“I will; and those vegetables-chollet I have submitted to your lordship will be the very thing for it. They are made of common vegetables, exactly suitable for that soup. It is by far the best, most wholesome, and nutritious for the troops.”
“I am confident of that,” said his lordship, going back to his seat.
I then went out through the side door to fetch my mule, which P. Morrison had been walking about the courtyard along with his pony. Jumping upon it, I rode up to the group, to say good-night to Lord Raglan and all present.
“Hallo,” Lord Raglan exclaimed, “where is the charger you had the other day? What is that you are mounted upon?”
“A mule, my lord, belonging to Colonel Dennis of the Dragoons.”
“Ah, you are much safer upon that.”
“I feel so, I assure you, my lord. The charger to which you allude belonged to Colonel Hardinge.”
“So I heard.”
“It was a good joke on the part of the Commandant. I asked him to do me the favour of lending me his light pony, and he sent me his large charger, which ran away with me, but fortunately not towards Sebastopol.” At this they all laughed heartily; and I and P. Morrison departed.
When we were about half a mile from head-quarters, we heard a sharp fusillade in the direction of Sebastopol, and there was a lull in the cannonade and shelling, which had not ceased during my stay at head-quarters. We proceeded to the Turkish camp, situated on the heights to the right, from whence we could plainly see the firing. The Turkish soldiers were in high glee, singing, dancing, smoking, drinking coffee, and playing no end of Oriental instruments, which, however well tuned, were by no means in harmony. They were bivouacked all over the camp; some of the officers who were smoking offered us chibouques and coffee, which we declined, as it was then so late. We left, thanking them for their civility.