there, though still I must say that all things were here kept in good order; labouring men were making a garden close to thehut. Soon after this, roaming to the top of Cathcart’s Hill, I found the theatre and canteen in perfect keeping, both having been burnt to the ground. Soyer’s villarette, though very dilapidated, still remained. The green plot of grass was in great disorder, no doubt the work of the loose horses, who, anticipating a feed, had found to their disgust that art, for once, had been triumphant over nature, and they accordingly vented their spite upon the painted grass. The clergyman’s hut had been respected. General Garrett’s palazzo had been invaded by an indescribablemiscellaneaof animals. The rocky grotto, which had been severally tenanted by General Sir John Campbell, General Wyndham, General Paulet, General Bentinck, and his Grace the Duke of Newcastle, was left to the mercy of the rats, who here vegetated by hundreds; the floor was strewn with rags, paper, and other rubbish, which had been gathered by these industrious and destructive vermin.
Immediately after ascending and descending three steps, hat in hand, I paid my last solemn duty and respects to the resting-place of the dead brave. A picture indeed it was to see the respect paid to those who had so gloriously died for their country’s cause—Père la Chaise or Kensal Green could not look in better condition than this solitary cemetery. With my heart full of emotion I bade adieu to this consecrated spot, and retired. Once more, and for the last time, I gazed on the ruins of Sebastopol. Life seemed to have deserted this once mighty city; one solitary chimney alone emitted smoke; the sun was still shining on this defunct place, which a few days previous I had visited in detail, and found still in the deserted state so often described.
Crossing Lord A. Russell’s Rifle’s quarters, I soon arrived in the Third Division. General Adams’s villarette had been turned into a farmhouse; sheep and other cattle grazed in the ravine.
From this spot I visited the General Hospital located in this division; which I found in a similar state as the Sanatorium. Not a sign of life was perceptible in this mournful spot, where so lately I had witnessed so many painful scenes. From here I journeyed to the Brigadeof Guards, the theatre of my semi-martialdébut, having previously inspected the intermediate camp. All was as silent as the grave. A line of obstruction lay on the ground where once the busy railway passed. The Rokeby Castle and its vicinity had the appearance of a travelling caravan of gipsies reposing; children in rags escaped from the group to solicit alms; a few halfpence contented them. In the camp, the kitchen and a number of huts had been burnt down; the mess-room of Colonel Foley was still ornamented with the rustic chandelier which had been bequeathed to me by the gallant colonel before his leaving. Colonels Walker, De Bathe, and the late Colonel Drummond’s habitations were selected as a home by the wandering tribe of gipsies.
General Craufurd’s head-quarters were uninhabited; a few loose horses were grazing near, on the celebrated cricket-ground. The close of my visit was to the English and French head-quarters; in the former I was informed the proprietor had reinstated himself on his domains. The turmoil and traffic of war had here given place to the quietude and repose of peace. The post-office, telegraph, and printing machines had ceased their movements; the vineyards alone appeared refreshing to the eye. Dr. Hall’s snuff-box hut was left open, and partly unroofed; General Wyndham’s quarters were quite deserted. The rope curtains taken from the Redan, and laid on the ground before the hut door, was all that remained which I could recognise, as they had upon my demand, been presented to me by the general’s aide-de-camp, whose name, to my regret, has escaped my memory.
The French head-quarters presented a similar aspect, but was more animated by crowds of adventurers.
Having on my way home taken a glimpse at the ruins of the Seacole Tavern, Land Transport Corps, Army Works Corps, and hospital, I arrived at Bleak House (the head-quarters of Mr. Doyne the engineer), which was drearier than ever, and, like a lost balloon in mid air, entirely deserted; all that remained was the almost indescribable view which, at one glance, stamped the scene as something more than beautiful. From therock where I stood I could pass in review the remainder of the camp, as yet unexplored by me. On my left once lay Colonel Wood’s park of artillery, and towards it were a few mules clambering, led by Tartars. At the foot of the hill were Captain Gordon’s late quarters; further on, on the next mound, were the head-quarters of the Land Transport Corps, in the occupation of Colonel M’Murdo and Captain Evans; but the most striking object in view was the combined Railway Station and Engine House, once the focus of noise, but now the abode of repose. In abandoning this rural spot, and running my eye a few hundred yards below me, lay a most charmingly built villarette, most suitably called Prospect House, which was the private residence of Mr. Doyne. Science had here conquered what was wanting in material; the goddess Flora had, like the owner, abandoned this pretty landscape; the dry soil and the sun’s rays had “dishabilled” each root from its flower. The cavalry camp and its numerous rows of stables were the last I visited. Dusk gently stole over the horizon when I re-entered the Col of Balaklava. The stars were brightly shining; it was nine o’clock; every bell in the harbour was tolling. Before retiring to rest no less than thirty-seven cemeteries did I count on my daily tablet, which I had passed during my solitary wandering.
The night before the surrender of Balaklava, a large fire broke out in the village of Kadikoi, which, had the wind been high, would have destroyed more than a thousand huts. As usual, the miscreant who had done the mischief escaped detection. General Sir W. Codrington was much vexed at this, as some huts had been sold to the Russian officers. I was, in consequence, deputed by Mr. Bennett, of the Army Works Corps, who was just leaving in another vessel, (at that time I was on board theArgo, and ready to sail the following day) to accompany the Russian officer to Sir W. Codrington, to inform him of the fact that the money had been received, and to request that it might be returned. Sir William, though overwhelmed with business, it being the eve of his departure, kindly attended to the Russian officer’s request; and the next morning, as I was goingon board theArgo, I had the pleasure of meeting the Commander-in-chief on his way to the spot where the fire had taken place, in order to assure himself that the huts burnt were those which had been paid for. I had a short walk and conversation with Sir William upon various subjects, and took the opportunity of thanking him for the following letter, with which he had kindly favoured me, containing his opinion of my culinary services during the war:—
Balaklava,July 9th, 1856.I believe Monsieur Soyer to have given great assistance in showing the soldier how to get the best meal from the food that is given to him; and I have no doubt Monsieur Soyer’s stoves accomplish this purpose in a standing camp or barracks with but little expenditure of fuel. It gives me great pleasure to say that Monsieur Soyer has always been ready to advise and personally superintend the carrying out improvements in the system of cooking: his knowledge and attention have therefore been of service to the army in the Crimea.W. Codrington,General.
Balaklava,July 9th, 1856.
I believe Monsieur Soyer to have given great assistance in showing the soldier how to get the best meal from the food that is given to him; and I have no doubt Monsieur Soyer’s stoves accomplish this purpose in a standing camp or barracks with but little expenditure of fuel. It gives me great pleasure to say that Monsieur Soyer has always been ready to advise and personally superintend the carrying out improvements in the system of cooking: his knowledge and attention have therefore been of service to the army in the Crimea.
W. Codrington,General.
We then parted, the general going to Kadikoi; and I, to select my berth, and see Miss Nightingale’s carriage shipped.
The day turned out fine, though rather gloomy in the early part, and very windy. As the last day of such a series of fine weather, it was anything but a promising farewell. At twelve precisely, the keys of Balaklava were to be given up. A picket of the Land Transport Corps were placed on the small bridge at the Col of Balaklava.
A few minutes after, three or four gentlemen sailors, accompanied by some parties whom we at first took for heroic Kadikoi tradesmen, arrived at full gallop, crying out—“The Russians are coming!” which report spread alarm through the camp, and in less than two minutes caused all the troops, twenty-five in number, to be under arms, and rush full speed upon the assailants, by whom they were entirely defeated—as in a few minutes Balaklava was retaken, and has ever since remained in the hands of the Russians. Thus ended that friendly battle of which I was so anxious to be an eye-witness, where champagne flowed freely in lieu of blood.
The grand reception and ceremony was to take place at the Commandant’s head-quarters. A few minutes aftertwelve, Captain Stamaki, the new governor of Balaklava, made his appearance, accompanied by only one aide-de-camp. Being met by the English authorities, he made a full stop, and the password was exchanged, I believe, in the Greek language. The governor of Balaklava then galloped into his new kingdom. In about twenty minutes a body-guard of about seventy men, some on foot and some mounted, made their appearance. The horsemen, upon nearer approach, we found to be a picket of Cossacks. When about one hundred yards from the bridge, the British picket went towards them—the Russians having halted. This conventional performance lasted but a few minutes; and then, the British posts were relieved by the Russians as they passed on their way to the commandant’s, where they were received by Sir W. Codrington, General Garrett, Admirals Freemantle, Stewart, Captain Codrington, &c. &c. A squadron of the 56th, the last regiment remaining in the Crimea, were in attendance with their band. On one side were the English, and the Russians opposite, for the first time on duty facing each other in friendly feeling. The centre was occupied by the authorities. Amongst the group of lookers-on was the illustrious Mrs. Seacole, dressed in a riding-habit; and for the last time this excellent mother was bidding farewell to all her sons, thus ending her benevolent exertions in the Crimea. Having given her my parting salute, I left themère noirefor the Black Sea. The sun shone brightly upon that animated group, now performing the last scene of the great drama enacted upon those shores.
A few minutes after the curtain had fallen, spectators and performers had separated, and all were entering upon their new duties. The last remnant of the British army was that day ordered to sail for home.
The weather, which had been rather boisterous, increased in violence; and in consequence, the captain of theArgo, with whom I had been in company since the morning to witness the grand closing scene, made sure that we should not sail till the next day. He therefore proposed inviting several of the Russian officers to dine on board. This I immediately communicated to themin French, and they politely accepted the invitation. The party was six in number: among those invited, was Monsieur le Conte de Maison, a French nobleman, who had lived many years in Russia, and was a large proprietor in the Crimea. After replying to several of his questions, I told him my name. He appeared doubly interested, having heard, as he said, so much about me in the Crimea. In Russia this gentleman was looked upon as an epicure, and probably the interest he felt in my acquaintance had something to do with the good dinner he anticipated. Dinner was to have been upon the table at six, and at half-past five the boat of theArgowas to fetch them on board. All was settled, and a pleasant evening with our new friends expected. A violent shower of rain scattered us in all directions, and, much to our sorrow, we never met again.
We had hardly regained the ship, when Admiral Stewart came on board and ordered the captain to sail immediately. I went home through the rain to inform my people of the sudden change of orders, and found they had already heard the news and had started. I arrived just in time to prevent a Tartar stealing one of my horses, of which I had made a present to Mr. Smith, a wine-merchant, as there was no possibility of selling him. Horse-dealing with the Russians about that time was pretty much after this fashion: a rather decent horse would fetch from three to five roubles—which latter sum makes a pound sterling. Under these circumstances, to place them in good hands was not only a charity, but a duty.
Everybody had got on board, and the new-comers were under shelter. The rain fell heavily, and not a soul did I meet in my way from the General Hospital to theArgo, which was lying at the other side of the harbour. Nobody was out but myself, my horse, and my umbrella, which I had much difficulty in holding up in the gale I was then braving. The thousands who had witnessed and mingled with the noisy crowd which for so many months had encumbered the place, can form but a faint idea of the gloomy appearance of the desolate Balaklava.
Farewell to the Crimea—Last glimpses—A collision—Rough weather—A strange coincidence—The Russian foundling—His history—A metamorphosis—The Sultan’s banquet—Sight-seeing at Constantinople—Last visit to the City of Palaces—“The Culinary wonder of all nations”—Holiday tour—The Author makes his bow.
Farewell to the Crimea—Last glimpses—A collision—Rough weather—A strange coincidence—The Russian foundling—His history—A metamorphosis—The Sultan’s banquet—Sight-seeing at Constantinople—Last visit to the City of Palaces—“The Culinary wonder of all nations”—Holiday tour—The Author makes his bow.
ONboard ship all was bustle and confusion. As the vessel steamed slowly out, we passed the few remaining steamers, including the boldAlgiers, Captain Codrington, which was smoking with might and main. We went ahead, digging our way through the mountainous waves, which appeared to have accumulated in the harbour purposely to say farewell, or dash our brains out against the bulwarks or the perpendicular rocks of the bay. Black, sulphurous, and reddish clouds were rolling from mountain to mountain, burying the peaks of each in their course, and giving the aspect of a universal deluge, by the union of earth to heaven. We could perceive nothing excepting now and then a glimpse of two white spots: one was the Sardinian funeral monument, dedicated to their defunct heroes; the other, the white marble Nightingale Cross, which, as I have before mentioned, had just been erected by that lady to the memory of departed heroes, and the deceased Sisters of Charity and Mercy. So rough a day had not visited us since that eventful one on which Sebastopol had fallen. It was getting dark, and a misty rain kept falling, which made any but joyful reminiscences of our final departure from the theatre of war and the arid soil of the Crimea. The sable veil of night soon fell over our colossal steamer, theArgo, as she pitched and rolled in the hollow of the sea, having on board three hundred horses—a rather awkward cargo,—besides havingbeen only recently patched up from some serious damage she had received in consequence of a collision with a French man-of-war. It had made a large hole in her, and carried away her figure-head. She had been for some time in the greatest danger in consequence of this, and though not materially so on the night of our departure, the remembrance of the accident was disagreeable enough to make all uncomfortable and spoil our appetites. A few extras had been added to the bill of fare in anticipation of the visit of our Russian friends; but I beg to inform my readers that I and a few of mycompagnons de voyagesaw no more of the banquet than did our much-disappointed guests on shore, who may probably think the invitation was a joke played off upon them by the captain, and that he was aware of the time of his departure.[29]
At about eleven, most of the passengers retired to their fully-inhabited cabin. The captain passed the night upon deck; so did I partly, as Morpheus often refuses to visit me when I am upon the mighty ocean, in either rough or smooth weather. Three times was the deck submerged by the heavy seas; washing the passengers from larboard to starboard, andvice versâ—a sort of gymnastic exercise neither pleasant to man nor beast. Several horses broke their lashings and fell during those heavy shocks. The next morning was not more pleasant, but the afternoon turned out fine. At about three everybody was on deck, cheerfully conversing, walking, reading, smoking, &c. Nothing, I believe, is so soon forgotten as rough weather at sea, especially when the sun favours one with a few brilliant smiles. The dinner-table was well attended, and everybody very chatty. I sat near the captain and General Garrett. The former (whose anxiety seemed to have entirely disappeared) said to me, “I am going to relate a curious incident respectingyourself, Monsieur, of which you are perhaps not aware, but you will call it to mind when I tell you.”
“What is it? I hope it is nothing likely to bring me into discredit, or to shock my modesty?”
“On the contrary, it is all in your favour.”
“Such being the case, pray proceed. What think you, General Garrett?” said I.
“By all means,” he replied.
“Do you remember,” the captain began, “on the morning of the 8th September, as you were coming back to your camp, meeting with two naval officers who were endeavouring to pass the lines in order to get to Cathcart’s Hill and have a sight of the storming of Sebastopol?”
“That I do; and what’s more extraordinary, I do not know their names: in fact, I could not make out who they were, nor where they came from.”
“These are the very points on which I am about to enlighten you. You rendered them an important service on that occasion by your hospitality, for which I can assure you they are even to this day very grateful.”
“They were very welcome; but who were they?”
“At the time the adventure occurred, they both belonged to this ship: one was our doctor, and the other the son of a member of the company, who intends, upon your arrival in England, to give you an invitation to spend a few days at his seat near Southampton.”
“I am much obliged; but pray, when you see them, say I am already highly repaid for anything I did, as it was entirely through them I had the high honour of dining with General Windham upon the day on which he immortalized himself as the hero of the Redan.”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed the captain.
Perceiving his astonishment, I related the circumstances mentioned in a former chapter. Of course these were well known to General Garrett.
It was with regret I was leaving the Crimea without knowing the heroes of this simple, though to me singular, adventure. How strange it is that at last, and upon myway home, I should ascertain that which I had so often inquired about!
A few rounds of champagne to their health and prosperity terminated this singular affair.
The invalidedArgohad regained her perpendicular upon the smooth surface of the ocean, and stood as firm as St. Paul’s upon its foundations. In fact, the good vessel appeared quite motionless, and made our ocean saloon as lively as any uponterra firma. The night seemed to be jealous of the fineness of the day, and not a breath of wind disturbed its serenity. The unwieldy ship glided over the sea, which flashed as though it had been a lake of diamonds. The breeze was just strong enough to fill the few sails spread to catch it. Every one was upon deck, as busy as bees upon a hot summer’s day. The order was given to muster the soldiers and lower-deck passengers, and in a few minutes they were all upon the main-deck. Amongst them appeared a lad all in rags, barefooted, and with a black and a blue eye. His dirty, ragged jacket was covered with blood and mud. He stood cross-legged and leaning upon his elbow against the coping of the bulwarks, his right hand thrust in the hole where a pocket had no doubt once existed. The lad, in spite of his attire, looked as brisk and independent as a modern Diogenes or a Robert Macaire. To the questions put to him by the captain, he replied somewhat in the style of the Grecian philosopher to Alexander the Great. There was, however, this difference—those great men understood each other, while the captain’s English was entirely lost upon the ragged hero. After several attempts and failures on the part of the captain, a gentleman, Mr. Souter, who spoke the Russian language, interrogated him, and asked him how he got on board. His reply was, “With the baggage, to be sure.” He then, boldly and in a fine tone of voice, suiting the action to the word, told the following tale:—“I am an orphan and a Russian serf belonging to Prince Meshersky. My name is Daniel Maximovitch Chimachenka; and since my owner, the prince, went to the war, the serfs have been much ill-treated by the agent in charge. This wasparticularly the case with myself, as I was attached to the agent’s personal service. He beat me daily, and gave me scarcely anything to eat. One day, two English officers passed through the village, and I held their horses for them while they took some refreshment. When they came out, they gave me a shilling. Though it was nearly dark, I watched the road they went, and followed them at a distance. After walking some time, I lost sight of them, and slept in the wood till daybreak. Two days after, having travelled through forests and over mountains in order to avoid detection, I found myself at Balaklava. This was only just before the departure of the fleet. I was determined to follow those kind people the English, who had given me so much money for so little work. Being aware that you were all going away, I bethought myself of hiding on board one of your ships, thinking that when discovered you could not treat me worse than the prince’s agent had done. I made the attempt in two different vessels, but was discovered and put on shore again. This vessel being one of the last, I went on board assisting some Maltese sailors with the luggage, and amidst the bustle managed to hide away amongst the horses.” In this manner the youth got to Constantinople.
The following letter, published in the journal of that city, will inform my readers of the rest:—
Monsieur Soyer, now so well known in the East, has taken under his protection a Russian boy who was in the greatest destitution, having stowed himself away on board the steam-shipArgoat Balaklava. He was only discovered when the muster of soldiers and deck-passengers was called. The poor lad was in rags and barefooted. He had received a terrible contusion on the head, and his black swollen eyes and blood-stained face rendered his appearance anything but prepossessing. Being cross-questioned by a passenger who understood Russian, he stated that he got on board under pretence of assisting the sailors with some luggage, and contrived to hide himself amongst the horses till the ship was at sea, fearing that he should be put on shore, as had already happened to him twice before. During the night, he came upon deck and fell asleep. About three in the morning, a violent hurricane came on, and a heavy sea broke over the bows, nearly washing the soldiers and himself overboard. It was at this juncture that he received the contusion,and became for some time senseless. He asked for nothing to eat during the passage, fearing discovery, but satisfied the cravings of hunger with orange-peel and pieces of broken biscuit, which the soldiers had thrown about the deck. He said that he was an orphan, twelve years old, and left his native village through the ill-treatment of his owner’s agent. Some English gentlemen, in passing through the village, gave him a piece of money for holding their horses; so he decided upon following such kind people, in the hope of obtaining employment and living amongst them.[30]He appears very intelligent, and is quite indignant at being taken for a Tartar. He is, he says, a true Russian. Instead of allowing him to be turned adrift in Constantinople, Monsieur Soyer claimed and took him under his protection, taking a certificate from the captain to that effect, in presence of General Garrett and his Staff, who were passengers on board theArgo. As he is now free, no doubt a prosperous future is in store for the poor Russian lad, through the kindness of Monsieur Soyer.—Journal de Constantinople et Echo de l’Orient, Thursday, 21st July, 1856.
Monsieur Soyer, now so well known in the East, has taken under his protection a Russian boy who was in the greatest destitution, having stowed himself away on board the steam-shipArgoat Balaklava. He was only discovered when the muster of soldiers and deck-passengers was called. The poor lad was in rags and barefooted. He had received a terrible contusion on the head, and his black swollen eyes and blood-stained face rendered his appearance anything but prepossessing. Being cross-questioned by a passenger who understood Russian, he stated that he got on board under pretence of assisting the sailors with some luggage, and contrived to hide himself amongst the horses till the ship was at sea, fearing that he should be put on shore, as had already happened to him twice before. During the night, he came upon deck and fell asleep. About three in the morning, a violent hurricane came on, and a heavy sea broke over the bows, nearly washing the soldiers and himself overboard. It was at this juncture that he received the contusion,and became for some time senseless. He asked for nothing to eat during the passage, fearing discovery, but satisfied the cravings of hunger with orange-peel and pieces of broken biscuit, which the soldiers had thrown about the deck. He said that he was an orphan, twelve years old, and left his native village through the ill-treatment of his owner’s agent. Some English gentlemen, in passing through the village, gave him a piece of money for holding their horses; so he decided upon following such kind people, in the hope of obtaining employment and living amongst them.[30]He appears very intelligent, and is quite indignant at being taken for a Tartar. He is, he says, a true Russian. Instead of allowing him to be turned adrift in Constantinople, Monsieur Soyer claimed and took him under his protection, taking a certificate from the captain to that effect, in presence of General Garrett and his Staff, who were passengers on board theArgo. As he is now free, no doubt a prosperous future is in store for the poor Russian lad, through the kindness of Monsieur Soyer.—Journal de Constantinople et Echo de l’Orient, Thursday, 21st July, 1856.
THE BOY AS FOUND. THE BOY AS HE IS.THE BOY AS FOUND. THE BOY AS HE IS.
While on shore at Constantinople, I sent this unsightly and dirty-looking urchin to a Turkish bath, and by this simple, “gentle,” and delightful Oriental process removed two or three coats of dirt from his skin. I had a suit of liveryà la Russemade for him, which greatly improved his appearance. When quite recovered from the effects of his bruises and black eye, he turned out to be a very smart, clean, and extremely intelligent lad. So grateful was he for my kindness, that he came every morning at six o’clock to fetch my clothes to brush, kissing my hands at the same time, whether awake or asleep, as a mark of his gratitude. I have him with me in London, and intend to educate him, and hope he will turn out a good man of business and useful to society. It is most probable that had he been left to himself in Constantinople, he would have become a great rascal or a thief; for he possesses enough intelligence to be either a clever, honest man, or an arrant rogue.
We were anchored in the Bosphorus, opposite the Barrack Hospital. It was about ten in the morning. Everybody had an extra wash upon the occasion, and all were dressed in their best. The weather was very warm and fine, and all appeared gay and merry. General Garrett being anxious to see the wonders of the Mahomedan city, I offered, as I was now pretty well acquainted with itschefs-d’œuvre, to be hiscicerone, which offer he immediately accepted. We started, accompanied by Colonel Hughes and Major Dallas. After paying our respects to Admiral Grey at the Admiralty, we hired two caiques and repaired to the ancient quarter of Stamboul. There we took horses, and for six hours ascended and descended the intolerable muddy and badly-paved streets of the real Constantinople, where are to be seen so many Mussulman works of art—viz.: St. Sophia, the Bazaar, Seraglio Palace, and Hippodrome, &c. &c. &c., with which the general and suite were much delighted. Our intention was to dine at Messirie’s Hotel, and we had just arrived there, when we were informed that the Sultan that day intended to give a grand dinner in honour of GeneralsPelissier and Codrington. Captain Hall, who brought the news, requested General Garrett to pay an immediate visit to Lord Redcliffe, adding, that no doubt the ambassador would wish him to be present. General Garrett replied—“It would be utterly impossible for me to be present at the ceremony, inasmuch as I cannot get my uniform, which is at the bottom of the hold of theArgo. I will, however, pay my respects to Lord Stratford.”
We immediately started for that purpose. The general remained some time with our ambassador, and upon coming out informed us of the kind reception and invitation he had received to be present at the grand Dolma Batchi Palace banquet, saying he must manage to go somehow. The only difficulty was to get his own uniform, or any other that would fit him, for the occasion. I merely left my card at the Embassy, intending to pay my respects to Lord Stratford some other day.
This banquet had been postponed for several days, on account of the non-arrival of Sir W. Codrington from Balaklava. The dinner was at last decided to take place on the 18th of July, 1856, at seven o’clock. The English general had not arrived, but was hourly expected. About threeP.M.his ship appeared in sight, and at five entered the Bosphorus. All on board who were invited were ready dressed; so they only had to disembark at the splendid marble terrace which forms the landing-place of the Sultan’s new palace of Dolma Batchi, where numerous attendants were waiting to receive them. But, as usual, “Man proposes, and God disposes.” The severe gale we encountered on leaving Balaklava, far from sparing the greatAlgiers, had delayed her more than it did our good ship. While passing in front of Therapia, her progress was again arrested by one of the most furious hurricanes ever known in the Bosphorus.
The illustrious guests had arrived minus the Commander-in-chief, who was expected every minute. They were sitting in the grand reception-room. The dinner-hour arrived, and the doors of the magnificent Mahomedanhall were thrown open to the assembled guests. They were amazed at the splendour and richness of the architecture of that cathedral-like throne-room, which is a perfect copy of St. Sophia on a very splendid scale, the dome being only fourteen feet less in height than that of St. Sophia. The appearance of the table, placed in the centre, though very large and well garnished with elegant table ornaments, fruits, flowers, and a mostrecherchédessert, left, as far as the dinner goes, much to desire. The mixture of French and Turkish cookery, of which I much approve, would have been preferable to all French, so difficult of perfect execution, particularly at Constantinople. As a whole, thecoup-d’œilwas perfectly pyramidal and magical. The guests were seated according to rank and precedence, and each had his name and number on his plate, which plan prevented any confusion. The soup, as well as severalhors-d’œuvresand other dishes, had been handed round, when a tremendous hurricane shook the frame of the stupendous edifice, extinguished the lights in the orchestra, and made the colossal chandelier (perhaps the largest in the world) swing to and fro until fears were entertained of its falling. For a short time we were uncertain whether it was a hurricane or an earthquake; and though the festive board was encircled by old invincibles whom the cannon of Sebastopol had never unnerved for a minute, it must be confessed that the fear of an earthquake produced an ominous silence.
In a short time the music recommenced, and every one was himself again. The busy traffic of a large banquet had resumed its regular course; the guests had forgotten this vexatious event, and were conversing cheerfully. When the dinner had been removed, and the dessert was placed upon the table, the band played the “Sultan’s Grand March,” and his Sublime Majesty entered in all his Oriental pomp, followed by the dignitaries of the empire. This pageant was indeed worthy of the antique style of Oriental grandeur. Still, it is to be regretted that it had lost much of its magnificence from having been simplifiedand modernized. After this gracious mark of cordial union between the Mahomedan monarch and his Allied guests, which has been so well and elegantly described by the public press, the Sultan retired; and thus ended this sumptuous entertainment, which will ever hold a distinguished place in the gastronomic annals of nations. It was at least the first, and probably will prove the last, at which the magnates of three great nations met together beneath the roof of the great Pacha’s palace to partake of Mahomedan hospitalityà la Française, which in my opinion ought to have been Anglo-Franko, but at all events half Turko.
The only thing to be regretted was the untoward absence of Sir W. Codrington, which happened as follows:—TheAlgiersstarted a few hours after theArgo; but being considerably heavier than that vessel—being a man of war—and owing to the bad weather and foul winds, she arrived ten hours after us, instead of four or six, as had been expected. In spite of this delay, she would have arrived in time, but for the extraordinary hurricane which came on as she entered the Bosphorus. Every gentleman invited was dressed and ready to land upon arriving at Dolma Batchi Stairs. It was all to no purpose; for on coming before Therapia, the safety of the ship compelled the captain to order the anchors to be let go; and as no caiques could venture out, it was impossible to land. My chief reason for mentioning this fact is because it was reported in Constantinople and Pera that the French and English commanders of the Allied armies disagreed politically, and would not meet. Through my friendly influence with important persons in Constantinople and Pera, I caused this report to be contradicted by the press, as it might have left an evil impression upon the public mind.
TheArgowas to sail about fourP.M.the next day. At two I went on board to claim my Russianprotégé, and found the boy, who was aware of my being in Constantinople, and as the steamer was about to sail, had lost all hope of being rescued by me. In expectation ofbeing landed at Constantinople and left to the mercy of the world, he was seated on the poop of the ship, anxiously looking out with the same anxiety as Sister Anne from the top of the tower, in the tale ofBluebeard, to see if any one was coming. At length he perceived a caique with two caidjees approaching the shipArgo; in it was seated a rather stout gentleman, dressed in the Oriental style, as he afterwards related, with a large white round hat, encircled with a turban of white and red gauze, and wearing a bournous. “It can only be my new master,” exclaimed the boy to those around—or at all events he made them comprehend as much. Nothing could exceed the boy’s joy when I set foot upon deck; but, as I was not aware of his anxiety, I took but little notice of him, as I had many persons to see in a short space of time. Observing this, the poor lad began to cry. Had he been retaken, he would have been sent to the mines for fifteen years, and afterwards as a soldier for life. I requested the captain to draw up a statement to the effect that the boy had run away of his own accord, and begged of General Garrett to be present as a witness; and he was accordingly transmitted to me as a free boy from the time of his destitution.
The following is a copy of the statement:—
Steam-ship “Argo,” Constantinople, 16th July, 1856.I hereby certify that a Russian boy, about twelve or fifteen years of ago, was found on board this ship after leaving the Crimea. He states that he came on board for the purpose of getting employment. His name, he says, is Daniel, and that he was a serf of Prince Meshersky’s. Monsieur Soyer, a passenger on board, now takes him into his service, to prevent his starving.H. B. Benson,Commander.N.B.—The boy’s name is Daniel Maximovitch Chimachenka. He says he is an orphan—has been very badly treated by his master’s steward—and begged of Monsieur Soyer to grant him protection, and is very willing to go with him wheresoever he pleases rather than return to his former master. As he was quite destitute on arriving at Constantinople, Monsieur Soyer is kind enough to take him under his protection.I hereby certify that the above is quite correct, having interrogated the boy in his own language (Russian).P. Pouteau,Kt. S. A.
Steam-ship “Argo,” Constantinople, 16th July, 1856.
I hereby certify that a Russian boy, about twelve or fifteen years of ago, was found on board this ship after leaving the Crimea. He states that he came on board for the purpose of getting employment. His name, he says, is Daniel, and that he was a serf of Prince Meshersky’s. Monsieur Soyer, a passenger on board, now takes him into his service, to prevent his starving.
H. B. Benson,Commander.
N.B.—The boy’s name is Daniel Maximovitch Chimachenka. He says he is an orphan—has been very badly treated by his master’s steward—and begged of Monsieur Soyer to grant him protection, and is very willing to go with him wheresoever he pleases rather than return to his former master. As he was quite destitute on arriving at Constantinople, Monsieur Soyer is kind enough to take him under his protection.
I hereby certify that the above is quite correct, having interrogated the boy in his own language (Russian).
P. Pouteau,Kt. S. A.
I then bade a cordial farewell to all mycompagnons de voyage, who were very anxious to have my company to London; but I had made up my mind to take six months’ holiday, and travel wherever my fancy might lead me, especially to my native city of Meaux, which I had not seen for twenty-six long years. I also wished to write this work in peace, having lost my notes. I informed them that I could not have the pleasure of accompanying them, as I meant to take a Continental tour, but hoped to meet them in London upon my return, which would probably be in the beginning of the then ensuing spring.
Wishing to visit at my leisure the civil and military institutions of this interesting city of Constantine, and, above all, to become well acquainted with the system of cookery, in which I had already recognised a deal of merit and originality, I determined to remain some weeks at Constantinople, as well as to offer to his Sublime Majesty the Sultan, through the kind intercession of Lord de Redcliffe, to whom I had paid my humble duty, a complete set of my various culinary works, as well as my magic and model stoves. I established myself at the hotel, and, accompanied by a friend, and my Russian boy dressedà la Cosaque, proceeded to visit on horseback all the curiosities of the Mahomedan city.
As I have already observed, though I frequently wished to inspect minutely the great metropolis of Constantine, my incessant duties never allowed me time for this: I therefore now devoted my leisure time to seeing Constantinople. I had fixed three weeks as the space requisite to visit in detail the wonders of that city. To do this, I engaged a dragoman of some intelligence, and requested him to conduct me to every place worthy of being seen, at the same time acquainting him that three weeks would be the utmost stay I should make in Constantinople.
Having obtained a firman, orpasse-partout, we were to be seen flying from palace to palace, mosque to mosque, bazaar to bazaar, kiosque to kiosque, hospital to hospital,cemetery to cemetery, prison to prison; from turning to howling dervishes, and from the Sweet Waters of Europe to those of Asia, and last, not least, to the Sultan’s kitchen, which to me was the only object of paramount interest.
Almost every one attached to the army had left the banks of the Bosphorus and returned to England. Only now and then did one meet a British uniform in Pera. These were the officers of the Commissariat or the Turkish Contingent. Amongst the former were Commissaries Smith, Adams, Osborn, &c.
The post-office and hospitals were given up: Therapia and Buyukderé alone could boast of possessing the tail of the British army and navy. General Storks was still on a visit to Lord Stratford de Redcliffe; Sir Edmund Lyons was on board his splendid man-of-war, theRoyal Albert, in the Bosphorus; Admiral Grey had left, and only a few acting naval men remained at the Admiralty.
I afterwards addressed the following letter which appeared in theTimes:—