"The Crimea has a Flora of its own, but the lady is dressed so quaintly, uses such strange language, and is called so many hard, long names, that in my ignorance I am afraid to approach her, or to do anything more than to praise her general effect and appearance at a distance. But here indeed is a horrid reality to talk about. Some half-mile from Phoros, the road runs through a solid rock by means of a tunnel about thirty yards long. I happened to be riding in advance, and saw that this tunnel was blocked up by a wall seven feet in height and eight feet in thickness. All passage for the cart seemed hopeless. We never could lift it up so high. There was no getting round the rock, and so I smote my breast and returned to the party. But there were two or three among us not easily to be deterred from their purpose. An examination was made; a council of war was held; and it was decided that over the wall we must go, and that the obstacle intended to prevent the march of Cossack cavalry and the carriage of mountain guns, was not to impede six British tourists. Under the direction of our acting engineer, to work we went. The party got on the wall, and proceeded to dislodge the stones on both sides with regularity and precision, rolling them down so as to form a kind of solid arch out of the centre of the wall. Shins were cut, toes were smashed, spurs were bent, but the work went on, and at the end of three-quarters of an hour the way was declared to be practicable. The mules were taken out of the cart, and walked by a footpath round the rock; the heavy articles were unloaded, and then, with main strength, the cart was spoked up to the top of the mound of rocks and stones, after a desperate struggle, and then, with immense difficulty, was backed down to the road on the other side. Maybe the old tunnel did not re-echo three tremendous cheers when the work was over, and the mules emerged with their triumphant chariot! But our troubles were not half over. The French were uneasy at Phoros — they had scarped the road, and what they had spared, two winters of neglect had very nearly demolished. Before we moved six miles we executed, in addition to these labours, the following great public works, in order to get our cart over: No. 1. Built a wall to bank up the roadside at a precipice; No. 2. Filled up a crevice with brushwood and loose stone; No. 3. Made the road practicable with fascines; No. 4. Cut away hill-side, so as to widen the road by the side of a precipice where it had given way; No. 5. Unloaded cart and spoked it over a bad bit, and loaded it again.
"It is about twenty-two miles from the camp to Phoros pass,{478} and our halting-place for the night is the ruined chateau of Isarkaia, which is about six miles from Phoros. We reached this secluded spot about seven o'clock in the evening. The walls and roof alone are left. The windows are smashed in, woodwork and all, and the only thing untouched in the place is a mangle in the kitchen. We stable our horses in the parlours and library, for all I know to the contrary, unpack the cart, and carry in saddles and bedding to the room designed for dining and sleeping. There are no boarded rooms, but the clay floor is soft, a fountain and a stream of water run hard by. The horses are groomed and supplied with hay and corn, and we prepare for dinner. A horrid announcement is made — 'The Major has forgot to bring either kettle, gridiron, or saucepan! The tea and the sugar have got mixed! But that is no consequence.' What is to be done? Ingenious engineer suggests that my tinned iron dish shall be used as a frying-pan; carried nem. con. As to saucepan, some ingenious person drives two holes in a potted beef tin case, thrusts a piece of wood through them as handle, and proceeds to make soup therein over a blazing fire lighted up in one of the ruined fireplaces of the drawing-room. Just as soup is ready, handle burns through, and soup upsets into the fire, a disaster quite irretrievable, and so we proceed to devour tough ration-beef done in steaks on the tin dish. Sherry is forthcoming, bread, and preserved vegetables. Water is boiled in a small teapot, and produces enough for a temperate glass of grog; the blankets are spread on the floor, and preparations are made for sleep. First, however, the watch is appointed. Each man takes an hour in the alphabetical order of his name, from eleven to five o'clock, to watch the horses, to keep in the fire, and to guard against theft. The mangle is broken up for firewood. In doing so, the best made London axe, bought from an eminent saddler, flies in two at the first chop! — useful article for travelling! Odd legs of chairs and tables, bits of drawers, and dressers, and cupboards, are piled up for the same purpose, and our first watch is left on his post. We muster three double-barrelled guns and four revolvers between us, a total of thirty shots; the night passes quietly.