“I am much obliged; but pray, when you see them, say I am already highly repaid for anything I did, as it was entirely through them I had the high honour of dining with General Windham upon the day on which he immortalized himself as the hero of the Redan.”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed the captain.
Perceiving his astonishment, I related the circumstances mentioned in a former chapter. Of course these were well known to General Garrett.
It was with regret I was leaving the Crimea without knowing the heroes of this simple, though to me singular, adventure. How strange it is that at last, and upon my way home, I should ascertain that which I had so often inquired about!
A few rounds of champagne to their health and prosperity terminated this singular affair.
The invalided Argo had regained her perpendicular upon the smooth surface of the ocean, and stood as firm as St. Paul’s upon its foundations. In fact, the good vessel appeared quite motionless, and made our ocean saloon as lively as any upon terra firma. The night seemed to be jealous of the fineness of the day, and not a breath of wind disturbed its serenity. The unwieldy ship glided over the sea, which flashed as though it had been a lake of diamonds. The breeze was just strong enough to fill the few sails spread to catch it. Every one was upon deck, as busy as bees upon a hot summer’s day. The order was given to muster the soldiers and lower-deck passengers, and in a few minutes they were all upon the main-deck. Amongst them appeared a lad all in rags, barefooted, and with a black and a blue eye. His dirty, ragged jacket was covered with blood and mud. He stood cross-legged and leaning upon his elbow against the coping of the bulwarks, his right hand thrust in the hole where a pocket had no doubt once existed. The lad, in spite of his attire, looked as brisk and independent as a modern Diogenes or a Robert Macaire. To the questions put to him by the captain, he replied somewhat in the style of the Grecian philosopher to Alexander the Great. There was, however, this difference—those great men understood each other, while the captain’s English was entirely lost upon the ragged hero. After several attempts and failures on the part of the captain, a gentleman, Mr. Souter, who spoke the Russian language, interrogated him, and asked him how he got on board. His reply was, “With the baggage, to be sure.” He then, boldly and in a fine tone of voice, suiting the action to the word, told the following tale:—“I am an orphan and a Russian serf belonging to Prince Meshersky. My name is Daniel Maximovitch Chimachenka; and since my owner, the prince, went to the war, the serfs have been much ill-treated by the agent in charge. This was particularly the case with myself, as I was attached to the agent’s personal service. He beat me daily, and gave me scarcely anything to eat. One day, two English officers passed through the village, and I held their horses for them while they took some refreshment. When they came out, they gave me a shilling. Though it was nearly dark, I watched the road they went, and followed them at a distance. After walking some time, I lost sight of them, and slept in the wood till daybreak. Two days after, having travelled through forests and over mountains in order to avoid detection, I found myself at Balaklava. This was only just before the departure of the fleet. I was determined to follow those kind people the English, who had given me so much money for so little work. Being aware that you were all going away, I bethought myself of hiding on board one of your ships, thinking that when discovered you could not treat me worse than the prince’s agent had done. I made the attempt in two different vessels, but was discovered and put on shore again. This vessel being one of the last, I went on board assisting some Maltese sailors with the luggage, and amidst the bustle managed to hide away amongst the horses.” In this manner the youth got to Constantinople.
The following letter, published in the journal of that city, will inform my readers of the rest:—
Monsieur Soyer, now so well known in the East, has taken under his protection a Russian boy who was in the greatest destitution, having stowed himself away on board the steam-ship Argo at Balaklava. He was only discovered when the muster of soldiers and deck-passengers was called. The poor lad was in rags and barefooted. He had received a terrible contusion on the head, and his black swollen eyes and blood-stained face rendered his appearance anything but prepossessing. Being cross-questioned by a passenger who understood Russian, he stated that he got on board under pretence of assisting the sailors with some luggage, and contrived to hide himself amongst the horses till the ship was at sea, fearing that he should be put on shore, as had already happened to him twice before. During the night, he came upon deck and fell asleep. About three in the morning, a violent hurricane came on, and a heavy sea broke over the bows, nearly washing the soldiers and himself overboard. It was at this juncture that he received the contusion, and became for some time senseless. He asked for nothing to eat during the passage, fearing discovery, but satisfied the cravings of hunger with orange-peel and pieces of broken biscuit, which the soldiers had thrown about the deck. He said that he was an orphan, twelve years old, and left his native village through the ill-treatment of his owner’s agent. Some English gentlemen, in passing through the village, gave him a piece of money for holding their horses; so he decided upon following such kind people, in the hope of obtaining employment and living amongst them.[30] He appears very intelligent, and is quite indignant at being taken for a Tartar. He is, he says, a true Russian. Instead of allowing him to be turned adrift in Constantinople, Monsieur Soyer claimed and took him under his protection, taking a certificate from the captain to that effect, in presence of General Garrett and his Staff, who were passengers on board the Argo. As he is now free, no doubt a prosperous future is in store for the poor Russian lad, through the kindness of Monsieur Soyer.—Journal de Constantinople et Echo de l’Orient, Thursday, 21st July, 1856.
