“Oh, that’s true again; well, but you may say what you like about bravery—let me tell you, Monsieur Soyer, that I did not bargain for being brave, and I think the sooner we get out of this the better. Only listen to the roaring of the cannon.”
We all laughed heartily at his fears and wry faces. Such were never before seen in the Crimea. At last we regained the redoubt, quite safe and sound, which the French corporal on duty attributed to their not thinking it worth while to fire upon us, and partly to the presence of a lady. He remarked that ladies often came to this spot to get a view, and that he had never known the enemy to fire while they were present.
“Well,” I replied, “we certainly cannot extol their gallantry too highly. But can they distinguish persons at this distance from their camp?”
“Of course they can, from their advanced batteries. Persons coming this way can be seen plainly five minutes before they reach this spot, unless they come by the Woronzoff Road.”
The sun was by this time fast sinking in the vast ocean in front of Sebastopol, giving us to understand that night was about to spread its gloomy wings over the camp, and that in less than two hours it would envelope us in its mysterious darkness, as well as the besieged and their assailants. Alas! how many of those brave fellows who saw that sun set never beheld it rise again. Such was the subject of our conversation while remounting our horses, with hearts full of emotion, and of the awful grandeur of this great war, which, instead of comprising four or five battles, might well be called a single one, or the hundred battle war, lasting nearly fifteen months without intermission, excepting only the few hours when the flag of truce was hoisted, in order that the last religious rites to the mortal remains of the noble departed might be performed. Oh war! war! where is thy fair side? Thou art only a paraphernalia of destruction and misery!
We started at a sharp trot, and were hardly half way to Balaklava when the dusk of evening was settled over the noisy camps, through which we were then passing at full gallop. Mr. Anderson, knowing the road, as he thought, endeavoured to cross the camp by a short cut, when we were overtaken by night, and lost our way. What with the regiments sounding their bugles and the drums beating the retreat, it would have puzzled the coolest head and annoyed the best field-horses. Finding ourselves in one of the Zouave camps, we inquired of the men in which direction Balaklava lay. A group of about ten collected round us, and very politely pointed out the road. It was in a straight line, and not so much out of the way.
“But,” said they, “you cannot cut across the camp, as this is the first day we hold the ground, and you are certain to be arrested by the sentries, and clapped in the violon for the night.” They also informed us that it was imprudent to gallop through the camp, for if the colonel was about, or it was reported to him, he would be sure to stop us.
Another exclaimed, in French, “Don’t be afraid, friends; the colonel is not very severe in cases in which ladies are concerned. The officers are now devouring their popottes and taking their evening grog. There is no danger, captain; make the best of your way, as it is getting late, and there are a set of scamps prowling about who would think nothing of waylaying you for the sake of a five-franc piece.”
Miss Nightingale, Mr. Bracebridge, and Mr. Anderson were riding slowly in front; P. M. was anxious to know what the Zouaves said, so I translated it as above, for the edification of my brave companion. We then started at a smart pace, but could not come up with our avant garde. We made another halt near a group who were sitting on the grass close to their tent, playing some game with a set of mutton bones, and drinking coffee. Others were singing their favourite African song, the “Beau Zouave d’Afrique—Vlan—sont toujours en avant—Vlan—Vlan—Rataplan—plan—plan.” Upon inquiring if they had seen two gentlemen and a lady on horseback, they replied, “Yes,” and pointed out the road they had taken.
On asking them how they liked camp life, their answer was, “Oh, very much in Algeria, but not at all here; the weather is so bad, and that trench business is such dull work. We should prefer a battle once or twice a-week in the open field to being shot at like so many rabbits in the trenches.”