_SAILS FOR THE CRIMEA AND GOES UNDER FIRE_
On Board the _Robert Lowe_--Story of a Sick Soldier--Visit to the
Camp Hospitals--Sees Sebastopol from the Trenches--Recognised and
Cheered by the Soldiers--Adventurous Ride Back.
The walls grew weak; and fast and hot
Against them pour’d the ceaseless shot,
With unabating fury sent,
From battery to battlement;
And thunder-like the pealing din
Rose from each heated culverin:
And here and there some crackling dome
Was fired before th’ exploding bomb.
BYRON.
On May 2nd, 1855, Florence Nightingale, having completed six months’
continuous labour in establishing a system of good administration in
the hospitals at Scutari, set out for Balaclava. She was anxious to see
how the sick and wounded were faring at the actual seat of war, and it
was also her duty as Superintendent of the Nursing Staff in the East to
inspect the hospitals in the Crimea.
[Illustration: LADY HERBERT OF LEA.
[_To face p. 192._
]
There were some sad good-byes to say before she quitted the scene of
her work at Scutari, for death would have claimed many brave fellows
ere she returned to her old post. Sorrowful eyes followed the gleam of
the familiar lamp as she went her final rounds on the night before her
departure, and heads were pathetically turned to catch a last look at
her shadow as it passed on the whitened wall.
Rarely has any human being had such a retrospect of harrowing
experience and of insuperable difficulties overcome as passed through
Florence Nightingale’s mind when she reviewed the past six months. The
Barrack Hospital as she had found it, crowded with suffering humanity
in the most appalling state of loathsome neglect, seemed like a hideous
nightmare, scarcely to be realised in comparison with the order,
comfort, and cleanliness which now prevailed.
It was with a heart of thankfulness to the Giver of all Good that
she had been permitted to accomplish this great work that Florence
Nightingale on a bright May morning stepped aboard the good ship
_Robert Lowe_ and set sail for the Crimea. She was accompanied by
a staff of nurses and her friend Mr. Bracebridge, and by M. Soyer,
the celebrated _chef_, who was going to reform culinary matters at
the “front,” and attended by her boy Thomas, a young drummer who had
abandoned his “instruments and sticks,” as he called them, to devote
himself to the Lady-in-Chief. No general in the field had a more
devoted aide-de-camp than Florence Nightingale had in Thomas. He
was a lad of twelve, full of life, fun, and activity and of amusing
importance, but such was his devotion that he would have been cut to
bits ere harm came near his beloved mistress.
The short voyage was made in lovely weather, when the spring air was
redolent with perfume and freshness, and scarcely a ripple moved
the blue waters of the Bosphorus. Miss Nightingale greatly enjoyed
being on deck as the vessel glided past some of the most beautiful
scenes in that Eastern land. There rose the mosques and minarets of
Constantinople, enveloped, as it seemed, in golden vapour, then the
Golden Horn was passed, and the European and Asiatic shores opened
out in a scene of Oriental beauty. The picturesque caiques skimmed
the waters like magic craft, and Miss Nightingale was fortunate in
seeing the gorgeous flotilla of the Sultan, consisting of large
caiques brilliantly decorated with gilded and rich silken hangings,
and manned by gaily dressed oarsmen, leave the marble staircase of the
Dolmabatchke Palace to convey the Sultan and his suite to the Mosque
of Sultan Mahomet, for it was Friday, the Turkish Sunday. Fifty guns
proclaimed the departure of the nautical procession. Then Kullali was
passed, and the voyagers thought sadly of the young sister who had
recently died there at her post in the hospital. On went the vessel,
past the Sweet Waters of Asia, where the Turks hold high festival, and
the resorts of Therapia and Buyukdére, until at length the dazzling
Oriental coast was almost lost to view as the ship entered the Black
Sea.
However, Miss Nightingale’s delight in the sights and scenes
through which she was passing did not render her oblivious to her
fellow-passengers. There were six hundred soldiers on board and many
officers and Government officials. The second day of the voyage, being
Sunday, Miss Nightingale, accompanied by the captain, visited the lower
deck and talked with the soldiers, and having heard that there were
some invalids on board, asked to see them. In passing from sufferer to
sufferer, she at length came to a fever patient who had refused to take
his medicine.
“Why will you not take the medicine?” asked Miss Nightingale.
“Because I took some once,” the man replied, “and it made me sick; and
I haven’t liked physic ever since.”
“But if I give it to you myself,” said the Queen of Nurses with a
pleasant smile, “you will take it, won’t you?”
The poor fellow looked very hard at her and replied, “Well, sure
enough, ma’am, it will make me sick just the same.” However, he took
the draught and forgot the anticipated consequence as Miss Nightingale
chatted to him about the last engagement he was in.
The distant booming of the cannon in Sebastopol intimated to the
travellers that they were nearing their destination, and on one of
the high peaked mountains they could plainly see the Russian picket
mounting guard. An hour later the vessel reached the harbour of
Balaclava, which presented a wonderful sight with the numerous great
ships lying at anchor. The news had spread that Miss Nightingale was
expected to arrive that day, and the decks of the vessels in harbour
were crowded with people anxious to get a glimpse of her. Immediately
the _Robert Lowe_ came to anchor, the chief medical officer of the
Balaclava Hospital and other doctors and officials came on board
to welcome Miss Nightingale, and for an hour she held what her
fellow-voyager, M. Soyer, facetiously termed “a floating drawing-room.”
Later, Lord Raglan, Commander-in-Chief of the British forces, came to
welcome the illustrious heroine, but only to find that she had already
landed and begun her work of hospital inspection.
Next day, Miss Nightingale, accompanied by Mr. Bracebridge, M. Soyer,
and an escort of other friends, set out for the camp to return Lord
Raglan’s visit. She “was attired simply in a genteel amazone, or
riding-habit,” relates M. Soyer, “and had quite a martial air. She was
mounted upon a very pretty mare, of a golden colour, which, by its
gambols and caracoling, seemed proud to carry its noble charge. The
weather was very fine. Our cavalcade produced an extraordinary effect
upon the motley crowd of all nations assembled at Balaclava, who were
astonished at seeing a lady so well escorted.”
The people did not, however, know how illustrious the lady was, for
Miss Nightingale preserved an incognito on her way to the camp. At that
time there were only four ladies in the Crimea, excepting the sisters
of mercy, who were never seen out, so there was great curiosity as the
cavalcade approached headquarters to know who the lady was, and Mr.
Bracebridge had to give evasive replies to enquiring officers.
Florence Nightingale’s ride to camp proved an adventurous one. The
road was bad and not nearly wide enough for all the traffic. Crowds of
many nationalities, together with a ceaseless stream of mules, horses,
oxen, artillery waggons, cannon, infantry, and cavalry struggled over
the uneven muddy road, drivers and officers shouting, horses kicking,
sometimes a waggon overturned, and everybody in a state of turmoil.
Miss Nightingale’s horse kicked and pranced in company with the horses
of her escort, and but for a cool nerve and steady hand she would
certainly have come to grief. But the skill in horsemanship which she
had acquired as a girl amongst the hills and dales of Derbyshire now
served her in good stead, and the ride was accomplished in safety.
The first halt was made at the hospital in a small Greek church at the
village of Kadikoi. After a little tour of inspection Miss Nightingale
and her party galloped up to the top of a high hill from which was
visible a panorama of the camp, with its myriads of white tents dotted
over the landscape. Now, indeed, she was in touch with that great
bivouac of warfare which the wounded at the Barrack Hospital in Scutari
had raved about in their fever wanderings. Upon the air came the roar
of the cannon from Sebastopol, the sound of trumpets, the beating of
drums, and the general din of military manœuvres. Around the martial
plain rose the rugged heights of Balaclava with that valley of death
sacred to the “noble six hundred”:--
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
Florence Nightingale sat long on her horse, gazing afar at the
stirring scene and then turned sadly away. She knew that hundreds of
poor fellows away in yonder trenches were doomed to swell the ranks of
the dead and wounded ere the siege of Sebastopol was ended.
Proceeding on her way to headquarters, Miss Nightingale called to
inspect several of the small regimental hospitals. When at length the
vicinity of Lord Raglan’s house was reached, Mr. Bracebridge, acting
as advance guard, galloped forward, to announce the approach of the
Lady-in-Chief, only to find, however, that the Commander-in-Chief, who
had not received intimation of her coming, was away. Miss Nightingale
having left a message of thanks to Lord Raglan for his visit of the
previous day, now proceeded to the General Hospital before Sebastopol.
This hospital contained some hundreds of sick and wounded, and great
was the joy of the poor fellows at receiving a visit from the “good
lady of Scutari,” as they called Miss Nightingale. When she went out
past the huts to the cooking encampment, some of the men who had been
patients at the Barrack Hospital recognised Miss Nightingale and gave
her three hearty cheers, followed by three times three. She was much
affected by such an unexpected demonstration, and being on horseback
could only bow to the men by way of thanks. The shouts grew so
vociferous that Miss Nightingale’s horse turned restive, and one of her
friends was obliged to dismount and lead it by the bridle until the
men’s enthusiasm had abated.
The party now proceeded through the French and English camps which
surrounded Sebastopol. Miss Nightingale expressed a wish to have a peep
into the besieged stronghold, and a column was formed to escort her to
a convenient point. Some sharp firing was going on, and as the visitors
approached a sentry in much trepidation begged them to dismount,
pointing to the shot and shell lying around, and remarking that a group
of people would attract the enemy to fire in their direction. Miss
Nightingale laughingly consented to seek the shelter of a stone redoubt
where she could view Sebastopol through a telescope. From this vantage
ground she obtained an excellent sight of the doomed city, being
able to discern the principal buildings and to see the duel of shot
proceeding between the allied armies and the enemy.
Miss Nightingale was in an adventurous mood, and proposed to go still
farther into the trenches up to the Three-Mortar Battery. Her friends
Mr. Bracebridge, Dr. Anderson, and M. Soyer were favourable to her
wish, but the sentry was in a great state of consternation.
“Madam,” said he, “if anything happens I call on these gentlemen to
witness that I did not fail to warn you of the danger.”
“My good young man,” replied Miss Nightingale, “more dead and wounded
have passed through my hands than I hope you will ever see in the
battlefield during the whole of your military career; believe me, I
have no fear of death.”
The party proceeded and, arrived at the battery, obtained a near view
of Sebastopol. M. Soyer was in his most volatile mood, and relates that
the following incident occurred: “Before leaving the battery, I begged
Miss Nightingale as a favour to give me her hand, which she did. I then
requested her to ascend the stone rampart next the wooden gun carriage,
and lastly to sit upon the centre mortar, to which requests she very
gracefully and kindly acceded.” Having thus unsuspectedly beguiled Miss
Nightingale into this position, the irrepressible Frenchman boldly
exclaimed:
“Gentlemen, behold this amiable lady sitting fearlessly upon that
terrible instrument of war! Behold the heroic daughter of England--the
soldier’s friend!” All present shouted “Bravo! Hurrah! hurrah! Long
live the daughter of England.”
When later Lord Raglan was told of this incident, he remarked that the
battery mortar ought to be called “the Nightingale mortar.”
While in that elevated position the heroine was recognised by the 39th
Regiment, and the men set up such ringing cheers as wakened echoes in
the caves of Inkerman and startled the Russians in Sebastopol.
The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon and shadows to gather
over the trenches and fortifications of the besieged city when
Miss Nightingale started on the return journey. She and her party,
proceeding at a sharp gallop through the camps, were overtaken by
darkness when only half-way back to Balaclava, and losing their way,
found themselves in a Zouave camp, where the men were drinking coffee
and singing their favourite African song. They informed the travellers
that brigands were roaming about, and that it was dangerous to take the
road after nightfall. However, brigands or not, there was nothing for
it but to push on down the deep ravine which now faced them. The road
was so steep and slippery that one of the gentlemen dismounted to lead
Miss Nightingale’s horse by the bridle. When they halted to water the
horses, this gentleman received a severe blow in the face by coming in
sharp contact in the dark with the head of Miss Nightingale’s steed. He
concealed the injury, though his face was streaming with blood and his
eyes blackened, until they reached Balaclava hospital, when the Queen
of Nurses returned his kind attention by helping to dress his wounds.
Proceeding to the harbour, she retired to her state cabin on the
_Robert Lowe_, and so ended Florence Nightingale’s adventurous visit to
the camp hospitals before Sebastopol.