CHAPTER III.ENGLAND AND THE CONTINENT.
RETURN TO ENGLAND—PARIS—ENGLISH AND FRENCH OFFICERS—UN VERITABLE ROSBIF—PLUM POUDIN—TOUCHING COURTESY—ISLE OF WIGHT—PARKHURST BARRACKS—ELECTION AT COWES—A TIPSY DRIVER—CAMP AT CHOBHAM—VISITORS TO THE CAMP—THE REV. DR. CUMMING—IN THE MANUFACTURING DISTRICTS—ORDERED TO THE EAST—GENEROUS CONDUCT OF THE CUNARDS—WAR DITTIES—SCUTARI—A WRESTLING MATCH—A GOOD STORY—A FAIRY SCENE—THE SULTAN’S WIFE.
RETURN TO ENGLAND—PARIS—ENGLISH AND FRENCH OFFICERS—UN VERITABLE ROSBIF—PLUM POUDIN—TOUCHING COURTESY—ISLE OF WIGHT—PARKHURST BARRACKS—ELECTION AT COWES—A TIPSY DRIVER—CAMP AT CHOBHAM—VISITORS TO THE CAMP—THE REV. DR. CUMMING—IN THE MANUFACTURING DISTRICTS—ORDERED TO THE EAST—GENEROUS CONDUCT OF THE CUNARDS—WAR DITTIES—SCUTARI—A WRESTLING MATCH—A GOOD STORY—A FAIRY SCENE—THE SULTAN’S WIFE.
CHAPTER III.
On our arrival in England we disembarked at Chatham and marched to Canterbury, where we were quartered for some months. The 17th Lancers, who occupied the cavalry barracks, were one of the most hospitable and pleasant corps I ever met; many of them have passed away, many of them fell in the glorious charge of Balaclava, but at the time of which I write they formed a gathering of the finest specimens of the light dragoon.
When the leave time came round I went to Paris. The late emperor was then President of the French Republic, and enjoyment seemed the order of the day. The balls of the Tuileries were most amusing; all officers were in uniform, and the dress of the 17th Lancers of thatday, several of whom were present at one of these balls, was universally admired. I went in the tight coatee with epaulettes which was an infantry officer’s costume at that time, and no doubt thought myself very fine; but my vanity received a shock when a French lady passed, and, looking towards me, said to her friend, ‘Ma foi, c’est un véritable Rosbif!’ We were received with great civility by the officers of the artillery quartered at Vincennes, who invited us to pay them a visit, which we did a day or two after the ball. Nothing could exceed the friendliness of these French gunners. We dined with them in a café, as they had no mess, and I remember the great event was the ‘plum poudin,’ the very remembrance of which fills my mind with horror. The excitement of the Frenchmen was intense when a large soup tureen was placed on the table. ‘Ah, le voilà! Le plum poudin! Ah, oh!’ When the cover was removed a mass of liquid horrors was brought to view, among which a bottle of cognac was poured and then lighted. This fearful decoction was ladled out into soup plates, and with anxious eyes our friends gazed on us as we began to eat. I suppose the brandy saved us, but we certainlyendangered our lives for the honour of our country.
When we were leaving, these kindly-disposed fellows insisted on paying our cab hire to Paris, and we had the greatest difficulty in preventing them doing so. We were anxious to give them some return for their civility, so the lancers and myself resolved to ask them to dinner at the Rocher de Cancale. A note was therefore despatched requesting the pleasure of their company. A reply came to me from one of them, a nice young fellow called Joubert, begging us to postpone the entertainment for a week. Of course this was complied with, and when the week had elapsed we had a very jolly party. Joubert accounted for the delay which had been requested, which was owing, as he said, to the fact that we had honoured them with our presence in plain clothes, and, as they had nothing but uniform, they had to get mufti made! This was quite touching by its simple courtesy.
We had a great deal of fun during our stay in Paris. On our first arrival my friends, the lancers, asked me to order dinner at the ‘Trois Frères,’ which was in existence then. I wasdetermined to have a good dinner; but I had forgotten Parisian ways, having been absent for so long in the West Indies and America. Anyway, I ordered a portion for each person. I think we numbered eight; so there were eight soups, eight fish, eight of each entrée, &c., and the room seemed hardly large enough to contain our variousplats. How we did laugh and enjoy ourselves! With one exception, I am now the only one left of that merry party.
My leave was drawing to a close, so I left Paris, where every moment had been so occupied. I had not done much in letter-writing, and was, therefore, quite ignorant of regimental news. On arriving at Canterbury, I got a fly, and ordered the driver to take me to the barracks; but, on reaching the infantry lines, I was surprised to find all in darkness, although it was only about half-past seven in the evening.
At length an 88th man came up to the carriage in which I was seated.
‘What’s become of everybody?’ I exclaimed.
‘Well, sorr, they’re all gone; a sudden order came, and they’re gone, except just a few to give over the barracks.’
‘Gone—where to?’ I asked.
After a time he replied, ‘They’re gone, sorr, to some island; but I disremember the name.’
With this very unsatisfactory information, I told cabby to drive me to the ‘Fountain Hotel,’ where I was told that the regiment had left for the Isle of Wight.
Parkhurst Barracks was occupied by only one battalion, the 88th, and the four company dépôt of the Cameronians. What delightful quarters the Isle of Wight was in these days! There was no railway then in the island; a four-horse coach plied between Newport and Hyde, and the drive was most enjoyable. The pretty little villages have now become staring towns. It is difficult to find a retired nook in the noisy country now all built over.
The officers of the 88th received the greatest hospitality from everyone in the Isle of Wight. The numbers were not overwhelming, there being few red-coats at the barracks. The private soldiers also were most kindly treated by the inhabitants of this charming island. It is a strange fact that at home in Britain, because a man wears a red coat and is liable to a greaterpunishment for drunkenness than a civilian, kind-hearted men consider themselves bound to offer him a dram, and even press him to take it, while to another class of men they would only wish ‘God speed.’ When my regiment was quartered at Parkhurst Barracks, an election took place, and the usually quiet town of Cowes was very excited. I had been asked to dinner there by a very hospitable host, and a married brother officer offered me a seat in his carriage. The party was a very pleasant one, and the cheers of the successful candidate’s supporters were distinctly heard every now and then.
When we were leaving, my friend saw that his coachman, a private soldier, had been drinking success to the newly-elected member—in other words, was very drunk, so he whispered to me to get inside with his wife, and that he would drive. The lady, however, was not to be deceived by remarks about the pleasures of smoking a cigar and driving home by moonlight. She soon exclaimed,
‘I am sure there is something wrong,’ and at this moment coachee made a tremendous lurch. ‘The servant is drunk. He will knock my husbandoff the box. Oh! Captain Maxwell, do, do something.’
What could I do to pacify this kind lady, whose husband was my dearest friend? I was in a dreadful quandary. A bright idea came to the anxious wife.
‘Oh, Captain Maxwell, will you hold the man on to the box?’
So I let down the front window, and with considerable difficulty got hold of some part of the horrid man’s dress, and so pretended to keep him steady. The tipsy wretch made a horrible lurch, and, giving his master a poke in the ribs, said, in a tone half jovial, half sad,
‘Meejor, the missus is pulling my tail!’
We left the Isle of Wight, and, after being quartered for some months at Portsmouth, proceeded to join the camp at Chobham. How much we enjoyed that bloodless campaign, and how absurdly proud of ourselves we all were! The Connaught Rangers were composed of as fine a body of men as could be mustered anywhere, well seasoned soldiers, full of loyalty to the Queen, and imbued with a thorough knowledge of their duties, which it takes many years tolearn, and thus enable a private to become a good non-commissioned officer. In two years from that time how few remained alive! Most of them repose in death on the heights of Sebastopol, where the wild flowers cover their honoured graves. But Chobham was the first camp which had been formed for many years, and we all enjoyed it very much. It was amusing to watch the curiosity displayed by civilians. I have often seen visitors to the camp walk through our mess-kitchen, and horrify our cook by taking the lids off some of his most cherished pots to see what we were to have for dinner.
I remember one day, after a long field-day in the warm sun, going to my tent, throwing myself into an arm-chair, and very nearly falling asleep, when I heard a whispering going on at the entrance, which was gently opened, when a pretty face peeped in, and I heard the remark made, ‘He is asleep,’ but, like the celebrated weasel, I had an eye open. One peculiar feature of Chobham at that time was, that friends who had previously ignored one’s existence all of a sudden became greatly interested in our welfare, especially about luncheon time. The camp atChobham was the first opportunity many of us had of seeing regiments combined together in brigades and divisions. It was a grand picnic, and was the melodious overture to the great tragedy of the Crimean War.
We were visited by royal personages, by soldiers, sailors, lawyers, and clergymen. The celebrated Dr. Cumming once addressed the men. I remember some of his remarks:
‘I am a man of peace, but, if anyone tried to knock me down, I would do all I could to floor him first.’
The chaplain-general preached a sermon. He said,
‘The last time he had seen such a gathering of soldiers, he himself had taken an active part, for he was then an officer under Wellington.’
Though no one was certain then that there would be war, yet there was a sulphurous vapour impregnating the air, which the most peaceable inhaled, and the next year the Crimean campaign came on.
After leaving Chobham, we were sent to the manufacturing districts. The head-quarters was stationed at Bury, in Lancashire, and the leftwing, to which I belonged, was sent to Ashton-under-Line. The cotton-spinners were most hospitable to us. I have a very kindly remembrance of a Mr. Harrison, whose house was in the neighbourhood of our barracks, and who showed me the greatest kindness. But the plot was thickening, and the order came for the Connaught Rangers to embark for the East. The whole of Ashton turned out to see us march away. The streets were decorated, and as the colours were carried past every head was uncovered. One man, however, standing near the hotel in the street through which we passed, did not take off his hat. A young fellow went up to him, and, I suppose, told him to uncover, but he refused to do so. I heard him say: ‘No, I won’t.’ The next moment he was lying on the ground, the young fellow having hit him right between the eyes, and knocked him down. As we proceeded onward, an old woman knelt, and in a loud voice blessed the colours.
When we arrived in Liverpool, we were halted near the Exchange, and the mayor made a speech, which was received with great cheering. The ships in the harbour were gaily decorated withflags, and crowds of people shouted and cheered. On the 4th of April, 1854, the Connaught Rangers embarked on board theNiagara, one of Cunard’s finest steamers, on which we were most sumptuously entertained. On arriving at Constantinople we asked for our bill, and were informed we were guests of the Cunards. We subscribed, and presented the captain with a watch.
Our passage out was a very prosperous one. A calm sea prevailed nearly all the time. Our band played often on deck, and in the bright moonlight the men sat in groups and sang merrily. I still possess some of their cheery ditties.
LOVE, FAREWELL.‘Now, brave boys, we’re bound for marchin’,Both to Portingale and Spain;Drums are batin’, colours flyin’,And the divil a back we’ll come agin.So, love, farewell!‘Eighty-eighty and Inniskillen,Boys that’s able, boys that’s willin’,Faugh-a-ballagh and County Down,Stand by the Harp, and stand by the Crown.So, love, farewell!‘The colonel cries, “Boys, are yez ready?”“We’re at your back, sir, firm and steady,Our pouches filled with ball and pouther,And a firelock sloped on every shoulther.”So, love, farewell!‘Och, Judy dear, ye’re young and tender,When I’m away ye’ll not surrender,But hould out like an ancient Roman,And I’ll make you—an honest woman.So, love, farewell!‘Och, Judy, should I die in glory,In the papers ye’ll read my awful story;But I’m so bothered with yer charms,I’d rather die within your arms.So, love, farewell!’
‘Now, brave boys, we’re bound for marchin’,Both to Portingale and Spain;Drums are batin’, colours flyin’,And the divil a back we’ll come agin.So, love, farewell!‘Eighty-eighty and Inniskillen,Boys that’s able, boys that’s willin’,Faugh-a-ballagh and County Down,Stand by the Harp, and stand by the Crown.So, love, farewell!‘The colonel cries, “Boys, are yez ready?”“We’re at your back, sir, firm and steady,Our pouches filled with ball and pouther,And a firelock sloped on every shoulther.”So, love, farewell!‘Och, Judy dear, ye’re young and tender,When I’m away ye’ll not surrender,But hould out like an ancient Roman,And I’ll make you—an honest woman.So, love, farewell!‘Och, Judy, should I die in glory,In the papers ye’ll read my awful story;But I’m so bothered with yer charms,I’d rather die within your arms.So, love, farewell!’
‘Now, brave boys, we’re bound for marchin’,Both to Portingale and Spain;Drums are batin’, colours flyin’,And the divil a back we’ll come agin.So, love, farewell!
‘Now, brave boys, we’re bound for marchin’,
Both to Portingale and Spain;
Drums are batin’, colours flyin’,
And the divil a back we’ll come agin.
So, love, farewell!
‘Eighty-eighty and Inniskillen,Boys that’s able, boys that’s willin’,Faugh-a-ballagh and County Down,Stand by the Harp, and stand by the Crown.So, love, farewell!
‘Eighty-eighty and Inniskillen,
Boys that’s able, boys that’s willin’,
Faugh-a-ballagh and County Down,
Stand by the Harp, and stand by the Crown.
So, love, farewell!
‘The colonel cries, “Boys, are yez ready?”“We’re at your back, sir, firm and steady,Our pouches filled with ball and pouther,And a firelock sloped on every shoulther.”So, love, farewell!
‘The colonel cries, “Boys, are yez ready?”
“We’re at your back, sir, firm and steady,
Our pouches filled with ball and pouther,
And a firelock sloped on every shoulther.”
So, love, farewell!
‘Och, Judy dear, ye’re young and tender,When I’m away ye’ll not surrender,But hould out like an ancient Roman,And I’ll make you—an honest woman.So, love, farewell!
‘Och, Judy dear, ye’re young and tender,
When I’m away ye’ll not surrender,
But hould out like an ancient Roman,
And I’ll make you—an honest woman.
So, love, farewell!
‘Och, Judy, should I die in glory,In the papers ye’ll read my awful story;But I’m so bothered with yer charms,I’d rather die within your arms.So, love, farewell!’
‘Och, Judy, should I die in glory,
In the papers ye’ll read my awful story;
But I’m so bothered with yer charms,
I’d rather die within your arms.
So, love, farewell!’
I must give another specimen, which, if not very well spelt, is otherwise a proof of the loyalty of a gallant soldier, who afterwards fell at Sebastopol. I copy the whole as given to me on board theNiagara.
‘A soldier that is bound for this late war, and who goes with the most gratified assurance of coming home again with the head of the Disturber of Europe; or, dying like a soldier in the field, and with the heart of a real true subject, he says to his comrades:—
(Composed by Private Edward Murphy, Light Company, 88th Regiment.)
‘Our allies to joine, my boys,The English and FrinchIs going to combine, my boys.We’ll fight till the last,And no mortal we’ll spare, my boys.What better fun could you askThan chasing the bear, my boys?Now let us with curageEnter the field, my boys,And the bigoted tyrentWe’ll make him yield, my boys;And out of the PrincipalitiesWe’ll make him elope;We’ll show him more playThen he got at Synope.Come, then, come to the Danobe.For the Rangers at presentIs wiling to fight, I know,And with Colonel Shirley noDangers they’ll slight, I know.May he lead them on to fame,As Wallace before has don,And live to command usUntill the battle’s won.Then come to the Danobe,And our officers allThe right sort of chaps are they,Comboyned one and all,And ready for the fray,We’ll conquer or die,And may we all live to seeThe Rushins to fly,Beat both on land and sea.’
‘Our allies to joine, my boys,The English and FrinchIs going to combine, my boys.We’ll fight till the last,And no mortal we’ll spare, my boys.What better fun could you askThan chasing the bear, my boys?Now let us with curageEnter the field, my boys,And the bigoted tyrentWe’ll make him yield, my boys;And out of the PrincipalitiesWe’ll make him elope;We’ll show him more playThen he got at Synope.Come, then, come to the Danobe.For the Rangers at presentIs wiling to fight, I know,And with Colonel Shirley noDangers they’ll slight, I know.May he lead them on to fame,As Wallace before has don,And live to command usUntill the battle’s won.Then come to the Danobe,And our officers allThe right sort of chaps are they,Comboyned one and all,And ready for the fray,We’ll conquer or die,And may we all live to seeThe Rushins to fly,Beat both on land and sea.’
‘Our allies to joine, my boys,The English and FrinchIs going to combine, my boys.We’ll fight till the last,And no mortal we’ll spare, my boys.What better fun could you askThan chasing the bear, my boys?Now let us with curageEnter the field, my boys,And the bigoted tyrentWe’ll make him yield, my boys;And out of the PrincipalitiesWe’ll make him elope;We’ll show him more playThen he got at Synope.Come, then, come to the Danobe.For the Rangers at presentIs wiling to fight, I know,And with Colonel Shirley noDangers they’ll slight, I know.May he lead them on to fame,As Wallace before has don,And live to command usUntill the battle’s won.Then come to the Danobe,And our officers allThe right sort of chaps are they,Comboyned one and all,And ready for the fray,We’ll conquer or die,And may we all live to seeThe Rushins to fly,Beat both on land and sea.’
‘Our allies to joine, my boys,
The English and Frinch
Is going to combine, my boys.
We’ll fight till the last,
And no mortal we’ll spare, my boys.
What better fun could you ask
Than chasing the bear, my boys?
Now let us with curage
Enter the field, my boys,
And the bigoted tyrent
We’ll make him yield, my boys;
And out of the Principalities
We’ll make him elope;
We’ll show him more play
Then he got at Synope.
Come, then, come to the Danobe.
For the Rangers at present
Is wiling to fight, I know,
And with Colonel Shirley no
Dangers they’ll slight, I know.
May he lead them on to fame,
As Wallace before has don,
And live to command us
Untill the battle’s won.
Then come to the Danobe,
And our officers all
The right sort of chaps are they,
Comboyned one and all,
And ready for the fray,
We’ll conquer or die,
And may we all live to see
The Rushins to fly,
Beat both on land and sea.’
On arriving at Gallipoli, we received orders to proceed on to Constantinople. A boat was upsetclose to our steamer, and one of the Turks took refuge in the paddle-wheel! Most fortunately, he was not killed. When he came on board, we gave him dry clothes, and, as it was the men’s dinner hour, they offered him some pork. His face would have made a good picture. I mention this as the first mistake made by our soldiers in their dealings with Mohammedans.
We anchored near Scutari, between the Sultan’s seraglio and the opposite shore, and in the afternoon we disembarked, and marched into Scutari Barracks, a fine building capable of containing six thousand men. My company, numbering over one hundred, were all in one room. The quarters told off for two subalterns and myself consisted of one large room, lighted by three windows, in front of which was an ottoman with pillows. Cleanliness was not the order of the day, so there were many inhabitants besides ourselves. Our view was not enlivening, as we looked out on the Scutari burying ground, where tall, sombre cypress-trees waved sadly over the tombs of thousands of Mahomet’s followers. In the evening we went for a walk, and, seeing a crowd, we made towards it and found two Turksstripped to the skin, their only garment being a kind of bathing drawers. They were smeared with oil and were engaged wrestling. The wrestlers were not a very pleasing sight, but theentouragewas most amusing. Here was a Connaught Ranger in his neat red coat and white belt, without any weapon at all; there a wild warrior of some eastern tribe, armed to the teeth with formidable pistols and curved scimitar. There were women covered up to the eyes, but the eyes were soft and bright, Greeks with long pipes, Turks in green turbans, and Turks in white—a strange and animated scene.
A good story was told of a gallant colonel commanding a most distinguished regiment. He had been given quarters in the Sultan’s wing in Scutari Barracks. A pasha came to pay him an official visit, and, I suppose, approached with reverence the apartments sacred in his estimation. He took off his slippers at the door and entered the room, when, horror of horrors! what did he see?—the said colonel occupied frying pork in a dispatcher on the Sultan’s table.
A brother officer and myself crossed one day by the steamer which plied from Scutari toGalata, and there hired a caique. We were bound for the sweet waters of Europe. We were taken up the Golden Horn, and then floated past green hills and picturesque-looking cottages. All round us were hundreds of gilded caiques laden with handsome women in glittering attire, and boats whose Greek crews sang in wild chorus. As we proceeded onward the river became narrow, and we arrived at the sweet waters of Europe. It was a fairy scene. Graceful forms in lovely dresses were dotted here and there on the green grass under the shade of the trees, very transparent veils concealing their faces, their long fringed eyes beaming upon us, for the unbelievers were in high favour at that time. We passed also stately Turks, gay Frenchmen, steady-looking Britons, and wonderful Cinderella coaches. A gilded carriage approached, drawn by four black horses, covered with silver trappings; this was followed by a line of other gilded coaches surrounded by armed blacks. A lovely woman glittering with diamonds, her face barely concealed by the thin gauze she wore, was in the stately equipage. This was the Sultan’s wife. In the third carriage following hers was seated a mostbeautiful girl, by whose charms my brother officer was quite struck. Though he was jostled by the armed blacks, pushed by the escort, knocked by the Turks, he still kept as close as possible to No. 3 carriage. There are many old women at the valley of sweet waters who sell bouquets. One came near and offered some flowers to my brother-officer, who took them, and, watching his opportunity, presented them to this Nourmahal. She smiled and placed them in her bosom, and, taking a rose from the bouquet, held it towards my friend, and then pressed the flower to her lips, on perceiving which the armed blacks began to swagger offensively. The escort of lancers closed up, and, as the carriages were moving away, she rolled her handkerchief up and threw it at my bewildered friend. She then held a looking-glass towards him and pressed it in her arms, thus ending the romance as far as I know, for the gilded coaches and prancing escort all moved on and gradually faded from our sight.