HOLIDAY IN THE CAMP--A NEW ENEMY, TIME--AMUSEMENTS IN
THE CRIMEA--MY SHARE IN THEM--DINNER AT SPRING HILL--AT
THE RACES--CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE BRITISH HOTEL--NEW
YEAR'S DAY IN THE HOSPITAL.
Well, the great work was accomplished--Sebastopol was taken. The
Russians had retired sullenly to their stronghold on the north side of
the harbour, from which, every now and then, they sent a few vain shot
and shell, which sent the amateurs in the streets of Sebastopol
scampering, but gave the experienced no concern. In a few days the
camp could find plenty to talk about in their novel position--and what
then? What was to be done? More fighting? Another equally terrible and
lengthy siege of the north? That was the business of a few at
head-quarters and in council at home, between whom the electric wires
flashed many a message. In the meanwhile, the real workers applied
themselves to plan amusements, and the same energy and activity which
had made Sebastopol a heap of ruins and a well-filled cemetery--which
had dug the miles of trenches, and held them when made against a
desperate foe--which had manned the many guns, and worked them so
well, set to work as eager to kill their present enemy, Time, as they
had lately been to destroy their fled enemies, the Russians.
All who were before Sebastopol will long remember the beautiful autumn
which succeeded to so eventful a summer, and ushered in so pleasantly
the second winter of the campaign. It was appreciated as only those
who earn the right to enjoyment can enjoy relaxation. The camp was
full of visitors of every rank. They thronged the streets of
Sebastopol, sketching its ruins and setting up photographic apparatus,
in contemptuous indifference of the shot with which the Russians
generally favoured every conspicuous group.
Pleasure was hunted keenly. Cricket matches, pic-nics, dinner parties,
races, theatricals, all found their admirers. My restaurant was always
full, and once more merry laughter was heard, and many a dinner party
was held, beneath the iron roof of the British Hotel. Several were
given in compliment to our allies, and many distinguished Frenchmen
have tested my powers of cooking. You might have seen at one party
some of their most famous officers. At once were present a Prince of
the Imperial family of France, the Duc de Rouchefoucault, and a
certain corporal in the French service, who was perhaps the best known
man in the whole army, the Viscount Talon. They expressed themselves
highly gratified at the _carte_, and perhaps were not a little
surprised as course after course made its appearance, and to soup and
fish succeeded turkeys, saddle of mutton, fowls, ham, tongue, curry,
pastry of many sorts, custards, jelly, blanc-mange, and olives. I took
a peculiar pride in doing my best when they were present, for I knew a
little of the secrets of the French commissariat. I wonder if the
world will ever know more. I wonder if the system of secresy which has
so long kept veiled the sufferings of the French army before
Sebastopol will ever yield to truth. I used to guess something of
those sufferings when I saw, even after the fall of Sebastopol,
half-starved French soldiers prowling about my store, taking eagerly
even what the Turks rejected as unfit for human food; and no one could
accuse _them_ of squeamishness. I cannot but believe that in some
desks or bureaux lie notes or diaries which shall one day be given to
the world; and when this happens, the terrible distresses of the
English army will pall before the unheard-of sufferings of the French.
It is true that they carried from Sebastopol the lion's share of
glory. My belief is that they deserved it, having borne by far a
larger proportion of suffering.
There were few dinners at Spring Hill at which the guests did not show
their appreciation of their hostess's labour by drinking her health;
and at the dinner I have above alluded to, the toast was responded to
with such enthusiasm that I felt compelled to put my acknowledgments
into the form of a little speech, which Talon interpreted to his
countrymen. The French Prince was, after this occasion, several times
at the British Hotel. He was there once when some Americans were
received by me with scarcely that cordiality which I have been told
distinguished my reception of guests; and upon their leaving I told
him--quite forgetting his own connection with America--of my prejudice
against the Yankees. He heard me for a little while, and then he
interrupted me.
"Tenez! Madame Seacole, I too am American a little."
What a pity I was not born a countess! I am sure I should have made a
capital courtier. Witness my impromptu answer:--
"I should never have guessed it, Prince."--And he seemed amused.
With the theatricals directly I had nothing to do. Had I been a little
younger the companies would very likely have been glad of me, for no
one liked to sacrifice their beards to become Miss Julia or plain Mary
Ann; and even the beardless subalterns had voices which no coaxing
could soften down. But I lent them plenty of dresses; indeed, it was
the only airing which a great many gay-coloured muslins had in the
Crimea. How was I to know when I brought them what camp-life was? And
in addition to this, I found it necessary to convert my kitchen into a
temporary green-room, where, to the wonderment, and perhaps scandal,
of the black cook, the ladies of the company of the 1st Royals were
taught to manage their petticoats with becoming grace, and neither to
show their awkward booted ankles, nor trip themselves up over their
trains. It was a difficult task in many respects. Although I laced
them in until they grew blue in the face, their waists were a disgrace
to the sex; while--crinoline being unknown then--my struggles to give
them becoming _embonpoint_ may be imagined. It was not until a year
later that _Punch_ thought of using a clothes-basket; and I would have
given much for such a hint when I was dresser to the theatrical
company of the 1st Royals. The hair was another difficulty. To be
sure, there was plenty in the camp, only it was in the wrong place,
and many an application was made to me for a set of curls. However, I
am happy to say I am not become a customer of the wigmakers yet.
My recollections of hunting in the Crimea are confined to seeing
troops of horsemen sweep by with shouts and yells after some wretched
dog. Once I was very nearly frightened out of my wits--my first
impression being that the Russians had carried into effect their old
threat of driving us into the sea--by the startling appearance of a
large body of horsemen tearing down the hill after, apparently,
nothing. However I discovered in good time that, in default of vermin,
they were chasing a brother officer with a paper bag.
My experience of Crimean races are perfect, for I was present, in the
character of cantiniere, at all the more important meetings. Some of
them took place before Christmas, and some after; but I shall exhaust
the subject at once. I had no little difficulty to get the things on
to the course; and in particular, after I had sat up the whole night
making preparations for the December races, at the Monastery of St.
George, I could not get my poor mules over the rough country, and
found myself, in the middle of the day, some miles from the course. At
last I gave it up as hopeless, and, dismounting, sat down by the
roadside to consider how I could possibly dispose of the piles of
sandwiches, bread, cheese, pies, and tarts, which had been prepared
for the hungry spectators. At last, some officers, who expected me
long before, came to look after me, and by their aid we reached the
course.
I was better off at the next meeting, for a kind-hearted Major of
Artillery provided me with a small bell-tent that was very useful, and
enabled me to keep my stores out of reach of the light-fingered
gentry, who were as busy in the Crimea as at Epsom or Hampton Court.
Over this tent waved the flag of the British Hotel, but, during the
day, it was struck, for an accident happening to one Captain D----, he
was brought to my tent insensible, where I quickly improvised a couch
of some straw, covered with the Union Jack, and brought him round. I
mention this trifle to show how ready of contrivance a little
campaigning causes one to become. I had several patients in
consequence of accidents at the races. Nor was I altogether free from
accidents myself. On the occasion of the races by the Tchernaya, after
the armistice, my cart, on turning a sudden bend in the steep track,
upset, and the crates, containing plates and dishes, rolled over and
over until their contents were completely broken up; so that I was
reduced to hand about sandwiches, etc., on broken pieces of
earthenware and scraps of paper. I saved some glasses, but not many,
and some of the officers were obliged to drink out of stiff paper
twisted into funnel-shaped glasses.
It was astonishing how well the managers of these Crimean races had
contrived to imitate the old familiar scenes at home. You might well
wonder where the racing saddles and boots, and silk caps and jackets
had come from; but our connection with England was very different to
what it had been when I first came to the Crimea, and many a wife and
sister's fingers had been busy making the racing gear for the Crimea
meetings. And in order that the course should still more closely
resemble Ascot or Epsom, some soldiers blackened their faces and came
out as Ethiopian serenaders admirably, although it would puzzle the
most ingenious to guess where they got their wigs and banjoes from. I
caught one of them behind my tent in the act of knocking off the neck
of a bottle of champagne, and, paralysed by the wine's hasty exit, the
only excuse he offered was, that he wanted to know if the officers'
luxury was better than rum.
A few weeks before Christmas, happened that fearful explosion, in the
French ammunition park, which destroyed so many lives. We had
experienced nothing at all like it before. The earth beneath us, even
at the distance of three miles, reeled and trembled with the shock;
and so great was the force of the explosion, that a piece of stone was
hurled with some violence against the door of the British Hotel. We
all felt for the French very much, although I do not think that the
armies agreed quite so well after the taking of the Malakhoff, and the
unsuccessful assault upon the Redan, as they had done previously. I
saw several instances of unpleasantness and collision, arising from
allusions to sore points. One, in particular, occurred in my store.
The French, when they wanted--it was very seldom--to wound the pride
of the English soldiery, used to say significantly, in that jargon by
which the various nations in the Crimea endeavoured to obviate the
consequences of what occurred at the Tower of Babel, some time ago,
"Malakhoff bono--Redan no bono." And this, of course, usually led to
recriminatory statements, and history was ransacked to find something
consolatory to English pride. Once I noticed a brawny man, of the Army
Works Corps, bringing a small French Zouave to my canteen, evidently
with the view of standing treat. The Frenchman seemed mischievously
inclined, and, probably relying upon the good humour on the
countenance of his gigantic companion, began a little playful
badinage, ending with the taunt of "Redan, no bono--Redan, no bono." I
never saw any man look so helplessly angry as the Englishman did. For
a few minutes he seemed absolutely rooted to the ground. Of course he
could have crushed his mocking friend with ease, but how could he
answer his taunt. All at once, however, a happy thought struck him,
and rushing up to the Zouave, he caught him round the waist and threw
him down, roaring out, "Waterloo was bono--Waterloo was bono." It was
as much as the people on the premises could do to part them, so
convulsed were we all with laughter.
And before Christmas, occurred my first and last attack of illness in
the Crimea. It was not of much consequence, nor should I mention it
but to show the kindness of my soldier-friends. I think it arose from
the sudden commencement of winter, for which I was but poorly
provided. However, I soon received much sympathy and many presents of
warm clothing, etc.; but the most delicate piece of attention was
shown me by one of the Sappers and Miners, who, hearing the report
that I was dead, positively came down to Spring Hill to take my
measure for a coffin. This may seem a questionable compliment, but I
really felt flattered and touched with such a mark of thoughtful
attention. Very few in the Crimea had the luxury of any better coffin
than a blanket-shroud, and it was very good of the grateful fellow to
determine that his old friend, the mistress of Spring Hill, should
have an honour conceded to so very few of the illustrious dead before
Sebastopol.
So Christmas came, and with it pleasant memories of home and of home
comforts. With it came also news of home--some not of the most
pleasant description--and kind wishes from absent friends. "A merry
Christmas to you," writes one, "and many of them. Although you will
not write to us, we see your name frequently in the newspapers, from
which we judge that you are strong and hearty. All your old Jamaica
friends are delighted to hear of you, and say that you are an honour
to the Isle of Springs."
I wonder if the people of other countries are as fond of carrying with
them everywhere their home habits as the English. I think not. I think
there was something purely and essentially English in the
determination of the camp to spend the Christmas-day of 1855 after the
good old "home" fashion. It showed itself weeks before the eventful
day. In the dinner parties which were got up--in the orders sent to
England--in the supplies which came out, and in the many applications
made to the hostess of the British Hotel for plum-puddings and
mince-pies. The demand for them, and the material necessary to
manufacture them, was marvellous. I can fancy that if returns could be
got at of the flour, plums, currants, and eggs consumed on
Christmas-day in the out-of-the-way Crimean peninsula, they would
astonish us. One determination appeared to have taken possession of
every mind--to spend the festive day with the mirth and jollity which
the changed prospect of affairs warranted; and the recollection of a
year ago, when death and misery were the camp's chief guests, only
served to heighten this resolve.
For three weeks previous to Christmas-day, my time was fully occupied
in making preparations for it. Pages of my books are filled with
orders for plum-puddings and mince-pies, besides which I sold an
immense quantity of raw material to those who were too far off to send
down for the manufactured article on Christmas-day, and to such
purchasers I gave a plain recipe for their guidance. Will the reader
take any interest in my Crimean Christmas-pudding? It was plain, but
decidedly good. However, you shall judge for yourself:--"One pound of
flour, three-quarters of a pound of raisins, three-quarters of a pound
of fat pork, chopped fine, two tablespoonfuls of sugar, a little
cinnamon or chopped lemon, half-pint of milk or water; mix these well
together, and boil four hours."
From an early hour in the morning until long after the night had set
in, were I and my cooks busy endeavouring to supply the great demand
for Christmas fare. We had considerable difficulty in keeping our
engagements, but by substituting mince-pies for plum-puddings, in a
few cases, we succeeded. The scene in the crowded store, and even in
the little over-heated kitchen, with the officers' servants, who came
in for their masters' dinners, cannot well be described. Some were
impatient themselves, others dreaded their masters' impatience as the
appointed dinner hour passed by--all combined by entreaties, threats,
cajolery, and fun to drive me distracted. Angry cries for the major's
plum-pudding, which was to have been ready an hour ago, alternated
with an entreaty that I should cook the captain's mince-pies to a
turn--"Sure, he likes them well done, ma'am. Bake 'em as brown as your
own purty face, darlint."
I did not get my dinner until eight o'clock, and then I dined in peace
off a fine wild turkey or bustard, shot for me on the marshes by the
Tchernaya. It weighed twenty-two pounds, and, although somewhat coarse
in colour, had a capital flavour.
Upon New Year's-day I had another large cooking of plum-puddings and
mince-pies; this time upon my own account. I took them to the hospital
of the Land Transport Corps, to remind the patients of the home
comforts they longed so much for. It was a sad sight to see the once
fine fellows, in their blue gowns, lying quiet and still, and reduced
to such a level of weakness and helplessness. They all seemed glad for
the little home tokens I took them.
There was one patient who had been a most industrious and honest
fellow, and who did not go into the hospital until long and wearing
illness compelled him. I was particularly anxious to look after him,
but I found him very weak and ill. I stayed with him until evening,
and before I left him, kind fancy had brought to his bedside his wife
and children from his village-home in England, and I could hear him
talking to them in a low and joyful tone. Poor, poor fellow! the New
Year so full of hope and happiness had dawned upon him, but he did not
live to see the wild flowers spring up peacefully through the
war-trodden sod before Sebastopol.