About the middle of April 1856 our stay at Malta came to an end. We left for a cruise in the Archipelago: to pass the time during the long armistice, and also, I imagine, to be handily awaiting events while the peace preliminaries were under discussion. We had not long to wait. A day or two after we arrived at the island of Rhodes the _Spiteful_ hove in sight, flying the signal, “Have important despatches for you.” These turned out to be an order to proceed full-speed to Constantinople, to hoist our guns out, and be off as fast as possible to the Crimea, to take on board troops for conveyance to England. Hurrah! We were indeed glad to find the war at an end and home looming in the near future. Our guns were hoisted out on the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus, and one day sufficed to turn the man-of-war into a troop-ship. Eighteen months is not a long time for a sailor to be away from home; yet as a boy, especially after war service, one felt anxious to return to one’s family,--a small warrior full of narrative. My cadet’s time had now expired: so I was able to don “the patch” of white on the collar, and felt as proud as Punch. From the Bosphorus we made for Katzatch harbour, and took on board a battalion of the Scotch Fusilier Guards, 1260 strong. We had a fine army at the close of the war. I believe that most of the regiments were on a real war-strength footing. The Scots Fusiliers were a splendid regiment, officered by some of the finest fellows you could possibly meet. Several were great friends of mine for years afterwards; though, as I write this, many of them are gone. Alister Frazer, Trefusis, Astley (the mate), Gordon, Erskine, Gipps,--all had served through the war. Landing at Varna in 1854, they had fought at the Alma, at Inkerman, at Balaclava, and in other actions, and weathered the storm of shot and shell in the trenches during those tedious and trying times. It was a marvel they lived to tell the tale. I believe that only 400 of the men who landed with the regiment at the beginning of the war came home in my ship. Most of the other ships of the Fleet were embarking troops, and every available steamer was chartered from the Merchant Service. The _Himalaya_ bore the palm for size and beauty. She was looked on in those days as simply majestic: nothing approached her in size. She was afterwards brought into the Navy from the P. and O. Company, and for years afterwards she served as a troop-ship with the White Ensign at the peak, and was always, until her last days, considered a perfect vessel: she could be relied on to make her long passages almost to a day. I saw her in 1896, about to be broken up, lying in the Hamoaze at Plymouth; and I could not help feeling a pang when I heard that her days were numbered and she was to be broken up, for a more dutiful vessel has not graced the Royal Navy. On whatever station one happened to be, out would come this glorious old ship, looking as neat as possible, even in her old age.