“I assure your lordship the fault was more in the cooking than in the bad quality of the meat—some of which I found in a state of liquid putrefaction. No doubt, the meat was not of prime quality, and many improper things were introduced. Nevertheless, if the articles had been properly preserved, they would have been found as sweet when taken out as when they were put in. For example, the entrails of any animal might be enclosed in these tin cases in the state in which they came from the animal, and, if well preserved, upon opening them a couple of years after, they would be found pretty much in their original state, excepting being slightly discoloured by the cooking—but whole, and not in a liquid state, as those were. The meat was, therefore, either not cooked enough, or some atmospheric air had remained in it which caused putrefaction.”
“Could not any other way of preserving be introduced?”
“Many experiments have been tried, but almost all proved unsuccessful. I, at one time, made several myself, the results of some of which I submitted to Captain Miles, Admiral Berkeley, Sir Charles Napier, &c., and they were found very good. They were then about a month old, but the time the government wished for the test was a twelvemonth. I was certain they would keep any length of time, but as I was then very much engaged at the Reform Club, and also writing my cookery-book, The Modern Housewife, I did not pursue it further. The principal improvement in my method was the omission of the liquids previously introduced, either broth or water. I only put the meat in well seasoned, and left it to cook slowly in its own gravy; and when opened, it turned out surrounded by a firm jelly, and cut solid.”
“I should advise you to turn your immediate attention to that subject.”
“I will, my Lord, as soon as time permits. I shall now go and see your kitchen, and pay a visit to your chef de cuisine.”
“Pray do, and see whether you can contrive to improve it. I believe it is a very bad one, for he is always complaining. When you return, lunch will be upon the table, and you can take some refreshment.”
Thanking Lord Raglan for his extreme kindness, I took my leave. I was anxious to see Colonel Steele, to inform him of the result of my interview; but as he was out, I proceeded to the kitchen, which was some distance from the house, across the courtyard. The chef had gone to Kamiesch to market: I therefore postponed my visit, and returned to the dining-room to take some refreshment. Afterwards I went in search of Doctor Hall, whom at last I had the good fortune to find at home, if such a small place could be called a home. It was about ten feet square, and the height of a sentry-box, affording about enough room for four persons to stand up in, and only for two to sit down. This petit châlet was for all that nicely furnished, and the spot where most of the hospital business was transacted both for the East and the Crimea, it being the general head-quarters for the various medical departments. Such was the habitation, office, and château of the present Sir John Hall.
At the door I was received by his major-domo, a Frenchman named Louis, a very intelligent man, and one as well known in the camp from his extraordinary look, shrewdness, eccentricity, and style of riding, as the doctor himself. On alighting, Louis took my horse by the bridle, and walking to the entrance, introduced me to the doctor, who was very busy writing. He got up and requested me to enter, which I did.
“Pray be seated, Monsieur Soyer—I am very happy to see you. I heard of your arrival, and also of your former visits.”
“To-day, doctor, I have been more fortunate.”