My dear Monsieur Soyer,—What do you think? I am now a houseless, homeless wanderer: they have pulled down my house, so it is really time for me to evacuate the Crimea. The shell of the house only stands; and as I am not a lobster or an oyster, that will scarcely give me a shelter; so I must hang out on Cathcart’s Hill, in the old cave where Sir John Campbell lived long ago.
W. H. Russell.
Upon returning to Balaklava, we found it but a dismal place. Everybody you met—and the number was not great—quietly asked, “What, not gone yet!—when are you going?”
“In a few days,” was the general reply, or perhaps “to-day” or “to-morrow.”
For my part, I told every one who inquired that I had gone, and what they saw going about dressed like me was only my shadow. Joking apart, I may state, for the information of those whom I respect and who deserve to know the truth, my reason for remaining so long was this: I was in duty bound to see the remainder of my field-stoves, which were in use till the last moment of the campaign, shipped for England. Not only was I responsible for them, but I had to give my official report to Sir William Codrington, and close the mission entrusted to me by the British Government.
Glad was I to be once more at liberty, as my health, though partially restored, was anything but satisfactory. The Commander-in-chief had gone to Odessa only for a few days, it is true; but during his absence there was nothing doing. Balaklava was deserted, the camp lifeless; Kadikoi still more so—not a hut, tent, shed, store, canteen, shop, or stable, was inhabited. Brick and stone houses, as well as hospitals, were to let at the very moderate price of nothing at all, and glad to get tenants at that rather reduced rate. It was not at all extraordinary for one to rise a poor man in the morning, and at night find oneself a large proprietor. Every person, upon leaving, presented you with rows of houses, shops, &c., which they could not sell or take away. Nevertheless, all was stale, flat, and unprofitable, as a day or two after coming into possession you yourself had to give them up. Riding through the camp, even at mid-day, was a dangerous experiment, as it was invaded by hundreds of people of all kinds and tribes, who prowled about, pillaging everything they could put hands upon. Therefore Balaklava was the only safe quarter, and dull enough into the bargain. The heat was great, and amusement scanty. Like the song of the Manchester operatives, “we had no work to do-oo-oo.” Eating little, drinking much, and sleeping all day, was our principal occupation. I removed from the General Hospital to a very comfortable hut, then recently occupied by an officer of the Commissariat, comprising three rooms, a stable, and yard.
About noon one day, while in deep slumber, I was suddenly aroused by a joyful voice. It came from Captain Hall, General Codrington’s aide-de-camp. “Hallo!” said he, “I fear I am disturbing you.”
“Not at all, captain; pray walk in—I have nothing to do. I was taking an Oriental nap, which calms one’s senses, to that extent that I had in imagination travelled as far as England and back again to my duty in the East in less than half an hour.”
“I have done more extraordinary things than that,” said he. “By the same conveyance I have been as far as the East Indies and back to head-quarters in the Crimea in twenty minutes.”
“You have certainly beaten me; and I think the human mind can at any time beat the electric telegraph for speed.”