Constantinople in those days was purely Turkish. Modern customs were not in vogue: the Frank dress was infrequent. The bazaars were rough and uncivilised. Not until some time after the war was there any marked improvement in the customs of the natives. Trade soon became more general, and, owing to freer intercourse with foreigners, the more enlightened Turk began to shake off the lethargic Eastern style, adapting himself to the more modern ways of civilisation. I doubt much whether the change has produced good results as far as the Turk is concerned.
While awaiting the Ambassador’s departure for the Crimea, I made excursions to the environs. The sweet waters of Asia were most interesting. Rowed about in the Embassy caique, I visited most of the palaces, gardens, and other places worth seeing. Everything was novel. Englishmen were at that time held in high esteem by the Turk. “Buono Johnnie” was the cry everywhere, and nothing could have exceeded the Turk’s rude civilities. I was much amused at the way the kavasses cleared the road for one. When you were walking in the bazaars, or in the streets, which were crowded, men and women were sent flying on the approach of your kavass, who generally wielded a big stick. And the swarms of dogs—how curious it all seemed to my young imagination!
The Carodoc soon sailed, and in less than thirty-six hours we found ourselves steaming into Balaclava harbour, which was almost landlocked. On passing the towering perpendicular cliffs I could not help picturing to myself the scene of carnage of the previous October, when so many vessels, with their living freights, were lost during a frightful gale on that iron-bound coast. Before we got in I caught a distant sight of Sebastopol and the large allied Fleets at anchor off the coast. My ship was lying in Kazatch Bay. As there was no chance of joining her for a few days, His Excellency asked me to accompany him in his daily expeditions to the front. We were a goodly party. All the ladies from the Embassy accompanied us. We rode or drove to all the battlefields and objects of interest at the front, lunching generally at some Headquarter Staff, and on one occasion at Lord Raglan’s. The battlefield of Inkerman was still full of débris. I was astonished to see so many boots lying about—and poor fellows’ bones as well. I carried off a Russian musket, besides other small articles.
At Lord Raglan’s I came across Frank Burgesh—afterwards Lord Westmorland—looking as handsome and as fresh as he was when hunting with the Fitz-William hounds.
Subsequently we visited the ground of the famous Balaclava charge, and saw some of the remains of the shattered cavalry. The few horses surviving were in a sorry plight. Their manes and tails were much reduced: actually the horses, from sheer hunger, had been gnawing one another. Lord George Paget had scarcely any horses fit for duty the day after the charge. The Tenth Hussars, with splendid horses, had just arrived from India, and, mustering strong, were much more numerous than the whole of the Light Brigade.
On one occasion, while I was with Lord Stratford, there was a review of 25,000 French troops; and I was much struck by their soldier-like bearing.
Within a few days I rejoined my ship, then lying off Sebastopol, delighted with all I had seen, and with Lord Stratford’s kindness to me. Once on board again, I soon shook down among old messmates and friends. There had been many changes among the officers; but my best friend, Dick Hare, was still there. The three bad officers had been weeded out. Consequently, our mess was comfortable.
In a letter to my mother I remarked that I much preferred the Black Sea to the Baltic, and that I felt happier—more reconciled to the Service. There was always the sure expectation of seeing active service, and possibly of being in the thick of it.
The duties assigned to me were to keep daily the morning and in the evening the six-to-eight watch. This went on without a break for eight months. I soon became accustomed to getting up at 4 A.M., and in the fine summer months it was pleasant to paddle about the decks during the washing process. When the ship’s company went to breakfast, at three bells (5.30 A.M.), I could get three-quarters of an hour to myself, alone in the gun-room, for my cup of ship’s cocoa and biscuit; to be followed by reading or writing letters, pondering over my letters from home, and a glance at my Prayer Book, as to which I remembered my mother’s last injunctions.
How much I relished my 5 A.M. cocoa! A hungry middy does enjoy it; though it takes the sharp edge off the eight o’clock breakfast, which consisted of (perhaps) a piece of toughest beef-steak—any part of the animal being dignified by that name. The poor animals, which had ploughed Turkish soil for many a long year, were slaughtered the afternoon before, between two guns, on the main deck. When we were not favoured with these mighty bullocks, it was a case of salt pork or junk (salt beef); these were usually chopped up into square bits, and curried with a ghastly yellow powder. Sometimes we had boxes of grub (as it was called) sent out from home; the grub was much appreciated, and we usually shared it with our chums. Mostly it consisted of jams, potted meats, and preserved milk; but in those days potted meats were in their infancy, and nothing like so good as now. The condensed milk, though to a certain extent welcomed, was nasty stuff: some of the midshipmen preferred spreading it on their bread to putting it in their tea.