thought there was a possibility of saving, and these she attended to at
once. For many hours she remained in this strangely crowded room, and
when she did quit it she only went away for an hour's sleep. On her
return to the plague-spot she found fresh patients awaiting her, one, a
little baby, who in spite of her efforts died. Everything was against
Mary Seacole in this pestilential stable, but nevertheless she was the
means of saving some lives.
At length, when the plague was dying out, the brave woman who had so
nobly fought the disease was herself stricken with it, but happily for
the British army she recovered.
Throughout the plague Mary Seacole had treated rich and poor alike.
The centless man and the down-trodden muleteer received as much
attention from her as the wealthy diggers returning home with their
bags of gold dust. The latter paid her liberally for having tended
them, but the majority of her patients had nothing but thanks to give
her. Possibly she appreciated the latter most, for some of her rich
patients seemed to think that having rewarded her they had wiped out
the debt of gratitude.
On June 4 some of her wealthy patients gave a dinner party, and invited
Mary Seacole to be present. One speaker proposed her health, and after
referring to her having saved their lives continued in the following
strain: 'Well, gentlemen, I expect there are only two things we are
vexed for. The first is that she ain't one of us--a citizen of the
great United States; and the other thing is, gentlemen, that Providence
made her a yellow woman. I calculate, gentlemen, that you're all as
vexed as I am that she's not wholly white, but I do reckon on your
rejoicing with me that she's so many shades removed from being entirely
black; and I guess if we could bleach her by any means we would, and
thus make her as acceptable in any company as she deserves to be.
Gentlemen, I give you Aunty Seacole.'
Mary Seacole's reply to this ill-mannered speech was as follows:
'Gentlemen, I return you my best thanks for your kindness in drinking
my health. As for what I have done in Cruces, Providence evidently
made me to be useful, and I can't help it. But I must say that I don't
appreciate your friend's kind wishes with respect to my complexion. If
it had been as dark as any nigger's, I should have been just as happy
and as useful, and as much respected by those whose respect I value;
and as to the offer of bleaching me, I should, even if it were
practicable, decline it without any thanks. As to the society which
the process might gain me admission into, all I can say is, that,
judging from the specimens I have met here and elsewhere, I don't think
that I shall lose much by being excluded from it. So, gentlemen, I
drink to you, and the general reformation of American manners.'
In 1853 Mary Seacole returned to Jamaica, and before she had been there
many weeks yellow fever broke out. It was the worst outbreak that had
occurred for many years, and soon Mary Seacole's boarding-house was
full of patients, chiefly officers, their wives and children. In
nursing her boarders, and procuring proper food for them, Mary Seacole
had more work than most women would care to undertake; but when the
military authorities asked her to organise a start of nurses to attend
to the men in Up-Park Camp, Kingston, she set to work on this
additional task, and, carrying it out with her customary thoroughness,
rendered a great service to the army.
After the yellow fever had subsided Mary Seacole sold her
boarding-house, and opened a store in New Granada, where she speedily
obtained popularity because of her medical skill. On war being
declared against Russia, she determined to go to the Crimea to nurse
the sick and wounded, and started for London as quickly as possible,
arriving there soon after the news of the battle of Alma had been
received. She had anticipated no difficulty in getting sent to the
front, as there were many officers who could testify to her nursing
abilities; but she found on arriving in London that every regiment to
whom she was known had been sent to the Crimea. However, as the news
of the sufferings of our men at the front had reached London, and the
necessity of nurses being sent out was recognised, she imagined that
her services would be promptly accepted.
Soon she found, greatly to her sorrow, that the colour of her skin was
considered, in official circles, a barrier to her employment. She
applied in turn at the War Office, the Quartermaster General's
Department, the Medical Department, and the Crimea Fund, but at each
place some polite excuse was made for declining her services. It was
indeed a foolish act on the part of the officials. Nurses were sorely
needed, and here was Mary Seacole, who had far greater experience of
nursing British soldiers than any woman living, refused employment.
She declared in her little book of adventures,[1] published soon after
the war ended, that at her last rebuff she cried as she walked along
the street.
But Mary Seacole's determination to proceed to the Crimea was not
shaken by her inability to prevail upon the authorities to accept her
services, and after consideration she decided to go to the front at her
own expense. She had sufficient money to pay her passage to Balaclava,
and to support her for some months after her arrival, but not enough to
enable her also to supply herself with the medical outfit necessary for
work at the seat of war. The only way in which she could hope to be in
a position to help the sick and wounded was by earning money in the
Crimea, and therefore she decided to start an hotel at Balaclava for
invalid officers. By the next mail she sent out to the officers who
had known her at Jamaica a notice that she would shortly arrive at
Balaclava, and establish an hotel with comfortable quarters for sick
and convalescent officers.
While Mary Seacole was making preparations for her departure she met a
shipper named Day, who, hearing of her plans, offered to enter into
partnership with her in the proposed hotel. This offer she accepted,
as with a partner she would be able to devote more time to the wounded.
At Malta Mary Seacole found herself once more among people who knew and
appreciated her. Some medical officers who had been stationed at
Kingston were among those who welcomed her, and believing that Florence
Nightingale would be glad of her help, gave her a letter of
introduction to that noble Englishwoman. Having made arrangements for
her work in the Crimea, Mary Seacole had now no desire to become
attached to any nursing staff, but she accepted the letter of
introduction, as she was anxious to make the acquaintance of Florence
Nightingale, who was then at the barracks at Scutari, a suburb of
Constantinople, which were being used as a hospital for British troops.
When Mary Seacole arrived at Scutari, Florence Nightingale was too busy
to grant her an interview immediately, so she spent the period of
waiting in inspecting the wards. As she passed along, many of the
invalid soldiers recognised her and called to her. Some of them she
had nursed in Jamaica, and the sight of her kindly brown face filled
them with recollections of happy days in the West Indies. To every man
who recognised her she said a few cheering words, and in several cases
rearranged bandages which had slipped. While thus engaged, an officer
entered the ward, and was about to reprimand her, when he saw, much to
his surprise, that she was as skilful as any doctor or nurse in the
hospital. When she had finished her self-imposed task, he thanked her
for her thoughtful kindness.
At last Mary Seacole saw Florence Nightingale, whom she describes in
these words: 'A slight figure, in the nurse's dress, with a pale,
gentle, and withal firm face, resting lightly on the palm of one white
hand, while the other supports the elbow--a position which gives to her
countenance a keen, enquiring expression which is very marked.
Standing thus in repose, and yet keenly observant, was Florence
Nightingale--that Englishwoman whose name shall never die, but sound
like music on the lips of British men until the hour of doom.'
Naturally Florence Nightingale was interested in the woman who came to
her warmly recommended by British medical officers, and made many
enquiries concerning her intentions. On the following morning Mary
Seacole resumed her journey, but these two good women met several times
before the war was ended.
On arriving at Balaclava Mary Seacole received hearty welcome from the
troops. Men who had been stationed in Jamaica told their comrades of
her bravery and kindness, and everyone hailed her as a great friend.
Many officers, including a general and that gallant Christian, Captain
Hedley Vicars, met her as she landed, and expressed their thanks to her
for coming to the Crimea.
Mary Seacole was soon at work among the wounded, assisting the doctors
to transfer them from the ambulances to the transports. While engaged
in this work, on the day after her arrival, she noticed a wounded man
who was evidently in great pain, and saw at once that his bandages were
stiff, and hurting him. Having rearranged them she gave the poor
fellow some tea, and as she placed it to his lips his hand touched
hers. 'Ha!' he exclaimed, too weak even to open his eyes, 'this is
surely a woman's hand. God bless you, woman, whoever you are! God
bless you!'
A few days later, as she was busy at her usual work of attending to the
sick and wounded, the Admiral of the Port placed his hand on her
shoulder, and said earnestly, 'I am glad to see you here among these
poor fellows.' A day or two before--when she had made some enquiries
concerning the landing of her stores--this admiral had declared
brusquely that they did not want a parcel of women in the place. When
at last Mary Seacole's stores were put ashore, she started business in
a rough little hut, made of tarpaulin, on which was displayed the name
of the firm--Seacole and Day. The soldiers, however, considered that
as Mary Seacole's skin was dark, a better name for the firm was Day and
Martin, and as such it was generally known.
Towards the end of the summer, Seacole and Day's British Hotel was
opened at Spring Hill. It had cost L800 to build, and was an excellent
place for sick officers to rest. Adjoining the hotel, and belonging to
the same proprietors, was a store at which could be purchased creature
comforts and useful articles. At first the store was opened every day
of the week. Mary Seacole had a strong dislike to opening it on
Sunday, but the requirements of the soldiers made it almost a
necessity. After a time, when the most pressing needs of the men had
been met, she gave notice that the store would be closed on Sundays,
and this rule she refused to alter, in spite of being constantly urged
to do so.
Many officers, instead of going into hospital when ill, became boarders
at Mary Seacole's, and among these was a naval lieutenant who was a
cousin of Queen Victoria. These officers she doctored and nursed with
her customary skill, and for every vacancy in her hotel there were
half-a-dozen applicants.
One day it became known in camp, that among the things which Mary
Seacole had received from a recently arrived ship was a young pig,
which she intended to fatten and kill. Immediately she was overwhelmed
with orders for a leg of pork, and if the pig had possessed a hundred
legs she could have sold every one of them. An officer to whom she did
eventually promise a leg of pork was so anxious that there should be no
mistake about the matter, that he made the following memorandum of the
transaction:--'That Mrs. Seacole did this day, in the presence of Major
A-- and Lieutenant W--, promise Captain H--, a leg of _the_ pig.'
Every portion of the pig was sold long before the animal was fit to be
killed, and then the purchasers began to fear that it would be stolen.
Everybody took an interest in tins pig, and it was considered the
correct thing for every soldier who passed the sty to assure himself
that the animal was still there. One day two officers, coming off
duty, galloped up to the hotel and shouted excitedly, 'Mrs. Seacole!
Quick, quick, the pig's gone!' It was not a false alarm; the pig had
been stolen. As, however, the nest in the sty was warm, it was evident
that the pig had only recently been taken, and a party of officers
started in pursuit of the thieves, shouting laughingly as they rode
off, 'Stole away! Hark away!' The thieves, two Greeks, were quickly
overtaken, and the precious pig was brought back in triumph to Mary
Seacole.
It must not be thought that Mary Seacole devoted herself entirely to
the officers, for her best work was done among the privates on the
battlefield. Sir William Russell bore testimony to her courage and
humanity. 'I have seen her,' he wrote, 'go down under fire, with her
little store of creature comforts for our wounded men; and a more
tender or skilful hand about a wound or broken limb could not be found
among our best surgeons. I saw her at the assault on the Redan, at the
Tchernaya, at the fall of Sebastopol, laden, not with plunder, good old
soul! but with wine, bandages, and food for the wounded or the
prisoners.'
The Inspector-General of Hospitals praised her work, and the
Adjutant-General of the British Army wrote on July 1, 1856:--'Mrs.
Seacole was with the British Army in the Crimea from February, 1855, to
this time. This excellent woman has frequently exerted herself in the
most praiseworthy manner in attending wounded men, even in positions of
great danger, and in assisting sick soldiers by all means in her power.'
From officers who could afford to pay for her medicine or wine she
accepted payment, but a man's need, and not his ability to pay, was her
first thought. On the battle-field she gave strengthening food to
wounded privates which she could easily have sold, at a large profit,
to the officers.
Regardless of the danger she was running--she had many narrow escapes
from shot and shell--she bandaged the wounded, administered
restoratives to the unconscious, and prayed with the dying. Scores of
dying men gave her messages for their loved ones at home, and these she
despatched as speedily as possible. She saw many an old friend laid to
his last rest, and among these was Hedley Vicars, with whom she had
been associated in much good work in Jamaica.
Mary Seacole was known to have a very poor opinion of our French ally,
but a wounded Frenchman received as much attention from her as an
Englishman. The enemy, too, had good cause to bless her, for many a
wounded Russian would have died on the battle-field but for her skilful
and prompt aid. One Russian officer, whose wounds she bandaged and
whom she helped to lift into the ambulance, was greatly distressed at
being unable to express his thanks in a language which she understood.
Taking a valuable ring from his finger, he placed it in her hand,
kissing her hand as he did so, and smiled his thanks.
Mary Seacole continued her noble work until the war ended. But her
generosity to the sick and wounded had been a great strain upon her
finances, as the whole of her share of the profits in the firm of
Seacole and Day, and much of her capital, had been spent on her
charitable work. And, to make matters worse, when the British troops
had departed from the Crimea, the firm had to dispose of its stock at
one-tenth of the cost price. Proceeding to England, Seacole and Day
started business at Aldershot, but after a few months the partnership
was dissolved, and Mary Seacole found herself almost penniless. But as
soon as her unfortunate position became known, friends hastened to
assist her. _Punch_ recorded some of her good deeds in verse, and made
a humorous appeal on her behalf.
The red-coats did, at _Punch's_ invitation, 'lend a willing hand;' for,
although all ranks were sorry to hear of Mary Seacole's misfortune,
they were glad to have an opportunity to prove to her that they had not
forgotten her noble work in the Crimea. Subscriptions to the fund that
was started for her benefit poured in, and a sufficient sum was
received to enable her to spend the regaining years of her life in
comfort.
[1] _The Wonderful Adventures of Mary Seacole_. Edited by W. J. S.
LAURA SECORD, A CANADIAN HEROINE
Many years ago, when His Majesty King Edward VII. was in Canada, he
paid a visit to Mrs. Laura Secord, a very old and revered Canadian
lady. The news of the visit of the Prince of Wales (for such, of
course, His Majesty then was), and the present which he afterwards
bestowed upon her, was heard with pleasure throughout Canada, for Laura
Secord is a heroine of whom the Canadians are justly very proud.
The brave deed for which she is famed is here told:
On June 18, 1812, the United States of America declared war against
Great Britain. The conquest of Canada was the object President Madison
had in view, and he was confident that he would achieve it with little
difficulty. Truly he had good reasons for his confidence. In the
whole of Canada there were less than 4500 regular troops, and it was
known that Napoleon's activity in Europe would prevent the British
Government from sending out reinforcements.
Naturally, the news that America had declared war filled the Canadians
with dismay; but this feeling was quickly succeeded by a determination
to repel the invaders, or die in the attempt. The call to arms was
sounded throughout the country, and an army composed of farmers,
fur-traders, clerks, artisans, French Canadians, Red Indians, and negro
slaves was soon formed.
Among the white men who volunteered was James Secord, who had married
Laura Ingersoll, the daughter of a sturdy loyalist who quitted the
United States, after the War of Independence, to live under the British
flag in Canada. Mr. and Mrs. Secord were living at Queenston, on the
banks of the Niagara River, when the war broke out, and it was at
Queenston that a fierce battle was fought, four months later.
About two o'clock in the morning of October 13 the British discovered
that the Americans had crossed the river under cover of darkness, and
that some were already scaling the cliffs at various points. A fierce
fire was opened upon the invaders on the beach, who concealed
themselves behind the rocks and fired whenever they saw an opportunity.
The American losses were great, and it appeared as if they would either
have to surrender or be annihilated, when suddenly a volley was poured
into the rear of the British.
Unseen by the defenders, a body of Americans had scaled the cliffs, and
taken up a strong position above the British, who were now between two
fires. The British general--Brock--was mortally wounded, and for a few
moments his men stood aghast. Then the cry, 'Avenge Brock!' was
raised, and with a cheer the British force advanced to drive out the
invaders.
A terrible hand-to-hand fight ensued, and slowly but surely the
Americans were driven to the edge of the cliff. Several hundred
surrendered, and many more might have been taken prisoners but for the
fact that the Indians had got beyond control, and refused to give
quarters to their hated foe. Seizing men who were willing to
surrender, they hurled them from the cliff into the water below.
Scores of Americans, fearing the vengeance of the Indians, jumped from
the cliff and were drowned, and many others fought stubbornly until
they reached the brink and fell backwards. A terribly sanguinary fight
had resulted in a victory for the British; but it had been dearly
bought. The British general was dead, and the battle-field was strewn
with the bodies of brave volunteers who had died in defence of their
homes and liberty.
Before the last of the invaders had surrendered or been killed, Laura
Secord was on the battlefield searching for her husband. She found
Captain Secord's men, but he was not with them, and not one of them
knew where he was. In the hand-to-hand fight they had lost sight of
their captain, but they pointed out to the distressed lady the spot
where they had fought.
Hither Laura Secord hurried, and where the dead and dying lay thick she
found her husband terribly wounded. Falling on her knees beside him,
she called him by name, but he gave no sign that he heard her.
Believing him to be dead, she cried bitterly, and taking him up in her
arms carried him to their house. Then as she laid him down she found
to her great joy that he still breathed.
By her tender nursing she saved his life, although his recovery was
very slow. Winter and spring passed, and summer came, and Captain
Secord was still an invalid and unable to walk. It was a great trial
to him to be kept to the house, fur another American force had landed
at Queenston, and occupied the town and neighbourhood. It had been
impossible to remove Captain Secord when the other Canadians retired,
and thus he and his wife were left in the midst of the Americans. But,
as it turned out, it was a happy thing for the British that he was too
ill to be removed.
One day, towards the end of June, some American officers entered the
Secords' house, and commanded Laura to give them food. She did so, and
while waiting on them listened to all they said. Of course she did not
let them see that she was taking an interest in their conversation, and
succeeded in making them believe that she was a very simple and
unintelligent person. Imagining that she would not understand what
they were saying, they began to discuss their general's plans, and
unwittingly revealed to her the fact that a surprise attack was to be
made on the British force. When the officers, having eaten a hearty
meal, departed, Laura Secord repeated to her husband all that they had
said.
Captain Secord was at a loss what to do. The British would have to be
warned of the attack, but who could he get to pass the American pickets
and carry a message through twenty miles of bush? Never before had he
felt so keenly his helpless condition.
But his despair was short-lived, for his wife declared that she would
carry the news to the British general. Quickly she told him her plans,
and although it seemed to him that there was little prospect of her
being able to carry them out, he did not attempt to dissuade her from
the undertaking.
At daybreak the following morning Laura Secord, disguised as a
farm-maid, quitted the house bare-footed and bare-legged, and walked
straight to the cow to milk her. But she had scarcely begun her task
when the cow kicked over the milking pail and ran forward towards the
bush. The American soldiers laughed heartily at the mishap, but
ignoring them Laura Secord picked up her stool and pail and ran after
the cow. Her second attempt to milk her ended in the same way--the cow
kicked over the pail and frisked a few yards nearer to the bush. To
the delight of the soldiers this performance was repeated several
times, and chasing the cow Laura Secord passed the pickets and entered
the bush. The Americans saw her make another and equally unsuccessful
attempt at milking. Soon cow and milk-maid were lost to sight. Again
Laura Secord approached the cow and began to milk her, and this time
the animal stood quietly.
The pinch which Laura Secord had given the cow on the previous
occasions was not repeated, and the milking could soon have been
finished, had the brave woman time to spare. Sitting on her stool, she
peered in the direction whence she came and listened. Convinced that
the soldiers had not had their suspicions aroused, she sprang up and
leaving cow, pail and stool, started on her long journey.
Hour after hour she pressed forward, fearful that at any moment she
might come face to face with the enemy's scouts. Nor was this the only
danger she had to fear. The bush was infested with venomous snakes,
and on several occasions she found one lying in her path. Sometimes
she succeeded in frightening away the reptile, but frequently she was
compelled to make a detour to avoid it. Her feet and legs were torn
and bleeding, but still she plodded on, across hill and dale, through
swamp and stream.
When night came she was still wearily trudging along, but uncertain
whether she was proceeding in the right direction. Again and again she
fell to the ground, and would have lain there, but for the knowledge
that the lives of hundreds of her countrymen would be lost if she did
not reach the British lines quickly. This thought spurred her on.