Wonderful Adventures of Mrs. Seacole in Many Lands — 19 - Chapter XIX

Before the New Year was far advanced we all began to think of going home, making sure that peace would soon be concluded.

And never did more welcome message come anywhere than that which brought us intelligence of the armistice, and the firing, which had grown more and more slack lately, ceased altogether.

Of course the army did not desire peace because they had any distaste for fighting; so far from it, I believe the only more welcome intelligence would have been news of a campaign in the field, but they were most heartily weary of sieges, and the prospect of another year before the gloomy north of Sebastopol damped the ardour of the most sanguine.

Before the armistice was signed, the Russians and their old foes made advances of friendship, and the banks of the Tchernaya used to be thronged with strangers, and many strange acquaintances were thus began.

I was one of the first to ride down to the Tchernaya, and very much delighted seemed the Russians to see an English woman.

I wonder if they thought they all had my complexion.

I soon entered heartily into the then current amusement--that of exchanging coin, etc. , with the Russians.

I

stole a march upon my companions by making the sign of the cross upon my bosom, upon which a Russian threw me, in exchange for some pence, a little metal figure of some ugly saint.

Then we wrapped up halfpence in clay, and received coins of less value in exchange.

Seeing a soldier eating some white bread, I made signs of wanting some, and threw over a piece of money.

I had great difficulty in making the man understand me, but after considerable pantomime, with surprise in his round bullet eyes, he wrapped up his bread in some paper, then coated it with clay and sent it over to me.

I thought it would look well beside my brown bread taken from the strange oven in the terrible Redan, and that the two would typify war and peace.

There was a great traffic going on in such things, and a wag of an officer, who could talk Russian imperfectly, set himself to work to persuade an innocent Russian that I was his wife, and having succeeded in doing so promptly offered to dispose of me for the medal hanging at his breast.

The last firing of any consequence was the salutes with which the good tidings of peace were received by army and navy.

After this soon began the home-going with happy faces and light hearts, and some kind thoughts and warm tears for the comrades left behind.

I was very glad to hear of peace, also, although it must have been apparent to every one that it would cause our ruin.

We had lately made extensive additions to our store and out-houses--our shelves were filled with articles laid in at a great cost, and which were now unsaleable, and which it would be equally impossible to carry home.

Everything, from our stud of horses and mules down to our latest consignments from home, must be sold for any price; and, as it happened, for many things, worth a year ago their weight in gold, no purchaser could now be found.

However, more of this hereafter.

Before leaving the Crimea, I made various excursions into the interior, visiting Simpheropol and Baktchiserai.

I travelled to Simpheropol with a pretty large party, and had a very amusing journey.

My companions were young and full of fun, and tried hard to persuade the Russians that I was Queen Victoria, by paying me the most absurd reverence.

When this failed they fell back a little, and declared that I was the Queen's first cousin.

Anyhow, they attracted crowds about me, and I became quite a lioness in the streets of Simpheropol, until the arrival of some Highlanders in their uniform cut me out.

My excursion to Baktchiserai was still more amusing and pleasant.

I

found it necessary to go to beat up a Russian merchant, who, after the declaration of peace, had purchased stores of us, and some young officers made up a party for the purpose.

We hired an araba, filled it with straw, and some boxes to sit upon, and set out very early, with two old umbrellas to shield us from the mid-day sun and the night dews.

We had with us a hamper carefully packed, before parting, with a cold duck, some cold meat, a tart, etc. The Tartar's two horses were soon knocked up, and the fellow obtained a third at a little village, and so we rolled on until mid-day, when, thoroughly exhausted, we left our clumsy vehicle and carried our hamper beneath the shade of a beautiful cherry-tree, and determined to lunch.

Upon opening it the first thing that met our eyes was a fine rat, who made a speedy escape.

Somewhat gravely, we proceeded to unpack its contents, without caring to express our fears to one another, and quite soon enough we found them realized.

How or where the rat had gained access to our hamper it was impossible to say, but he had made no bad use of his time, and both wings of the cold duck had flown, while the tart was considerably mangled.

Sad discovery this for people who, although, hungry, were still squeamish.

We made out as well as we could with the cold beef, and gave the rest to our Tartar driver, who had apparently no disinclination to eating after the rat, and would very likely have despised us heartily for such weakness.

After dinner we went on more briskly, and succeeded in reaching Baktchiserai.

My journey was perfectly unavailing.

I could not find my debtor at home, and if I had I was told it would take three weeks before the Russian law would assist me to recover my claim.

Determined, however, to have some compensation, I carried off a raven, who had been croaking angrily at my intrusion.

Before we had been long on our homeward journey, however, Lieut.

C---- sat upon it, of course accidentally, and we threw it to its relatives--the crows.

As the spring advanced, the troops began to move away at a brisk pace.

As they passed the Iron House upon the Col--old for the Crimea, where so much of life's action had been compressed into so short a space of time--they would stop and give us a parting cheer, while very often the band struck up some familiar tune of that home they were so gladly seeking.

And very often the kind-hearted officers would find time to run into the British Hotel to bid us good-bye, and give us a farewell shake of the hand; for you see war, like death, is a great leveller, and mutual suffering and endurance had made us all friends.

"My dear Mrs. Seacole, and my dear Mr. Day," wrote one on a scrap of paper left on the counter, "I have called here four times this day, to wish you good-bye.

I am so sorry I was not fortunate enough to see you.

I shall still hope to see you to-morrow morning.

We march at seven a. m." And yet all this going home seemed strange and somewhat sad, and sometimes I felt that I could not sympathise with the glad faces and happy hearts of those who were looking forward to the delights of home, and the joy of seeing once more the old familiar faces remembered so fondly in the fearful trenches and the hard-fought battle-fields.

Now and then we would see a lounger with a blank face, taking no interest in the bustle of departure, and with him I acknowledged to have more fellow-feeling than with the others, for he, as well as I, clearly had no home to go to.

He was a soldier by choice and necessity, as well as by profession.

He had no home, no loved friends; the peace would bring no particular pleasure to him, whereas war and action were necessary to his existence, gave him excitement, occupation, the chance of promotion.

Now and then, but seldom, however, you came across such a disappointed one.

Was it not so with me?

Had I not been happy through the months of toil and danger, never knowing what fear or depression was, finding every moment of the day mortgaged hours in advance, and earning sound sleep and contentment by sheer hard work?

What better or happier lot could possibly befall me?

And, alas!

how likely was it that my present occupation gone, I might long in vain for another so stirring and so useful.

Besides which, it was pretty sure that I should go to England poorer than I left it, and although I was not ashamed of poverty, beginning life again in the autumn--I mean late in the summer of life--is hard up-hill work.

Peace concluded, the little jealousies which may have sprung up between the French and their allies seemed forgotten, and every one was anxious, ere the parting came, to make the most of the time yet left in improving old friendships and founding new.

Among others, the 47th, encamped near the Woronzoff Road, gave a grand parting entertainment to a large company of their French neighbours, at which many officers of high rank were present.

I was applied to by the committee of management to superintend the affair, and, for the last time in the Crimea, the health of Madame Seacole was proposed and duly honoured.

I had grown so accustomed to the honour that I had no difficulty in returning thanks in a speech which Colonel B---- interpreted amid roars of laughter to the French guests.

As the various regiments moved off, I received many acknowledgments from those who thought they owed me gratitude.

Little presents, warm farewell words, kind letters full of grateful acknowledgments for services so small that I had forgotten them long, long ago--how easy it is to reach warm hearts!

--little thoughtful acts of kindness, even from the humblest.

And these touched me the most.

I value the letters received from the working men far more than the testimonials of their officers.

I had nothing to gain from the former, and can point to their testimony fearlessly.

I am strongly tempted to insert some of these acknowledgments, but I will confine myself to one:-- "Camp, near Karani, June 16, 1856. "My dear Mrs. Seacole,--As you are about to leave the Crimea, I avail myself of the only opportunity which may occur for some time, to acknowledge my gratitude to you, and to thank you for the kindness which I, in common with many others, received at your hands, when attacked with cholera in the spring of 1855. But I have no language to do it suitably.

"I am truly sensible that your kindness far exceeded my claims upon your sympathy.

It is said by some of your friends, I hope truly, that you are going to England.

There can be none from the Crimea more welcome there, for your kindness in the sick-tent, and your heroism in the battle-field, have endeared you to the whole army.

"I am sure when her most gracious Majesty the Queen shall have become acquainted with the service you have gratuitously rendered to so many of her brave soldiers, her generous heart will thank you.

For you have been an instrument in the hands of the Almighty to preserve many a gallant heart to the empire, to fight and win her battles, if ever again war may become a necessity.

Please to accept this from your most grateful humble servant, "W. J.

Tynan."

But I had other friends in the Crimea--friends who could never thank me.

Some of them lay in their last sleep, beneath indistinguishable mounds of earth; some in the half-filled trenches, a few beneath the blue waters of the Euxine.

I might in vain attempt to gather the wild flowers which sprung up above many of their graves, but I knew where some lay, and could visit their last homes on earth.

And to all the cemeteries where friends rested so calmly, sleeping well after a life's work nobly done, I went many times, lingering long over many a mound that bore the names of those whom I had been familiar with in life, thinking of what they had been, and what I had known of them.

Over some I planted shrubs and flowers, little lilac trees, obtained with no small trouble, and flowering evergreens, which looked quite gay and pretty ere I left, and may in time become great trees, and witness strange scenes, or be cut down as fuel for another besieging army--who can tell?

And from many graves I picked up pebbles, and plucked simple wild-flowers, or tufts of grass, as memorials for relatives at home.

How pretty the cemeteries used to look beneath the blue peaceful sky; neatly enclosed with stone walls, and full of the grave-stones reared by friends over friends.

I met many here, thoughtfully taking their last look of the resting-places of those they knew and loved.

I saw many a proud head bowed down above them.

I

knew that many a proud heart laid aside its pride here, and stood in the presence of death, humble and childlike.

And by the clasped hand and moistened eye, I knew that from many a heart sped upward a grateful prayer to the Providence which had thought fit in his judgment to take some, and in his mercy to spare the rest.

Some three weeks before the Crimea was finally evacuated, we moved from our old quarters to Balaclava, where we had obtained permission to fit up a store for the short time which would elapse before the last red coat left Russian soil.

The poor old British Hotel!

We could do nothing with it.

The iron house was pulled down, and packed up for conveyance home, but the Russians got all of the out-houses and sheds which was not used as fuel.

All the kitchen fittings and stoves, that had cost us so much, fell also into their hands.

I only wish some cook worthy to possess them has them now.

We could sell nothing.

Our horses were almost given away, our large stores of provisions, etc. , were at any one's service.

It makes my heart sick to talk of the really alarming sacrifices we made.

The Russians crowded down ostensibly to purchase, in reality to plunder.

Prime cheeses, which had cost us tenpence a pound, were sold to them for less than a penny a pound; for wine, for which we had paid forty-eight shillings a dozen, they bid four shillings.

I could not stand this, and in a fit of desperation, I snatched up a hammer and broke up case after case, while the bystanders held out their hands and caught the ruby stream.

It may have been wrong, but I was too excited to think.

There was no more of my own people to give it to, and I would rather not present it to our old foes.

We were among the last to leave the Crimea.

Before going I borrowed a horse, easy enough now, and rode up the old well-known road--how unfamiliar in its loneliness and quiet--to Cathcart's Hill.

I wished once more to impress the scene upon my mind.

It was a beautifully clear evening, and we could see miles away across the darkening sea.

I

spent some time there with my companions, pointing out to each other the sites of scenes we all remembered so well.

There were the trenches, already becoming indistinguishable, out of which, on the 8th of September, we had seen the storming parties tumble in confused and scattered bodies, before they ran up the broken height of the Redan.

There the Malakhoff, into which we had also seen the luckier French pour in one unbroken stream; below lay the crumbling city and the quiet harbour, with scarce a ripple on its surface, while around stretched away the deserted huts for miles.

It was with something like regret that we said to one another that the play was fairly over, that peace had rung the curtain down, and that we, humble actors in some of its most stirring scenes, must seek engagements elsewhere.

I lingered behind, and stooping down, once more gathered little tufts of grass, and some simple blossoms from above the graves of some who in life had been very kind to me, and I left behind, in exchange, a few tears which were sincere.

A few days latter, and I stood on board a crowded steamer, taking my last look of the shores of the Crimea.

CONCLUSION.

I did not return to England by the most direct route, but took the opportunity of seeing more of men and manners in yet other lands.

Arrived in England at last, we set to work bravely at Aldershott to retrieve our fallen fortunes, and stem off the ruin originated in the Crimea, but all in vain; and at last defeated by fortune, but not I think disgraced, we were obliged to capitulate on very honourable conditions.

In plain truth, the old Crimean firm of Seacole and Day was dissolved finally, and its partners had to recommence the world anew.

And so ended _our_ campaign.

One of us started only the other day for the Antipodes, while the other is ready to take any journey to any place where a stout heart and two experienced hands may be of use.

Perhaps it would be right if I were to express more shame and annoyance than I really feel at the pecuniarily disastrous issue of my Crimean adventures, but I cannot--I really cannot.

When I would try and feel ashamed of myself for being poor and helpless, I only experience a glow of pride at the other and more pleasing events of my career; when I think of the few whom I failed to pay in full (and so far from blaming me some of them are now my firmest friends), I cannot help remembering also the many who profess themselves indebted to me.

Let me, in as few words as possible, state the results of my Crimean campaign.

To be sure, I returned from it shaken in health.

I came home wounded, as many others did.

Few constitutions, indeed, were the better for those winters before Sebastopol, and I was too hard worked not to feel their effects; for a little labour fatigues me now--I cannot watch by sick-beds as I could--a week's want of rest quite knocks me up now.

Then I returned bankrupt in fortune.

Whereas others in my position may have come back to England rich and prosperous, I found myself poor--beggared.

So few words can tell what I have lost.

But what have I gained?

I should need a volume to describe that fairly; so much is it, and so cheaply purchased by suffering ten times worse than what I have experienced.

I have more than once heard people say that they would gladly suffer illness to enjoy the delights of convalescence, and so, by enduring a few days' pain, gain the tender love of relatives and sympathy of friends.

And on this principle I rejoice in the trials which have borne me such pleasures as those I now enjoy, for wherever I go I am sure to meet some smiling face;

every step I take in the crowded London streets may bring me in contact with some friend, forgotten by me, perhaps, but who soon reminds me of our old life before Sebastopol; it seems very long ago now, when I was of use to him and he to me.

Where, indeed, do I not find friends.

In omnibuses, in river steamboats, in places of public amusement, in quiet streets and courts, where taking short cuts I lose my way oft-times, spring up old familiar faces to remind me of the months spent on Spring Hill.

The sentries at Whitehall relax from the discharge of their important duty of guarding nothing to give me a smile of recognition; the very newspaper offices look friendly as I pass them by; busy Printing-house Yard puts on a cheering smile, and the _Punch_ office in Fleet Street sometimes laughs outright.

Now, would all this have happened if I had returned to England a rich woman?

Surely not.

A few words more ere I bring these egotistical remarks to a close.

It is naturally with feelings of pride and pleasure that I allude to the committee recently organized to aid me; and if I indulge in the vanity of placing their names before my readers, it is simply because every one of the following noblemen and gentlemen knew me in the Crimea, and by consenting to assist me now record publicly their opinion of my services there.

And yet I may reasonably on other grounds be proud of the fact, that it has been stated publicly that my present embarrassments originated in my charities and incessant labours among the army, by Major-General Lord Rokeby, K. C. B.

H.

S.

H.

Prince Edward of Saxe Weimar, C. B.

His Grace the Duke of Wellington.

His Grace the Duke of Newcastle.

The Right Hon. Lord Ward.

General Sir John Burgoyne, K. C. B.

Major-General Sir Richard Airey, K. C. B.

Rear-Admiral Sir Stephen Lushington, K. C. B.

Colonel M'Murdo, C. B.

Colonel Chapman, C. B.

Lieutenant-Colonel Ridley, C. B.

Major the Hon. F.

Keane.

W.

H.

Russell, Esq.

(_Times_ Correspondent).

W.

T.

Doyne, Esq.

THE END.

London: Printed by Thomas Harrild, 11, Salisbury Square, Fleet Street.

Transcriber's Note Minor typographic errors have been corrected without note.

Page 42--omitted 'I' added--"I must do them credit to say, that they were never loath ..."

Page 94--omitted 'the' added--"...

which is hired by the Government, at great cost ..."

There are also a few Scots words in this text.

These include 'waesome', meaning sorrowful, woeful; and 'brash', meaning attack.

Some archaic spelling is also used (for example, secresy), which has been retained.

The few oe ligatures have not been retained in this version.

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