DEPARTURE FOR THE CRIMEA.
Departure--Bosphorus gulls--The Sultan afloat--The _Robert
Lowe_--Splendid scene--Godfrey Tower--Sweet Waters of
Asia--Therapia--Buyukderé--The Giant’s Mountain--The Euxine--Naval
cookery--Miss Nightingale and the sick soldier--Divine service at
sea--Conversation with Miss Nightingale--Plans for the
future--Dinner on board the _Robert Lowe_--A travelling
gentleman--P. M. and the looking-glass, an anecdote--A mutiny--The
prison--View of the Russian coast--Bay of Balaklava--The
harbour--Cossack Bay--P. M.’s horror--At anchor--Moored for the
night.
The 2nd of May was the day on which we set sail for the Crimea. It was
indeed a lovely day--the air was redolent with perfume and freshness;
not a ripple seemed to ruffle the surface of the mighty Bosphorus, whose
ever-foaming current appeared to have buried itself deep in the bed of
that turbulent stream. A few caiques were seen here and there swiftly
gliding over its calm surface, occasionally disturbed by the dipping of
the sea-gulls. The Bosphorus gulls have a peculiar chalky colour,
differing from that of the ocean bird, which circumstance, no doubt,
caused Lord Byron, in his beautiful poem, to call them the ghosts of the
Houris, launched to eternity in the depths of that solemn flood of
romance, poetical love, and tragic reminiscence. While skimming its
surface they darted now and then with the rapidity of lightning down
upon a rash little denizen of the deep who had ventured too near the
surface of the limpid element to bask in the warmth of the generous rays
of that friend of the whole world, the sun. All was peace, love, and
repose. A vaporous golden tint seemed to envelope the world-famed city
of Constantinople--its mosques, forests of minarets, Golden Horn, and
European and Asiatic shores, with the Oriental atmosphere so peculiar
to the Bosphorus. Nature seemed to be in its most sublime humour;
heaven, earth, and ocean had that day agreed to be in love with
humanity.
On a sudden, the report of cannon is heard, and the roar of this fatal
messenger of war is echoed and re-echoed from every part of the city.
Caiques of large dimensions, gorgeously decorated with gilding and rich
silken hangings, manned by numerous oarsmen, leave the marble staircase
of the Dolma Bachi Palace. Numbers of smaller caiques follow in the wake
of this nautical procession, which directs its course towards the Moslem
city of Stamboul. As the flotilla passed close to us, we perceived that
it contained the Sultan and his suite, proceeding to the Mosque of
Sultan Mahomet--it being Friday, and the Turkish Sunday. His Sublime
Majesty is always saluted with about fifty guns at his departure, and
the same number on his return from that ceremony.
This startling shock awoke me from a kind of lethargy, and made me
recollect that I had embarked in a caique at Tophané, and that I was
then afloat. Of a sudden we were hailed several times from a large ship
close at hand, with the words “Chabouk! Chabouk! Balabak!” which means,
“make haste, boatman.” At the same time, the hissing of a steamer, just
getting under way, was heard. In a trice we were alongside, and a minute
after I was upon the deck of the _Robert Lowe_. A few words of
remonstrance were addressed to me by the captain. “Indeed, Monsieur
Soyer, we were going without you! You are full half an hour behind time.
Mr. Bracebridge and Miss Nightingale have inquired several times after
you.”
“Well, captain, I assure you they told me at Major Macdonald’s office,
that you would not start till noon.”
“That was our intention; but having shipped all the troops, I wished to
leave earlier, as we must make our time for entering the harbour of
Balaklava, which is now so full that if we were to miss our turn, we
might be kept outside for a day or two, and that would not be at all
pleasant, especially if we happen to have rough weather. Here is Mr.
Bracebridge; he is, no doubt, looking for you.”
The screw was by this time propelling us slowly out of the Golden Horn.
“Good morning, Monsieur Soyer; have you all your people on board?” said
Mr. Bracebridge.
“Yes, I have.”
“I have only seen your secretary.”
“Oh, I am sure they are here; I sent them on board this morning before
nine o’clock, previous to going to Pera. Pray how is Miss Nightingale?”
“She will be on deck directly. By-the-bye, is Mademoiselle a good
sailor?”
“Tolerably good; with this weather no one need fear being ill at sea,”
said I, “though I hear the Black Sea is so very changeable, and that a
tremendous hurricane often comes up suddenly even in the middle of
summer. At all events, we have a good start.”
We were then passing between lower Scutari and the Sultan’s palace, and
facing us was the Sound of the Bosphorus, presenting a most delightful
view of the European and the Asiatic shores. When I observed to Mr.
Bracebridge that it was a pity Miss Nightingale was not on deck, he
answered, “You’re right; I will go and fetch her.”
A few minutes afterwards that lady made her appearance.
“What a delightful day! and did you ever see a finer panorama?”
“Never, Monsieur Soyer.”
“What a glorious mine of subjects for a Claude Lorraine, mademoiselle!
It is much to be regretted that he never visited these Moslem shores.”
The vessel was now going at full speed.
“We are near Kululee,” said Mr. Bracebridge.
“Yes, we are,” said I; “and there is our friend the Bey on the palace
steps. Look at him, Miss; he is in his grand costume. I wonder what is
going on there to-day?”
“To-day,” replied Mr. Bracebridge, “is Friday, the Turkish Sunday. Did
you not hear the cannon just now, when the Sultan went to the Mosque?”
“Oh, yes, I not only heard it, but also saw the procession, and very
nearly lost the boat.”
“I was told you were rather behind.”
“So much so, that you were upon the move.”
Miss Nightingale observed that although the Kululee hospitals were so
well situated, it was reported by medical men that they were very
unhealthy, more especially the lower one.
“So I hear, Mademoiselle; but my opinion is, that it is owing to
defective drainage. They were making fresh ventilators in the wards of
the lower one yesterday, which will be a very great improvement. Miss
Stanley is gone?”
“Yes,” said Miss Nightingale; “she has been very unwell for some time.”
We then passed before the Godfrey Tower, proudly standing on its rocky
shore, at the base of which myriads of tombstones stagger about in
pompous disorder, under the shady wings of multitudes of dark
cypress-trees, the solemn guardians of this land of repose. Then we came
to the Sweet Waters of Asia, where thousands of Turks and Turkish ladies
resort on their days of festival. We next passed Therapia, where all the
foreign ambassadors reside in summer; and I exchanged a few words with
Miss Nightingale respecting the Naval Hospital there. Buyukderé, the
Brighton of Constantinople, came next; and the large marble palace on
our right, built, but never finished, by Ibrahim Pacha, and that of the
Sultan Valide, the Giant’s Mountain. Ten minutes after, we entered the
Euxine or Black Sea, full sail, with a fair wind and fine weather.
The Oriental coast had partly disappeared, and every one was anxious to
inspect his fellow-passengers, and find out whether he had any friends
on board. The vessel was crammed with military men and Government
officials, besides about six hundred troops. Having the pleasure of
knowing many of the officers, a general conversation relating to the war
soon commenced. Miss Nightingale had retired, with, several of her
Sisters, to their apartment, and very few persons were aware of the fact
of her being on board, and they were all very anxious to see her; but
evening came on, and we were not again favoured with her presence that
day. The next day being Sunday, Miss Nightingale and myself, accompanied
by the captain, went round the lower deck to visit the soldiers, who
were busily employed making their pudding. Having questioned them upon
their method of cooking, and visited the cook-house, I at once perceived
what facilities were offered to me for making an immense amelioration in
the present system of naval cookery, especially in the method of cooking
salt meat, &c. (See naval recipes in Addenda.) I took the opportunity of
giving them a few hints. Miss Nightingale heard that there were some
invalids on board, and she asked to see them. One poor fellow, who had
been suffering from an attack of fever since our departure, refused to
take his medicine. Miss Nightingale asked the reason of his objection.
He replied, “Because I took some once, and it made me sick; and I
haven’t liked physic ever since.”
We could not help laughing at his simple remark. Miss Nightingale said,
“But if I give it you myself, you will take it, wont you?”
The soldier, looking very hard at her, replied, “Well, sure enough,
ma’am, it will make me sick just the same.” For all that he took the
medicine, and seemed to feel very grateful. None but an eye-witness or a
disinterested observer can judge of the effect produced by a female’s
attention to the sick soldier. Far from home, he seems to hear the voice
of her who nursed him in childhood--a mother or sister. He will listen
to and receive advice, finding sudden relief from the cheering accents
of a woman’s lips, while he would scarcely take the slightest notice of
the kindest orderly’s attentions. The man was not aware that it was Miss
Nightingale. A woman’s friendly voice had spoken to his heart, and he
felt more composed.
The sun darted his rays almost perpendicularly upon the deck of the
beautiful ship, the _Robert Lowe_, which glided rather than floated
over that inconstant ocean--the whimsical Mother Black Sea, called in
French “La Mère Noire,” who safely bore her children upon her tranquil
bosom in the morning, and at night rocked the cradle with such furious
love, that she changed the smile of comfort to sickness and tears in the
evening. The sails were furled, and the awning was now stretched
amidships. About twelve o’clock all the soldiers, under command of Major
Campbell, about six hundred in number, met upon deck; and divine service
was read by the Major himself. Miss Nightingale, Mr. Bracebridge,
myself, and all the officers on board, were present. Nothing recurs more
vividly to my recollection than the impression made upon my mind by that
religious ceremony, performed so solemnly, between heaven and the ocean.
It appeared as though all were impressed with the sacred mission they
were called upon to fulfil, and that every brave fellow present was
saying his last prayer, and preparing himself in case of emergency,
should it be his fate to succumb on the field of battle in the defence
of his country, to appear with a free and pure conscience before his
Creator, in whose hands alone are the issues of life and death. Many of
those poor fellows afterwards paid that tribute to their country. Such
are the chances of war. This ceremony, though not performed by a
clergyman, had such an effect upon my mind, that I shall never forget
it.
The remainder of the afternoon was passed on deck, and as it was a day
of rest and delightful weather, we were favoured with the company of the
ladies, including that of Miss Nightingale.
Although I had frequently conversed with Miss Nightingale upon business
transactions, this was the first and best opportunity I had of
appreciating her amiable character and interesting powers of
conversation. For more than an hour I talked with her, upon the deck of
the good ship _Robert Lowe_. The subject was her duty, not of what she
had already done, but of what she was about to do. She gave me good
advice as to the best way for me to proceed in my new undertaking.
“Monsieur Soyer,” she said, “you will find everything very different in
the Crimea to what it was at Scutari, though you had there a great many
difficulties, the distance from supplies being so much greater.” We then
arranged that as soon as we were a little organized, our first visit
should be to the General Hospital and the Sanatorium, next to the
General Camp Hospital before Balaklava. The first thing Miss Nightingale
did after our arrival was to write to the commander-in-chief, Lord
Raglan, announcing it. I remarked that I had an official letter to his
lordship from the War Department.
“I am aware of that, Monsieur Soyer, and that you and Mr. Bracebridge
should go to head-quarters together the day we arrive; but it is
important his lordship should be immediately acquainted by letter of our
arrival.”
“Well, Mademoiselle,” said I, “you have been in the military service
longer than I have, and I am not surprised at your being better
acquainted with the rules of war than myself.” Miss Nightingale smiled
kindly at the remark.
Having had the honour and the opportunity of seeing Miss Nightingale
almost daily for above a year, my readers will no doubt be pleased, and
feel interested, by my giving a short description of this estimable
lady, whose fame in this war has been almost universal.
She is rather high in stature, fair in complexion, and slim in person;
her hair is brown, and is worn quite plain; her physiognomy is most
pleasing; her eyes, of a bluish tint, speak volumes, and are always
sparkling with intelligence; her mouth is small and well formed, while
her lips act in unison, and make known the impression of her heart--one
seems the reflex of the other. Her visage, as regards expression, is
very remarkable, and one can almost anticipate by her countenance what
she is about to say: alternately, with matters of the most grave import,
a gentle smile passes radiantly over her countenance, thus proving her
evenness of temper; at other times, when wit or a pleasantry prevails,
the heroine is lost in the happy, good-natured smile which pervades her
face, and you recognise only the charming woman. Her dress is generally
of a greyish or black tint; she wears a simple white cap, and often a
rough apron. In a word, her whole appearance is religiously simple and
unsophisticated. In conversation no member of the fair sex can be more
amiable and gentle than Miss Nightingale. Removed from her arduous and
cavalier-like duties, which require the nerve of a Hercules,--and she
possesses it when required,--she is Rachel on the stage in both tragedy
and comedy.
During the voyage Miss Nightingale conversed with the captain, Major
Campbell, and one or two more gentlemen on board. Dinner-time
arrived--four bells apprized us of the fact--the deck was soon cleared,
and the table surrounded. The _pièces de résistance_ were attacked on
all sides. The last decent piece of roast beef we were to see or partake
of for some time was that day before us. Miss Nightingale and the
Sisters of Mercy dined in their cabin. The conversation was so very
lively, that one might have fancied that we were going on a pleasure
excursion instead of the solemn pilgrimage from whence so many were
never to return. All bore testimony to the good fare provided by the
captain, and exquisite pale sherry flowed in the glasses, in honour
first of her Majesty, then Miss Nightingale, next the ladies, and last,
not least, the army and navy. Some good old port, with a fine crust,
properly decanted without shaking, was then introduced, with the
inseparable and justly-famed Stilton cheese and fresh plain salad.
This sudden change of countenance in the happy homely groups, who only a
few minutes before were as grave as grave--in fact, morally and properly
grave, exchanging peaceably word for word while upon deck, cannot be
attributed to the walk down, nor to the temperature of the room, or even
the charming architectural paintings upon glass which adorned the chief
cabin of the _Robert Lowe_, nor the laying out of the table, “which was
perfect.” No, not at all. It was the dinner--yes, the dinner!--which
made me heartily second the opinion of my illustrious compatriot,
Brillat Savarin, when he justly remarks in one of his immortal
aphorisms, that if there is one hour spent more pleasantly than another
in the course of the day, that one is the first hour at the dinner
table. Though he intends his remark for epicures, it can easily be
applied to all classes of society, according to the difference of time
each man can afford from his occupations or peculiar habits. But out of
this reunion of hilarity I will here give an anecdote which will
probably amuse, if not interest, the reader.
P. M. AND THE LOOKING-GLASS.
On the eve of my departure from Scutari I fell in with a travelling
gentleman named Peter Morrison, a personage of no small importance in
his own estimation, who was very desirous of accompanying me through my
Crimean campaign, and of making himself useful to me should his services
be required. Remuneration was to him a secondary consideration.
According to himself, “moving accidents by flood and field, and peril in
the imminent deadly breach,” excited his martial ardour, and these had
no terrors for him--while he was far removed from their sphere of
action. He afterwards gave us to understand that he was courting a
wealthy lady, who, being decidedly of opinion that
None but the brave deserve the fair,
had declared that none should wed her who had not both “fought and bled
for his country.” P. M., as I shall designate this redoubtable hero,
needed some such stimulus to risk his life in his country’s cause, as
the sequel will show; for he preferred, with due regard to his
complexion, albeit none of the fairest, the shelter of the _bays_ used
in my kitchen, to any laurels he might reap on the field of Mars, as,
when in front of the enemy, his courage, like that of Bob Acres, “oozed
out at his fingers’ ends.” But to our anecdote.
During a gale a few weeks before we went on board, a looking-glass had
been broken in the cabin, the steward, as the ship made a heavy lurch,
having sent his head through it while carrying a dish to the table.
Probably the glass was not set flat in the frame, as his head had made
a perfect star of a hundred jets. The circular hole looked just as if a
shot had passed through it. Three small boards were fixed across to keep
it together.
Whilst at dinner, P. M., who was sitting next me, inquired how the glass
had been broken.
“Upon my word,” said I, “I do not know; but one of the mates says it was
done by a round shot.” (_This the mate had said in joke._) The captain,
who was very jocular, perceiving P. M. was rather uneasy at the
information, merely replied, “Ah, and I had a very narrow escape on the
occasion. I was sitting at the head of the table at the time, nearly
opposite the spot.”
P. M. exclaimed, in great trepidation, “What do you say, captain?--it
was a cannon-ball which broke the glass?”
“I did not say so,” replied the captain, “but such, unfortunately, is
the case.”
“Well,” said P. M., “I do not like the job I have undertaken. You don’t
mean to say our lives will be endangered at Balaklava?”
“Oh dear, no; not in the least, except they fire upon us.”
“I tell you what it is, I shall not stand it; for I bargained for
nothing of the kind.”
“At any rate,” said I, looking at the captain, who was laughing in his
sleeve, “if you are killed by a shot or shell, or die by illness, all
your former bargains will be of no avail, and off you must go.”
“Had I been aware of that, I certainly should never have left Scutari.”
The next morning we heard that some of the men having raised a kind of
mutiny or fight on board, had been imprisoned. Being anxious to see a
prison on board a ship, I proceeded with Major Campbell to visit them.
The prison was upon deck, in the open air, and instead of being in
chains, the prisoners were made fast with ropes to the deck. Two of them
seemed in great trouble, having entirely lost their senses the night
before. They were trying to recollect and inform the commander how the
quarrel began, when another, who imagined he had completely recovered,
stated the fact thus: “General, if you will allow me, I will tell you
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; and instead of
kissing the good book, which I have not got by me, but which I had when
I paid my last visit to his Majesty the Lord Mayor of London, let me
kiss your glove instead.”
“We want no nonsense here; so look sharp, and tell us what it was all
about.”
“Yes, Colonel, I will, as far as I know. You see, Jarvis, who is a
relation of Martin’s wife, called her ugly names, and said she wasn’t
proper. Upon that we fought--Joe fought--I fought--till we couldn’t
fight any longer, and being dark we found it very troublesome, as we
didn’t know whom we might be hitting. I do not know who said she wasn’t
proper--I don’t know the wench--she might be proper, after all, for what
I know--that’s all.”
“Corporal,” said the Major, “don’t let those men land till I see you.”
By this time the Russian coast was in view. Breakfast was just over, and
everybody was on deck--the weather being beautiful. Miss Nightingale,
Mr. Bracebridge, and myself, with telescopes, were looking at the
convent and the monastery, still inhabited by Russian monks. The first
reports of the cannon of Sebastopol were here faintly heard--the wind
being favourable, as the captain informed us. On the right hand, on a
lofty high peaked mountain, the Russian picket was plainly seen mounting
guard. An hour after we were in the Bay of Balaklava, in view of the
Genoese Tower, planted on a high rock, at the elevation of about two
hundred feet above the level of the sea, at the spur of a range of
mountains extending along the shore. A few topmasts are all that can be
seen on entering the gorge; and no one can imagine, though so near, that
such a harbour is in existence as the one we were approaching. The
signal having been given by hoisting the flag on the top of the Genoese
Tower, we entered the far-famed, and now universally known, grand,
though small, Harbour of Balaklava, the entrance to which seems
impracticable. We then slowly threaded our way through that forest of
masts and huge vessels piled and packed so close together in the little
harbour. The principal vessels at that time lying there were.,--the
_Himalaya_, _Jura_, _Ætna_, _Leander_, _Star of the South_, _London_,
_Baraguay d’Hilliers_, &c. It is impossible to describe the animation of
the scene better than by comparing it to the emigration of a large
colony of ants from their habitation to a new quarter. Many people were
aware that Miss Nightingale was coming that day in the _Robert Lowe_,
and the decks of all the large vessels at anchor were crowded with
curious spectators, in expectation of seeing that lady, of whose
devotion to the sick and wounded they had heard so much.
COSSACK BAY.
We had no sooner entered the harbour than, to P. M.’s horror, he saw
painted on the rock in large letters--“Cossack Bay.” At this moment,
five or six ill-looking Bashi Bazouks, and as many Turks, with their
large turbans, yathagans, kresses, daggers, firelocks, &c., were
descending the mountain to the rock upon which the fatal name was
written, and immediately caused P. M. to inquire if they were enemies. I
replied that I thought they were, being upon Cossack Bay.
“I say, Monsieur Soyer,” said P. M., “this is beyond a joke; for if
those ugly fellows choose to fire upon us, they can do so as easy as
possible.”
“No doubt they can,” said I.
“I shall not give them a chance,” cried P. M., and off he bolted.
The _Robert Lowe_ had anchored, and was moored in her new berth on the
right-hand side of the harbour, nearly opposite the commandant’s house.
Although the operation of getting in had taken nearly two hours, so
interesting was the sight that no one had thought of making preparations
to leave the vessel, which is generally the first thing thought of. Miss
Nightingale pointed out to me the hospital called the “Sanatorium,”
situated on the top of the hill, near the Genoese heights and
fortifications. Turning round, she next pointed to a row of white
buildings, which constituted the General Hospital, which she said she
should like to visit that day if time allowed. Mr. Bracebridge came and
informed us that the captain would be happy for us to stay on board as
long as he remained in harbour, which might be a few days--or till we
found a ship to suit us. As it was impossible to procure either a house,
hut, or even a tent, in Balaklava, we of course accepted the offer. The
day was drawing to a close, and, as we were rather fatigued, we
postponed our visit to the hospital till the next morning.