Twenty-four hours later, at two o'clock in the morning, I was wakened in my cabin by a violent shock. The Hercule had just run aground in the dangerous waters of the Bahama Channel. Whatever the weather may be, the running aground of a huge body like a hundred gun ship is a serious matter. To crown our disgrace, the corvette La Favorite, which sailed in company with us and had followed us blindly, ran aground at the same instant. Luckily it was almost calm, and the great Hercule lay quietly on the sand like a stranded whale. Whenever the least suspicion of a swell came, she gave a shudder, a sort of wag of her tail, which was very alarming. If the swell increased she would soon go to pieces, and every boat we had to launch would never be enough to save the crew. It was one of those anxious moments in a sailor's life when each man makes it his business to conceal his own feelings. We set hard to work to get down a big anchor on the deep-water side. Once it was down and the cable taut, we began to lighten the ship, pouring all the water overboard, and getting ready to put the guns over the side. Then daylight came, and showed us our real position. A long way off we could see a low island on the coast of Florida, called Looe-Key. The dawn also showed us, in the offing, the British corvette Pearl, commanded by our pleasant comrade of some days before, Lord Clarence Paget, who had sailed from Havana at the same time as we ourselves. As soon as he perceived our position he hurried to our assistance, and steering with all the decision and seafaring good sense of the British sailor, he got as close as possible to us, put down his two anchors at once, and came to us, saying, "I bring you the only thing I can, a fixed point to work on."

We thanked him cordially, but, just at that moment, thanks to our having lightened the ship, and also to the tide, which fortunately began to rise, the Hercule swayed for a few minutes on her sandy bed, and then began to float. A sigh of relief broke from every breast, especially from those of the captain and the unlucky officer of the watch, whose carelessness had been the original cause of the accident.

A few hours more, and everything but a trifling leak had been put to rights, and we were on our way to the United States—to a new country, a young nation, which attracted me as by instinctive sympathy. On our very arrival in the Chesapeake river, I came across a characteristic trait. "Can you speak French?" I asked the pilot who hailed us. Instantly he answered me, in English, "No, I only speak American!" The claim to separate nationality extended even to the language.

Shortly afterwards I went ashore, and, armed with an itinerary, kindly drawn up for me by Michel Chevalier, in which he had mentioned all he advised my seeing, both as to men and things, during the short time at my disposal, I started on a hasty tour through that splendid country. That first glimpse of America fulfilled all my expectations, and delighted me. A young country it was in very deed. Nature itself, to my European eyes, had a pureness of atmosphere, a richness of vegetation, a freshness, a general air of youth, unknown in our older countries. Man too, in his gait, in his independence of mind, and his boldness of enterprise, betrayed an exuberant vigour of which our populations, enervated by disappointing experiences, and crushed by routine as they are, have grown incapable.

As I desired to get from Norfolk in Virginia to Washington, I started by the Roanoke Railway, on the first day of my trip, and thus crossed an immense marsh, the "Dismal Swamp." The rails we ran on being laid open- work fashion on huge piles fifteen feet above the marsh, the whole road rocked under the weight of the engine, so much as to disturb the waters of the swamp and startle the numberless snakes and turtles inhabiting it. It was a most novel sensation. Further on, betwixt Baltimore and Philadelphia, the train having to cross an arm of the sea, steamed on full pace; the engine, uncoupling itself, ran ahead on to a siding, while our train was carried by its own impetus on to the upper deck of a steam ferry-boat, moored at the end of the line. It stopped exactly at the right spot, and while the boat crossed the arm of the sea, we went below and dined at a splendid buffet on the lower deck, waited on by the prettiest of barmaids.

Further on yet, between Philadelphia and Pittsburgh, in that rich Allegheny country where the coal-beds lie on the surface, and coal costs five francs a ton, and whence petroleum oil was soon to gush forth, the travelling was done by canal in the flat country, and by funicular railways in the mountains, by means of boats built in sections which hooked together on the water, and were taken apart when there was a question of climbing up inclined planes. All public works and means of communication were full of daring things like these, while in Europe (I speak of the year 1838) we were still at our first timorous essays at railway travelling.

I travelled through Virginia, passing by all those spots where four and twenty years later I was to watch the bloodiest battles of the War of Secession, that first and awful convulsion of the great Republic's manhood. Reaching Washington, I was most courteously received by President Van Buren. How often since then I have been back at the White House, under Presidents Tyler, Buchanan, and Lincoln! How many a curious scene I have witnessed there, under the rule of the last-named President, rich as it was in dramatic incident! During that first stay of mine at Washington I made the acquaintance of three of the greatest men in the United States—Calhoun, Webster, and Clay—Calhoun of Carolina, the impassioned Southerner; Webster, the eloquent representative of New England Puritanism; and Clay of Kentucky, with his angular face and powerful frame, and a curious mixture of extreme gentleness and energy in his manner and ways—the very type of the Western population, the advance-guard of civilization. I was present at several sittings of the Senate, and heard these gentlemen speak with an authority which seemed to fascinate their auditors. Washington as a city, did not interest me at all—bits of town, scattered about in an ocean of dust, which later on I knew as an ocean of mud; hotels crowded with



canvassers, all devouring so hurriedly at table d'hote time, that the first arrivals were rising from table when the last ones were sitting down, and all this amidst a noise of jaws that reminded me of the dogs being fed in a kennel; the whole population, whether politicians or canvassers, chewing and spitting everywhere; little society or none at all, save that formed by the foreign diplomats, most of them clever men, but bored by their isolation, and consequently disposed to see everything around them with unfavouring eyes. One of the chief members of this society at the time of my sojourn was the British Minister, Mr. Fox, a diplomatist of the old school, past master in forms, and proprieties, and social refinements—everything that the English sum up in the word "proper." I was told that one day as he was leaning against the chimney-piece in a drawing-room where dancing was going on, in deep conversation with I know not what other personage, an American couple came and stood just in front of him in a country-dance. Soon the young man began to show signs of anxiety; his voice grew thick, his cheeks swelled alternately, and he cast anxious glances at the chimney-piece. At last he could hold on no longer, and with the most admirable precision, he shot all the juice of his quid into the fireplace just between Mr. Fox and his interlocutor. "Fine shot, sir!" the old diplomat contented himself with saying, with a bow. It may have been that little incidents of this kind cast a chill on international relations!

Philadelphia delighted me. It is a cheerful town, with streets planted with fine trees. The prison there, the first built on the solitary system, occupied me for a whole day. I went over every corner of it, in the company of the directors, and of any other officials who could inform me on the subject. It will be known to my readers that the system in this prison, at the time of which I write, was that of absolute seclusion in cells—complete isolation in fact—during the whole term of sentence. Soon afterwards I visited Auburn Prison, in New York State, where the condemned person was subjected to a different regime,—cells at night, but work in common, though in silence, during the day. I have been over many prisons since, for I have always held that the management of such places is a pretty reliable thermometer of the moral condition of the country to which they belong. I know of some foul ones in states which set up to be very civilized. In France we are lamentably behindhand in the matter. Though we have some prisons which are model, we have a great many more which are shamefully behind the times. For my own part, I have come to the conclusion, from all I have seen and heard, that seclusion in cells at night, with work in common during the daytime in small easily managed workshops, or better still, in the open air as at Portland Prison in England, is the penitentiary system which offers the fewest drawbacks. I say drawbacks, for no such system can offer advantages. All the holding forth of philanthropists about the sad fate of criminals is empty noise. A prison must be a place of punishment; it can never be an abode of reformation, nor of reclamation.

Let us pass, from the prisons, to Mr. Norris's great steam engine, and especially locomotive engine works, which Michel Chevalier had told me to be sure to go and see; and most interesting, truly, they were. Great improvements in the construction of locomotives originated in these works. Mr. Norris had also had a very original and exceedingly American idea—to make a great orchestra of musical instruments played by steam instead of by human lungs. I heard, or at all events I was told I heard, the "Hunting Chorus" in Robin Hood performed by this orchestra, in which the conductor's baton was replaced by a tap. It was horrible!

After Philadelphia came Niagara, wonderful and peerless. I admired its picturesque grandeur, but I admired the rapids before the fall every bit as much. The mighty power of the huge river, the overflow of all those great lakes, pouring in foaming fury over its rocky bed, for such a distance and through such splendid scenery, is indescribably striking. In the midst of the lovely country of the Hudson Highlands, stands West Point, the famous military school where all the officers of the American army are educated. I was the guest, while there, of Colonel de Russy, who was in command, and my stay was full of interest. There is a curious point about the school, and it is not the least of the surprises reserved for us by the American democracy. The cadets do not enter by examination, but by favour. The Senators, or representatives of each State in the Union, have a right to a certain number of nominations. The President has the same. Their choice, as a rule, falls on lads of intelligence, and the only thing asked of them on joining, is to give proof of a healthy constitution. They know nothing, and have to learn everything in the school, at which they consequently spend four years. Well, in spite of the absence of selection or competition for entrance, the result is quite excellent. The knowledge, spirit of discipline and duty of the American officer, and his adaptability to no matter what task, leave nothing to be desired.

Everybody knows New York, that huge cosmopolitan city, the commercial capital of the New World, where colossal fortunes are made and lost with the giddiest rapidity. Its position as being the chief artery of human activity, is incomparable, but the town—qua town—has this point in common with all huge agglomerations of commercial buildings. It is utterly commonplace. I merely passed through it on my way to rejoin my ship at Newport, but with me there came on one of those splendid steamers, veritable floating palaces indeed, which the Americans excel in building, a huge picnic, at which 150 New York ladies were present. The night passage across Long Island Sound in lovely weather, with all this gay party dancing and supping, was most delightful.

I left the United States with a feeling of the deepest gratitude for the sympathetic, almost affectionate, welcome I had everywhere received, and the most sincere admiration for that great democracy, ambitious without being envious, where shabby class rivalry is unknown, where each man endeavours to rise by his own intelligence, worth, and energy, but where no one desires to drag others down to the level of his own idleness or mediocrity.

A great community, in which nobody would for a moment suffer the State to take to itself the right to interfere between father and child by denying the free disposal of his property, and thence his paternal authority to the parent

A great community, where no man need be a soldier unless he chooses, and where all are free to bring up their children as they think fit, to practise the religion that pleases them best, and to combine in perfect freedom for the endowment of church or school. What an example, in many matters, the young nation sets the old! We left Newport on our return to France, and after a quick passage of nineteen days, the Hercule anchored in Brest Roads, on July 10th, 1838.



CHAPTER V

1838

Before six weeks were out, I was at sea again, on my way to Mexico. My orders to sail reached me at Luneville, where my brother Nemours had taken refuge, with a cavalry command, from the desperate endeavours of the grand-parents to get him married, and whither I had followed him with the same object. Thanks to my brothers, my memory is crowded with recollections of Luneville and the camp there, beginning with that of an unlucky captain who ruined his career by stopping his squadron at galloping drill, before the prostrate form of General Comte de M— commanding the division, stretched on the broad of his back by a lively charger with the ringing word of command—"Obstacle!"

During my short visit I lived with my brother in the Chateau, where one general whiled away his sleepless hours by playing the French horn, much to the enjoyment of everybody else! Our evenings were spent at the theatre, where there was a ballet A corps de ballet at Luneville! The wily manager had got out of the difficulty by composing a choregraphic scenario called Les Sabotiers, in which the only sign of skill asked of the lady performers was to swing the sabots on their feet in cadenced time. A great noise they made, which did not, however, prevent the Mayor of Luneville from falling asleep regularly every evening in the municipal box, where he sat enthroned perched on a curule chair as high as that of Thomas Diafoirus. He even fell off it, during a performance at which I was present, and so noisily that the shock interrupted the evolutions of the ballet; and all the officers of the garrison who filled the stalls, rose with an anxiety which may have been somewhat affected, and would not be reassured until Mr. Mayor had been fished up out of the depths of his box, and replaced upon his perch. I recollect, too, an ascent of the Donon, one of the peaks of the Vosges, with a charming family of the name of Chevandier, and in the loveliest weather What a view there was! All Lorraine, all Alsace, with the spires of Strasbourg—that beautiful country which my forefathers of the old monarchy had made so truly French. Alas! Alas!

I went back to my duty. I sailed from Brest on the 1st of September, under the orders of Admiral Baudin, a man who had a whole career of valiant deeds behind him. One-armed, tall in stature and energetic in countenance, he straightway inspired respect, and one soon learnt to recognize him as a commander as intelligent as he was resolute, and even impassioned. His flag was hoisted on the frigate Nereide. I followed, with a small corvette of which I had been given command, and which I had hastily commissioned. Except for the torpedo-boats, and such small flotilla craft, I do not believe the whole of our present navy contains such a small vessel as she was She was armed with four thirty-pounders, and sixteen carronades, mere children's toys, and her crew amounted to 100 men. But how pretty she was, careening over, level with the water, with her huge spars sloping backwards; and how charmingly she was named- -La Creole! She was my first command, and I was twenty! We were bound on an expedition which might give us a chance of fighting, and I hoped in my turn to follow the example of my elder brothers, who had so well upheld the honour of our race at Antwerp and in Africa

My emotion on leaving France under such circumstances will be readily understood. My old aide de-camp Hernoux, and Bruat, escorted me outside the entrance to the port, and returned in the pilot's boat. The last link with the soil of the mother-country was broken, Forward then, my boy!

In a few days we were before Cadiz, that lovely Andalusian city. An African sun had come to heighten its beauty, and it looked like some exquisite carving in the whitest marble, rising fairylike out of a sapphire sea. My landing in the evening was just as full of charm. I hurried to the Alameda, the public promenade, where the silence was unbroken, save by the plash of the waves breaking at the foot of the ramparts, or the whisper of the breeze amongst the palm-trees. I caught sight of mysterious couples sitting in the shadows of the alamos, black dresses and mantillas blending with the men's "capas," and from these formless groups a stifled murmur rose, with the noise of fans, like the beating wings of an imprisoned bird. I wandered through the streets and the Plazo Santo Antonio. I saw delightful balconies and glistening eyes that shone behind the lattices; exquisite forms glided over the white flags on which the moonlight fell. I saw, in fine, a city, a whole population, instinct with the breath of love, and I caught the complaint myself. I dreamt of scaling balconies, and of kisses and tender words, jealous rivals draped in black cloaks, and knife-thrusts at street corners under the lamps, and all the struggle and danger and triumph without which life is not life at all.

There happened to be a bull-fight, during our short stay in this port, at the Puerto de Santa Maria—one of those bull-fights celebrated in that famous song that every Spaniard hums even nowadays, "Los Toros del Puerto." I took good care not to miss it, and I will take still better care not to describe it, although the chief "espada" was Chiclanero, the handsomest of all those handsome fellows, and the one who was said to have roused the most violently passionate fondness in the fair sex. Fifty years ago there were no railroads in Andalusia, nor carriages either. Majos and Majas (Goya's Majos and Majas still existed in those days) arrived on horseback from all quarters under the burning September sun, and no words of mine can give any idea of the motley crowd in the most brilliant costumes, the perfect orgie of colour presented by the neighbourhood of the plaza, on which, as a finishing touch to the quaintness of the scene, a squadron of yellow dragoons did duty as police! From Cadiz we sailed in company with the frigates La Gloire and La Medee and two steam corvettes which we had found there, and reached Cape Saint Antonio, the most westerly point of Cuba, after a thirty-six days' passage. Once there, the admiral took all the water and provisions out of the Gloire and the Creole, and sent us to revictual at Havana, while he went on his way to Mexico and Vera Cruz. With my habitual extreme indifference to politics (having, in fact, always hated them), I have forgotten to say WHY we were going to Mexico. It was the eternal old story. Demands timidly made and then spurned, insufficient force for action merely increasing the insolence of our opponents, and then the necessity for sending a large and expensive expedition to finish up with. A score of war-vessels, including four frigates and two bomb- vessels, were soon to be collected before Vera Cruz, with a certain number of troops to be landed, and to deal authoritatively with the Mexican Government. Meanwhile we were to go, Captain Laine and I, to Havana, to lay in provisions, take everything we could to the squadron on board, and also, so the admiral had told me confidentially, I was to endeavour personally to get together all the plans and information possible concerning the towns on the Mexican coast and the fort of Saint Juan d'Ulloa, which had all once been Spanish. Nothing could have suited me better than this run to Havana, where we anchored four days later, and of which place I had carried away such pleasant memories seven months before. And as soon as I had paid and returned my official visits, I hurried to the Tacon Theatre, where, in a stage box that I knew right well, I beheld the charming woman who had begun my education as a smoker so prettily during my first visit.

We got the worst of news from Mexico. While Admiral Baudin was hurrying thither by forced marches, as it were, the ships that had got there before us had well-nigh raised the blockade. The frigate Herminie had started for France, which she never was to reach. She was wrecked at the Bermudas. The Iphigenie, which Captain de Parseval still commanded had been obliged to depart too, with nothing but a remnant of her crew, the yellow fever, which was then raging, having made terrible ravages on board. I heard of the death of many a good friend. Captain de Parseval had only one officer left (Kerjegu, who in later days was my colleague in the National Assembly) and one cadet, to help him to get his frigate away. There had been a tempest too, which had done a great deal of damage to our cruisers. I saw two come in, the Eclipse, Commander Jame de Bellecroix, and the Laurier, Captain Duquesne, which had been dismasted in the gale, and which had rigged up temporary spars, by means of which they had contrived to crawl into port. All the sails of the Laurier had been carried away, and she was quite helpless in the storm, so her captain, Duquesne, and his second officer, Mazeres, lashed themselves on deck, after having sent the crew below. The violence of the wind laid the ship so completely over on her beam ends that Lieutenant Mazeres, who was carried overboard by a wave, caught hold of the maintop and managed to get back on deck. A moment later the two masts of the brig were broken by the fury of the sea, and thus she regained her balance and was saved.

Leaving all these cripples to patch themselves up as best they could, Captain Laine set sail with his frigate and gave me orders to follow. We reached Sacrificios, the nearest anchorage to Vera Cruz, after a rapid passage. Here we learnt that the captain of the Medee, M. Leray, had been sent on a mission to Mexico. Then the admiral himself went off to Xalapa, to confer with the Mexican ministers. Meanwhile the blockade went on, enlivened by privations of every kind, short rations of water, yellow fever, and so forth. Our water was brought from Havana; it came in barrels, and was frequently black and nauseous when it came out of them. Yellow fever stalked abroad. I lingered one night, fishing over the side of the ship, until eleven o'clock, with a strong, healthy, first-class cadet, who had been under me in the watch on board the Didon. A foreboding of some sort seemed to weigh on his mind. I tried to cheer him up, but all in vain. By six o'clock next morning the terrible "vomito" had carried him off. Poor Gouin! I was very fond of him. We buried him on the Sacrificios islet, that gloomy cemetery which later on the Zouaves christened the "Jardin d'Acclimatation."

But little happened to vary the monotony of those weeks of waiting. I had gone in my boat one day to take soundings in shore, along the coast stretching from Vera Cruz to Anton Lizardo, when I saw a squadron of Mexican Lancers in their great white hats, looking like a squadron of picadors from a bull-ring, come galloping over the sand-hills. It was more than likely these gentry might fire their carbines at us, and we had no arms to reply with. So I bethought me of an expedient, which turned out quite successful. Instead of retiring as fast as we could row, I ordered my crew to lie motionless on their oars, while with the help of two men I made as though I were carefully preparing, loading, and laying a heavy gun, which was nothing more than a large-sized telescope with which I happened to be provided. The effect was electric. We saw the Mexican squadron make off full tear in every direction, to the delight of my crew. One night we had another adventure. The admiral sent me, with Messrs. Desfosses and Doret, and two engineer officers, Commandant Mangin-Lecreux and Captain Chauchard, to make rather an odd sort of reconnaissance. To understand its nature, my readers must know that the fort of Saint Juan d'Ulloa is set on a great reef, separated from Vera Cruz by a narrow arm of the sea. On the edge of the reef looking towards the town, the walls of the fort, into which huge iron rings for mooring big ships are built, go perpendicularly down into the sea. On the opposite side the glacis runs into a sort of large lake formed by two arms of the reef, level with the surface of the sea. The admiral wanted to know whether the bed of this lake was level, whether it was fordable, and whether, in case of necessity, the glacis and the walls of the fort could be reached from it, after they had been gutted by the big guns.

We started, then, one fine night, reached the belt of reef far away from the fort, landed, and walking through the water, which was half way up to our thighs at the start, we bent our course towards the fort, taking soundings before us, as we went, with long sticks. We found much the same depth everywhere, and a sandy bed covered with short seaweed. The sea had doubtless cast all the sand by degrees over the coral reef, and the currents had levelled it. After a long and tiring march through the water, during which we had to stop and take breath every now and again, whispering to each other, like Raffet's engraving of a similar reconnaissance, "Smoking is forbidden, but you can sit down if you like," we had got quite close to the glacis when we heard a shout of "Alerta!" from the sentries. Commandant Mangin, who was determined to touch the glacis with his hand, was a few steps ahead of us. Suddenly a noise arose within the fort, and in the twinkling of an eye we saw about fifty soldiers appear on the crest of the glacis, with their musket barrels glancing. They rushed down at full speed and sprang into the water after us. We of course made off as fast as ever we could. For some minutes it was a downright trial of speed, and Commandant Mangin was all but caught. But though hostilities were imminent, they had not yet actually begun. So the soldiers did not fire, and they soon tired of pursuing us. We got back without any difficulty, except that great fishes, whose every movement was visible in the phosphorescent water, would rush between our legs. Sharks, perhaps! There were numbers of them in those parts.

The admiral had learnt what he wanted to know. A few days more and the ball opened. The admiral brought the three frigates, Nereide, Gloire, and Iphigenie (this last came back from Havana with her crew completed by that of Duquesne's brig), and the two bomb-vessels, broadside on, and attacked the fort. I had asked leave to share in the fun, and, to my great grief, he had refused it. He considered my ship too small and insignificant. "I can't possibly take you. I have put the frigate Medee aside too, for I don't consider her guns heavy enough." He sent me to watch the firing of the bomb-vessels, and rectify it if necessary.

Before the firing began an incident occurred in which I was directly concerned. As the attack appeared imminent, the ships anchored or moored close to the fort hastened away, and they all passed close to the point where I was posted. At that moment the admiral signalled to me, "Ship in sight looks suspicious; stop her" Ambiguous as our signalling code is, this order seemed evidently to point to seizing one or several of the vessels just leaving the port. Of these there were four, to wit, a Belgian ship, chartered by the admiral to take off the French subjects resident at Vera Cruz if they should be threatened. It could not be that one. Then there was an American vessel, a quasi warship, flying a pennant and armed, what is called a revenue schooner. Thirdly, the British steam-packet Express, also armed and flying a pennant, commanded by a lieutenant in the British Navy, and borne on the Navy List as a ship of war. It could be neither of these two, to my thinking. There only remained a Hamburg vessel, which I ordered to go and anchor under the guns of the corvette Naiade. But at this instant a lieutenant in one of the Nereide's boats came to me and shouted, "The admiral desires you will take the Mexican pilots off all ships going out of port."

"Off the English packet too?" I inquired.

"The admiral gave no details, he said all pilots."

Though it seemed a serious matter to me, considering the touchiness of the English, to take a man off one of their warships, I had no course but to act. The Express had passed astern of me, and I had exchanged friendly greetings with her captain, Lieutenant Cooke, with whom I was acquainted. She was far away already. I hoisted the British flag, and backed my action with a shot across her bow. She brought to, waited for the boat and officer I sent, and the following conversation ensued :—

My Officer.—"My orders are to ask you for your pilot."

Lieutenant Cooke.—"I want him to get to Sacrificios."

My Officer.—"It isn't a mere request I make you."

Lieutenant Cooke.—"If I don't give him up, shall you take him by force?"

My Officer.—"We trust you will give him up with a good grace, and that we need have no recourse to violence."

Lieutenant Cooke.—"That's very well, sir," and the conversation closed with a shake of the hand, once the British commander had cleared himself of responsibility. So the pilot entered my boat, whence the admiral instantly had him fetched. The American revenue schooner gave hers up without making any difficulty, only declaring the admiral responsible for any accident that might happen to the ship for want of a pilot.

I have related this incident of the pilot of the Express in detail because it gave rise to a heated discussion in the British Parliament, during which I was personally taken to task and made responsible for a "violation of international law."

But the admiral gives the signal to open fire, and the cannonade begins. In one moment I am wrapped in smoke. I not only cannot see to watch the firing, I cannot even see where I am going. The lead gives very little depth, and I see the mud disturbed by my keel rising on the surface of the water. I cannot stay where I am, so I crowd on sail and get out of the smoke. I repeat my petition for leave to take part in the fight to the admiral by signal. His heart is touched, and he answered by the welcome word "Yes," and then I go down the line of frigates, all hotly engaged, especially the Iphigenie. Every minute or two I saw splinters of wood flying into the air, cut out by the shot striking her. She had a hundred and eight in her hull, without counting her spars. There were eight in her foremasts alone. It was a perfect miracle everything did not come by the board. That gallant old fellow Parseval kept walking up and down the poop, rubbing his hands whenever a shot struck near him. It was really a fine sight. We waved our hands to each other, and I went and took up my position at the end of the line of frigates. There I stayed, going to and fro under sail, amid a little racket of my own making.

There were hard times within the fort. There had been several explosions already, and it occurred to me to load al my guns with shell and turn them on a sort of tower, called in fortification a cavalier, whence the fire was particularly lively. I had very good gunners, but from my place as commanding officer I could not see where the shots took effect for the smoke. My second officer who was forward, could judge better than me. At the first shot he shouted to me "Good! in the cavalier." The second, "In the cavalier." The third, "In the cavalier." The fourth— nothing was to be seen. A huge cloud of smoke white above, black below, rose from the fort, slowly to a great height above it. When it cleared a little, driven by the wind, there was no cavalier at all. The whole thing had blown up. My crew shouted with delight, and the captain of one of the guns performed a brilliant hornpipe. Was it my shells? Or did the bombs from the bombship do the job? Not one of my brave fellows on the Creole have the shadow of a doubt. Every man has a right to his own opinion.

The fire slackened, and I went to take the admiral's orders. The fort surrendered during the night. The garrison, two thousand strong, evacuated the place, and a convention was concluded with the general in command at Vera Cruz for the abstention of both sides from further hostilities. We then occupied the fort, and the admiral gave me orders to moor the Creole under its walls, and together with Comte de Gourdon, commanding the Cuirassier, to put prize crews on board the vessels of the Mexican Navy lying there. With the exception of one pretty corvette, the Iguana, which has been incorporated with our own navy, these prizes were not worth much.

The unlucky fort was in a terrible condition. Shot and shell and explosions had destroyed everything. A horrible smell rose from the numerous corpses buried everywhere under the rubbish. Wherever battle had not done its work the most revolting filth reigned supreme, and all this under an equatorial sun and in the midst of the yellow fever. The crew of the Creole was at once set to sanitary work, in company with the detachment of engineer sappers attached to the expedition. We dug out the corpses and towed them out to sea, and several very meritorious instances of self-sacrifice occurred which were duly and publicly recognised by the admiral.

My aide-de-camp, M. Desfosses, had drawn up a little code of signals, by means of coloured shirts, with the house of our consul at Vera Cruz, in case of any emergency. Within five days of the taking of the fort we learnt by these signals that the French subjects within the town were in great danger. We immediately sent all our boats to the mole, which was thronged by a distracted crowd of men, women, and children, all of whom we received and transferred to the fort.

At the same time our consul informed us that Santa Anna, who had been appointed generalissimo, had just arrived with troops, that he had declared the convention null and void, &c., &c., and that we must be prepared for anything. The admiral, who was some way off, with the squadron, at the Green Island anchorage, was at once warned. Luckily it was fine. If it had not been, no communication with him would have been practicable The admiral himself came that very night, and took up his quarters on board the Creole. In his usual resolute way, he had at once decided to forestall the enemy's action, and, taking advantage of its surprise, to execute such a coup de main with the feeble means at his disposal, as would make it impossible for the city and forts of Vera Cruz to harm us for some time to come at all events. Our night was therefore spent in preparation. The boats of the squadron came in one after the other without any mishap, bringing all the men who could be landed. Counting the three companies of artillery holding the fort, these amounted to about eleven hundred men. We set out between four and five o'clock in the morning in a thick fog. A portion of the troops disembarked, commanded by Captain Parseval, were to scale the small fort on the left of the town with ladders, and then go round the ramparts, spiking the guns, and destroying everything they came across. Another body, under Captain Laine, was to do the same thing on the right-hand side. And a third column in the centre was to land on the mole, blow up the sea gate, and march on General de Santa Anna's headquarters to try and seize his person. My own company, numbering about sixty men, formed the advance guard of this last column, the bulk of which consisted of the three companies of artillery.

We started then, with our oars muffled to deaden the noise. We could hardly find our way in the twilight, and had to strain our eyes to see the mole through the mist. The great gate of the city was closed, no sentry outside it. Everything was asleep. We landed in dead silence, and the column formed up. The sappers ran on ahead, laid the powder bag, and masked it, then a sergeant of sappers lighted the match and shrank back behind a projecting bit of wall. Bang! The mask of the petard just grazed our heads, and one side of the gate lay on the ground. At the same moment firing began in the direction of Parseval's column. "Forward! God save the King!" We caught sight of the guard at the gate bolting off, and then lost it in the fog. There wasn't a cat in the streets. The noise of the musketry fire had driven in anybody who might have been out. Led by a guide we passed at a swinging pace down a street which brought us to the Mexico gate. Here the fog lifted a little. A few shots and bayonet thrusts got rid of the guard at the gate. Just at this moment a barouche galloped up from within the town. It was drawn by six mules with picturesque-looking postilions, in broad-brimmed hats. It was the barouche which had brought Santa Anna, trying to get into the open country. We shot down two or three of the mules, but the carriage was empty.

We then received a heavy discharge of musketry from about a hundred and fifty soldiers who forthwith disappeared down a side street. They were the headquarters guard. Off we tore after them, and were just in time to see the last of them go into a big house which my guide informed me was the headquarters of the military governor. A huge court with galleries running round it, and above them on the first floor more arcades, adorned with flowers in pots and climbing plants, met our gaze when we entered. A sharp fire poured from the first floor the instant we appeared in the courtyard. Hesitation would be fatal. We must get upstairs and bring those folk to their senses. A narrow stairway was the only road. Well, every man must own to some weakness! When I saw that staircase, up which I should have to go first, and receive the first volley alone when I got to the top, I wavered for a moment, and waving my sword, I shouted, "Volunteers to the front!" My quartermaster, a Parisian, rushed to the staircase, and the sight brought me back to a sense of my duty. I rushed after him. We raced against each other, and I had the satisfaction of getting to the top a good first, followed indeed by my whole company. There was nothing so very terrible about it after all. At first we found ourselves in a sort of vestibule; an ill-directed fire, which wounded two of our officers only, pouring on us through the doors and windows. Then each of us set to work on his own account. A second boatswain, of the name of Jadot, and I threw ourselves against a door and broke it in with our shoulders. When it gave, I was shot forward by my men pushing on behind me, and hurled into a room full of smoke and Mexican soldiers. One of them, in a white uniform and red epaulettes (I see his straight Indian hair and wicked eye yet), was aiming at me with the barrel of his musket close to my face. I had just time to say to myself, "I'm done for." But no, there was no shot, the gun fell on my feet, and I saw my gentleman roll under a sofa carrying the sword with which Penaud, my lieutenant, had run him through as quick as lightning, stuck between his ribs.

I believe I rid myself of another great big fellow next, and then, the first start having been given, there was a general rout, and I found myself in another room at the end of which I saw several officers, one a general, standing together very calmly, with their swords sheathed. I rushed forward with the boatswain Jadot, to protect them from my men, who were somewhat excited, and the fight was over. The name of the general, a tall fair handsome fellow, was Arista. In later days he became President of the Mexican Republic. He surrendered his sword to me, and I had him taken downstairs, and left him in the hands of artillery Commandant Colombel, who sent him to the fort. As for Santa Anna, we could not find him, though his bed was still warm. We took his epaulettes, and his commanding officer's baton, and Jadot the boatswain, who had lost his own straw hat in the scuffle, put on his gold tipped one.

I lost no time in quitting the house, which was full of blood, and where I was sickened by the sight of the bodies of two wretched women who had been killed by the fire through the doors Once outside I met Captain Laine, coming by the ramparts, and carrying out his task of destruction as he went. He urged me to march with my company on a point in the town where Parseval's column was keeping up a steady fire, keeping an eye meanwhile on the churches, the towers of which were reported to be armed with cannon. I set out on this true "course au clocher" and presently got to a large building from which we were fired upon.

We entered. It was the hospital. There was another shindy in a big room on the ground floor, full of sick, standing up or kneeling on their beds, scantily covered with red blankets, and all shouting "Gracia!" "Mercy!" It was a horrible sight. All the poor wretches were more or less far gone in yellow fever. We went in at one door and hurried out at the other, and at last we got into a long straight street, at the end of which we saw a large house with musketry fire crackling from every window like a great set piece of fireworks. This huge and solid building, set astride on the ramparts, with doors on to the town, and doors into the country, was called the "la Merced barracks. Full of troops as it was, and with reinforcements constantly coming in from outside, it had stopped Parseval's column ever since the morning, and was soon to stop Laine's as well. One great door faced the street up which we were going. Of course it was shut. We brought a gun to bear on it, and sent a shell into it. Amid the smoke of the discharge, mingled with the sort of fog that was still hanging, we thought the door was broken in, and rushed forward. But when we got near we found the cursed thing was intact, and we were forced to throw ourselves back into the side streets for shelter, for in one instant the whole head of our column, six or seven being officers, had been killed or wounded. We then set to work, sappers, artillerymen, sailors, and all, to throw up a barricade across the street, so as to bring up a battery of guns, and break that door right down before beginning the attack afresh. But just on this the admiral arrived and the chiefs in command took counsel with him. Considering half our crews were on shore and that the slightest change in the weather might prevent their getting back on board ship, and considering too that the admiral's object had been attained, he gave orders for us to re-embark. The return journey offered no difficulty, except at the very last moment, when nobody was left on the mole but the admiral and a few officers. Then, a great sound of cheering and of warlike music was heard in the town. It was Santa Anna coming to drive the Frenchmen into the sea. Out he came, on horseback, on to the mole, at the head of his men, but the launches from the frigates which were still lying on each side of the jetty fired grape shot into the head of the column, and laid everybody low,—Santa Anna and the rest of them. Some fanatics rushed to the end of the mole in spite of this, to try and shoot the admiral point blank, and he was in great danger. His coxswain and the midshipman on duty, Halna Dufretay (an admiral and a senator when he died), covered him with their own bodies and were both severely wounded. His secretary, who was with him, and who carried a double- barrelled rifle, killed two Mexicans in two shots. A great friend of mine was killed there too, a charming young fellow who had a great future before him—Chaptal, a first-class cadet. It was known that I was much attached to him and I was given his aiguillettes (which I sent to his family) as a remembrance of him. When I got back to the Creole, bringing two of my midshipmen, Magnier de Maisonneuve and Gervais, with me, both severely wounded, the admiral sent me orders to fire a shell into the "la Merced" barracks every five minutes. This closed the day of my baptism of fire. The military operations of the campaign were over. The fort of Saint Juan d'Ulloa remained in our hands in pledge. It was the diplomats' business to complete the work. The admiral dismissed the greater number of his ships and soon sent me off to Havana, which place I did not reach without falling in with two of those violent squalls which are called norte in the Gulf of Mexico. I was to lie there on the watch, ready to attack privateers if the Mexican Government should resort to that form of warfare—the fleetness of the Creole fitting her specially for such service. Meanwhile my visit was very pleasant to me, after the horrors of Sacrificio and the yellow fever. The commander of an English corvette, the Satellite, gave a dinner to M. de Parseval, two other captains and myself, which was so cordial that towards dessert one of the captains, who shall be nameless, passed his hand gently across his brow and, murmuring "I don't feel very well," sank straightway underneath the table. We took him by the legs and shoulders, Parseval and the English captain and I, but Parseval and the Englishman laughed so much that we had some trouble in getting him to a bed, on which we laid him and where he slept till morning. I know not whether it was for this wound and feat of arms that his native town raised a statue in his honour.

Of course I sought and found all my former Havanese acquaintances. One alone was invisible, the lady of the cigarette. In vain I placed myself night after night before her box. Nobody there! In vain I paid visits to houses I knew she frequented. The covers were all blank. I was sorely grieved. So then I bethought me of a stratagem. The Creole set sail hurriedly, with much bustle, to go and look for a Mexican ship, reported, so they said, to be at sea. As soon as the day closed in I made all sail for the port, and leaving my second officer in command, with orders to pick me up at four o'clock next morning at a certain distance and in a certain line from the harbour lights, I jumped into my boat and went ashore. With a bound I was in the theatre. There she was! And I laugh still when I think of her grandparents' faces when they saw me appear; but they raised the quarantine forthwith, and when, soon after, I gave a ball on board the Iphigenie, that charming young lady was its chief ornament. Beautiful and quaint that ball was, breezy with victory and duty well performed, the glorious scars of the old Iphigenie mingling with the splendour of the flowers and the lights.

After staying a month at Havana, as there was no question of pirates, I was ordered to take the Creole back to Brest, where I arrived in March, 1839. My monkey was the first to see and point out the land from the top of the rigging. I had hardly got into the roadstead before the maritime prefect boarded me to tell me I was made a knight of the Legion of Honour. The worthy admiral insisted on receiving me as such before the guard, which had been turned out. He drew his sword to give me the accolade, and made me a little speech, under the fire of which I did not flinch, though he was deeply moved.



CHAPTER VI

1839

Scarcely had I landed from the Creole when I received the distressing news of the death of my sister Marie, Duchess of Wurtemberg. It was the first mourning in our family, the first break in that numerous circle of tenderly attached brothers and sisters. I adored my sister, who was a most remarkable woman, witty, as passionate in her antipathies as in her affections, an artist to the very tips of her fingers. Her death was a deep sorrow to me, and it saddened my short stay among my own people. A short stay it was indeed, for I only came ashore in March, and June found me at the entrance of the Dardanelles, attached to the staff of Admiral Lalande, commanding our squadron in the Levant.

I had rather a funny little adventure on my way to take up my duty. I had asked the then Minister of the Interior, M. Duchatel, to give orders that there should be no official reception when I passed through Toulon- -no firing of guns, nor authorities waiting at the city gates, nor troops drawn up, all that wearisome and commonplace ceremonial which I had been through I know not how many times already. The minister had given his promise, and, strong in his assurance, I was just getting there quietly in my travelling-carriage, when the sight of a mounted gendarme, who galloped off the moment he caught sight of us just after we got through the pass of Ollioules, made me suspect some treachery or other. Without a second's hesitation I jumped out of the carriage, the moment the gendarme was out of sight, and desiring my valet to go on with it, struck across the fields on foot to the harbour. I had not been mistaken, for soon I heard twenty-one guns greeting the entrance of my empty vehicle into Toulon, doubtless amid what the stereotyped official phrase would call, and with good reason this time, a scene of indescribable enthusiasm.

Important events were occurring in the east in rapid succession at the time I joined Lalande's squadron. The recommencement of the struggle between ancient Turkey and that youthful Egypt which the genius of Mehemet Ali had created, had just ended in the final defeat of the Turks in the battle of Nezib—a defeat which was closely followed by the death of Sultan Mahmoud, the last of the determined autocrats of the race of Othman. Action on the part of the European fleet might arise at any moment, owing to these complications and the rivalries thereby excited between England and Russia—great Eastern powers both of them. Our sole preoccupation therefore during our cruise in the Dardanelles was to get our ships into such condition that they might make a good show in the event of anything of the kind occurring. I have related elsewhere how we succeeded, under the powerful will of Admiral Lalande, in reconstituting such a fighting fleet as we had never possessed since the Revolution swept away at one fell swoop the whole of the navy of Louis XVI., with its body of first-class officers, and all that collection of traditions both as to discipline and knowledge which it had gradually acquired.

The admiral's great merit lay in reconstituting these traditions, which have taken deep root and are carefully treasured still. And the curious thing, the peculiar trait, about him was that, though he desired certain results, he would have nothing to do with the means to attaining them. This state of warlike efficiency was not obtained without trouble. Constantly under sail, and overtaxed with rough and unaccustomed forms of drill as the crews were, demoralized too by accidents—men killed or arms and legs broken—the result insisted on by the chief in command was only reached by treating them with extreme severity. On board the Jena, the flagship, corporal punishment—nowadays found useless, and therefore very properly abolished—was of daily occurrence. But the admiral ignored it, never would have it even mentioned to him. He left all that to his flag captain, my friend Bruat, a most energetic officer. I never heard one word of reprimand from Admiral Lalande's lips, and once I saw him get into a fury with one of his captains, who had appealed to his disciplinary authority. The scene is worth describing.

This worthy captain (his name was Danican) commanded the ship Jupiter, on which I had taken passage from Toulon to join the squadron, and one of my earliest duties was to present the new comer, with his staff, to the admiral. These gentlemen stood in a circle in the great cabin round Captain Danican, armed to the teeth, cocked hat in hand, and his sword- belt buckled high up round his little body. There they waited. "Pere Danican,' as he was familiarly called, a veteran sailor, whose name is borne by one of the streets in St. Malo, had the most splendid service record, with this item in particular, that he had been reported as killed in a fight with the English. He had been struck in the belly by grape-shot, lost consciousness, and laid out with the rest of the dead, of whom a list was being made before throwing them overboard one after the other, when the battle was over They were actually swinging him backwards and forwards to heave him over the side, when one of his comrades called out, "Hold on. Let Danican alone. We'll give him a funeral"—to which ceremony the old Breton owed his life, though it did not soften the by no means placid character of the strict old disciplinarian.

And accordingly, something in his eye, when the admiral came skipping in smilingly, with a commonplace "Good-day, Danican" "Good-day gentlemen," warned me we were going to have a scene. "Admiral," he shouted in a voice of thunder, "I have the honour to present the staff of the ship Jupiter to you—and I take this opportunity, Admiral, of telling you that it would be impossible to be more dissatisfied with these gentlemen than I am!" This tirade concluded by a violent wave of his cocked hat, while the officers stood motionless and stared at the deck. A thunderbolt falling out of heaven would not have startled the admiral more than this speech. I never saw any man so put out of countenance. He shuffled his feet, gave a forced laugh, and not finding anything to say, stammered some disconnected words, "I trust . . . my dear. . . Danican .... a regard for duty . . . these gentlemen ....!" We put a stop to the distressing scene by low bows of dismissal, and everybody went off in a rage—the officers with their captain, the captain with the admiral for not supporting discipline, and the admiral with everybody, including, it may be, his own self.

Nobody was satisfied, which is indeed the invariable consequence of weakness, for the love of vulgar popularity was the weakness of our eminent chief, so deeply respected on other accounts. This same weakness caused him to end his days as a Deputy of the most colourless opinions.

I cruised for six months outside the Dardanelles, first with the Iena and afterwards with the Belle-Poule, which had joined the squadron and of which I had been given command—six months which offered nothing in the way of wild gaiety, beyond the routine of my duty. True, we saw the sun rise over Mount Ida every morning, but we never saw the shadow of a goddess. The utmost we did in the short breathing spaces between our drills and cruises between Cape Baba and the Isles of Tenedos, Lemnos and Imbro, was to land at the slaughter-house of the contractor to the squadron, irreverently styled Charognopolis, for an excursion to the ruins of Troy, to shoot snipe in the marshes of Simois, or get a hare on the tomb of Patroclus.

This monotony was broken, however, by the appearance of the Turkish fleet, which we saw issuing, forty strong, from the Dardanelles, sailing along in confusion, driving before a strong breeze—altogether a most stately sight.

We took station abreast of the squadron, saluting the Capitan Pasha, who on his side ordered his fleet to heave to—a manoeuvre which was performed amid a fine confusion. A steam launch at once came towards us. It bore the second in command of the fleet, Osman Pasha, sent by the Capitan Pasha to request an interview with Admiral Lalande. He consented and boarded the Turkish ship, taking me with him.

During our passage to the Capitan Pasha's flag-ship, Osman Pasha led us below, closed all the cabin doors with an air of mystery, and with the help of a young Armenian dragoman he told us a long story, which I will sum up in a few words. Constantinople, so he said, was being laid waste by fire and sword. On the death of Sultan Mahmoud, Kosrew Pasha, who was no better than a Russian agent, had seized the reins of power. He stuck at nothing, so long as he kept them. The real Turks, the faithful Mussulmans, were losing their heads by the hundred; the head of the faith himself, the Sheik el Islam, had not been spared. He refused to consecrate the new Sultan until he wore the venerated turban of Othman upon his head instead of the revolutionary fez, and for this he was strangled at midnight, with great pomp it is true, and amid the salvos of artillery due to his exalted rank (a poor consolation, I thought to myself!). The lives of Osman Pasha himself and of his chief, the Capitan Pasha, hung by a thread. Wherefore they had both resolved, instead of fighting against Mehemet Ali, as everybody believed they would, to make common cause with him, so as to unite all the Mussulman strength in one single alliance, and make one of those concentrated efforts which have been the dream of every period and every country which has been torn by revolution. In plain English, the two chiefs in command were carrying the unconscious fleet into an act of defection which was intended to save their own heads. They wanted the admiral's approbation, which he refused. Then they asked for a French warship to go with them as a sort of lifeboat, which he promised them, and above all, they begged that no word, glance, or gesture of ours, during the visit we were about to pay, might betray the secret confided to us. We then boarded the Capitan Pasha's flagship, where we had a reception that was truly oriental in its mingled pomp and duplicity—we alone, amidst the crowd of courtiers, officers, and foreign representatives surrounding this commander-in- chief, about to turn traitor, being possessed of his secret. Not to mention that as we went along the gun decks, we saw the Turkish gunners smoking their pipes beside the heaps of cartridges piled between the guns. A highly oriental sight also, and far from tranquillizing!

By evening the Turkish fleet had disappeared over the horizon, and the only other recollection my memory holds of this period is that of a reconnaissance along the northern coast of the Dardanelles, and the peninsula between Gallipoli and the Gulf of Saron, which reconnaissance I made with several other officers, under colour of a sporting expedition in a Turkish boat called a sakoleve and with a view to an ultimate military occupation of the peninsula. Mayhap the notes made during this expedition were of use when Gallipoli was occupied in 1854, at the beginning of the Crimean War.

In the course of the autumn, I beheld Constantinople, that most wonderful of landscapes, for the first time in my life. And to begin with, the thing which struck me most were the sunsets over the huge city. Nothing can give any idea of how magnificent they are, with the towers and thousand mosques of Stamboul standing out like a mysterious vision in the misty golden haze, an enchanted city of aerial palaces hanging in mid-air. In those days the soft evening mists I speak of were ideal in their transparence, which no smoke ever dimmed, for the factories and steamboats which now hang their black plumes over Constantinople were then unknown. Instead of steamers, there were only those delightful caiques, laden with brightly-dressed passengers, gliding silently along in their thousands, and leaving as it were tracks of glistening spangles in their wake. Nothing can ever efface that sight from my recollection.

Among the caiques, which are quite peculiar to the Bosphorus, was one I met many a time, and which was indeed well known to everybody. It belonged to a sister of the late Sultan Mahmoud, celebrated in Constantinople for her love affairs—a sort of Marguerite de Bourbon, for whose fleeting favours several people had paid with their heads. Three oarsmen, splendid white-skinned fellows with long fair moustaches, and athletic frames scarcely concealed beneath their white drawers and striped silk gauze shirts, sent their mistress's caique flying through the water. She was a tall woman, with piercing eyes and an aristocratic air—always seated between two lovely maids of honour. I say lovely, for the Turkish woman, when she is unobserved, when she knows her own beauty and meets eyes whose admiration she desires to rouse, always finds means of permitting her veil the most delightful if indiscreet revelations. Consequently I was always on the look-out to try and get a sight of the Sultana's caique. It must be remembered I was just off a cruise after long months spent in warlike solitude on board ship. So, though St. Sophia, with its size and its legend, had struck me as being the most profoundly devotional edifice I had ever seen—an impression which the sight of St. Peter's at Rome and of the Cathedral of Seville has never removed—my attention and curiosity were much more drawn to the earthly representatives of the houris promised to the faithful, than to the monuments of the Faith.

The curiosity I speak of led me on a certain Friday to the Sweet Waters of Asia. I found the loveliest of scenes lying before my eyes that delicious afternoon towards the end of August. Imagine an immense meadow, broken up by clumps of trees, sloping down to the swift blue waters of the Bosphorus, on the other side of which ran wooded hills dotted with mosques and minarets and gaily painted country houses. Close to the edge of the water stands a kiosk, and an elegantly-carved marble fountain. And around the kiosk is a sort of promenade shaded by huge plane-trees. Under these plane-trees a hundred, or thereabouts, gaily adorned and plumed arabas, now standing unharnessed in the meadow, had deposited an army of the smartest Turkish ladies. Some of them sat beside the water, others round the fountain, others again followed little pashas mounted on ponies led by eunuchs. What with the richness of the landscape, the truly oriental light, and the variety and splendour of the dresses, the whole sight was really fairy-like. We were very desirous of studying it in detail, and at close quarters. A line of soldiers cut off the portion of the grove of plane-trees reserved to women only. But our ambassadress and her daughters, who had come at the same time as ourselves, had a right to enter it, and we hurried after them. At first the officer commanding the guard tried to stop us. However, after a colloquy with the dragoman of our Embassy, he contented himself with begging us to go through quickly. The ladies of the Embassy having seated themselves among the Turkish ladies, we did likewise, and, in spite of the angry glances of the eunuchs, by dint of mutual curiosity and a little flirtation we spent several hours quite delightfully. Lots of pretty women, and forbidden fruit into the bargain. No more veils, no more feredjes. We could scrutinize the exquisite costumes at our leisure.

When I say "No more veils" I ought rather to say nothing but an excuse for a veil—a gauze chin covering leaving nose and eyes and eyebrows bare, and so transparent across the mouth, that where that mouth was a pretty one, to cover it at all was but an extra piece of coquetry.

All these women were chatting, eating, amusing themselves, some sitting, some lying down, going and coming, hanging about near the ladies of the Embassy, to examine the details of their dresses too. If instantaneous photography had existed in those days, what an infinity of charming and picturesque groups might have been snatched. I did venture to make one or two rapid sketches on the sly; but there were too many eyes upon me, and besides it was an abuse of the toleration which was being shown us. I could not tear myself away from this most exceptional sight, which will never be seen again, now the Turkish ladies have adopted European fashions—boots and petticoats, and stays, deceiving stays!

But every good thing comes to an end, and besides, as the day wore on, a great cloud of smoke rose over Constantinople, and steadily increased in volume. It was evidently a fire. In that country, where all the buildings except the mosques and a house here and there are wooden—a fire is a terribly serious thing. Was it Stamboul, or was it Pera, and with Pera our hotel, that was blazing? Carried along by the sinewy strokes of our caiqchis, and aided by the current, we went swiftly down the Bosphorus, landed at Dolma-Batche, and rapidly climbed the Cemetery Hill. Thence I saw a striking sight. The whole quarter below, called Kassim Pasha, lying between Pera and Galata, was in flames. Over three hundred houses were sparks, already burnt out. The wooden houses, kindled by falling crackled like faggots, and we could see the conflagration spreading like a spot of oil. Fifty houses away from those actually on fire, people were turning out, throwing doors and windows and furniture into the streets, without warning of any kind. Drawing nearer the scene of the fire, we came upon a troop of vile-looking fellows, the rioters of our country, grafted onto the Mussulman fanatic- -kavasses were raining blows with their sticks on this crowd of volunteers (or thieves); firemen, bare-armed and turbanless, hurried along, with their fire pumps on their shoulders, shouting shrilly and knocking over people as they went; troops kept coming up from all quarters, horsemen trotted up at full speed, and packs of terrified dogs tore wildly through the streets, howling with pain. It was a singular sight indeed.

Seeing the flames kept gaining ground, and were already licking the first houses in the European quarter in Pera, I sent orders for the crews of two of our ships, anchored at Tophana, to land, slipped on my uniform, and put myself at their head, resolved to try and save the Frank town. Luckily it was calm, or the attempt would have been quite hopeless. But the sun had set red, and that presaged wind. There was no time to be lost. I hurried up with a hundred and fifty sailors. The first houses on each side of the street of Pera were in flames, but a spot was pointed out to me, twelve or fifteen houses off, where, the street narrowing between a stone mosque and some gardens, one might hope to clear a space to stop the fire, by pulling down the five or six intervening houses. I had no hesitation in giving the order for this, my men set eagerly to work, and all the active portion of the Frank population of Pera were seconding our efforts, when one of the generals of the garrison, Selim Pasha, came up with his men, and fell into a fury at the sight of what we were doing. I forthwith seized him by the hand and dragged him, the dragoman of the Embassy, M. Lauxerrois, following us, to the top of the minaret of the mosque. Here I said to the dragoman, "Do show this fool of a pasha that the clearing we are making is our only chance of saving Pera;" and as M. Lauxerrois began to translate this into Turkish, "Don't trouble," said Selim Pasha, in very good French, "I understand." I begged his pardon for the epithet, but he had passed suddenly already from rage to enthusiasm. He tore down stairs four steps at a time, and I shortly saw him without his coat, in trousers and list braces, helping us to pull down the houses, and setting an example of the utmost activity to his own men.

Down came the houses, one after the other. Our sailors behaved splendidly. They climbed up on to the roofs and fastened ropes, to which we harnessed the whole of the population, while the frameworks were being sawn through below till the whole thing came down with a crash. Indeed I saw one house come down with five or six sailors perched on its roof. I rushed forward in horror, thinking they must all be maimed or killed. Not a bit of it! Only a few hands and feet torn by nails! Truly God watches over the brave! The fall of one Turkish house caused a pretty scene! The proprietor was determined to prevent it. He struck and swore at us,—pulling out his beard. The anticipation of the destruction of his property drove him wild. Finding nobody paid any attention to him, he called his women folk to his assistance. They hastened up like furies, at first. Then, changing their tactics, they cast themselves on my officers, clasping them in their arms, covering them with kisses and caresses, and trying "the power of their charms on them in every imaginable way. It was a curious sight truly to watch by the light of the flames, and amidst such a cacophony of races, a handful of sailors stopping the passers-by, Turks as well as the rest, setting them to work, snatching the fire-pumps from the firemen, carrying soldiers and generals too along with them, and in fact ruling the roast in the very middle of Constantinople.

At last, thanks to the fire-pump and thanks to our own selves, the fire stopped just where we had fought it. I went off then towards the cemetery, where it was still burning, and where the sight was most singular. An immense crowd of people, the whole population of the burnt- out quarters of the town, in every imaginable costume, and silent like true fatalists, herded on the hill and the plateau, together with whatever had been saved out of the disaster. Under the red light of the conflagration, the flames of which shot up in great jets into the skies, the huge bivouac made a splendid picture, reminding one of the works of the English painter Martyn, the Last Judgment, Belshezzar's Feast, and so forth. Stamboul, with her forest of minarets and her thousands of lights, stood out on the horizon against a lovely starry sky, and in the foreground the Seraskier sat in a big armchair, surrounded by an immense staff, seeming very philosophically resigned to the catastrophe over which he appeared to be presiding. In one hand he held his pipe, and in the other a slice of melon. We were already well acquainted, and when he saw me coming up, all blackened with smoke and ashes, he roared with laughter. But he gave me a slice of his melon, and very grateful it was to my parched throat.

The fire was under control—that is to say, there was only one block of houses left burning, and this had no communication with either Galata or Pera. But the disaster was a great one. Over fifteen hundred houses had been burnt. The exact number was never known. First because nobody counted them—that would have been quite contrary to oriental indifference and fatalism—and then because it would have been excessively difficult to make them out, in the confused ash heap which had taken their place. The number of families reduced to destitution must have been very considerable, but individual charity is very liberal amongst the Mussulmans, as indeed amongst all people possessed of religious faith. I got home, at one o'clock in the morning, worn out. Shortly afterwards the wind rose. If it had begun to blow a little earlier, nothing would have remained of Pera, of the Frankish town, nor of the Embassies.

A very few days had gone by when I was bidden to quite a different sort of entertainment. After the disease of adopting the Gentile's trousers and frock-coat, yet another disease seized upon Turkey—that of having a constitution in imitation of the constitutions in vogue amongst the Giaours, and the Sultan had the kindness to ask me to see one proclaimed. Concerning the constitution itself, which bore the altogether Turkish name of "Hatti Schereef de Gulhane," I will say nothing. First of all because I never read it, and secondly because I have been told it was "liberal," that is to say, fitted, like M. Prudhomme's sword, to organize government, and if necessary to destroy it, this last more frequently—and that is quite enough for me. But the proclamation ceremony was likely to be curious. So on the appointed day I started forth in full uniform, to be present at it. It was to take place within the Seraglio. The first incident in the day was that my boat met the Russian Minister's caique at the landing-stage, and as neither of our coxswains would yield to the other there was an awful bump, which damaged the dignity of our attitudes by knocking us down like card houses. Then we had to ride rather frisky horses in Turkish saddles, and this, what with our cocked hats, dangling swords, and unstrapped trousers, was yet another trial to the dignity of some of my sailor comrades. Nevertheless, we got without hindrance to a kiosk, the upper story of which was to be occupied by the Sultan and his harem, and the lower by the diplomatic corps. A special window had been reserved for me. Bands began to play, loud shouts were heard. The Sultan was coming, on horseback, preceded by a crowd of officers and pashas, in full dress. Between him and them, dressed in a sort of blue blouse with epaulettes, hobbled a little lame man with a big red head, a white beard, and a spiteful-looking face. It was Kosrew Pasha, the Grand Vizier, he who had caused so many heads to fall, the strangler of the Sheik el Islam. He bowed low several times as he passed me. After him came the Sultan's pages, handsome young fellows, carrying halberts and wearing gilt shakos with immense plumes of peacocks' feathers, aigrettes, or birds of Paradise. In the centre of them was the Sultan himself, almost hidden by their plumes. He kept his head thrown back and wore a black cloak trimmed with diamonds and a fez with an aigrette adorned with the same stones. He dismounted. The Grand Vizier and the new Sheik el Islam held up the corners of his cloak, while a hideous negro, with hanging lips and haunches like a woman, covered with embroideries, advanced to receive him. This was Kislar Aga, chief eunuch and governor of the harem.

And now everybody has come, "Let the sport begin." From my window I look out on a broad space, surrounded by beautiful umbrella pines and sloping gently down to the sea. Beyond is the Asiatic shore of the Bosphorus and the pretty village of Kadi-Keni. This space is full of troops, twelve splendid battalions of the Imperial Guard, Lancers and Artillery. These form a circle, in the centre of which rises a pulpit covered with some yellow stuff, and around it the pashas and the whole body of Ulemas and Mollahs, wearing the ancient costume—coloured kaftans, and big white or green turbans crossed with broad gold bands—shortly collect. The chief dervishes and the heads of all the religious sects are there also. All this clergy stands there motionless, impassive, with lowered eyes, not over pleased, I fancy, at bottom. Then the crowd makes a rush, which infuriates the Grand Vizier. He makes towards it, lifting his little leg very high and waving his handkerchief. At the very sight of him everybody flees, and retires humbly within bounds. Then the manuscript of the Hatti-Schereef is brought to him. He carries it respectfully to his lips and forehead, and hands it over to Reschid Pasha, who ascends the pulpit and reads it out. That over and finished midst the deepest silence, an Imaum takes Reschid Pasha's place in the pulpit. He stretches out his arms. All present do the same, the soldiers stretching out but one on account of their weapons, and he intones the prayer for the Sultan, which every one repeats in chorus. After which every man passes his hand across his eyes and beard and the troops shout "Allah" three times, with unequalled fervour and passion. Hundreds of cannon are fired in all directions, and the beautiful sight, lighted up by the most brilliant of sunshine, has come to an end. The Sultan has departed. The Sultana Valide sends me a posse of officials, bearing cakes and sweetmeats. I take leave of Kosrew Pasha and depart also, thinking sadly that if this Turkish people, so brave on the field of battle and apparently still so devoted to its sovereign, and so firm in its religious faith, is truly, in spite of all, a rapidly decaying nation, the miserable rag of paper read out this day will certainly not save it.

The Sultan gave me an uninteresting audience in the pretty Top-Kapou Palace—now burnt down, I believe—which stood on the extreme end of the Seraglio point. I had visited the palace, which was then unoccupied, with a very witty Pasha who spoke French admirably well—and whom I had known in Paris—Namick Pasha, commander of the Imperial Guard. We had gone over all the rooms in the harem, and this visit, with the explanations and commentaries given me by such a guide, had been most interesting. One room was a perfect gem, and I cannot resist the pleasure of describing it. It was very large, circular, the floor covered with very fine matting. All round it was a little raised platform, covered with divans. The walls were entirely formed of great mirrors, in splendid rococo frames of carved wood, gilt. It was evidently the room in which the harem festivals were held. Between the mirrors were eight little doors, every one leading to a small apartment for one woman, fitted with mirrors and divans and each hung with a different stuff. To complete the whole thing, there was a passage leading to a bath-house, consisting of several very pretty marble bath- rooms. The master of all this must have had a good time! All sorts of details were given me while I was there. The Sultan had no legitimate wives except those who bear children—so the competition may be imagined. Mahmoud had had thirty-five children, but only five were left, two sons and three daughters. The rest had died in infancy. The actual Sultan, Abdul-Medjid, who was very young at the time of my visit, had only one wife with child, but his mother, the Sultana Valide, had just presented him with six young ladies, said to be charming, as an encouragement. Besides this, every year, at the Feast of Bairam, the Sheik el Islam gives the Sultan a beautiful slave to whom he is compelled by the Law and the Prophet to give proofs of his affection, that very day, on pain of incurring the wrath of Allah. Only nobody knows whether Allah, up in his celestial home, has reason to be pleased or not.

Having still a few spare days before I rejoined the squadron, I took advantage of an Austrian steamer to cross the Black Sea as far as Trebizond, whence I gazed admiringly on the splendid chain of the snowy Caucasian peaks. I should much have liked to get as far as Erzeroum, in the heart of Asia Minor. But as time failed me I contented myself with travelling at full speed for one day, along the road leading thither, with the Tartar or postman who carried the mails, so as to obtain some idea of the country. When I say road I speak figuratively. It was not even a path. It was a mere track across the woods and rocks and ravines of that mountainous region, but along that track the Tartar galloped imperturbably, never stopping however terrible the ground might be. When the post-carrying experience was over, my comrades and I were more done up than we had ever been in our lives. The least weary of the party was the son of our consul at Trebizond, Maxime Outrey, a charming lad, brought up and dressed a l'orientale, whom we had taken with us as our dragoman, and who vied with the Tartar in speed and boldness the whole day long like one possessed. On the way back from Trebizond our steamer was crammed with passengers coming from every corner of Asia, the strangest medley of Circassians, Persians, and cat merchants, and one pasha. I bought a splendid Angora during the passage, and the pasha bought himself a wife. The whole of the negotiations for the latter acquisition, the discussions, the examination and verification of the merchandize, took place in our cabin, and very amusing it was. The young lady belonged to a Tcherkess family which had eluded the Russian cruisers, and come alongside of us at Trebizond in big boats with triangular sails, spotted like a tiger's hide. The head of the family, a tall old man, was going to Mecca, to seek a cure there for the horrible agony caused by a Russian bullet which was still in his head. His sons, handsome fellows in splendid costumes, with fine features and shoulders broad out of all proportion to waists that were like girls', were going with him. There were a dozen women besides, and do you know, my reader, what that pack of women was? Letters of credit, bank notes, by means of which the old man with his wound expected to pay the expenses of his journey! Having no cash, he had brought the twelve best-looking girls in his family with him. He had just disposed of one on board, and he reckoned on doing the same with the rest all along the road. We soon made the acquaintance of the party. The girls were huddled together on deck in a sort of cage or trelliswork, where they remained, drenched by the sea, four days and three nights, without their chatter and their outbursts of merriment ever ceasing for a single instant. They all dreamt of becoming the wives of sultans or pashas and of living in palaces. As the old man fed them with nothing but millet, to fatten them, we used to bring them our dessert after each meal, and so we were soon good friends. Thanks to some trifling service I rendered the old man, he consented to bringing the prettiest girl into my cabin, and allowing her to unveil, so that I might do her picture. I thought the model and her costume both equally lovely, but the sitting was a very short one. Whether it was shyness or sea-sickness I know not. But she complained of the heat, began to cry, and I had to send her away.

I merely passed through Constantinople on my way back. It was the middle of Ramadan, all the mosques lighted up at night, and the women promenading in the square of the Seraskier in the daytime—a regular persil. I went there one day with Paul Daru, Lavalette and Cyrus Gerard, all members of the embassy M. de Sercey was taking to Persia. They came from Paris and told me the news from there. In my turn I told them all about the battle of Nezib, a very interesting description of which I had had the good luck to hear from two young Prussian officers, eye- witnesses of it, one of whom became the celebrated Marshal von Moltke; and also all I learnt about the Eastern question on my visits to the Embassies, to Therapia and Buyukdere. There I had met all the chief members of the diplomatic corps, which consisted during my stay of two French ambassadors, succeeding each other, both of them instability personified—one was Admiral Roussin, a distinguished sailor, the other M. de Pontois, a professional diplomat—both of them very kind, but neither, as a result of their instability, having any real influence. Beside them two men of tenacity and steadfastness admirably personified two great powers. Lord Ponsonby, a tall, blunt, haughty, unsociable old man, represented British perseverance and Lord Palmerston's prejudices, while M. de Boutenieff, a charming, kindly, and witty man, liked by everybody and making game somewhat of all, stood for the great destinies of the Russian people, and the mighty will of the Emperor Nicholas. An armed Russian intervention in the Bosphorus was no longer in question, but it was unforeseen as yet that Russia and England would agree to ruin the work of Mehemet Ali, the last strength in reality of the Mussulman world, and that the whole of Europe would join these two powers in their willing alliance for the isolation and humiliation of France, revolutionary France! No more allies for us, since we have gone into that mill! We sacrificed 200,000 men in the Crimea. What did we get by it? The garter for Napoleon III. One word or deed of sympathy for all our reverses? Not the shadow of one! Revolutionary France has been asked for help. But none has ever been given her. Would it be rendered her now? God grant it!



CHAPTER VII

1840-1841

I left Constantinople with a farewell glance, full of pleasant memories, over its forest of minarets, over the Bosphorus and the smiling Princes Islands, and at the snowy peak too of Mount Olympus, which, with my taste for mountaineering, I had climbed but a short time previously. An interesting ascent it had been, first of all through that Eastern Switzerland around the pretty town of Broussa, and then over the snow and rocky debris to the summit, whence a matchless panorama is to be seen. The squadrons, one French and one English, forming a strong force of ships, were at that time on guard at the mouth of the Dardanelles. I went back to my duty in ours, which was still as active and incessantly drilled as ever. The English squadron, commanded by Sir Robert Stopford, a handsome white-haired old man, was less restless. But the fleets dispersed before long. Ours sailed for Smyrna, whence the Admiral sent the Belle-Poule under my command, and the Triton, Captain Hamelin, back to France. We sailed in company, and after a somewhat lengthy winter passage, we got to Toulon only to find ourselves put into thirty-five days of quarantine. Five and thirty days of prison and solitude and uselessness imposed on a crew without a single sick man, which was daily inspected by its officers as to cleanliness, whose health was looked after by three doctors, and which had just gone through the best and safest of purifying operations—a long sea voyage. Five and thirty days during which 400 men ate and drank and lived at the expense of the National Budget without doing the smallest work for the country—the whole thing inflicted by the Sanitary Board—a purely local and irresponsible body, with its eternal round of red tape. A good thing it is indeed that such a monstrous and intolerable abuse should have been abolished! The only reason it lasted so long is, that it brought in a revenue to the members of the board. To begin with, they filled the inn they kept under the title of "Lazaretto" by force, and then they sold the disinfectants. "Gentlemen," the sanitary officer would say, with his provencal accent—"Nous allons faire le parfum." The crew were shut up below, the officer lighted a sort of pastille which made a great smoke, everybody pretended to sneeze at once ... and we were disinfected! The farce was over! There was a great dinner too, which the board gave itself at Saint Roch, at the expense of the persons in quarantine, which put the finishing touch to the scandal. Wherefore, during my own detention, I always had the band on deck as soon as the boat belonging to the board appeared in the port, and greeted it with the most horrible and discordant of music. Further, I asked guilelessly for leave to carry on my ship's firing drill in the Lazaretto Bay, and I took care to open fire so close to the Lazaretto itself that I heard all the glass in the windows fall out with a crash. As I expected, I was forbidden to do it again, the board being furious, and having lodged a complaint, stating that I used bad cartridges, but I had a delicious moment of vengeance all the same.