The first quarter of the moon, forming the crescent—the favourite emblem of the Moslem—was seen now and then peeping through the murky clouds, which, in their swift career, cast a dewy shadow upon the ocean. This did not, however, prevent our philharmonic party from mustering upon deck in greater numbers than on previous occasions, probably because it was the last. We kept it up till eleven o’clock, and then retired perfectly delighted with our voyage, having already forgotten our unfavourable departure, and regretting nothing but our too-early arrival in the Bosphorus. The night was calm, and, on going on deck at daybreak, I heard, to my great satisfaction, that we had proceeded very slowly all night, there having been a thick fog, which was slowly disappearing—“a thing,” said the Captain, “seldom seen in the sea of Marmora.” I returned to my cabin, and only lay down that I might be ready when Constantinople came in sight, as the Captain had promised to send and let me know.
About eight in the morning every one was on deck, and the crew busily engaged getting up the luggage, as our arrival was fixed for nine o’clock. We then commenced inquiring about the hotels. All fixed upon Messerie’s hotel, called “L’Hôtel d’Angleterre,” as being the best. By this time, we were slowly approaching the mouth of the Bosphorus. The weather was anything but favourable—rain kept falling—everything on deck was wet, and the air very chilly. General Cannon said to me, “I am very sorry, Mr. Soyer, for your sake, and that of Captain Ponsonby and Colonel St. George, that we shall not see the famed view of Constantinople to advantage. I have already witnessed it, this being my third voyage. However, as the weather is very changeable here, it may be a fine day after all.” The great Oriental City was then opening to view, but, owing to the thick atmosphere, appeared nothing but a confused mass. Twenty minutes later we were entering the Bosphorus, the grandeur and magnificence of which, though often described, I cannot pass without a few remarks.
My mind was quite overpowered when I learnt that the monster building before us was the Scutari Hospital—a town in itself—and I reflected that it was full of sick and wounded; that each patient would require from three to four articles of diet daily, making a total of several thousand per diem to be provided in some shape or other; and that I had undertaken to reform and introduce a better organization in the cooking department, where all was confusion, in so strange a country. I must confess that, for an hour or so, I was quite at a loss to think how I should commence operations. I did not know one official there. I had not the least idea how I should be received; and, after all, I might probably catch the fever, or some other complaint at the time raging within its walls. Suddenly I recollected the plan I had explained to the Duchess of Sutherland and her noble circle, which was to be tried upon a hundred patients. This had entirely escaped my memory; and in a few minutes my puzzled brain was as clear as a bell, and I felt confident of success. “If I succeed with a hundred,” said I, “in a very short time I can manage a thousand, providing I meet with proper support.”
I afterwards learnt from the doctor on board, that the large red brick building on the right, about half a mile from the Barrack Hospital, was called the General Hospital, in which there were at least five or six hundred patients. My resolution as to how I should act was then fixed; nothing appeared difficult to me; and, instead of fearing the undertaking, I was most anxious to begin. Having been advised to call at Pera, to announce my arrival, and pay my duty to Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, before going to Scutari, I ordered my people to go on shore as soon as possible; for, during my reverie upon hospital duties, our good vessel had anchored.
There was only room at Messerie’s Hotel for General Cannon and his aide-de-camp. He had bespoken his apartments. Two young gentlemen apprised us of the fact, and recommended their hotel, as we could not get accommodation at the “Hôtel d’Angleterre.” As I had a letter of introduction to Mr. Messerie, I directed my friend T. G. to call there and make inquiries; and if he found that we could not be received, to go to the “Hôtel des Ambassadeurs,” that establishment being the next in standing. As I promised to remain on board till he returned, I was left almost alone. There was only a lady and her maid. The former was going by a transport-ship the same evening, to join her husband at Balaklava; she therefore had no time to go on shore. Colonel St. George, Captains Ponsonby and Gordon, Mr. Ball, and General Canrobert’s aides-de-camp, and others, had all left.
By this time the weather had assumed a most brilliant aspect—the morose and monotonous-looking clouds, which before monopolised the region in the immediate vicinity of the famed city of Mahomet, had been chased away by a strong breeze; the sun shed his golden rays in gorgeous streams from the purple vault of heaven, and the utmost depths of the lucid waters of the Bosphorus reflected his splendours. The entrance of the Corne d’Or—so called, no doubt, because it takes the shape of a horn of plenty—is in truth a Golden Horn, from the facilities it affords for maritime and commercial intercourse, as well as navigation, penetrating, as it does, into the very bosom of the imperial city. Constantinople, like London, has no quays; and on every side this immense metropolis plunges its feet, or banks, into the Bosphorus, from which it rises, offering to the view the most magnificent spectacle beneath the canopy of heaven. This is particularly the case from the Seraglio Point, where the real city of Istamboul is seated. The soil rises from the level of the water, presenting a vast amphitheatre of myriads of houses, mosques, minarets, and monuments of all descriptions, intermixed with forests of sombre cypress trees.
A dragoman whom I engaged, and who spoke very good English, gave me a description of the surrounding scenery. Nothing can be more ravishing than the living panorama of the Bosphorus, covered with caiques and their caidjees, darting about on all sides like water-flies. The elegance of those frail barks, and the cleanliness of the light and cheerful costume of their owners, so well develops the Oriental style, that it cannot fail in forcibly striking every stranger. Numerous large sailing-vessels, steamboats, Greek and Turkish barques, and even men-of-war (many being then stationed in the Golden Horn), made me forget for some time my mobile panorama, to dwell upon the nautical one, which, so new to me, unexpectedly attracted my attention, when my dragoman informed me that it was near eleven o’clock, and that my men had returned for the luggage.
“Very well,” said I; “but pray explain to me the various places by which we are now surrounded.”
“Certainly, sir, with great pleasure. I know every spot, palace, and monument. On entering the Bosphorus this morning, you passed before the Castle of the Seven Towers, where the ambassadors were formerly imprisoned. Those islands to the left are the Isles des Princes. All the Europeans go and spend their Sundays there. In summer many reside there, and come to business in the morning, returning at night.”
“Those hills yonder, I suppose, are very pretty?”
“Oh, very much so indeed. Almost facing them is the Asiatic shore: that pretty place to the left is called Kadikoi—a very pretty summer residence, inhabited by rich merchants, particularly Greeks and Armenians. It is full of beautiful houses and gardens, and is much celebrated for its fine fruits. A little further this way is the General Hospital—that red brick building.”
“That I am aware of. And the other is the great Barrack Hospital, with its hundreds of windows and four square towers. They are full of English sick and wounded—that I of course knew.”
“Next to it is a splendid mosque called the Sultan’s mosque. It is frequented by his Majesty when he resides at his summer kiosque of Hyder Pacha. That forest of cypress trees is the grand Champ des Morts, or the favourite Turkish cemetery. It extends several miles. Several generations are buried there.”
“Well, what follows?”
“This beautiful and picturesque spot, sir, is called Scutari. It is full of kiosques and Turkish families, pachas, &c. It contains about a hundred thousand inhabitants, almost all Turks, and extends beyond the front of the Sultan’s new palace of Dolma Bachi. You can see it from here. It is not quite finished, and is constructed chiefly of white marble. Lower down is a palace inhabited by the Sultan. It is lighted by gas—quite a new thing in Constantinople. That large building above, on the heights, is the grand hospital of Pera,