In a short time we arrived at Mr. Upton’s house, and were very kindly received. Mr. Upton is a very short, fair man, still young, and very pale. His daughters are two of the prettiest little girls I ever saw, aged respectively nine and eleven years. He seemed to have suffered much from his confinement, but spoke highly of the treatment he had received from the English while in captivity. His goods were exposed on view, and the sale was to take place a few days after. Having been set at liberty, he was about to return to his native place, near Atherstone in Warwickshire. Everything connected with that gentleman and his family, as well as what relates to his late father, is too well known to require to be repeated.
Six days had elapsed, and I had received no news of the lost pony. The endeavours to find his saddle were also fruitless; and the pony was quite a secondary consideration. This put me in mind of a most extraordinary case of absence of mind in a man who had been gambling, and unexpectedly found himself in great distress, having nothing left but his horse, which was starving for want of provender. On a sudden, a bright idea flashed across his mind. In order to save it, he went and sold the horse to buy some hay. Had the Doctor found the saddle, it was ten to one against his being able to purchase another pony, they were so scarce at the time.
On the seventh day, I happened to be riding triumphantly through the camp with my tall guardsman Thomas before me. He was carrying a fine piece of roast-beef—or at least beef for roasting—which I had begged of the captain of a vessel who came from Alexandria, and intended for Lord Raglan. But I must here observe that it would have been dangerous to cross the camp with such a precious treasure unguarded, as some of those marauding Jack Sheppards of Zouaves would have thought nothing of taking possession of it. They always went in strong bodies, and were ever on the look-out for prey. I said to myself, “If, in the middle of the road, and under my own eyes, they will steal a horse, nothing is more certain than they will try to borrow this”—the word “steal” was not allowed to be mentioned in the French camp, the word “borrow” sounding more genteel.
The loss of the beef, added to the rumoured loss of the four horses, would indeed have afforded abundant materials for fun; so I sent my avant-guard by the road on foot, instead of across country, and followed him on horseback. This plan gave me an opportunity of seeing Mrs. Seacole, to thank her for her kind exertions, although the missing pony had not been found. On reaching her place, I found several mounted officers taking refreshment; when Miss Sally Seacole (her daughter), whose name I have not yet introduced, called out—“Mother, mother! here is Monsieur Soyer!” This announcement brought her out immediately, and she exclaimed, “Good luck to you, my son! we have found your pony: come down. Here are some officers who say they have had a grey pony like yours in the stables of their regiment these last few days. Didn’t you say so, gentlemen?”
“Yes, Monsieur Soyer!” said one, “but you must look sharp, for they are going to sell it to-morrow, if no one claims it.”
“Many thanks for the warning. I will ride over directly. Pray, what is the number of the regiment?”
“The 93rd—fourth division—near the Woronzoff-road. I am almost sure it is yours.”
“Well, my son,” said Mrs. Seacole, “didn’t I tell you that it would be found?”
“Really, Mrs. Seacole, I don’t know what I shall give you for the trouble you have taken in this affair. At all events, here is something on account,”—saluting her upon her deeply-shaded forehead, at which every one present laughed and joked.
“Gentlemen,” said I, “I knew you would be surprised; though it is very natural for a son to kiss his mother. At any rate, you cannot say that, upon this occasion, I have shown my love and taste for the fair sex.” A hearty laugh concluded this innocent bit of fun.