I could not resist turning round and firing a random shot at the banks studded with Russian tents, _now that I was able to breathe freely again_.
I must say that my pilot, whom I at first suspected of being a traitor in Russian pay, behaved splendidly.
He told me he had never passed such a night of fear and anxiety: what with my cocked pistol at his head and the constant fear of putting the vessel on a bank, he certainly had had a bad time.

However, I rewarded him well.

On arrival at Toultcha, a small town near the mouth of the Danube, still held by the Turks, I found telegrams from headquarters at Rustchuk (the place I had left), inquiring if Hobart Pasha had passed Ibraila and Galatz, and ordering that if he had done so he was immediately to leave the Danube.
I cannot express my annoyance, as even at that moment I could have brought a couple of small iron-clads that were lying at Sulina into the river and played 'old Harry' with the Russian army, then advancing into Roumania, _via_ Galatz.

The bridge near Galatz could certainly have been destroyed.

It was hard on the gallant Turks, hard on the Sultan and his government, and hard on me, to see such magnificent chances thrown away.
From that moment I trembled for the result of the war.