At six the next morning I started, and made it my business to visit the kitchens in the Turkish and Sardinian camps, on my way home. At eight I made my triumphal entry into Balaklava. My return seemed to be quite an event, as it had not only been reported that I had lost three horses, but also that I had lost myself. I found, when I got on board the _London_--which was still vomiting forth troops, horses, guns, and projectiles of all kinds, to feed the voracious appetite of mighty, grand, but very unsociable and terrible Mr. War, with whom I had lately had the unexpected honour of being on a little too familiar terms--that every one had missed me for three days, and the last they had heard of me was that I had been seen going towards Sebastopol at the time the flag of truce was hoisted. No one had seen me return, and they concluded that poor Soyer had either been killed, wounded, or taken prisoner. I was told that Mr. Bracebridge had been anxiously inquiring for me in every direction, and that P. M. had just gone in a great hurry to the telegraph office, to send word to head-quarters. Seeing the affair was getting rather serious, I set off at full gallop to stop him, and found him in the office, writing the following lines:-- “Monsieur Soyer has been absent from Balaklava these last three days, and has not been heard of. An answer will oblige.” My unexpected arrival put him in good spirits. I convinced him that I was neither killed, wounded, nor taken prisoner, and having related my adventures, I inquired about business. The first thing he told me was that Miss Nightingale was getting better. This I knew, having made inquiries on board. Then he informed me that Lord Raglan had visited her. This I also knew. Then that Thomas, my head man, had been all over the camp, hunting for me; that the hospital kitchens were all going on well. He next informed me that Dr. Hadley was morally in deep mourning, not so much on account of his pony, or even myself, but his saddle and bridle, which he said no money could replace, it having been made to order in London. I observed that I was worse off than he was, as from his kindness in lending me the pony, I had been so long away. “But, P. M., will you be kind enough to jump on that pony, and go to him. Say I will see him in the afternoon, and of course that I shall be happy to pay for both pony and saddle.” “I will do so; but he told me yesterday that he didn’t care a fig about the pony--it was the saddle he regretted.” “When did he first hear I had lost it?” “Why, not four hours after you left. Mrs. Seacole sent all over the camp for it, and some officers who were present at the time brought the news, at which every one laughed; but I assure you the case was getting very serious at last.” “Never mind--_à la guerre comme à la guerre_--we must expect something a little out of the way in campaigning.”