icers, 'had stolen the bullocks.' It is often mentioned as one of
the advantages of live cattle as food for an army that they require no
transport, but carry themselves. But we learnt that there is another
side to this quality--they sometimes carry themselves away, as they
did on this occasion. Whether our gallant allies really ate our dinner
as well as their own that Christmas Day I know not, but African
warfare had taught them to take care of No. 1, and they formed a
convenient and not unlikely peg on which to hang the deficiency; and
deficiency there was, for our supply department, relying upon their
fresh meat, had not brought up any salt meat from Balaclava, and we
were left with only our ration biscuit for our Christmas dinner. Just
as we received this pleasant intelligence the orderly sergeant handed
me the order book warning me I was for guard duty in the trenches that
night. Our regiment, which had gone out from Edinburgh in the spring
over 1,000 strong, and had received a reinforcement of nearly 100 men,
was at this time reduced to 68 men available for duty. So but one
captain and one lieutenant (myself) were detailed to take charge of
this poor remnant of what had been, three months before, a magnificent
battalion. Captain Patrick Robertson, well known to Haligonians as
Colonel Robertson-Ross, Adjutant-General of Canadian Militia, was to
be my companion. A new colonel had just been sent to us from a West
Indian regiment, who took as much interest in his new command as if he
had served all his life with us, and employed his chargers and his
grooms to transport any possible comforts for his men. Six months
afterwards he was struck down when directing the fire of his men on
the Russian gunners to keep down their fire and cover our attack on
the Redan. By chance he heard us warned for guard, and at once went to
his tent and returned with a ham knuckle. 'It is all I have,' he said,
'but those going on duty must have the first chance of some food on
Christmas Day. Sit down on your rug and make the best of it.' He was
in earnest, so we ate up his dinner and polished the ham bone; but I
had determined to keep Christmas as an Englishman should with a real
plum pudding. I had collected the ingredients in the course of a
couple of trips among the Maltese and Greek settlers at Balaclava and
from the stewards of some of the transports; a few raisins, a little
sugar, some butter (so called by courtesy); and of course my rati