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                      [Illustration: _The Author._

                _From a Photograph by Bingham, (Paris)_]




                                SOYER'S

                           CULINARY CAMPAIGN.

                     BEING HISTORICAL REMINISCENCES
                            OF THE LATE WAR.

                                  WITH

                        THE PLAIN ART OF COOKERY

                                  FOR

            MILITARY AND CIVIL INSTITUTIONS, THE ARMY, NAVY,
                           PUBLIC, ETC. ETC.

                            BY ALEXIS SOYER,

  AUTHOR OF "THE MODERN HOUSEWIFE," "SHILLING COOKERY FOR THE PEOPLE,"
                                  ETC.

                                LONDON:
                 G. ROUTLEDGE & CO., FARRINGDON STREET.
                     NEW YORK: 18, BEEKMAN STREET.
                                 1857.

               [_The right of translation is reserved._]

                                LONDON:
                     SAVILL AND EDWARDS, PRINTERS,
                            CHANDOS STREET.




                                 TO THE

                  RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD PANMURE, K.T.

                             ETC. ETC. ETC.


                                MY LORD,

 Grateful, indeed, do I feel for the unlimited confidence reposed in me
 by your Lordship during my late Mission in the East, and especially so
    for your kind condescension in permitting me to dedicate to your
Lordship this work, which at once puts the final seal to your Lordship's
                  appreciation of my humble services.

                    With the most profound respect,
                      I have the honour to remain,
                                My Lord,
            Your Lordship's most humble and dutiful Servant,
                             ALEXIS SOYER.




PREFACE.


The Author of this work begs to inform his readers that his principal
object in producing his "Culinary Campaign" is to perpetuate the
successful efforts made by him to improve the dieting of the Hospitals
of the British army in the East, as well as the soldiers' rations in the
Camp before Sebastopol.

The literary portion the Author has dished up to the best of his
ability; and if any of his readers do not relish its historical
contents, he trusts that the many new and valuable receipts, applicable
to the Army, Navy, Military and Civil Institutions, and the public in
general, will make up in succulence for any literary deficiencies that
may be found in its pages.

At the same time, the Author takes this opportunity of publicly
returning his most grateful thanks to the late authorities at the seat
of war for their universal courtesy, friendship, and great assistance,
without which success would have been an impossibility.




CONTENTS.


CHAP.                                                             PAGE

INTRODUCTION.--A SUPPER AT THE "ALBION," AND
ITS CONSEQUENCES                                                     1

I. BY RAIL AND COACH TO VIRGINIA WATER                              13

II. A SUMMONS TO STAFFORD HOUSE                                     29

III. OFF TO THE WAR                                                 36

IV. DELIGHTS OF TRAVEL                                              49

V. COMFORT ON SHORE AND PENANCE AT SEA                              57

VI. THE LAND OF THE MOSLEM                                          70

VII. A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF CONSTANTINOPLE FROM PERA                  83

VIII. FIRST VIEW OF THE SCENE OF ACTION                             91

IX. COMMENCEMENT OF THE CULINARY CAMPAIGN                          101

X. A TOUR ROUND THE KITCHENS                                       111

XI. FIRST OPERATIONS                                               124

XII. THE SCUTARI MISSION ACCOMPLISHED                              134

XIII. DEPARTURE FOR THE CRIMEA                                     147

XIV. COMMENCEMENT OF MY CAMPAIGN IN THE CRIMEA                     160

XV. THE ENGLISH AND TURKISH COMMANDERS-IN-CHIEF                    180

XVI. A NEW ENEMY                                                   191

XVII. RECEPTION AT ENGLISH AND FRENCH HEAD-QUARTERS                200

XVIII. A UNIVERSAL CALAMITY                                        213

XIX. HAPS AND MISHAPS IN CAMP                                      227

XX. EXPEDITIONS ON HORSE AND ON FOOT                               239

XXI. MATTERS GRAVE AND GAY                                         250

XXII. PREPARATIONS FOR ANOTHER TRIP                                266

XXIII. OUR STEAM VOYAGE IN THE "LONDON"                            289

XXIV. THREE WEEKS AT SCUTARI                                       297

XXV. FESTIVITIES AT SCUTARI AND VISITS TO FRENCH HOSPITALS         315

XXVI. MY SECOND TRIP TO THE CRIMEA                                 325

XXVII. CAMP LIFE AT HEAD-QUARTERS                                  334

XXVIII. MY GREAT FIELD-DAY                                         350

XXIX. THE EIGHTH OF SEPTEMBER                                      364

XXX. FALL OF THE DOOMED CITY                                       375

XXXI. ILLNESS AND CHANGE OF SCENE                                  385

XXXII. CAMP OF THE FOURTH DIVISION                                 400

XXXIII. HOSTILITIES AT TABLE                                       415

XXXIV. CRIMEAN FESTIVITIES                                         433

XXXV. LAST DAYS OF BRITISH OCCUPATION OF THE CRIMEA                459

XXXVI. LAST SCENE OF OUR STRANGE EVENTFUL HISTORY                  484

ADDENDA                                                            513




ERRATA.

In page 6, _for_ "Little Jack," _read_ "Little Ben."

Page 32, line 12, _for_ "I think," _read_ "She thinks."




A CULINARY CAMPAIGN

BY

A. SOYER

ILLUSTRATED BY H. G. HINE.

[Illustration: Title Page]




INTRODUCTION.

A SUPPER AT THE "ALBION," AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

     Old Drury--Juvenile mirth--A sudden arrest--An invitation--No
     excuse--Getting home--Mind your pockets--A trip to the
     "Wellington"--An intelligent waiter--Reading the news--A sudden
     inspiration--Letter to the _Times_--The stupid waiter again--Little
     Jack--Supper fare--Receipts--Tough kidneys--How to cook
     them--Kidneys _a la_ Roberto Diavolo--Kidneys _a la brochette_--New
     bill of fare for London Suppers.


"Hurrah! hurrah! bravo! bravo!" For a few minutes rounds of applause and
shouts of laughter from the juveniles were heard and loudly re-echoed
throughout the vast cupola of Old Drury, sending home the delighted
spectators, in fits of sneezing and coughing, through a variegated
atmosphere. Sir Henry W----, turning to me, exclaimed, "Hallo, Mr.
Soyer, the pantomime is over early this evening!" and looking at his
watch, continued, "Why, it is only half-past eleven o'clock."

"Yes, Sir Henry; but quite late enough for children, who after this time
begin to mingle gaping with laughter."

"True enough," replied Sir Henry; "it is painful to see those dear
cherubs kept at the theatre till midnight, or even later. Have you been
long here?"

"No," I replied, "only a few minutes; just time enough to witness the
grand finale, and to hear the screaming and laughter of the children,
which to me is always very amusing."

"Very true, very true; I am of your opinion, and never tire of
children's mirth."

In a few minutes the theatre was nearly emptied of spectators, but still
full of smoke. Considering myself that evening as free as a butterfly on
a spring morning, though unable, like that light-hearted insect, to
flit from flower to flower, I was trying to escape, with the swiftness
of an eel, down the gigantic and crowded staircase, hoping to get off
unobserved, as I had to start early in the morning for the country, when
suddenly a friendly hand pressed me forcibly by the arm. The owner of
the same cried, "Stop! stop! my friend; I have been hunting all over the
theatre for you." I at once recognised an old Devonshire acquaintance,
whom I was indeed much pleased to see, having received a most kind
reception from him at my last visit to that delightful county--so justly
named the garden of England.

"Well, my dear sir," said he, "myself and several acquaintances of yours
are here for a few days, and have ordered a supper this evening at the
'Albion.' We heard you were at Drury Lane, and I have come to ask you to
join us."

"I must say it is very kind of you, Mr. Turner; but you must excuse me,
as I am going as far as St. James's-street, by appointment; besides, I
leave for the country early to-morrow morning. But I shall be happy to
spend to-morrow evening with you and your friends; therefore, I beg you
will apologise for me."

"To-morrow very likely we shall be off again; we only came for a couple
of days, to breathe the London air, and then return."

"I beg your pardon--you mean London fog, not air."

"Why, yes, fog should be the word; but for all that, I love London in
any season; so no excuse--I shall not leave you; you must join us, or
your friend the squire will be greatly disappointed. He came from the
Great Western Hotel this evening on purpose to see you."

Finding it almost impossible to get out of it, and my friend having
promised we should break up early, I accepted, saying, "You must allow
me to go as far as the 'Wellington,' as I have an appointment there; I
will be back in about half-an-hour."

My incredulous country friend would not grant permission till I had
assured him that I would faithfully keep my promise, and return.

This dialogue took place in the entrance of the vestibule, where a
number of ladies and children were waiting--some for their carriages and
broughams, others for those public inconveniences called cabs. This bevy
of beauty and group of children, the pride of young England, seemed to
interest my provincial friend so much, that I had some trouble to get
him out. It was then nearly twelve o'clock. The front steps were also
crowded; the weather was chilly and damp; a thick yellowish fog,
properly mixed with a good portion of soot, formed a shower of black
pearls, which, gracefully descending through the murky air, alighted,
without asking permission, upon the rosy cheeks of unveiled fair dames,
spotting their visages, if not _a la_ Pompadour or _a la_ Watteau, at
least _a la_ Hogarth. A few steps lower we entered a dense crowd--a most
unpicturesque miscellany of individuals, unclassically called, the
London mob. "Mind your pockets," said I to my country friend.

"By Jove, it's too late," said he, feeling in his pocket--"my
handkerchief is gone!"

"Is that all?" I inquired.

"Well, let me see," he observed, feeling again: "yes, thank God! my
watch and purse are quite safe."

"Ah," I continued, laughing, "the old adage which prompts us to thank
God for all things is quite correct; for you are actually thanking Him
for the loss of your handkerchief."

"Not at all," he replied; "I was thanking Him for the safety of my watch
and purse." After a hearty laugh we parted, he going to the "Albion,"
and I to the "Wellington."

On my arrival there, I found that my friend had been and was gone. My
intelligent cabby soon brought me back through the dense atmosphere to
that far-famed temple of Comus, at which crowds of celebrities meet
nightly--some to restore themselves internally, others to sharpen their
wits at that tantalising abode of good cheer. Upon entering, I inquired
of a waiter, a stranger to me, if he could inform me where my six
friends intended to sup.

"Yes, sir, directly." Speaking down the trumpet: "Below! a Welsh rabbit
and fresh toast--two kidneys underdone--scalloped oyster--a chop--two
taters! Look sharp below!" To the barmaid: "Two stouts, miss--one
pale--four brandies hot, two without--one whisky--three gin--pint
sherry--bottle of port!"

"What an intelligent waiter!" thought I, "to have so good a memory."
Having waited till he had given his orders, I again said, "Pray, my fine
fellow, in which room are my friends going to sup? They have a private
room, no doubt?"

"Yes, sir, a private room for two."

"No, not for two--for six."

"Oh! I don't mean that, sir: I want a rump-steak for two," said he;
"stewed tripe for one--three grogs--bottle pale Bass." And off he went
to the coffee-room.

"Plague upon the fellow!" said I to myself.

As the barmaid could not give me any information upon the subject, and I
perceived through a half-opened door on the right-hand side of the bar a
table laid for six, I went in, making sure it was for my friends, and
that they had not yet arrived. Indeed, I had myself returned from my
appointment much sooner than I had expected. I sat down, and was reading
the evening paper, when a waiter came in. "After you