SOYER AT ODESSA

_To the Editor of the Times._

SIR,--From the arid and partly-deserted soil of the Crimea, and the everlasting view from Cathcart’s Hill of the now silent ruins of Sebastopol, nothing can be more refreshing to the mind than the aspect of a civilized and inhabited town.

I and a few friends agreed to make a trip by water to the famed city of Odessa, where we are now enjoying the favours of peace, and it is with great pleasure that I return our sincere thanks to the authorities and inhabitants of that city of palaces for the most cordial and charming reception which could have been conferred upon strangers after such a destructive war.

Being anxious to visit the public buildings, military hospitals, and the various institutions, I expressed my wishes to General Lüders, which his Excellency not only acceded to, but deputed his aide-de-camp, Colonel Scariatine, to accompany us in our visitorial pilgrimage.

The party consisted of Brigadier-General Staunton, 4th Division, Adjutant-General Colonel Smith, Major Earle, and myself.

This noble man, who spoke excellent French and English, was indeed a valuable _cicerone_. The most important of the institutions we visited are the Military and Civil Hospitals, the Foundling Institution, the Salles d’Asile, and the Hospital of the Sisters of Charity. We were received at, and shown over, the Hospital by the chief medical officer, Dr. Grime, and staff; at the Foundling, by the director, Mr. Fourman; at the Salles d’Asile, by the inspectress, Madame Pera Ergard; and by the Superior of the Sisters of Charity, Madame Marie Retchakoff--one of the latter had just arrived from Bakschiserai; she had been all through the campaign, and was slightly wounded in the trenches. She related that several sisters were killed in Sebastopol, and many wounded during the siege; the latter are now recalled to St. Petersburg, and enjoy the favour and patronage of the Empress. These ladies were most anxious to hear of Miss Nightingale’s doings, and spoke of her with the greatest veneration. They listened with much interest to my account of that excellent lady’s efforts in the cause of humanity.

All these institutions, though based upon similar principles to those in England and France, possess a type of their own, both as regards the expense and management. Cleanliness, simplicity, and judicious economy seem to be closely studied in all the establishments.

The culinary department, which, of course, was of vital interest to me, I found extremely clean and well constructed, though rather complicated. The boilers are made of wrought iron, which I at first sight feared was copper, but the lids only were made of that showy but dangerous metal in such vast establishments, where the apparatus is in continual use and tinning difficult to be often repeated.

We were at the Orphan’s School in time to taste their food, which consists of a basin of soup, one pound of meat, one ounce of oatmeal, and one pound and a half of white bread. The soup is of a thinnish nature, and strongly flavoured with pleasant aromatic herbs, the whole forming, no doubt, a very wholesome and nutritious food, and well adapted to the climate. Their beverage, which is the one of the soldiers, is called Quielyë and Chtschy in Russian, and Quataee in the Polish language. It is made with rye, mead, and a small portion of hops, requiring only a few hours to prepare it.

I must say that to an uninitiated palate it is anything but a pleasant drink, but, no doubt, very refreshing and agreeable when used to it; for after drinking one goblet of it my thirst was allayed for several hours during one of the hottest days I had experienced for some time.

Now, a few words for the epicures. The sturgeon, which is here abundant, and in England despised and valueless, forms a principal and an exquisite article of food, which is partly owing to the method they have of dressing it. On my return I intend to try and reinstate this queenly fish in its pristine fame.

Fresh caviar, which is made from the roe of the fish, is daily eaten by the Russian population as an introduction to the dinner. Crawfish of an extraordinary size are caught in the small rivulets close to the town; they are cheap and very plentiful. The tail and claws are generally the only parts eaten, and tons weight of the part which makes the exquisite bisque d’écrevisses are monthly thrown away.

The receipt of this excellent soup I have promised to send to the worthy host of the Europa Restaurant, he having promised to give it a trial, and thereby enrich his already luxurious bill of fare.

With the highest consideration, I have the honour to remain, your very obedient,

_Europa Hotel, Odessa, June 23._

We left the far-famed city of Odessa, and thus joyfully terminated our trip to that land of new friends.

Upon our return to Cathcart’s Hill, we found that General Garrett and suite had removed to the commandant’s house at Balaklava, the general having succeeded to that important post at the departure of Colonel Hardinge, which post he retained till the final close of this great political and military drama. My majordomo, my engineer, and followers, were not able, with all their bravery, to resist the nightly attacks of the Tartar camp-rovers. Robbery it was impossible to prevent; for they in one night, as I heard, cleared off everything out of doors, as well as an old bell tent and a box with the servant’s clothes. The matter at last grew so critical, that my people were obliged to fire upon them in the night at random. Such Arabian marauders are worthy of the finest type of Zouaves for pillaging.

I found also, on my return, that my people had, immediately after I set off on my trip, left the hill, at the recommendation of General Garrett. He kindly sent word that he did not consider it safe for them to remain there any longer. They were quartered in one of the wards close to the General Hospital, where some of the Sardinian sick remained. They had all daring, adventurous, and extraordinary anecdotes of what had occurred during my absence to relate. Shell-proof, in particular, pretended to have wounded several in the nocturnal engagements.

On his departure for Odessa, Mr. Wm. Russell had left his iron castle, with his farm-house, stables, garden, and dependencies, in a most nourishing condition; but upon his return that gentleman found the castle pulled down, folded up, and packed ready for removal by land pirates. He thus describes his feelings on the occasion:--

MY DEAR MONSIEUR SOYER,--What do you think? I am now a houseless, homeless wanderer: they have pulled down my house, so it is really time for me to evacuate the Crimea. The shell of the house only stands; and as I am not a lobster or an oyster, that will scarcely give me a shelter; so I must hang out on Cathcart’s Hill, in the old cave where Sir John Campbell lived long ago.

W. H. RUSSELL.

Upon returning to Balaklava, we found it but a dismal place. Everybody you met--and the number was not great--quietly asked, “What, not gone yet!--when are you going?”

“In a few days,” was the general reply, or perhaps “to-day” or “to-morrow.”

For my part, I told every one who inquired that I had gone, and what they saw going about dressed like me was only my shadow. Joking apart, I may state, for the information of those whom I respect and who deserve to know the truth, my reason for remaining so long was this: I was in duty bound to see the remainder of my field-stoves, which were in use till the last moment of the campaign, shipped for England. Not only was I responsible for them, but I had to give my official report to Sir William Codrington, and close the mission entrusted to me by the British Government.

Glad was I to be once more at liberty, as my health, though partially restored, was anything but satisfactory. The Commander-in-chief had gone to Odessa only for a few days, it is true; but during his absence there was nothing doing. Balaklava was deserted, the camp lifeless; Kadikoi still more so--not a hut, tent, shed, store, canteen, shop, or stable, was inhabited. Brick and stone houses, as well as hospitals, were to let at the very moderate price of nothing at all, and glad to get tenants at that rather reduced rate. It was not at all extraordinary for one to rise a poor man in the morning, and at night find oneself a large proprietor. Every person, upon leaving, presented you with rows of houses, shops, &c., which they could not sell or take away. Nevertheless, all was stale, flat, and unprofitable, as a day or two after coming into possession you yourself had to give them up. Riding through the camp, even at mid-day, was a dangerous experiment, as it was invaded by hundreds of people of all kinds and tribes, who prowled about, pillaging everything they could put hands upon. Therefore Balaklava was the only safe quarter, and dull enough into the bargain. The heat was great, and amusement scanty. Like the song of the Manchester operatives, “we had no work to do-oo-oo.” Eating little, drinking much, and sleeping all day, was our principal occupation. I removed from the General Hospital to a very comfortable hut, then recently occupied by an officer of the Commissariat, comprising three rooms, a stable, and yard.

About noon one day, while in deep slumber, I was suddenly aroused by a joyful voice. It came from Captain Hall, General Codrington’s aide-de-camp. “Hallo!” said he, “I fear I am disturbing you.”

“Not at all, captain; pray walk in--I have nothing to do. I was taking an Oriental nap, which calms one’s senses, to that extent that I had in imagination travelled as far as England and back again to my duty in the East in less than half an hour.”

“I have done more extraordinary things than that,” said he. “By the same conveyance I have been as far as the East Indies and back to head-quarters in the Crimea in twenty minutes.”

“You have certainly beaten me; and I think the human mind can at any time beat the electric telegraph for speed.”

“What do you intend doing to-morrow?”

“The same as to-day, captain--nothing.”

“Captain Leyland and family have just arrived in the harbour in the beautiful yacht, the _Sylphide_. I have spoken to him about you, and he will be glad to make your acquaintance. They called upon you at Cathcart’s Hill, but you were at Odessa. If you like to see that gentleman at once, I will introduce you.”

“Most happy, captain.”

In a short time we were climbing up the side of the bulky _Sylphide_, an immense yacht. From her deck, her beauty was seen to the best advantage. The real Sylphide was, however just perceptible, surrounded by a group of gentlemen and ladies, beneath a large union-jack which formed an awning upon deck. This was no other than Miss Leydell, a beautiful lady eighteen years of age, with blue eyes, fair hair, rows of pearls for teeth--in fact, a real Sylphide, a sight of whom would have driven Taglioni to despair. After I had had the honour of an introduction to her sylphideship and the surrounding group, the conversation became animated. The topic was upon a monster gipsy party which was to take place the following day in the valley of Baidar, and to which I received an invitation, no sooner made than accepted by your humble servant. The captain then offered to show us over his yacht, which might be compared to a nobleman’s floating house, for elegance, perfection, and comfort.

The Land Transport Corps and Commissariat had all left, and only the General-in-chief and Staff remained, forming the last link of the chain which still bound them to the Crimean soil. They were at the time preparing for an excursion to Odessa, on a visit to General Lüders. The excellent account of the courteous reception we had received at his hands, as well as from the inhabitants of that beautiful city, rendered them more anxious to go. Miss Nightingale was preparing for her departure. I was waiting the closing of the Land Transport and General Hospitals, to see my field-stoves embarked; and after delivering them in person to Captain Gordon, I was anxious to follow. Balaklava church, now deprived of its sacerdotal character, was being prepared for the reception of the Commander-in-chief upon his return from Odessa, as head-quarters had been given up to the original proprietors. General Wyndham, accompanied by his aide-de-camp, had left for England.

The _Algiers_ had arrived in port, to conduct Sir William Codrington to England, via, Constantinople and Malta. A few days afterwards, Miss Nightingale and nurses left for Scutari. All the hospitals in the Crimea were then closed.

A few days after the departure of Miss Nightingale, a marble monument of immense size arrived, and was erected, by an order left by that lady, between the Sanatorium heights and the Sardinian graveyard and monument, situated on the peak of a mountain. It is perceptible from a great distance at sea. The Nightingale Monument is a monster marble cross, twenty feet high, of beautiful Marmora marble. I believe it was ordered and paid for by that benevolent lady, and dedicated by her to the memory of the brave, and the deceased Sisters of Charity. Nothing was written upon it when we left; but the following line was, as I was informed, to be inscribed:--

Lord have mercy upon us. Gospodi pomilore nass.

Shortly after the return of Sir W. Codrington, Sir John Hall, the chief doctor, and Dr. Mouat departed. The only acting parties now left upon the Crimean shores after the awful struggle were, General Sir William Codrington, Admiral Freemantle, Rear-Admiral Stewart, General Garrett, Colonel Halliwell, Major Dallas, Captains Hollis and Barnard, Colonels Hugh Smith and Ross, and Captain Gordon; Mr. Osborn, the Commissariat officer, and Mr. Fitzgerald, the purveyor.

The last day, so anxiously waited for and so sweetly anticipated, had arrived. It was ushered in by nightly burnings of huts and canteens.

The day before our departure, and the one prior to the surrender of Balaklava to the Russians, being fixed for my grand review, after in vain endeavouring to induce several individuals to accompany me, I had to go alone, as nobody else took any interest in my solitary pilgrimage.

Even my Snow-hill Zouave at the same time pretended that he had too much to do to waste his valuable time, as he called it--valuable indeed was the word; for at that instant my Cockney Zouave, the brave, was busily engaged making a family drawing. A Stanfield would have been at a standstill at the ingenuity of this modern Joseph Vernet, as a marine painter. Miss Nightingale’s carriage had the night previous arrived at my domicile from a store in the Land Transport Corps camp, where I rescued it from a heap of vulgar wagons; it was now standing before the door of my hut, which faced the General Hospital, and had attracted the attention of Mr. Landells, the corresponding artist of the _Illustrated London News_, who was first struck at the many peculiarities of this vehicle, and afterwards more so with the production of my artist, when he broke out into a genuine shout of laughter, after gazing for an instant on my Zouave’s picture. Nothing for originality could have matched it, but a late Turner, in its _demi-chef d’œuvre_, from which the halo of glory had departed, and age had left genius alone galavanting from his palette to its now immortal canvas. Turner did I say--yes, and without disgracing the name of that great man; for in the presence of Mr. Landells, my modern Stanfield, who was anxious to gather as much as he could for the edification of his large family on a small sheet of foolscap, and being compelled from the great heat of the morning sun to keep in-doors, would occasionally get up and peep round the corner. On being asked by Mr. Landells how he could see from where he was sitting the entire range of the harbour, and more particularly the Genoese Tower, which was situated directly opposite the back of my hut, my clever Zouave, disgusted with Mr. Landells’ ignorance of the rudiments of sketching, and vexed at being disturbed, quietly replied, “D--- n it! did you not see me turn round the corner.”

“Pray don’t, my dear sir,” I exclaimed, “interrupt my artist; as you may perceive he is a regular Turner--round the corner, I mean.”

With the courage of Don Quixote, but without a Sancho Panza, I undertook my grand military review. I could not but regret the absence of my brave travelling gent, Peter Morrison, who, through an assumed illness, had three months previous abandoned the field of glory, thus terminating his brave and brilliant military career; for had he been still with me, I might have depended upon his formal refusal to follow me.

It was six in the morning: the sun was shining feebly through watery clouds; the breeze blew freshly; the road was moist, my pony in good order, sandwich-case full, leather bottle filled with brandy-and-water, and my revolver loaded. My mind was full of anxiety and wild reverie, for I was about to pass a review of, to me, a defunct army, with the fortunes of which I had been so intimately connected during the war. I knew that upon my return to England I should only meet a few fragments of this splendid force, and not the entire mass, as I had done in the Crimea. I had twelve hours before me.

I commenced at the Sanatorium Hospital, which had been to me such a scene of animation and vivid interest. A mournful silence reigned in this small wooden city. My kitchens had suffered the least in the terrible ordeal; all the framework and brick stoves were still standing, and looked just as if waiting to be again put in action. The grand row of huts forming the various wards, without being much disturbed, were rather in a state of dilapidation. Lastly, I visited Miss Nightingale’s sanatorium residence, situated on the peak of a rock at the end of the row of huts. This wooden palace, with its rough verandah, was divided into three separate apartments, giving it a more cheerful appearance than the rest. The iron stove, and its rusty pipe, beds, &c., had been removed, but the remainder of the furniture was intact. Tables, benches, wooden stools, empty pots and bottles which had contained medical comforts, a few rags, a piece of an apron, no end of waste paper, a pair of wooden shoes, and a live cat that appeared to have lived upon the remnants of the kitchen-diets, or more likely the rats, met my inquiring gaze. I caught Miss Puss and closeted her in Miss Nightingale’s store-room, with the wooden stool in daily use, intending to send for both at night. The latter I proposed to keep as a relic, and to restore the former to society by either taking him on board ship or letting him loose in the town. I sent my servant; but the pillage had commenced--the cat was gone, and I only got the stool.

Anxious to continue my tour of inspection, I ascended the mountain towards the old Sardinian camp, lately occupied by a few English regiments shortly before embarkation. In the space of a few hundred yards I passed not less than six cemeteries--viz., the one for the Sisters of Mercy and doctors, Sailors’ Hospital, Sanatorium, a large Turkish one, and two belonging to the Sardinian troops. Leaving the Marmora Monument on the left and the Nightingale Cross on the right, I merely cast a _coup-d’œil_ to the tumble-down Sardinian hospital and fragment of camp, and took the road to Kamara. Not a soul did I meet for three miles while crossing the rustic road, cutting immediately through the peak of these lofty mountains, with their base in the Euxine on one side, and on the other, through deep ravines, solemnly reposing on Balaklava’s glorious plain. No, nothing but a poor horse, who had been ineffectually shot, was grazing near a pool of blood. Life, the mother of all, seemed to have rescued him from the grasp of Death--the animal was no longer bleeding, the perforation made by the bullet appeared to be healing up. I gathered him a heap of grass, gave him some water from an adjacent rocky rivulet, washed his wound, and to my regret abandoned him.

Shortly after, I crossed through the late camp of the Highland Division, through the vales, dales, and rocky mountains of Kamara. Russian officers and soldiers had taken possession of Sir Colin Campbell and General Cameron’s head-quarters, with its green turret. Although no sentries were posted, any quantity of Tartars were wandering about laden with spoils of the deserted camp. What a contrast! Only a few days ago this picturesque spot was all life and animation; indeed the cloth was hardly removed from the festive board, the echo of the shrill pibroch was still vibrating through the adjacent mountains. It was there, only a short time since, that I bade farewell to the brave generals, Sir Colin Campbell and Cameron. Space will not allow me further to descant on the past beauties of this scene; a volume could be filled with its splendours. Not a mile from there stand the fortifications, and mud-built huts of the Sardinians, looking more like a deserted rabbit-warren than the abode of an army; it was on this spot they bravely withstood the attack of the enemy at the battle of the Tchernaya on the 16th of August, 1855. Gipsy families had taken possession of a farm and small church on the left, which is so well known. I looked with amazement at the once blooming gardens of the French camp, and the myriads of wild flowers. Death and desolation seemed then to be the only attendants on this once fascinating scene. Crossing the plain of Balaklava at full gallop, over the celebrated ground where the grand charge of cavalry took place, a distance of several miles, I perceived a white speck: it was the remains of the grand ball-room built by the French in honour of the birth of the Imperial Prince. Heaps of ruins were perceptible at a great distance; this was the once over-populated, but now deserted, Kadikoi. A few minutes after I reached the plateau of Inkermann, arriving near the celebrated windmill where, at the time of this battle, his Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridg

Immediately after ascending and descending three steps, hat in hand, I paid my last solemn duty and respects to the resting-place of the dead brave. A picture indeed it was to see the respect paid to those who had so gloriously died for their country’s cause--Père la Chaise or Kensal Green could not look in better condition than this solitary cemetery. With my heart full of emotion I bade adieu to this consecrated spot, and retired. Once more, and for the last time, I gazed on the ruins of Sebastopol. Life seemed to have deserted this once mighty city; one solitary chimney alone emitted smoke; the sun was still shining on this defunct place, which a few days previous I had visited in detail, and found still in the deserted state so often described.

Crossing Lord A. Russell’s Rifle’s quarters, I soon arrived in the Third Division. General Adams’s villarette had been turned into a farmhouse; sheep and other cattle grazed in the ravine.

From this spot I visited the General Hospital located in this division; which I found in a similar state as the Sanatorium. Not a sign of life was perceptible in this mournful spot, where so lately I had witnessed so many painful scenes. From here I journeyed to the Brigade of Guards, the theatre of my semi-martial _début_, having previously inspected the intermediate camp. All was as silent as the grave. A line of obstruction lay on the ground where once the busy railway passed. The Rokeby Castle and its vicinity had the appearance of a travelling caravan of gipsies reposing; children in rags escaped from the group to solicit alms; a few halfpence contented them. In the camp, the kitchen and a number of huts had been burnt down; the mess-room of Colonel Foley was still ornamented with the rustic chandelier which had been bequeathed to me by the gallant colonel before his leaving. Colonels Walker, De Bathe, and the late Colonel Drummond’s habitations were selected as a home by the wandering tribe of gipsies.

General Craufurd’s head-quarters were uninhabited; a few loose horses were grazing near, on the celebrated cricket-ground. The close of my visit was to the English and French head-quarters; in the former I was informed the proprietor had reinstated himself on his domains. The turmoil and traffic of war had here given place to the quietude and repose of peace. The post-office, telegraph, and printing machines had ceased their movements; the vineyards alone appeared refreshing to the eye. Dr. Hall’s snuff-box hut was left open, and partly unroofed; General Wyndham’s quarters were quite deserted. The rope curtains taken from the Redan, and laid on the ground before the hut door, was all that remained which I could recognise, as they had upon my demand, been presented to me by the general’s aide-de-camp, whose name, to my regret, has escaped my memory.

The French head-quarters presented a similar aspect, but was more animated by crowds of adventurers.

Having on my way home taken a glimpse at the ruins of the Seacole Tavern, Land Transport Corps, Army Works Corps, and hospital, I arrived at Bleak House (the head-quarters of Mr. Doyne the engineer), which was drearier than ever, and, like a lost balloon in mid air, entirely deserted; all that remained was the almost indescribable view which, at one glance, stamped the scene as something more than beautiful. From the rock where I stood I could pass in review the remainder of the camp, as yet unexplored by me. On my left once lay Colonel Wood’s park of artillery, and towards it were a few mules clambering, led by Tartars. At the foot of the hill were Captain Gordon’s late quarters; further on, on the next mound, were the head-quarters of the Land Transport Corps, in the occupation of Colonel M’Murdo and Captain Evans; but the most striking object in view was the combined Railway Station and Engine House, once the focus of noise, but now the abode of repose. In abandoning this rural spot, and running my eye a few hundred yards below me, lay a most charmingly built villarette, most suitably called Prospect House, which was the private residence of Mr. Doyne. Science had here conquered what was wanting in material; the goddess Flora had, like the owner, abandoned this pretty landscape; the dry soil and the sun’s rays had “dishabilled” each root from its flower. The cavalry camp and its numerous rows of stables were the last I visited. Dusk gently stole over the horizon when I re-entered the Col of Balaklava. The stars were brightly shining; it was nine o’clock; every bell in the harbour was tolling. Before retiring to rest no less than thirty-seven cemeteries did I count on my daily tablet, which I had passed during my solitary wandering.

The night before the surrender of Balaklava, a large fire broke out in the village of Kadikoi, which, had the wind been high, would have destroyed more than a thousand huts. As usual, the miscreant who had done the mischief escaped detection. General Sir W. Codrington was much vexed at this, as some huts had been sold to the Russian officers. I was, in consequence, deputed by Mr. Bennett, of the Army Works Corps, who was just leaving in another vessel, (at that time I was on board the _Argo_, and ready to sail the following day) to accompany the Russian officer to Sir W. Codrington, to inform him of the fact that the money had been received, and to request that it might be returned. Sir William, though overwhelmed with business, it being the eve of his departure, kindly attended to the Russian officer’s request; and the next morning, as I was going on board the _Argo_, I had the pleasure of meeting the Commander-in-chief on his way to the spot where the fire had taken place, in order to assure himself that the huts burnt were those which had been paid for. I had a short walk and conversation with Sir William upon various subjects, and took the opportunity of thanking him for the following letter, with which he had kindly favoured me, containing his opinion of my culinary services during the war:--

BALAKLAVA, _July 9th, 1856_.

I believe Monsieur Soyer to have given great assistance in showing the soldier how to get the best meal from the food that is given to him; and I have no doubt Monsieur Soyer’s stoves accomplish this purpose in a standing camp or barracks with but little expenditure of fuel. It gives me great pleasure to say that Monsieur Soyer has always been ready to advise and personally superintend the carrying out improvements in the system of cooking: his knowledge and attention have therefore been of service to the army in the Crimea.

W. CODRINGTON, _General_.

We then parted, the general going to Kadikoi; and I, to select my berth, and see Miss Nightingale’s carriage shipped.

The day turned out fine, though rather gloomy in the early part, and very windy. As the last day of such a series of fine weather, it was anything but a promising farewell. At twelve precisely, the keys of Balaklava were to be given up. A picket of the Land Transport Corps were placed on the small bridge at the Col of Balaklava.

A few minutes after, three or four gentlemen sailors, accompanied by some parties whom we at first took for heroic Kadikoi tradesmen, arrived at full gallop, crying out--“The Russians are coming!” which report spread alarm through the camp, and in less than two minutes caused all the troops, twenty-five in number, to be under arms, and rush full speed upon the assailants, by whom they were entirely defeated--as in a few minutes Balaklava was retaken, and has ever since remained in the hands of the Russians. Thus ended that friendly battle of which I was so anxious to be an eye-witness, where champagne flowed freely in lieu of blood.

The grand reception and ceremony was to take place at the Commandant’s head-quarters. A few minutes after twelve, Captain Stamaki, the new governor of Balaklava, made his appearance, accompanied by only one aide-de-camp. Being met by the English authorities, he made a full stop, and the password was exchanged, I believe, in the Greek language. The governor of Balaklava then galloped into his new kingdom. In about twenty minutes a body-guard of about seventy men, some on foot and some mounted, made their appearance. The horsemen, upon nearer approach, we found to be a picket of Cossacks. When about one hundred yards from the bridge, the British picket went towards them--the Russians having halted. This conventional performance lasted but a few minutes; and then, the British posts were relieved by the Russians as they passed on their way to the commandant’s, where they were received by Sir W. Codrington, General Garrett, Admirals Freemantle, Stewart, Captain Codrington, &c. &c. A squadron of the 56th, the last regiment remaining in the Crimea, were in attendance with their band. On one side were the English, and the Russians opposite, for the first time on duty facing each other in friendly feeling. The centre was occupied by the authorities. Amongst the group of lookers-on was the illustrious Mrs. Seacole, dressed in a riding-habit; and for the last time this excellent mother was bidding farewell to all her sons, thus ending her benevolent exertions in the Crimea. Having given her my parting salute, I left the _mère noire_ for the Black Sea. The sun shone brightly upon that animated group, now performing the last scene of the great drama enacted upon those shores.

A few minutes after the curtain had fallen, spectators and performers had separated, and all were entering upon their new duties. The last remnant of the British army was that day ordered to sail for home.

The weather, which had been rather boisterous, increased in violence; and in consequence, the captain of the _Argo_, with whom I had been in company since the morning to witness the grand closing scene, made sure that we should not sail till the next day. He therefore proposed inviting several of the Russian officers to dine on board. This I immediately communicated to them in French, and they politely accepted the invitation. The party was six in number: among those invited, was Monsieur le Conte de Maison, a French nobleman, who had lived many years in Russia, and was a large proprietor in the Crimea. After replying to several of his questions, I told him my name. He appeared doubly interested, having heard, as he said, so much about me in the Crimea. In Russia this gentleman was looked upon as an epicure, and probably the interest he felt in my acquaintance had something to do with the good dinner he anticipated. Dinner was to have been upon the table at six, and at half-past five the boat of the _Argo_ was to fetch them on board. All was settled, and a pleasant evening with our new friends expected. A violent shower of rain scattered us in all directions, and, much to our sorrow, we never met again.

We had hardly regained the ship, when Admiral Stewart came on board and ordered the captain to sail immediately. I went home through the rain to inform my people of the sudden change of orders, and found they had already heard the news and had started. I arrived just in time to prevent a Tartar stealing one of my horses, of which I had made a present to Mr. Smith, a wine-merchant, as there was no possibility of selling him. Horse-dealing with the Russians about that time was pretty much after this fashion: a rather decent horse would fetch from three to five roubles--which latter sum makes a pound sterling. Under these circumstances, to place them in good hands was not only a charity, but a duty.

Everybody had got on board, and the new-comers were under shelter. The rain fell heavily, and not a soul did I meet in my way from the General Hospital to the _Argo_, which was lying at the other side of the harbour. Nobody was out but myself, my horse, and my umbrella, which I had much difficulty in holding up in the gale I was then braving. The thousands who had witnessed and mingled with the noisy crowd which for so many months had encumbered the place, can form but a faint idea of the gloomy appearance of the desolate Balaklava.