It was midnight ere this jovial party broke up; and a few minutes after I was on my way home. The sentry on duty at the Col of Balaklava was calling out, with the lungs of a Stentor, “Who goes there?” to a group bearing lighted torches coming towards him; and several voices, in a mournful tone, replied, “Friends.”
“Pass, friends.” A sudden change of scene and sensation soon took place! On approaching the group, and inquiring what was the matter, I perceived four Sardinian soldiers bearing a sick officer upon a stretcher. He was followed by several others. The Sardinians at that time suffered terribly from fever and cholera, and their daily loss of men was something fearful. They were admitted to the General Hospital, as there was not sufficient room in their own.
Following the group with solemn interest as far as the General Hospital, I learned that the precious burden they were carrying was one of the bravest officers of this small though perfect model of an army. It was a Major Crossetti, in the bloom of life, his age only six-and-thirty, who was suddenly attacked by cholera; and Miss Wear (the head lady under Miss Nightingale) begged of me to go and offer consolation, as well as to interpret and explain to the doctors what his servant required. He had then only just been attacked. In less than two hours, the fatal malady had increased to that extent that no hope was entertained of saving him, though every attention had been immediately afforded. Alas! all was of no avail.
The contraction and sudden change of one of the finest and noblest military faces I ever beheld, graced by a beard of an auburn tinge, to the hideous transformation caused by that awful disease, will never be effaced from my memory, and is far too piteous to be described. I remained with him more than three hours, but he died during the night; his poor servant, a Savoyard, who had been with him from his boyhood, wept bitterly. Miss Wear, though very unwell, remained at his side till he had expired. He kept asking, his moist hand clasped in mine, “Pensez-vous que je vais mourir?”—Do you think I am about to die?
“No, no! impossible, so young!” I ejaculated.
“I would not care if it were on the field of battle; but I have done nothing for my country in this war.”
The words I addressed to him seemed to console him greatly. Miss Wear, however, informed me privately that the case had taken such a turn that nothing could save him.
A few days prior to my departure from the Crimea, my final reminiscence of this noble departed soldier was to see his name engraved on marble in letters of gold on the grand national Sardinian Monument so picturesquely situated on the summit of the high rock above the Sanatorium.
A few days after this, the London and its bridge was in more confusion than ever, and the landing of the Sardinian troops appeared a mere trifle compared with this unexpected movement. It was the departure of the fleet for Kertch, and the whole of the troops, horses, provisions, ammunition, &c., passed over our then almost uninhabitable City of London. I must say, the precision and celerity with which this fleet was embarked and despatched was admirable. The evening before, I had promised to go early and superintend the cooking of one of the regiments, when, to my great surprise, I found the colonel, his officers, and men upon deck just embarking. I was with them the afternoon before till three o’clock, and they then knew nothing about it. Admiral Boxer came and informed me that the London was to follow the expedition, and he was under the necessity of removing us, not much to our sorrow, for the everlasting thoroughfare made our nautical London very disagreeable; and it was with great delight that we left town for a quieter and better habitation, observing at the same time to the admiral, that I feared I was in disgrace both with the army and navy.
“Why so, Monsieur Soyer?”