“Do you mean to say there is no water at all in this grand vessel?”
“None, except soda-water.”
“Eh bien,” said another, “give de soda-water alors.”
“What, for the horses?”
“Oui, for the chevals!”
“Here, my man,” said I to one of the crew, “tell the steward to bring a dozen of soda-water for the colonel’s horse. Mind, colonel, it costs a shilling a bottle; but, as you are a good customer, and take a dozen, no doubt he will let you have it cheaper.”
“I will not pay a sou for this bubbling water. I know what you mean. It fizzes like champagne, but it is not good to drink. The horses will never touch it. I thought it was spring-water that you called soda-water.”
At all events, the soda-water was brought, to the great annoyance of the colonel, who thought he should have to pay for it; but I sent for some sherry and a few glasses, and we drank a bottle or two, instead of giving it to the horses, to the great gratification of the colonel, who, after partaking of it, said he liked it much better with sherry than brandy. About twenty banabaks soon after arrived with water in skins and leathern horse-buckets. The horses were properly watered; and thus ended the Sardinian revolt in the harbour of Balaklava, on the 14th of May, in the year 1855, beneath the ruins of the Genoese Tower and fortifications built by their ancestors.
The Sardinian troops and horses soon after crossed new London Bridge; by eight o’clock I was mounting my horse to go and meet Dr. Hall. The troops that had then landed were in full march towards their very picturesque camp at the top of the mountain; a band of music was playing at their head, and their artillery train and baggage-waggons followed. The weather was brilliant, and the heat of the sun intense. Louis was mounted upon a fine black horse, which the doctor had brought from Alexandria. Nobody but Louis could ride him, on account of his tricks. His appearance was worthy of the finest circus in the world for the performance of the high school of equitation. To this splendid animal Louis owed his reputation and popularity; and, as he lived at head-quarters, all the Staff knew him. It is hardly possible to describe his personal appearance. He was short in stature, with extraordinary large ears; his long moustaches, hair, and eyebrows were between the colour of a canary bird and that of the dun pony I was riding. His dress was of a similar colour, with the exception of his cap, which was, if possible, of an intenser yellow. This contrast of colours in an individual mounted upon such a splendid charger, caused him to be remarked by every one throughout the camp.
Our ride seemed very short, for Louis, who is a very clever fellow, was full of anecdote, and related some that were really very amusing. He spoke several languages, frequently mingling one with another. He spoke his own language, the French, worse than any other, he had been so long away from his native land. He was present at the battles of Alma, Balaklava, Inkermann, and the Tchernaya, where his charger was wounded close to the Traktir Bridge, he, as usual during an action, keeping in close attendance on his brave master, more especially if danger was imminent; and no better fate had he at the battle of Inkermann, where he was seriously wounded in the leg, and the traces of both wounds are, I regret to say, still apparent. On the eve of my departure from the seat of war, I, out of veneration for this once splendid charger, purchased him of his owner, who would probably have been obliged to abandon his faithful steed to the tender mercies of the hungry inhabitants, who, doubtless, had they got him in their clutches, would have given him a dressing à la Tartare, or perhaps converted his body into those suspicious articles of food, sausages. On his voyage home, in charge of a careful groom, Neptune had no more respect for this four-legged hero than for the commonest quadruped; for not only was he pitched, bit, and tossed about in all directions, but worse still, when the ship Clarendon arrived off Cadiz, she struck on a sunken rock, and the most valueless animals were thrown overboard; but “Inkermann,” with his usual luck, in spite of Mars and Neptune, escaped the plunge taken by his less fortunate companions, and is now in London, enjoying, as hitherto, his full feed, though in the profoundest retirement, having sold out of the army. Louis spoke very highly of his master, and never seemed to be pleased or displeased at anything—good news, bad, or indifferent, were all the same to him. If you said to him, “The weather is very bad,” he would answer, “I have nothing to do with that, no more than if it were fine.” On asking him, at our first interview, if he was a Frenchman, “Of course I am,” he replied; “all my family were Frenchmen.” I must say that, with all his eccentricity, he was very obliging; and I feel very grateful for the kind attentions he paid me, particularly during my serious illness, when he often visited me. Upon our arrival, the doctor’s horse was at the door, and his master soon made his appearance.