Soyer's Culinary Campaign: Being Historical Reminiscences of the Late War.: With The Plain Art of Cookery for Military and Civil InstitutionsSoyer, Alexis
History
Soyer's Culinary Campaign: Being Historical Reminiscences of the Late War.: With The Plain Art of Cookery for Military and Civil Institutions
Soyer, Alexis
Cooking for military personnel; Crimean War, 1853-1856
As the cannonade increased instead of diminishing, this gave a kind of
martial note of approval to our solemn and enthusiastic ceremony.
We then left the spot, again to risk our noble selves, as I observed to
our friend P. M.
“Oh,” said he, “I shall run.”
Upon this I observed, “You may do as you like; but you will thereby
incur more danger, as they will take you for a deserter.”
“Oh, that’s true again; well, but you may say what you like about
bravery--let me tell you, Monsieur Soyer, that I did not bargain for
being brave, and I think the sooner we get out of this the better. Only
listen to the roaring of the cannon.”
We all laughed heartily at his fears and wry faces. Such were never
before seen in the Crimea. At last we regained the redoubt, quite safe
and sound, which the French corporal on duty attributed to their not
thinking it worth while to fire upon us, and partly to the presence of a
lady. He remarked that ladies often came to this spot to get a view, and
that he had never known the enemy to fire while they were present.
“Well,” I replied, “we certainly cannot extol their gallantry too
highly. But can they distinguish persons at this distance from their
camp?”
“Of course they can, from their advanced batteries. Persons coming this
way can be seen plainly five minutes before they reach this spot, unless
they come by the Woronzoff Road.”
The sun was by this time fast sinking in the vast ocean in front of
Sebastopol, giving us to understand that night was about to spread its
gloomy wings over the camp, and that in less than two hours it would
envelope us in its mysterious darkness, as well as the besieged and
their assailants. Alas! how many of those brave fellows who saw that sun
set never beheld it rise again. Such was the subject of our conversation
while remounting our horses, with hearts full of emotion, and of the
awful grandeur of this great war, which, instead of comprising four or
five battles, might well be called a single one, or the hundred battle
war, lasting nearly fifteen months without intermission, excepting only
the few hours when the flag of truce was hoisted, in order that the last
religious rites to the mortal remains of the noble departed might be
performed. Oh war! war! where is thy fair side? Thou art only a
paraphernalia of destruction and misery!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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