Æolus must have taken his abode somewhere in the neighbourhood of Gallipoli since he removed his Court from Lipari. The unseasonable rapidity with which he opens his bags, and the violence with which he sends forth the sharpest and most truculent of all the winds to sweep over the hills around this miserable spot, would satisfy Juno in her most indignant mood if the place were a Trojan colony. The extraordinary suddenness of these changes and the excessive variations of temperature were very trying to the men in camp, but the average of illness and disease was rather below that of most camps in ordinary circumstances. The sun rises, perchance, from behind the hills of Asia Minor without a cloud to mar his splendour; the Sea of Marmora, bounded by the faint blue lines of the highlands of Asia and the distinctive sweep of the European coast, spreads out towards the north-west like a sheet of burnished silver; the Dardanelles flows swiftly between the contracted channel as smoothly as the Thames in summer time by the pleasant meads of Chertsey. There is a rich sylvan look about the scenery, for at a distance the hills around Lampsaki, across the straits, appear to be dotted with verdant lawns and plantations; and the outline of the high grounds, rising tier after tier till they are capped by the lofty range which stretches along the background from Ida in the Troad, is subdued and regular.
The villages built in the recesses of the hills and in the little bays and creeks of the straits, surrounded by all the enchantment of distance, look clean and picturesque, the dark groves of cypress casting into bright relief the whitewash of the houses and the tall shafts of minarets standing out gracefully from the confused mass of roofs, gables, masts, yards, and sails by the seaside. Further south the coasts close in abruptly, and the straits are like a long Highland loch. The land around Gallipoli on the European side of the straits is more bleak and more level. Indeed, for miles around the town (except towards the south, where there is a very small table-land with patches of trees), and all the way across to the Gulf of Saros, the country very much resembles the downs about Brighton. It is nearly as destitute of wood or plantations. The soil, which is light, but deep and rather sandy, produces excellent crops, but bears no trees, except a few figs and olives. The vines, which are planted in rows, not trailed as in Italy, are abundant, and the grape yields a rich, full, and generous wine, which is highly esteemed. Into the soil, which is just scratched up by ploughs rather inferior to those described by Virgil 1800 years ago, the dejected rayahs are busied throwing the corn and barley seed; and as the slow steers or huge lumbering buffaloes pace along the furrows, they are followed by a stately army of storks, which march gravely at the very heels of beast and ploughman, and engage themselves busily in destroying the grubs and larvæ. On all the heights around glisten the white tents of French or English, and here and there the eye rests upon their serrated lines on the slope of some pleasant valley, or lights on the encampment of some detached party posted in a recess of the hills. Faint clouds of dust, through which may be seen the glistening of steel and dark masses of uniform, blur the landscape here and there, and betray the march of troops along the sandy roads, which are exactly like those worn by the tramp of men and horses through Chobham-common, and had neither fence, boundary-metal, nor drainage.
WORKS AT BULAIR.
In a moment the whole scene changes. A violent storm of wind rushes over the face of the sea and straits, lashing them into fury, and sending the Turkish boats flying with drooping peaks to the shelter of the shore—the coast is obscured by masses of black clouds, which burst into torrents of rain resembling tropical water-spouts. The French men-of-war in the bay send down top masts, the merchantmen run out cable and let go another anchor; the rayahs plod across the fields, and crouch in holes and corners till the storm abates; and the luckless troops on their march are covered with mud by the action of the rain. In such times as these canvas is a sorry shelter—the pegs draw from the loose soil, and let in wind and rain. On Saturday, the 29th of April, tents were blown down by such a storm in all directions. In the two English camps about twenty were down at the same time, and exposed the men to all the drenching rain. Lady Errol, who was living with her husband in the Rifle Camp, had to crawl from under the dripping canvas in most sorry plight.
Prince Jerome Napoleon arrived on the 30th. The town was shaken by the Imperial salute of 101 guns from each of the five French line-of-battle ships. He left the ship for the shore in a storm of wind, under a similar salute, which frightened the Greeks out of their lives. Next Sunday, Prince Napoleon, General Canrobert, and the état major reviewed the French troops, and the English General and staff attended upon the occasion.
Lord Raglan, accompanied by Lord de Ros, Quartermaster-General, and staff, Mr. Burrell, Dr. Tice, &c., arrived May 2nd, at noon, on board the Emeu. He proceeded to General Brown's quarters, and they had a long interview. Lord Raglan visited Admiral Bruat on board his flag-ship, and sailed the same night for the Bosphorus and for Scutari.
The works at the intrenched camp at Bulair progressed with such speed that our portion of them was at this time expected to be finished by the middle of May. The emulation between the French and English troops at the diggings was immense, and at the same time most good-humoured. The lines were about seven miles long, and about two and three-quarters or three miles were executed by our men. They were simple field works, running along the crest of a natural ridge, from the Gulf of Saros to the Sea of Marmora. They consisted of a trench seven feet deep; the bottom, from scarp to counterscarp, six feet broad; the top thirteen feet broad. There was then a berm of three feet wide, above which was the parapet of earthwork (to be revetted in due course) of five feet thick, a banquette three feet six inches broad, and a slope inside of one in two.
The spectator who selects a high point of land on the undulating country round Brighton, and looks across the valley below, might form a tolerable idea of the terrain around Gallipoli. Crossing the hills in all directions, and piercing the ravines between them, the dark masses of French infantry advancing from their numerous encampments might at the period referred to be seen formed for miles around on every sloping plateau. The shrill trumpets of the Zouaves were frequently heard sounding a wild and eccentric march, and these fierce-looking soldiers of Africa, burnt brown by constant exposure to the sun, with beards which easily distinguish them from the native Arabs, came rushing past, for their pace is so quick that it fully justifies the term. The open collars of their coats allow free play to the lungs; the easy jacket, the loose trouser, and the well-supported ankle, constitute the beau ideal of a soldier's dress; their firelocks and the brasses of their swords and bayonets are polished to a nicety. Each man was then fully equipped for the field, with great-coat strapped over his knapsack, canteen by his side, a billhook, hatchet, or cooking-tin fastened over all. In the rear, mounted on a packhorse, followed a vivandière, in the uniform of the regiment, with natty little panniers and neatly-polished barrels of diminutive size dangling over the saddle; and then came a sumpter-mule, with two wooden boxes fastened to the pack, containing small creature comforts for the officers. The word was given to halt—stand at ease—pile arms. In a moment the whole regiment seemed disorganized. The men scattered far and wide over the fields collecting sticks and brushwood, and it appeared incredible that they could have gathered all the piles of brambles and dried wood and leaves which they deposited in the rear of the lines from the country that looked so bare. The officers gathered in groups, lighted cigars, chatted and laughed, or sat on the ground while their coffee was being boiled.
The moment the halt took place, off came the boxes from the mule—a little portable table was set up—knives, forks, glasses and cups were laid out—a capacious coffee-tin was put upon three stones over a heap of bramble, and in three minutes each officer could take a cup of this refreshing drink after his hot march, with a biscuit and morsel of cheese, and a chasse of brandy afterwards. The men were equally alert in providing themselves with their favourite beverage. In a very short space of time two or three hundred little camp-fires were lighted, sending up tiny columns of smoke, and coffee-tins were boiling, and the busy brisk vivandière, with a smile for every one, and a joke or box on the ear for a favourite vieux moustache, passed along through the blaze, and filled out tiny cups of Cognac to the thirsty soldiers. Pipes of every conceivable variety of shape were lighted, and a hum and bustle rose up from the animated scene, so rich in ever-shifting combinations of form and colour that Maclise might have looked on it with wonder and despair. Regiment after regiment came up on the flanks of the Zouaves, halted, and repeated the process, the only remarkable corps being the Indigènes, or native Zouaves, dressed exactly the same as the French, except that jackets, trousers, and vest are of a bright powder blue, trimmed with yellow, and their turbans, or the folds of linen round the fez, are of pure white.
REVIEW OF FRENCH TROOPS.