CHAPTER XIX: NEW YEAR IN THE CRIMEA—GOOD NEWS—THE ARMISTICE—BARTER WITH THE RUSSIANS—WAR AND PEACE—TIDINGS OF PEACE—EXCURSIONS INTO THE INTERIOR OF THE CRIMEA—TO SIMPHEROPOL, BAKTCHISERAI, ETC.—THE TROOPS BEGIN TO LEAVE THE CRIMEA—FRIENDS’ FAREWELLS—THE CEMETERIES—WE REMOVE FROM SPRING HILL TO BALACLAVA—ALARMING SACRIFICE OF OUR STOCK—A LAST GLIMPSE OF SEBASTOPOL—HOME!

to impress the scene upon my mind. It was a beautifully clear evening, and we could see miles away across the darkening sea. I spent some time there with my companions, pointing out to each other the sites of scenes we all remembered so well. There were the trenches, already becoming indistinguishable, out of which, on the 8th of September, we had seen the storming parties tumble in confused and scattered bodies, before they ran up the broken height of [Pg 197]the Redan. There the Malakhoff, into which we had also seen the luckier French pour in one unbroken stream; below lay the crumbling city and the quiet harbour, with scarce a ripple on its surface, while around stretched away the deserted huts for miles. It was with something like regret that we said to one another that the play was fairly over, that peace had rung the curtain down, and that we, humble actors in some of its most stirring scenes, must seek engagements elsewhere.

I lingered behind, and stooping down, once more gathered little tufts of grass, and some simple blossoms from above the graves of some who in life had been very kind to me, and I left behind, in exchange, a few tears which were sincere.

A few days latter, and I stood on board a crowded steamer, taking my last look of the shores of the Crimea.