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

of Messrs. Nicoll. All on board the _Ottawa_ had for some time retired to their berths. I can seldom sleep at sea; so I was sitting on deck, smoking my cigar, now and then addressing a word to the man at the wheel and the second mate. We praised the fineness of the weather: the upper deck was as steady as a drawing-room floor, and the ocean seemed to belong to us alone. It was nearly one o’clock, and Morpheus, who generally deserts me on such occasions, stole upon me softly like a zephyr. I felt inclined to submit, and went below to lie down. Wrapped in deep repose, I seemed to quit this world of realities, and to wander in the regions of dream-land. This continued till seven in the morning, when a tremendous crash awoke me suddenly, and I perceived that we were dancing mountains high. The crash was caused by two glasses and a bottle of soda-water, belonging to my companion P. M. in the upper berth. They had been left upon the wash-hand stand; both glasses were smashed, and the bottle broken, with a tremendous report, making me fear that in the night we had, by mistake, approached too near to Sebastopol, and were being fired into by the batteries. Turning round, I perceived the supposed enemy on the cabin floor in a fearful state of dilapidation--the bottom of the soda-water bottle rolling to and fro, according to the will of the waves, which, it appeared, had risen to that pitch in an incredibly short space of time--a thing common enough in the Euxine, or Black Sea. “Good heavens!” exclaimed P. M., “where are we?” “Don’t be alarmed,” said I. “We are under fire; every man to his gun; so let us go up on deck and fight like Britons.” “The devil we are! Oh dear, I can’t fight, I am so sick.” “Then you must swim or sink.” In less than a minute he rushed from the cabin, and concealed himself under the large dinner-table. As I was dressed, I went upon deck. “At half-past