"JEW JOHNNY"--I START FOR BALACLAVA--KINDNESS OF MY OLD
FRIENDS--ON BOARD THE "MEDORA"--MY LIFE ON SHORE--THE
SICK WHARF.
During my stay in Constantinople, I was accustomed to employ, as a
guide, a young Greek Jew, whose name it is no use my attempting to
spell, but whom I called by the one common name there--"Johnny."
Wishing, however, to distinguish my Johnny from the legion of other
Johnnies, I prefixed the term Jew to his other name, and addressed him
as Jew Johnny. How he had picked up his knowledge I cannot tell, but
he could talk a little broken English, besides French, which, had I
been qualified to criticise it, I should have found, perhaps, as
broken as his English. He attached himself very closely to me, and
seemed very anxious to share my fortunes; and after he had pleaded
hard, many times, to be taken to the Crimea, I gave in, and formally
hired him. He was the best and faithfullest servant I had in the
Crimea, and, so far from regretting having picked up Jew Johnny from
the streets of Pera, I should have been very badly off without him.
More letters come from Mr. Day, giving even worse accounts of the
state of things at Balaclava; but it is too late for hesitation now.
My plans are perfected, my purchases made, and passage secured in the
"Albatross"--a transport laden with cattle and commissariat officers
for Balaclava. I thought I should never have transported my things
from the "Hollander" to the "Albatross." It was a terrible day, and
against the strong current and hurricane of wind Turkish and Greek
arms seemed of little avail; but at last, after an hour or more of
terrible anxiety and fear, the "Albatross's" side was reached, and I
clambered on deck, drenched and wretched.
My companions are cheerful, pleasant fellows, and the short, although
somewhat hazardous, voyage across the Black Sea is safely made, and
one morning we become excited at seeing a dark rock-bound coast, on
which they tell us is Balaclava. As we steam on we see, away to the
right, clouds of light smoke, which the knowing travellers tell us are
not altogether natural, but show that Sebastopol is not yet taken,
until the "Albatross" lays-to within sight of where the "Prince," with
her ill-fated companions, went down in that fearful November storm,
four short months ago, while application is made to the harbour-master
for leave to enter the port of Balaclava. It does not appear the
simplest favour in the world that we are applying for--licence to
escape from the hazards of the Black Sea. But at last it comes, and we
slowly wind through a narrow channel, and emerge into a small
landlocked basin, so filled with shipping that their masts bend in the
breeze like a wintry forest. Whatever might have been the case at one
time, there is order in Balaclava Harbour now, and the "Albatross,"
with the aid of her boats, moves along to her appointed moorings.
Such a busy scene as that small harbour presented could be rarely met
with elsewhere. Crowded with shipping, of every size and variety, from
the noble English steamer to the smallest long-shore craft, while
between them and the shore passed and repassed innumerable boats;
men-of-war's boats, trim and stern; merchant-ship's boats, laden to
the gunwales; Greek and Maltese boats, carrying their owners
everywhere on their missions of sharp dealing and roguery. Coming from
the quiet gloomy sea into this little nook of life and bustle the
transition is very sudden and startling, and gives one enough to think
about without desiring to go on shore this afternoon.
On the following morning, Mr. Day, apprised of my arrival, came on
board the "Albatross," and our plans were laid. I must leave the
"Albatross," of course, and, until we decide upon our future, I had
better take up my quarters on board the "Medora," which is hired by
the Government, at a great cost, as an ammunition ship. The proposal
was not a very agreeable one, but I have no choice left me. Our
stores, too, had to be landed at once. Warehouses were unheard of in
Balaclava, and we had to stack them upon the shore and protect them as
well as we were able.
My first task, directly I had become settled on board the "Medora,"
was to send word to my friends of my arrival in the Crimea, and
solicit their aid. I gave a Greek idler one pound to carry a letter
to the camp of the 97th, while I sent another to Captain Peel, who was
hard at work battering the defences of Sebastopol about the ears of
the Russians, from the batteries of the Royal Naval Brigade. I
addressed others to many of the medical men who had known me in other
lands; nor did I neglect to send word to my kind patron, Sir John
Campbell, then commanding a division: and my old friends answered my
letters most kindly. As the various officers came down on duty or
business to Balaclava they did not fail to find me out, and welcome me
to the Crimea, while Captain Peel and Sir J. Campbell sent the kindest
messages; and when they saw me, promised me every assistance, the
General adding that he is glad to see me where there is so much to do.
Among others, poor H. Vicars, whose kind face had so often lighted up
my old house in Kingston, came to take me by the hand in this
out-of-the-way corner of the world. I never felt so sure of the
success of any step as I did of this, before I had been a week in
Balaclava. But I had plenty of difficulties to contend with on every
side.
Among the first, one of the ships, in which were many of our stores,
the "Nonpareil," was ordered out of the harbour before we could land
them all, and there was more than a probability that she would carry
back to Constantinople many of the things we had most pressing
occasion for. It became necessary, therefore, that some one should see
Admiral Boxer, and try to interest that mild-spoken and affable
officer in our favour. When I mentioned it to Mr. Day, he did not seem
inclined to undertake the mission, and nothing was left but for me to
face the terrible Port-Admiral. Fortunately, Captain H----, of the
"Diamond," was inclined to be my friend, and, not a little amused
with his mission, carried me right off to the Admiral. I confess that
I was as nearly frightened out of my wits as I ever have been, for the
Admiral's kind heart beat under a decidedly rough husk; and when
Captain H---- told him that I wanted his permission for the
"Nonpareil" to remain in the harbour for a few days, as there were
stores on board, he let fly enough hard words to frighten any woman.
But when I spoke up, and told him that I had known his son in the West
Indies, he relented, and granted my petition. But it was not without
more hard words, and much grumbling that a parcel of women should be
coming out to a place where they were not wanted.
Now, the Admiral did not repeat this remark a few days afterwards,
when he saw me attending the sick and wounded upon the sick wharf.
I remained six weeks in Balaclava, spending my days on shore, and my
nights on board ship. Over our stores, stacked on the shore, a few
sheets of rough tarpaulin were suspended; and beneath these--my sole
protection against the Crimean rain and wind--I spent some portion of
each day, receiving visitors and selling stores.
But my chief occupation, and one with which I never allowed any
business to interfere, was helping the doctors to transfer the sick
and wounded from the mules and ambulances into the transports that had
to carry them to the hospitals of Scutari and Buyukdere. I did not
forget the main object of my journey, to which I would have devoted
myself exclusively had I been allowed; and very familiar did I become
before long with the sick wharf of Balaclava. My acquaintance with it
began very shortly after I had reached Balaclava. The very first day
that I approached the wharf, a party of sick and wounded had just
arrived. Here was work for me, I felt sure. With so many patients, the
doctors must be glad of all the hands they could get. Indeed, so
strong was the old impulse within me, that I waited for no permission,
but seeing a poor artilleryman stretched upon a pallet, groaning
heavily, I ran up to him at once, and eased the stiff dressings.
Lightly my practised fingers ran over the familiar work, and well was
I rewarded when the poor fellow's groans subsided into a restless
uneasy mutter. God help him! He had been hit in the forehead, and I
think his sight was gone. I stooped down, and raised some tea to his
baked lips (here and there upon the wharf were rows of little
pannikins containing this beverage). Then his hand touched mine, and
rested there, and I heard him mutter indistinctly, as though the
discovery had arrested his wandering senses--
"Ha! this is surely a woman's hand."
I couldn't say much, but I tried to whisper something about hope and
trust in God; but all the while I think his thoughts were running on
this strange discovery. Perhaps I had brought to his poor mind
memories of his home, and the loving ones there, who would ask no
greater favour than the privilege of helping him thus; for he
continued to hold my hand in his feeble grasp, and whisper "God bless
you, _woman_--whoever you are, God bless you!"--over and over again.
I do not think that the surgeons noticed me at first, although, as
this was my introduction to Balaclava, I had not neglected my personal
appearance, and wore my favourite yellow dress, and blue bonnet, with
the red ribbons; but I noticed one coming to me, who, I think, would
have laughed very merrily had it not been for the poor fellow at my
feet. As it was, he came forward, and shook hands very kindly, saying,
"How do you do, ma'am? Much obliged to you for looking after my poor
fellow; very glad to see you here." And glad they always were, the
kind-hearted doctors, to let me help them look after the sick and
wounded sufferers brought to that fearful wharf.
I wonder if I can ever forget the scenes I witnessed there? Oh! they
were heartrending. I declare that I saw rough bearded men stand by and
cry like the softest-hearted women at the sights of suffering they
saw; while some who scorned comfort for themselves, would fidget about
for hours before the long trains of mules and ambulances came in,
nervous lest the most trifling thing that could minister to the
sufferers' comfort should be neglected. I have often heard men talk
and preach very learnedly and conclusively about the great wickedness
and selfishness of the human heart; I used to wonder whether they
would have modified those opinions if they had been my companions for
one day of the six weeks I spent upon that wharf, and seen but one
day's experience of the Christian sympathy and brotherly love shown by
the strong to the weak. The task was a trying one, and familiarity,
you might think, would have worn down their keener feelings of pity
and sympathy; but it was not so.
I was in the midst of my sad work one day when the Admiral came up,
and stood looking on. He vouchsafed no word nor look of recognition in
answer to my salute, but stood silently by, his hands behind his back,
watching the sick being lifted into the boats. You might have thought
that he had little feeling, so stern and expressionless was his face;
but once, when they raised a sufferer somewhat awkwardly, and he
groaned deeply, that rough man broke out all at once with an oath,
that was strangely like a prayer, and bade the men, for God's sake,
take more care. And, coming up to me, he clapped me on the shoulder,
saying, "I am glad to see you here, old lady, among these poor
fellows;" while, I am most strangely deceived if I did not see a
tear-drop gathering in his eye. It was on this same day, I think, that
bending down over a poor fellow whose senses had quite gone, and, I
fear me, would never return to him in this world, he took me for his
wife, and calling me "Mary, Mary," many times, asked me how it was he
had got home so quickly, and why he did not see the children; and said
he felt sure he should soon get better now. Poor fellow! I could not
undeceive him. I think the fancy happily caused by the touch of a
woman's hand soothed his dying hour; for I do not fancy he could have
lived to reach Scutari. I never knew it for certain, but I always felt
sure that he would never wake from that dream of home in this world.
And here, lest the reader should consider that I am speaking too
highly of my own actions, I must have recourse to a plan which I shall
frequently adopt in the following pages, and let another voice speak
for me in the kind letter received long after Balaclava had been left
to its old masters, by one who had not forgotten his old companion on
the sick-wharf. The writer, Major (then Captain) R----, had charge of
the wharf while I was there.
"Glasgow, Sept. 1856.
"Dear Mrs. Seacole,--I am very sorry to hear that you
have been unfortunate in business; but I am glad to hear
that you have found friends in Lord R---- and others,
who are ready to help you. No one knows better than I do
how much you did to help poor sick and wounded soldiers;
and I feel sure you will find in your day of trouble
that they have not forgotten it."
Major R---- was a brave and experienced officer, but the scenes on the
sick-wharf unmanned him often. I have known him nervously restless if
the people were behindhand, even for a few minutes, in their
preparations for the wounded. But in this feeling all shared alike.
Only women could have done more than they did who attended to this
melancholy duty; and they, not because their hearts could be softer,
but because their hands are moulded for this work.
But it must not be supposed that we had no cheerful scenes upon the
sick-wharf. Sometimes a light-hearted fellow--generally a
sailor--would forget his pain, and do his best to keep the rest in
good spirits. Once I heard my name eagerly pronounced, and turning
round, recognised a sailor whom I remembered as one of the crew of the
"Alarm," stationed at Kingston, a few years back.
"Why, as I live, if this ain't Aunty Seacole, of Jamaica! Shiver all
that's left of my poor timbers"--and I saw that the left leg was
gone--"if this ain't a rum go, mates!"
"Ah! my man, I'm sorry to see you in this sad plight."
"Never fear for me, Aunty Seacole; I'll make the best of the leg the
Rooshians have left me. I'll get at them soon again, never fear. You
don't think, messmates"--he never left his wounded comrades
alone--"that they'll think less of us at home for coming back with a
limb or so short?"
"You bear your troubles well, my son."
"Eh! do I, Aunty?" and he seemed surprised. "Why, look'ye, when I've
seen so many pretty fellows knocked off the ship's roll altogether,
don't you think I ought to be thankful if I can answer the bo'swain's
call anyhow?"
And this was the sailors' philosophy always. And this brave fellow,
after he had sipped some lemonade, and laid down, when he heard the
men groaning, raised his head and comforted them in the same strain
again; and, it may seem strange, but it quieted them.
I used to make sponge-cakes on board the "Medora," with eggs brought
from Constantinople. Only the other day, Captain S----, who had charge
of the "Medora," reminded me of them. These, with some lemonade, were
all the doctors would allow me to give to the wounded. They all liked
the cake, poor fellows, better than anything else: perhaps because it
tasted of "home."