CRIMEAN FESTIVITIES.
Cathcart’s Hill deserted--The Madrigal Club--Mrs. Seacole
again--Sally the Egyptian beauty--The dark maid of the Eastern
War--The Land Transport Corps Hospital--Conversation with Miss
Nightingale--Quiet at head-quarters--General Barnard’s
entertainment--Visit from three Russian officers--Strange
conduct--Visits--General Garrett’s disappointment--Trip to the
ruins of Sebastopol--A gallant cockney--A tremendous
explosion--Playing with live shells--A narrow escape--A clever
trick--Another accident--General Garrett’s lunch--Russian lady
visitors--Bill of fare--Tom Shell-proof--Arrival of the
Russians--The review--Grand banquet to Sir Colin Campbell--Grand
dinner to General della Marmora--Crimean cup _à la
Marmora_--Receipt--My grand
festival--Preparations--Misgivings--Green inspiration--Great
success--List of guests--The hut on fire--Music and song--Close of
the last party on Cathcart’s Hill.
On reaching home, I found Cathcart’s Hill as quiet and deserted as I did
on the 8th of September, but under less solemn circumstances, for
Sebastopol had then fallen--whereas now it was likely to rise again like
a phœnix from its ashes. The head-quarters of the Fourth Division
were wrapped in deep repose. I could not even wake my groom to put my
small charger into the stable; but this had often occurred before, and
gave me the chance of learning how to attend to my own horse. It is
true, it was nearly twelve o’clock; for in passing the Guards’ camp I
had paid several visits, and the kind reception accorded would not have
failed to detain the greatest misanthropist till a late hour. I had in
particular called upon Colonel de Bathe and the members of the Madrigal
Club, being anxious to ascertain from that body of artists when our
great festival was to take place.
“To-morrow you are invited,” said Colonel de Bathe, “to dine with us at
General Barnard’s, and we will settle that matter there.”
Having to meet Miss Nightingale the next day at the Land Transport Corps
Hospital in order to accompany her for the last time through the camp, I
managed to be there about ten o’clock. Miss Nightingale had not arrived;
so I made an inventory of the various kitchen utensils which were to be
sent back to England or Malta.
While I was waiting for the Sister of the Brave, I made it my duty to
pay my respects to the illustrious Mrs. Seacole; and, like a good son or
a ship in full sail, I was immediately received in the arms of the _mère
noire_. On perceiving me, she exclaimed--
“Hallo, my son! I saw you at head-quarters yesterday!”
“Did you really? I didn’t see you, Mrs. Seacole.”
“I dare say you did not, my son. I was amongst the great dons in the
vineyard, and had a very fine view of the proceedings. I met all my
friends there.”
“No doubt you did, Mrs. Seacole.”
“Very kind they were, I assure you; they all shook me by the hand enough
to last me for life. What do you think of the Russian general, Monsieur
Soyer?” Before I could reply, she said, “He is a fine man, and no
mistake; is he not, my son?”
She was in the act of dressing the wound of an Army Works Corps man, who
had been thrown, and was cut severely in the forehead.
“What’s the matter with the poor fellow?” said I.
“He is getting better now. What will you take to drink, Monsieur Soyer?”
“Nothing at present; it is too early, my dear madam.”
“Don’t forget, before you go, to come and take a parting glass with an
old friend. Mr. Day and myself will be very glad to see you, depend upon
it. By the way, how is Miss Nightingale?”
“I thank you, she was quite well the last time I had the pleasure of
seeing her. I have to meet her at the Land Transport Hospital this
morning, by appointment.”
“What nice kitchens those are of yours at the Land Transport Hospital! I
saw them several times; and the doctors and Mrs. Stuart are highly
pleased with them, I assure you. How nice and clean the Sisters of
Charity keep everything! You may say that of both hospitals.” Mrs.
Seacole then said, “What nice things they prepare in the extra-diet
kitchens for the patients! I tasted everything.--Pray give my respects
to Miss Nightingale, and say, if I were not so busy I should run as far
as the hospital, to pay my duty to her. You must know, Monsieur Soyer,
that Miss Nightingale is very fond of me. When I passed through Scutari,
she very kindly gave me board and lodging.”
This was about the twentieth time the old lady had told me the same
tale. Shaking her by the hand--
“Good-bye, my son,” said she; “I wish you had let me taste some of that
fine dish you made yesterday.”
“How could I, my dear mother? I did not know you were there.”
At this point of the conversation, the Egyptian beauty, her daughter
Sarah, entered.
“My dear Sally, how are you?” said I. “I never see you in our alley
now.”
“Go along with you!” said smiling Sally; “you are always making fun of
me.”
“Fun of you, my dear?--never. I swear by your blue eyes and black hair,
that I never do. Do I, mother?”
“If you did, it would not matter; a little innocent mirth now and then
does one good. For my part, my son, I could not live without laughing.”
“Yes; but you told a certain colonel that it was I who was dressed as a
Scotchman at the French ball given the other day in honour of the young
Emperor.”
“What harm is there in that? All the great people were invited, and why
should you not have been there?”
“Indeed, do you think mother or myself would go to such a place, where
the women wear soldiers’ clothes? Not likely. And what soldiers?--the
Scotch Brigade!”
We all laughed; and I then parted, quite pleased with Sally’s modesty.
Sally richly deserves the title of the Dark, instead of Fair, Maid of
the Eastern War.
On my return to the hospital, I found Miss Nightingale had arrived,
accompanied by the chaplain, Mr. Hone, who informed me that she could
not possibly go through the camp that day. As I was thus disengaged, I
called upon Mrs. Stuart, in order to inquire whether she required
anything in my department. To my astonishment, she informed me that a
field-stove, of which she was greatly in want to heat water for the
baths, had not arrived. As I had sent it with the others, which had
reached their destination, I promised to inquire about it at once, and
sent my engineer, Mr. Phillips, to see after it. It was, however, three
days before it was found. I relate this fact out of hundreds which
occurred during the campaign, to show the mishaps of so difficult an
undertaking. This I must repeat, that I was well supported by the
authorities, and my demands were always granted. To Colonel Macmurdo,
and Captains Evans and Power, I am greatly indebted for their
never-ceasing courtesy.
In conversation with Miss Nightingale, I did not forget to mention Mrs.
Seacole’s kind inquiries. She said with a smile--
“I should like to see her before she leaves, as I hear she has done a
deal of good for the poor soldiers.”
“She has indeed, I assure you, and with the greatest disinterestedness.
While I was there this morning, she was dressing a poor Land Transport
Corps man, who had received a severe contusion on the head. In order to
strengthen his courage for the process, as she said, she made him half a
glass of strong brandy and water, not charging him anything for it; and
I hear she has done this repeatedly.”
“I am sure she has done much good.”
I told Miss Nightingale that I had despatched Mr. Phillips in search of
the missing stove; and, as our visit was postponed, I bade her adieu,
requesting her to drop me a line in the Fourth Division at any time she
might require my services.
That day I had the pleasure of meeting Dr. Hall, who apprised me that
the troops would shortly leave the Crimea, and the Sanatorium be closed.
The Monastery was so already; and, as I had anticipated, the Land
Transport Corps remained the last in the field. Passing to
head-quarters, I found everything at a standstill. The Commander-in-chief
was out, the precise order of the previous day seemed in abeyance, and
General Wyndham was sitting to a celebrated Sardinian artist for his
portrait. It was taken in his Redan dress, which was freed from the
blood and dust of that day, as I think very injudiciously, which caused
me to ask if it was the same; the general replied that it was. I believe
the picture was for the King of Sardinia, to be added to his Majesty’s
collection of the heroes of the Crimea.
Captain Ponsonby was occupied in his open-air photographic studio,
taking portraits of everybody who came in his way, amongst them myself.
Captain Hall was herborizing in his _petite chambre_ upon some salad
cress and cheroots. Colonel Blane was very busy writing and giving
orders. Major Curzon and others of the Staff were very seriously
occupied lunching. In the kitchen, the stoves were cooling, and all the
cooks out. At the Post-office and Telegraph all seemed still. The
printing press alone was slowly going.
Upon returning to the dining-room, I found only a few at lunch; several
were smoking at the door-steps--in fact, compared with the day previous,
the contrast was so great, that it appeared like a holiday after a
week’s hard labour. The conversation turned upon the grandeur of the
review, and the success of the entertainment, which seemed to have given
great satisfaction to all.
In the evening a most charming entertainment was prepared for us at
General Barnard’s. The company included General Rose; the French
general, Bombaki; Colonel de Bathe, &c.
After an excellent dinner, at which a very fine turkey was the _pièce de
résistance_,--(it had been reared under the farming care of Captain
Barnard; this is a valuable quality in the Crimea: the turkey was
accompanied by a delicious piece of boiled ration pork, and in addition
two made dishes, two sweets, vegetables, &c.; the whole washed down by
delicate claret cup _à la Barnaby_,)--the topic of conversation turned
upon the great events of the previous day. Perfect harmony prevailed,
when suddenly a warlike sound was heard round the general’s wooden
dwelling. A friend entered, crying aloud, “The Russians--the Russians
are coming!” and three Russian officers immediately entered, saying they
had lost their way, and requesting a guide. The general’s first impulse
was to give them hospitality, and then put them in their right way.
Captain Barnard got up to usher them in, and soon returned with the
new-comers, who, we perceived, had not only lost their way, but also
their senses. Having seated themselves, the general asked them what they
would take. “Tout ce que vous avez” (“Everything you have,” instead of
“Anything you please”), one of them answered. To this the gallant
general demurred, not being at all desirous of having his place
pillaged, particularly in time of peace, after having escaped that sad
tribute during the war. One of them was quite unmanageable: he spoke
French, but was not such a good scholar as the Russian nobles generally
are; he made sad havoc with that fashionable language, and used rude
expressions, which were very unpleasant to the party. The Russians were
anxious to explain what they had been doing at Kamiesch, the recital of
which was much too droll to be pleasant. The noisiest of the party
poured out a large tumbler of brandy, and, before any one could stop
him, swallowed half of it, drinking the health of every mortal thing,
including the French, English, Russians, and the Turkish Emperor’s. One
who was more rational tried to appease him, but in vain. At all events,
after an hour’s desultory conversation, owing to the great coolness of
the general, we got rid of them, and they mounted their waggon, which
was anything but a fashionable one. They were going to the Mackenzie
Heights, and the French general, Bombaki, who was going that road,
kindly undertook to point out the way. They said that they had finished
twelve bottles of champagne at Kamiesch. Nice company this to drop in
after an excellent _petit dîner_, just as we were about commencing the
harmony of the evening! This strange incident completely broke up our
party. We fixed the great madrigal soirée at my hut for the 27th of May,
hoping on that occasion to be more fortunate. We afterwards heard that
the Russian officers were stopped at the Traktir Bridge, and locked up
for a few days--no doubt to give them time to get sober.
We began to hope that in case we should be visited by any Czarewitchian
company at our semi-grand concerto--and there were plenty daily in the
camp--that they would call before, and not after, their visit to the
then reckless town of Kamiesch, at which place a friend and myself had,
a few days previous, witnessed several very comical scenes. This was
owing to the influx of visitors from the different armies. It was more
particularly the case at the theatre, where the funniest part of the
performance was acted in the pit, stalls, boxes, and gallery, instead of
upon the stage. On one occasion, General Pelissier was compelled to have
a few of the new spectators boxed for the night in the guard-house, in
order to be allowed to enjoy the privilege of his own private box.
In return for their visits to us, both French and English officers daily
returned the compliment, and the Russians did all they could to make
themselves agreeable. General Garrett met with a very cordial reception
from Major-General Vassileffsky, who commanded after the departure of
General Lüders. General Garrett, in return, invited him to the
head-quarters of the Fourth Division, which invitation was graciously
accepted by the Russian general. I was spending the evening with General
Garrett, when he observed that he wished to give General Vassileffsky a
lunch, but that it would be a difficult matter, as he had no convenience
for that purpose.
“Never mind that, general,” said I; “send out your invitations, and
leave the rest to me. A lunch for twenty or thirty shall be upon your
table in due time.”
“They are coming to-morrow morning.”
“Rather short notice, general; but never mind, it will be all right in
spite of time: difficulties are common enough in time of war. Pray leave
the matter to Major Dallas and myself--we will turn out a lunch worthy
of yourself and your guests.”
I immediately set to work, and in a few hours extra provisions and
rations had taken various shapes and forms; some were being stewed,
others baked, and some boiled. Everything was going on so smoothly, that
I almost wished the lunch had been for that day. My men had returned
from their daily regimental rounds, and were all at work. In the midst
of this, the worthy general begged of me to give him a call, when he
informed me that he was sorry to say that the Russian general’s visit
was postponed, General Sir W. Codrington having invited him to
head-quarters for that day.
“No matter,” said I; “if your lunch is not postponed too long, the
provisions will improve, instead of deteriorating.”
“You think so?”
“I am sure of it, general. All the animal food we get in the camp is too
fresh: the beast is no sooner slaughtered than it is either in the pot,
oven, or on the gridiron.”
“We shall be about twenty.”
“So I perceive, and that my name figures amongst your illustrious
guests. You must, however, general, leave me entirely free on that
occasion; I will sit down to table when I think proper.”
“Do as you like, but you must sit down with us.”
“On that day, general, I claim precedence, and even command, over the
head of your division.”
He laughed heartily, saying, “It shall be so. To-morrow there is to be a
review of two divisions in honour of General Vassileffsky, and no doubt
the lunch will come off the day after.”
“Very well, general; only give me due notice, I will answer for the
rest. After such success at head-quarters, the Fourth Division must not
fail.”
As there was nothing more to be done, I gave my people a holiday to see
the ruins of Sebastopol, which they had not been able to do owing to the
press of business. I thought I might as well go myself, as my engineer,
Mr. Phillips, had not seen them. The horses were ordered--Mesnil and
Phillips accompanied me. We mounted and galloped towards the dilapidated
city, which, although from the hill it seems close at hand, afterwards
appears to recede further and further. We arrived at the Ravin des
Boulets--so called from the extraordinary crop of that article which lay
there after the ploughing of that piece of land by the hand of Mars, the
god of iron vegetables made of solid materials. Our gallant cockney
Zouave, who had never smelt any other powder than gunpowder tea, was
quite intrepid, and he mounted to the Redan as though he intended to
take it by assault. He was always ahead; and no sooner had a view from
that far-famed historical spot, of which he had so successfully taken
possession, than the rage of valour seized upon him; no one could arrest
his progress--he bounded off upon his steed several hundred yards in
advance, shouting in frantic enthusiasm, “To Sebastopol! to Sebastopol!”
My friend and myself were rather cooler upon the subject, and trotted
slowly along the ravine direct to the Mast Battery. I called my
invincible engineer back, telling him that he was going the wrong way,
as we wanted to visit that battery before going into the city. He
therefore returned.
“I tell you what,” said I, “young boiling-hot warrior from Snow-hill, if
you had been here this time last year, you would not have charged like
that; the Russians would have smashed your crown for you.”
No doubt they would, had I given them a chance; but I should have said
with the coward, Peter Morrison, ‘The time to show courage has arrived,
my brave fellow; let us hide ourselves.’ He had scarcely perpetrated
this old joke, when a tremendous explosion was heard, shaking the earth
under our horses’ feet and almost upsetting them. I made sure it was a
mine that had been sprung; and a few seconds after, a thick short piece
of wood, partially ignited, fell at about ten paces from my horse’s
head. The animal began to kick, and we were enveloped in a dense cloud
of smoke smelling of powder, and so thick that for a few seconds we
positively could not see anything. I expected that my two friends had
been blown into the air, and they thought that I had met with the same
fate. We soon perceived there was no harm done. Our horses advanced a
few paces; and upon turning the corner of the ravine, about ten yards in
advance, we perceived three sailors lying dead, as we thought, and the
ground about them covered with blood. Two of them were screaming; the
other had one leg blown to atoms, and was badly wounded in the other. We
lifted the man who was lying on his face, thinking that he was the worst
of all, when to our surprise we found that he had not been touched,
excepting by a few fragments of his friend’s limbs, which had fallen
upon his back. His companion was slightly wounded in four places: it was
a most extraordinary circumstance that his trousers were torn to
ribbons, and a piece of the bridge of his nose was taken clean off, from
which wound he bled copiously. We perceived that it was not a mine, but
a thirteen-inch shell, which had exploded, though not a vestige of it
remained near the spot; nothing but a train of burnt powder about five
feet long and three inches wide could be seen near the poor fellows who
had so imprudently risked their lives. We did all we could to alleviate
their sufferings. It was extremely awkward to meddle with the first, who
remained perfectly motionless, and no hospital was near nor doctor to be
obtained. I gave a French soldier five shillings to run to the French
camp and fetch a doctor: he did not succeed, but returned with a
stretcher. I also sent to Sebastopol, but without success. I had just
tied the poor fellow’s leg very tight above the knee, in order to stop
the loss of blood, when General Dacres and a number of officers who had
heard the report came to the spot. I told the general how the accident
had occurred, as it had been explained to me by the man who set it
going, as he called it. Although he was nearest to the deadly missile
when it exploded, he was not even scratched.
The affair happened thus:--About half-way up the hill they found a live
shell, and for amusement, as they said, rolled it about the ravine. In
doing this some of the powder escaped, of which one of the party made a
devil: this he placed on a stone. In the meantime the shell had rolled
some distance, leaving in its course a train of powder. Not perceiving
this, he set the devil on fire; it communicated with the train, and
ignited the shell.
“How imprudent those foolish sailors are!” said General Dacres; “they
are all alike.”
As no doctor made his appearance, the general observed the best plan
would be to convey the wounded man on board the _Gladiator_
steam-frigate: she was the first foreign ship of war that had entered
the harbour. On our way we met two doctors who had been visiting the
ruins. They examined the sailor’s wound, and having attended to it,
followed him to the _Gladiator’s_ boat, which was waiting at the
floating bridge from the Karabelnaia to the French side. I saw him on
board, and the surgeon of the ship, Dr. Thompson, immediately amputated
his leg. The other two went their way, one of them patched up in four
places, but able to walk. I afterwards heard from the doctor that his
patient was doing well, and that he was a deserter, for which he would
be punished. “A double gratification, doctor,” said I: “that’s what a
sailor calls a day’s spree.”
The most remarkable part of the affair was the escape of the man who had
set the shell a-going; he was not even scratched. The reason of this he
explained thus:--“When I had set the devil on fire, to my surprise I saw
the flame running towards the shell; I expected it would explode, and
threw myself flat upon my face. My eyes! wasn’t it a rum ‘un!--it gave
me such a blow on the pate--the report, I mean--I can hardly hear now.”
That man was not four feet from the shell when it exploded. I consider
that we had a most miraculous escape, as our brave cockney observed,
looking as pale as though, he hadn’t a drop of blood left, though
generally possessing a regular rubicund face, the vermilion colour of
which nothing but a good coat of whitewash could have affected. He was,
in fact, quite stupified, and asked me if it was likely that another
would burst. “Very likely,” said I, “if anybody sets it on fire.”
“You in particular, my young fellow,” said I, “have had a narrow escape.
If I had not called you back, you would have been blown to atoms, as a
large branch was sent clean off a poplar tree near which you were
standing.”
The wooden fusee, a piece of the other fellow’s trousers, and a regular
fright, were some of the trophies I gathered of this sad event.
On our way home, our Snow-hill friend, who could not get rid of the
bomb-shell feeling, and felt rather shaky, related the following clever
move on the part of himself and Mr. Mesnil. It occurred a few days
before in one of the ravines, and he almost trembled in relating the
anecdote.
“Ah,” said he, “you blame those poor fellows for setting fire to that
shell. I’ll tell you what Mr. Mesnil and myself did the other day. As we
were walking, we found a live shell, and being anxious to ascertain
whether it contained those bundles of fused nails we had been shown by
Joseph at Stuart’s canteen in the morning, we actually took up a
sixty-four pound shot which was at hand, and pounded the shell four or
five times, in order to split it, that we might inspect the contents.
This did not succeed, so at length we gave it up in despair.”
“Never!” exclaimed I.
“We did, I assure you. Ask Mesnil.”
Calling him as he was riding on before, I asked him if it was true.
“Don’t mention it--it’s true enough. I have been thinking seriously
about it; indeed, I feel quite nervous. What fools we were! and what
luck to have escaped!”
“I never heard of such a senseless trick in all my life,” said I.
“Hardly any one would believe it.”
“The danger and imprudence of the act would never have struck me, had I
not witnessed this day’s accident. Let us change the conversation.”
After all, I must say it was very imprudent to leave them about in that
manner. The soldiers were rightly enough ordered not to pick them up
with the cannon-balls; but a hole should have been dug, and each shell
buried separately: then no danger could possibly have occurred.
This plan I had _en passant_ suggested to some of the authorities.
The next day another accident happened with a shell. A fatigue party
were engaged picking up round shot, and one of the men had a shell upon
his shoulder. His comrade perceiving it, said, “You have a live shell
upon your shoulder, and we are not allowed to pick them up.” The man
that was carrying it threw it down. It fell upon a stone, and
immediately burst, wounding three or four of the party, as well as a
poor rifleman who was sitting upon a rock at some distance eating his
dinner. He was struck on the head by a splinter, which cut away part of
his skull, exposing the brain. He was trepanned the next day; and
although he at first did very well, he died a few days afterwards. Such
accidents were of almost daily occurrence.
On reaching home I found a note from Major Dallas, General Garrett’s
aide-de-camp, apprising me that the lunch would take place in two days.
This delay gave us plenty of time to distinguish ourselves in the
culinary department. Colonel Halliwell, our excellent neighbour, had
left for good, as he was appointed to do duty at Balaklava. He was
replaced by Captain Brooks, his secretary, who was superseded by Colonel
Hugh Smith, and the latter by Major Willis. This department was of great
importance and assistance to me in removing the stoves from one regiment
to another. I here take the opportunity of thanking those gentlemen,
whose kindness almost made me forget, as far as business was concerned,
the worthy Colonel Halliwell, who had removed his head-quarters to
Balaklava, and pitched his tent upon the top of the hill facing the
Genoese Tower, called the Marine Heights. The Ordnance-house was his
place of business and mess-room; but now and then the warrior gourmet
elevated the gastronomic art to the highest pitch by giving small
parties on the summit or pinnacle of the rocky mountain. This was the
case one day when I called. The gallant colonel was very busy embarking
troops, but found twenty minutes’ spare time, in which he concocted the
most delicious _Mayonnaise de homard_ I ever tasted, and which was
partaken of by two Russian lady visitors. They were mother and daughter,
of high birth, and accompanied by a Russian officer. The party had
accepted the colonel’s invitation when he visited Bakschiserai. The
elder lady was one of the maids of honour to the Dowager Empress of
Russia. The lunch, though soon over, was exquisite, the colonel’s
servant being every bit as good a judge of good things as his master.
The champagne was as good as the Mayonnaise. As the colonel had to
attend to business after lunch, the Russian officer, Colonel Halliwell’s
aide-de-camp, two friends, and myself, had the pleasure of accompanying
the ladies for a walk. Nothing proved more interesting to them than a
visit to the Sanatorium Hospital, in hopes of seeing Miss Nightingale,
of whom they had heard much. The former they saw, and were much pleased
with it; but the good lady, to their chagrin, was absent at the
Monastery. They consoled themselves by looking round her hut; but there
was nothing to distinguish it from the others: it was, indeed, worse
built, having been put up in a hurry. Their enthusiasm was the pure
effect of imagination; and had we pointed out any other as the residence
of that lady, it would have produced the same result.
The decline of the sun apprised our Russian visitors that time was
flying; and they had far to go. We parted from them near the top of the
Crow’s Nest, one of the finest spots in the world to get a view of a
good sunset.
Early the next morning all the people in authority were astir. Generals,
colonels, officers, and men in light marching order, might be seen
quickly crossing and recrossing the plateau in every direction. I had,
with my brigade of cooks, been busy since daybreak, and a white stream
of communication had established itself between the general’s palazzo,
built of fine white stone,[26] and the villarette of your humble
servant, so conspicuously erected in almost the centre of the plateau.
This was no other than my cooks in their white culinary attire, running
like mad to and fro, fetching and carrying the portions of the collation
which I had prepared in my kitchen. At ten, to the minute, the party
were to sit down; at five minutes to ten the collation was on the table,
and in military order. The bill of fare was as follows:--
DÉJEÛNER POUR VINGT-QUATRE PERSONNES,
_Offert au Général Vassileffsky par le Général Garrett_.
Filets de turbot clouté à la Dame Blanche.
Cotelettes de mouton à la vivandière.
* * * * *
Relevées chaudes.
Les hanchettes de mouton à la Brétonne.
* * * * *
Pièces froides.
Le dindonneau farci à l’anglaise. Les poulets demi-rôtis.
Le gros jambon de Westmoreland glacé. Le gannet garni d’ortolans
à la Victoria.
* * * * *
La Macédoine Lüdersienne à l’Alexandre II.
* * * * *
Petits hors-d’œuvres.
Les escaloppes de mortadelle de Verone. Le thon italien mariné.
Les olives de Provence farcies. Les lamproies et sardines
Les anchois. marinées.
Les cornichons à l’estragon. Indian pickles.
* * * * *
Entremets de douceur.
Gelées d’oranges. Idem au marasquin.
Plum-pudding à la Exeter. Un turban Savarin au Madère.
* * * * *
The Crimean cup à la Marmora.
* * * * *
Dessert assorti.
Salades d’oranges. Compotes de poires.
Figues, raisins, amandes, &c.
My engineer, Tom Shell-proof, as we afterwards called him, undertook to
gallop round to the various regimental kitchens, and see that all was in
order.[27] This brought to my recollection the applicable and pithy
remark made by my friend Mr. Charles Pierce, who, in the preface of his
valuable work entitled _The Household Manager_,[28] says that “The
warrior general who looks forward to the successful termination of his
coming engagement, first, with careful study and practised thought,
views in prescience each possible exigency, and provides a means to meet
it, strategically considering the country in which his scene of action
is laid, and the appliances in all respects necessary to his victory.”
The school from which the author of the above-quoted work emanates is
Chirk Castle, where, upwards of twenty years ago, I first made his
acquaintance. His then young master, Colonel Myddleton Biddulph, is the
present Master of the Household to her Majesty. Mr. Pierce was himself
afterwards attached to the household of the reigning Duke of Lucca, and
was fellow-servant and a most intimate friend of Baron Ward, who
ultimately became not only Master of the Household, but Prime Minister,
to the Duke of Parma. Mr. Pierce himself, as is well known, is _maître
d’hôtel_ to the Russian Embassy.
At ten to the minute, the Russians arrived. After the introduction, the
guests sat down, and every jaw was soon doing its best; for in less than
twenty minutes there were only the names of the various dishes to be
seen, and they were upon the bill of fare--which was not eaten. The
Russian general, who has only one arm, ate as much as two men with the
use of both. A servant waited upon him, and carved his meat. Better
looking men I have seen, but not more military. He seemed as hard and as
round as a cannon-ball. Between three and five was the general’s hour of
rising in time of peace. When he told me this, I said, “Then I suppose
in war-time you don’t lie down at all, general?”
“Very little indeed,” was the reply.
“That I can conceive. But in time of peace you must admit four or five
to be rather an early hour to call upon a friend, as you proposed doing
to General Garrett.”
The general was a man of very agreeable manners--spoke French rather
fluently--had a very quick eye--was no sooner seated than he took a
survey of the company. The lunch was much relished--the speeches were
short and to the point, and all went on to everybody’s satisfaction. The
Russian general was particularly pleased, and highly complimented his
host upon the dainty repast, which he could not conceive was to be had
in the Crimea. His aide-de-camp informed me that he was a bit of an
epicure, and always kept a good table when at home. Both the
aides-de-camp were much taken with the engravings from the _Illustrated
News_ pasted round the walls of the general’s dining-room. They could
not make out how it was that General Pelissier wore a Russian uniform,
and Prince Menschikoff the French military order--that General Canrobert
was dressed like the Emperor Alexander II., while his Majesty was
dressed in the French general’s costume. Count Orloff wore the French
imperial uniform; and above all, their general-in-chief, Prince
Gortschikoff, appeared attired as a Highlander, while the Grand Duke
Constantine was rigged out as a Zouave. They remained some time after
the general had left the table, puzzling over these strange
contradictions.
“This,” said I, “was done during the cut-throat time; but now we are at
peace, and in future every one will carry his own head upon his
shoulders, and each military man wear his own uniform and orders. War,”
I continued, “is a mischievous evil, which turns everything topsy-turvy,
while peace will restore every head to its proper owner.”
This explanation appeared to puzzle them more than the thing itself; so
I showed them that the heads had been cut off with scissors and placed
upon other bodies. This amused them so much, that the general had to
wait some time for them. They were entirely engrossed by those
illustrated pasquinades, which appeared to be quite a novelty to them.
The review followed. Lord Alexander Russell commanded. The very next
morning, Colonel Lockhart of the 92nd Highlanders called at my hut, to
consult me about a grand banquet which was to be given at Kamara to Sir
Colin Campbell (only six miles off) before his departure for England.
Though it was impossible for me to undertake it myself, being still
fatigued from the effects of the exertions of the previous day, I could
not refuse my assistance. After a great deal of trouble and persuasion,
I prevailed upon Mr. F. Crockford to undertake it, and we made out the
bill of fare.
The banquet took place on the 9th of May, 1856, to the entire
satisfaction of all present; and a great day it was. The gallant general
had reviewed his troops that morning, and he bade them adieu, as they
were leaving the seat of war, where they had so nobly done their duty
both in and out of the trenches. The air re-echoed with shouts at each
sentence the worthy general uttered, till he was at last so moved by
their enthusiasm that he--Sir Colin Campbell--shed tears. Such was the
interesting scene which took place the morning before Sir Colin Campbell
left his proud Scotch Zouaves in the mountains and vales of Kamara.
A few hours after that touching martial ceremony I had the honour of an
interview with Sir Colin. He thanked me kindly for the trouble I was
taking in getting up the banquet. I availed myself of this opportunity
to request the general to favour me with his autograph. He smiled and
consented. The document forms one of the most interesting relics in my
Crimean archives, as the general addressed it to me, with the date, &c.
(It was also countersigned by General Cameron.)
The banquet at night went off admirably, and the _coup-d’œil_, for a
battle-field, was brilliant. About a hundred sat down to dinner. Sir
Colin Campbell made a very touching speech; so did General Cameron, who
succeeded to the command, and Colonel Stirling, Sir Colin’s
aide-de-camp. The evening closed merrily. After the generals and the
Staff had retired, the bagpipes continued playing, and all that remained
in the banqueting-hall commenced dancing--people, plates, dishes,
bottles, and glasses included. The next day, Sir Colin, after paying a
friendly farewell visit to all, embarked at Kamiesch on board the French
mail.
A few days before Sir Colin Campbell’s departure, a grand dinner was
given to General della Marmora at head-quarters, and Captain Ponsonby
called upon me to ask whether I could not prepare something new in
honour of the Sardinian general. I promised to turn my attention to the
matter. As the dinner was fixed for the following day, I had but a short
time to produce any novelty. The idea struck me that a new and well-iced
beverage would be very acceptable during the hot weather. This led to
the invention of the Crimean cup _à la Marmora_, which met with high
approbation, and was quaffed with great gusto at the grand Marmora
dinner at head-quarters. The receipt is as follows:--
RECEIPT FOR CRIMEAN CUP À LA MARMORA, OR POTAGE À LA
MER BLANCHE.
_Proportions._--Syrup of orgeat, one quart; cognac brandy, one
pint; maraschino, half-a-pint; Jamaica rum, half-a-pint; champagne,
two bottles; soda-water, two bottles; sugar, six ounces; and four
middling-sized lemons.
Thinly peal the lemons, and place the rind in a bowl with the
sugar; macerate them well for a minute or two, in order to extract
the flavour from the lemon. Next squeeze the juice of the lemons
upon this, add two bottles of soda-water, and stir well till the
sugar is dissolved; pour in the syrup of orgeat, and whip the
mixture well with an egg-whisk in order to whiten the composition.
Then add the brandy, rum, and maraschino; strain the whole into the
punch-bowl, and just before serving add the champagne, which should
be well iced. While adding the champagne, stir well with the ladle:
this will render the cup creamy and mellow.
Half the quantity given here, or even less, may be made; this
receipt being for a party of thirty.
I perceived that my anticipation had been fully realized, and that after
the proclamation of peace, the whole camp was converted into an immense
banqueting-hall. The continued demand for my assistance in reference to
dinner-parties, and invitations to the same, almost made me regret the
war-time, during which I used to live in comparative peace, at least as
far as high cookery went, having only to attend to my duties, which of
course I did not neglect. In addition to all this, I felt compelled, in
return for all these polite invitations, to tender hospitalities at
home, and thus kept my camp establishment a regular _petit_ Lucullusian
temple.
The day fixed for the grand festival was at this period drawing near;
the number invited increased daily, while the temple only occupied the
same space of ground. The places were measured to an inch, and it was
found that it would just hold fifty-four with ease, or sixty if they
were packed like sardines in a tin box. The number was therefore limited
to fifty. To do the thing well for such a party in the Crimea, required
both judgment and perseverance. In the intervals between the hours of
duty, I laid out my plans, how I should not only please, but also
astonish my illustrious guests. A number of regiments were daily
leaving; and this caused fresh invitations to be made and issued, in
order to fill up the vacancies. At last the day arrived. The morning was
very wet, and the sky clouded; two of my men were ill, as was usually
the case when anything of importance was about to take place; and
consequently the commencement was inauspicious. Owing to the rain, to my
great annoyance, the muddy soil of the Crimea accumulated in the hut,
caused by the ingress and egress of half-a-dozen soldiers, who had been
kindly granted for a few hours to fetch some green plants from a distant
ravine to ornament my _fête champêtre_ and harmonical soirée. It was
nevertheless very refreshing to see for the first time on the rocky
summit of Cathcart’s Hill the green branches of the valley and the wild
flowers of the fields. In less than two hours, the entrance of the
villarette, which before only presented the appearance of a comfortable
lucifer match box, or fifth-rate kiosque _à la Turque_, assumed quite a
rural aspect. My six brave fellows had mounted, not to the assault, but
on ladders and cross-beams, those indispensable ornaments in such a
villarette, and, as if by enchantment, had transformed it into a
perfumed bosquet, or retreat worthy of the goddess Flora. Bunches of
flowers, wild lilac, green branches, and evergreens were profusely
spread all over both the interior and the exterior of my villarette.
These were interspersed with small flags--red, blue, green, and yellow
paper lanterns. These decorations gave it quite a fairy appearance. Wax
lights were profusely distributed all round; and in the centre hung a
chandelier of original shape, constructed by the celebrated Tom
Shell-proof, of Snow-hill, London. The entrance was ornamented by a bold
bunch of evergreens and many-coloured flowers. Twelve glass lamps,
procured at an immense expense for this occasion only, were carefully
cleaned, trimmed, and hung along the front and roof of the hut. They had
been painted in blue stripes with ultramarine, by the celebrated
theatrical artist, Corporal Stainer. By twelve o’clock the interior was
finished--tables, benches, sideboards and all. The only thing to be done
was to clear out about half a ton of mud, as that sadly interfered with
the general appearance of the now enchanting spot.
All was progressing satisfactorily in the cooking department; the
weather began to clear up, and at length everything seemed to smile upon
my final and most difficult undertaking. Had this festival proved a
failure, my guests, who would, no doubt, have been polite enough not to
say anything on the point before me, must have formed a very
unfavourable opinion of my gastronomic knowledge, which I should not
have had another chance of retrieving. It was therefore of the utmost
importance that a failure should not occur, or even be thought of. To
my sorrow, I suddenly perceived that the turf which had been freshly put
down a few days previous in my grand green grass-plot and avenue had
turned quite yellow, from the effects of a burning sun. My outside
illumination--viz., lamps made out of ration fat, which then could only
be obtained by purchase (the soldiers knowing the value of it)--would
not consequently produce the effect I intended--the reflection of light
upon the green turf. Ambitious as I was of producing quite a novel
impression upon the minds of my guests, I felt much vexed at this
failure. While deeply pondering over the affair, in walked Colonel de
Bathe, with a most extraordinary long face. He said, “You see me quite
in despair: we have lost Major Neville and his brother, two of our best
madrigal singers, and I really do not think we can sing at all. You have
spoken so highly of our singing-club, and the company you have invited
will all be disappointed.”
“Do come, colonel,” I replied, “and, if necessary, I will sing myself.”
“I will come; but we shall be very imperfect.”
“Never mind: we will make up for that by wit, _bon-mots_, and frolic.”
I succeeded in reassuring the worthy colonel, and he left, promising to
come early. A few minutes afterwards, a man entered, and informed me
that I could not have the knives, forks, crockery, glasses, &c., which
Mr. Crockford had promised, as they had not been returned from Kamara.
He added that they would probably be back in the evening or early the
next morning. The French rolls I had ordered at Little Kamiesch the day
before could not be made in time, and the baker sent to know if common
bread would not do as well. “I should think it would,” said I, in no
pleasant mood. No more American ice was to be had at Kamiesch; and this
was indispensable for the crowning triumph of the affair, upon which I
relied so much--viz., my new cup _à la Marmora_. There were, in
addition, innumerable culinary vexations. It was by no means certain
that the promised band from the Rifles would favour me by attending,
as Lord Alexander Russell was absent, and General Garrett did not like
to grant the necessary permission in his absence, and no one knew when
his lordship would return.
[Illustration: A MODERN BOTANICAL GARDEN--NATURE OUTDONE.
VISITORS ARE articularly requested not to touch The FLOWERS]
Let me observe, the way I first saw the grass turn was not under the
influence of my friend, merry champagne. Not at all; but it had
playfully acted upon my mind, and given me an entirely new and original
idea. No matter how ridiculous it may appear to my reader, it was
original. This was to go to the theatre and get a pot of opal green
colour, and set some military artists to paint the grass, which was
quickly done to perfection. In fact, it was so well executed, that the
horses picketed near were actually taken in, and played all manner of
capers to get loose and have a feed. My guests were astonished, and
could not account for the sudden change, having noticed how brown it
looked in the morning. Well, reader, what think you followed this sudden
bright green inspiration? Why, the arrival of the crockery, &c., bread,
and the American ice, two fresh waiters, and Mr. Crockford’s cook, who
rendered great assistance.
Twilight was conquered by ration fat, lampion-shells were profusely and
artistically placed on the then green grass, tables sumptuously laid
out, the chandelier and wax lights ignited, the globe lamps in front of
the villarette blazing in volcanic splendour, the band of the Rifles
playing, and the noble company as nobly arriving. O Vatel! you felt
gloriously, for your banquet had succeeded; and while your wealthy
patron, the Prince de Condé, was receiving from Louis XIV. the praise
due to your genius, you were no more. All honour to your manes! I, like
you, immortal Vatel, had all the horrors of an unexpected failure before
my eyes. The idea of suicide did not come into my mind, as it did to
yours, noble defunct and incomparable _chef_! probably because I had not
the honour of wearing the sword of the courtier. Though I had a stock of
guns, swords, bayonets, &c., the idea of suicide never struck me,
inasmuch as all these weapons were taken as trophies from the Russians,
who were now friends and brothers, and those emblems of carnage would
have been disgraced if soiled with the blood of so humble an individual
as myself. On the contrary, though inclined to despair, I lost no time,
but opened a bottle of champagne for a friend who had just popped in. At
the second glass--_mirabile dictu!_--the thick curtain which shaded my
brow vanished; the unsightly brown grass turned green, and everything
appeared _couleur de rose_; and though no material amelioration had yet
taken place, I felt that success was certain. _Nil desperandum!_ How
many men who have ceased to live through an anticipated failure would
now be living had they struggled against adverse fate, and not been led
away by the dread of an imaginary evil!
The soirée was indeed in jeopardy; but in revenge I had the
gratification of receiving from every guest invited a polite note,
worded thus: “General, Colonel, or Captain So-and-so, will be very happy
to spend the evening at Monsieur Soyer’s villarette.” General Wyndham,
who was at one time uncertain whether he could come or not, sent his
aide-de-camp to inform me that he should be able to attend, and to know
the hour. Everything, in fact, tended to render my position more
unpleasant; and the proverb, “Plus on est de fous, plus on rit,” was
anything but clear to my mind. It would be clear enough if a good supper
and good entertainment were provided; but if the contrary, I should say,
“Plus on est de fous, moins on rit.” It was three o’clock, P.M., and
nine was the hour on the invitation cards. There remained but six hours
for success or failure.
O Vatel! my noble master in the science of _curée_, I then for the first
time understood the true extent of your devotion to your art.
Humiliation and dishonour awaited you; and Death--yes, Death! god of
Starvation, with his frail, bony limbs--was grinning at you. Fortunately
you lived in an era of gastronomic grandeur, when a _chef de cuisine_
bore a high rank, and had your own aristocratic weapon wherewith to do
the noble deed which gilds your name.
The gallant Colonel de Bathe was the first to arrive, with plenty of
musical support. The programme was settled. Each noble general, as he
arrived, was received _à la militaire_, not, as the song says, “sans
tambour ni trompette,” but _sans cérémonie_. Every one being acquainted,
introductions were not necessary.
At half-past nine the band, which had performed all the while, ceased
playing, and the grand madrigal concert commenced, followed by glees,
&c., and at intervals the band played lively quadrilles, polkas, &c.,
till eleven o’clock, when the supper took place. The band melodiously
accompanied the knife-and-fork chorus, the champagne galop, and pop, pop
of the confined corks. Shortly after, the amiable Lord Rokeby, who had
kindly undertaken the office of chairman, made a most affable and, to
me, interesting speech, dilating in high and flattering terms upon my
mission to the East.
After supper, the band again ceased, and, while they enjoyed their
nocturnal repast, madrigals, glees, duets, solos, &c., followed in rapid
succession. All of a sudden (I happened at the time to be in the back
room) an alarm was given by General Wyndham, who called out, “Soyer,
Soyer, your hut is on fire!” The general was getting up, when a young
officer sprang from beam to beam till he reached the top of the hut,
where a large paper lantern had taken fire and ignited the roof. My
principal fear was for my picture, painted by the late Madame Soyer,
called the “Young Bavarian;” which was the admiration of all my Crimean
visitors, and well known in London amongst the connoisseurs, having
repurchased it at the sale of the great Saltmarsh collection, at Messrs.
Christie and Mason’s, in the year 1846--(subsequently, when travelling
in the South of France, I met on my route the illustrious Horace Vernet,
and in Paris, had the honour of showing him this painting in his study
at the Institute, when he expressed his opinion in the following
words:--“That no female artist had ever painted in such _a bold_ style,
nor with such a truthfulness of colour and design.” He added, it was
worthy of the pencil of Murillo). It hung directly under the
conflagration. But, thanks to the gymnastic agility of our unknown
fireman, calm was soon restored; the band recommenced playing, and the
punch _à la Marmora_ circulated freely, for everything was abandoned for
that exciting mixture, even grogs and champagne. At about two o’clock
Lord Rokeby and General Craufurd left. I then introduced a comic song,
in which all joined, including between two or three hundred spectators
who had collected round the hut. As the hour advanced, the company
diminished; but at five in the morning there were still a few guests
inquiring for their horses. And thus ended the last party on Cathcart’s
Hill previous to the breaking up of the Fourth Division and its return
to England.
The following is an account, from the _Times_, of the banquet, and of
the names of some of my noble visitors:--
This evening, a number of distinguished guests honoured M. Soyer
with their presence at supper at his villarette near Cathcart’s
Hill. The exterior of the hut was illuminated with lamps fed with
ration fat; the interior was embellished with numerous wreaths and
festoons of the beautiful natural plants and flowers now so
abundant over the less-trodden parts of the plateau. Some glees of
Kücken, Mendelssohn, Fleming, &c., very well executed by Mr. Clarke
Dalby, Major Colville, R.B., Colonel de Bathe, Scots Fusilier
Guards, and others, formed an agreeable introduction to an
excellent supper--a triumph of culinary art over Crimean resources,
which was, however, soon subjugated in its turn by the ferocity and
unconquerable steadiness of the British appetite. Lord Rokeby
proposed M. Soyer’s health, and passed a high eulogium on the
services he had rendered to the army by his exertions to promote
good cooking and the use of palatable food; and M. Soyer returned
thanks with propriety and feeling, acknowledging the aid and
support he had received from generals, officers, and privates in
the introduction of his improvements.
Among the guests were General Wyndham, Chief of the Staff; General
Lord Rokeby, General Lord W. Paulet, Colonel Lord Alexander
Russell, Lord Sefton, Sir Henry Barnard, General Garrett, General
Craufurd, Colonel Blane, Colonel Hardinge, Colonel P. Fielding,
Colonel Drummond, Colonel Ponsonby, Major Dallas,
Lieutenant-Colonel Hugh Smith, and about thirty other officers.
About this time twelve months the long rangers, of which we wisely
held our tongues for fear the Russians would find out how
unpleasant they were, and redouble their attentions, might have
interrupted the proceedings very abruptly.