Soyer's Culinary Campaign: Being Historical Reminiscences of the Late War.: With The Plain Art of Cookery for Military and Civil Institutions

as far as the village. We then passed through Kadikoi, which presented a different scene to that of the morning, but still animated, from the groups of Turkish and Greek labourers returning to their quarters, and a quantity of drunken men rolling about. We reached the watering-place at the end of the harbour at last. Miss Nightingale’s pony, which was again led by Mr. Anderson--this spot being, night and day, full of horses--suddenly turned round to get to the trough, very nearly throwing Miss Nightingale off, and probably would have done so, had it not been held by Mr. Anderson, who received a tremendous knock in the face from the brute’s head. This accident made him bleed profusely, and gave him a pair of black eyes. Of this we were not aware until we arrived at the hospital, and could scarcely believe it when we did. Miss Nightingale and a doctor attended him immediately; and upon inquiring when it happened, he coolly replied, “About ten minutes ago, while we were watering the horses.” “But,” said Miss Nightingale, “you never mentioned it.” “Of course not,” he replied; “why should I? it would only have made you nervous; and I knew that nothing could be done till we arrived here.” After his wound had been dressed, he declared that the shock was so violent at the time, he actually thought his head had been split open. We regretted that, after having gone through such an adventurous day without accident, a casualty should have happened just at our return. Our valiant friend, P. M., quietly vowed never to go camp-ranging again, especially on a mule who was always bolting before or lagging behind, but never kept parallel with our steeds. Indeed, we called the animal Clockwork, as, when wound up, he would go fast enough, but when run out, nothing but re-winding would move him. A few days after, by the merest chance, I found a leaf from our friend P. M.’s diary, of which, no doubt, a copy had been sent to his fair Dulcinea. It read as follows:-- Balaklava, Thursday.--Got up