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

from lieutenant to captain, colonel, and now and then general. At all events, my passport through that important part of the French camp was signed by several hundreds of those brave fellows, as well as by innumerable smiles from the fair and dark heroines, the _cantinières_ of the first French division. With a promise to return soon, I retired, having experienced much gratification and enriched my budget of anecdote. In this interesting visit to the French camp, head-quarters, canteens, &c., and becoming well acquainted with the officers’ and soldiers’ _popottes_--which name I immediately added to my gastronomic bill of fare--the three hours I had to spare nearly expired. The sun was rapidly descending to the level of the ocean in the direction of Kamiesch. Having paid my bill at the canteen, and shaken hands with nearly a whole regiment, I jumped on my pony and galloped all the way home, perfectly satisfied with my day’s work, which at the time I felt was one of the most interesting of my life. CHAPTER XVIII. A UNIVERSAL CALAMITY. Miss Nightingale dangerously ill--Her removal to the Sanatorium--Worst form of Crimean fever--General consternation--Conversation with the Captain--Better news--Visit the Sanatorium--Disembarkation of the Sardinians--Bridge over the _London_--Admiral Boxer--Act as interpreter--Overwhelmed with complaints--Soda-water for horses--All right at last--Alexandrian horse-flesh--A character--An interesting ride--The General Hospital--Reasons for my return to Turkey--Letters--Head-quarters again--Lord Raglan’s anxiety for Miss Nightingale--Return to Balaklava--Admiral Boxer and the Sardinians--All in the wrong--Quieted at last. Alas! how short are the moments in which real happiness favours us with its charms, and how quickly it deserts one in the midst of mirth and joy! On this eventful day, I was doomed to experience the truth of the saying that “sorrow treads upon the heels of joy;” for I had scarcely set my foot upon the deck of the _London_, when P. M. came and apprised me that Miss Nightingale was not expected to live. It appeared that after my departure she had a terrible attack of fever, and was obliged to be immediately removed to the hospital. On asking to which establishment this excellent lady had been