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Mrs Duberly’s War

Frances Duberly’s Journal kept during the Russian [Crimean] War was first published in London in 1855, creating a storm of interest. Here was a candid account of the campaign, written by a spirited, flirtatious, and brave woman, the only officer’s wife to witness the entire war (along with her horse, Bob). Below are her entries for April 21st and 24th 1855.

Mrs Duberly’s War: Journal and Letters from the Crimea is edited by Christine Kelly.


Saturday, 21st – Rode with Henry and Colonel Poulett Somerset to the headquarters of the Turkish force, as Omar Pasha had done us the honour to ask us to luncheon. We found him sitting in a small but very light and convenient tent, which opened to Sebastopol; and being on high ground, we had a very good bird’s-eye view of the position of the English and French armies. The band, a remarkably good one, was soon after sent for, and played for some time with a great deal of precision. They played, amongst other morceaux, Il Rigoletto, and some marches composed by Madame, the wife of Omar Pasha, for His Highness’s band.

Madame is, I believe, either German or Wallachian, and evidently possesses a knowledge both of the science and esprit de la musique. The pieces played by the band, and written by her, evinced both taste and power.

Luncheon, consisting of champagne and sweetmeats, was going on at the same time as the music; and when both were finished, His Highness ordered his horse, and we accompanied him to General Bosquet’s, and afterwards to the brow of a hill opposite the Russian camp, where one of the mountain guns used in the Turkish army was placed and fired, to show General Bosquet its enormous range.

These guns are small – made precisely like the barrel of a Minié rifle, about five feet in length, and firing a conical leaden ball of four and a half pounds’ weight. It is mounted on a very small carriage, and drawn by a single mule. Omar Pasha said it would carry 4000 yards. This fact, however, I am unable to vouch for from personal observation, as I never saw the ball after it was put in at the muzzle of the gun – I mean to say, my eyes were too much unaccustomed to follow the shot, nor did we see it strike. But, like true believers, we admitted that it struck wherever we were told it had done so; and, as far as I was concerned, I was quite satisfied. We then re-mounted, and returned to General Bosquet’s tent. Our order of march was somewhat as follows:

Omar Pasha, on a chestnut Arab, which he made go through every evolution that a horse’s brain was capable of remembering, or his legs of executing; a group of attendant pashas and effendis, amongst whom we were mixed up; Lieutenant-Colonel Simmonds, English engineer, attached to the Turkish staff; General Bosquet, and one or two French officers belonging to his staff; and an escort of Turkish lancers on small horses, very dirty, very slovenly, and diffusing a fragrance of onions which made one’s eyes fill with tears. We took leave of our host at General Bosquet’s camp, and rode slowly home in the dusk.

Omar Pasha impressed us as being shrewd, decided, energetic, as well as an amusing companion, and a man capable of appreciating more of the refinements of life than I should have thought he would have found amongst the Turks; though he tells me he hopes, after the war is over, to be made Minister of War at Constantinople, and, – very probably, be bowstrung!

April 24th – The luncheon with Omar P. was highly successful (you must forgive my bad writing but it is after dinner after innumerable goes of brandy & water so I can’t see very well being sleepy & half blinded with cigar smoke) … [we] arrived about 2 o’clock found him sitting up in a beautiful tent full of arm chairs & surrounded by Pashas. I was riding good Bob, the best bred & handsomest horse out here – so we alighted in front of the tent – & the Pashas salaamed & I salaamed and O.P. made me a deep bow & handed me in & put me in the biggest & softest chair. – A silence – ‘Madame – votre man doit être bien heureuse d’avoir un si joli femme’! – Well this was a stunner to begin upon so I took up my parts of French speech and began to talk ‘Altesse – vous me faite trop d’honneur &c &c’ then came the band – playing as if for their lives & playing very well. Then came – ‘Madame – puisje vous offrier un frot de champagne?’ I began to think things looked a little less fishy then – & more like a good business, so the champagne & the sweatmeats came. Zephir Pasha sitting X legged and Col. Simmonds the ADC looking after the distribution of the feast. After the wine our tongues got freer and OP & I had a long and most delightful talk, he spoke with dignity, sense, philosophy and the nonchalance of a man who has lived in danger & become accustomed to it. Then we rode – he & I first, then Zehir [sic] Pasha, Henry & Poulett, then the inferior Pashas – and a long escort of Turkish lancers. Full tilt we went over rocks and holes – up hill, down hill – a regular case of sitting back & hardening your heart. Finally we arrived all right at General Bosquet’s who we picked up with his staff and galloped on to the rocks overlooking the Tchernaya & the Russian camp – here we planted a small Turkish rifle mountain gun we had brought with us & amused ourselves by potting at the Russians at 4,000 yards, while I sat on a high stone & Omar sat at my feet – and we talked of all his wondrous warfare – of ‘great old houses & of deeds done so long ago’ mingled with so much pleasant wit, so much kindness of manner, so much chivalrous politeness that I quite mourned that I could not always be with a man so brave, so dignified, so calm I forgave him afterwards the feelings, which made him urge his horse into every imaginable shew of action & of temper – till it got ill temper – & the fine Arab horse became really farouche. Now, I said, I will shew the difference between a hot-headed Arab enragé and that most perfect of all gentlemen a thoroughbred English horse. Goodboy quiet as a forest pool in midsummer midnoon. One touch with spur & curb and springing on his hind legs he flung himself in air – and then with one powerful disdainful kick – settled down into his calm walk. No fretting, no fighting, no squabble, he received his insult – resented & forgave it.

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