In 1854 he accompanied Lord Raglan to the Crimea. “I had heard,” writes John Kenyon, “of Kinglake’s chivalrous goings on. We were saying yesterday that though he might write a book, he was among the last men to go that he might write a book. He is wild about matters military, if so calm a man is ever wild.” He had hoped to go in an official position as non-combatant, but this was refused by the authorities. His friend, Lord Raglan, whose acquaintance he had made while hunting with the Duke of Beaufort’s hounds, took him as his private guest. Arrested for a time at Malta by an attack of fever, he joined our army before hostilities began, rode with Lord Raglan’s staff at the Alma fight, likening the novel sensation to the excitement of fox-hunting; and accompanied the chief in his visit of tenderness to the wounded when the fight was over. Throughout the campaign the two were much together, as we shall notice more fully later on. There are often slight but unmistakable signs of Kinglake’s presence as spectator and auditor of Lord Raglan’s deeds and words; {40} his affection and reverence for the great general animate the whole; in outward composure and latent strength the two men resembled each other closely. The book is, in fact, a history of Lord Raglan’s share in the campaign; begun in 1856 at the request of Lady Raglan, the narrative ends when the “Caradoc” with the general’s body on board steams out of the bay, “Farewell” flying at her masthead, the Russian batteries, with generous recognition, ceasing to fire till the ship was out of sight. “Lord Raglan is dead,” said Kinglake as vol. viii. was sent to press, “and my work is finished.” [Picture: Lord Raglan]