Having once found ourselves in Malta during the hot months of July and August, and having felt great compassion for the unfortunate English soldiers as they marched up and down, under a blazing sun, in all the misery and magnificence of the tight regulation scarlet coat, with their throats braced up by a stiff collar, we much admired the simple and comfortable uniform worn during summer by the Russian troops. The men have a complete suit of grey cotton, with peaked caps of the same material. The officers wear white jean, with a band of scarlet round their caps, and sometimes a sash of the same colour.
CHAPTER XI.
A RUSSIAN INTERIOR.
Leaving Sevastopol one afternoon, a favourable breeze carried us rapidly back to the Alma, and being now provided with the necessary permit, we could land without danger of being impaled by our enemy, the Cossack. We had also brought a letter of introduction to Count B——, a neighbouring proprietor, and, having sent it to the village, we landed, and strolled along the beach, looking at the heights the Zouaves had climbed.
Count B—— speedily arrived, kindly answering the letter in person, and bringing his carriage with him; so in a few minutes we found ourselves seated behind two spirited little Tartar horses, and away we went across the plain, perfectly regardless of the absence of road. We passed several large stack-yards, full of substantial ricks of hay and corn, where wild-looking Tartars were thrashing out the grain—a simple process, accomplished by fastening heavy blocks of wood to Tartar ponies, who were driven at full gallop round and round the enclosure.
The women wore their long hair in innumerable plaits, hanging below their fez caps, and showed their Mohammedan tendencies by partly veiling their faces as we passed. Feminine curiosity made them peep at us from sheltered corners, though they seldom ventured to show themselves completely.
We turned into one of these farmyards, and found ourselves in front of a little one-storied house, standing near a mass of blackened ruins. Here we were most kindly received by Madame B—— and a large family party, consisting of an aunt, Mademoiselle M——, a sister-in-law, two young ladies, several children, and three gentlemen. Most of the party talked French, and we were welcomed with charming kindness.
Soon after our arrival tea was proposed, which, thanks to the universal samovar, is almost always good in Russia. This time the pleasant meal seemed doubly excellent, for, besides grapes and water melons, there was a great bowl of cream, a luxury we had not seen for a long time. Milk, as well as butter, is almost unattainable in Sevastopol. The evening, though pleasant, was very warm, so we were delighted to see that, instead of being prepared in the little house, the hospitable tea-table was spread in the farmyard, and there we sat, surrounded by cows, chickens, turkeys, and dogs, in quite a patriarchal fashion, and enjoying ourselves greatly, for the charming family with whom we were had the rare art of viewing everything en rose, and while bearing their reverses with dignified simplicity, yet took whatever little pleasure came in their way with hearty and unaffected delight.
Milking was going on, and noticing the beauty of the cows, of which there were about twenty, we asked our hostess how much milk they gave a day. She did not know, nor did any one, she said, keep an account, for there is a superstition in the Crimea that should the milk be measured the cows immediately become dry.