and then rode up and down the road outside her house waiting for the
officer who was to escort them. It was an hour before Colonel Case
arrived with a troop of cavalry. He rode in front and Mrs. Inglis
followed on her pony with the other ladies and the children behind them.
The city was as quiet as if it were asleep, and they reached Sir Henry
Lawrence’s house in safety. Mrs. Inglis writes: “I think it was the
longest day I ever passed, as, of course, we could settle to nothing.
John [her husband] came in the evening and read the service with me; he
told me he did not think we should ever return to our house.” At dinner
she sat next Sir Henry, who was very grave and silent. About 130 English
women and children took refuge in the Residency, and were given rooms in
the different houses and offices there. In Sir Henry Lawrence’s house
there were eleven ladies and fifteen children, and in spite of all he
had to do, he took endless trouble to make them comfortable. Mrs. Inglis
had a small room for herself and her three children. Colonel Inglis had
to stay with his soldiers, and she used to drive with her friend Mrs.
Case to camp that they might spend a little time each day with their
husbands. These visits were a great treat to them, but they had to
return before dusk, and even so, driving through the city was not very
prudent, as there were many ill-looking men about. Mrs. Inglis drove her
pony herself and went at a very good pace. At first she was cheerful
enough and inclined to laugh at the absurd reports that reached them,
till her husband checked her, saying, “It’s no laughing matter, the most
dreadful reports reach us daily.” From that moment she realised the true
seriousness of their position. The very next day she was just going to
bed when a gentleman knocked at her door and bade her bring her children
and come up to the top of the house immediately. She dressed them as
quickly as possible and hurried to the roof and found all the inmates of
the house gathered together looking towards the camp where many tires
were blazing. The chaplain offered prayer, and the men prepared to
defend the position in case they were attacked. At midnight a note came
to Mrs. Inglis from her husband, and every one crowded round her to hear
the news. He said that for the moment the rising was over, and he did
not think that it had been general. Then they all lay down to rest. But
at noon the next day, they heard of a rising all over the city, and
every one was bidden to come to the Residency for safety. There was
terrible confusion and excitement, every one fearing the worst. A few
minutes’ talk with her husband, who came in the evening, was a great
comfort to Mrs. Inglis. She had to share her small room now with her
friend Mrs. Case and her sister. Everything possible was done to
strengthen their position. About 765 native troops had remained
faithful, and they with 927 European troops were quartered in houses all
round the Residency, which were connected by a hastily built wall. Many
native servants were faithful to their masters, and Mrs. Inglis had a
devoted native butler and nurse, who did all they could to help her. Her
husband had a little room in the house, so she could see him sometimes
for a few minutes, but he was terribly busy. Morning and evening the
chaplain read prayers, and every Sunday there were services, which were
a great comfort.
On June 13th, Mrs. Inglis asked her husband if he thought the enemy
would attack them and if they would be able to hold out. He answered
that he believed that they would be attacked, that their position was a
bad one, and they would have a hard struggle. She says she was glad to
know what to expect, as it enabled her to prepare for the worst. She
describes their life as most wearisome. The heat was very great; it was
impossible to read much, but they occupied their time in making clothes
for the refugees, and this employment was a comfort. She always slept
with her children on the roof of the house, and the nights in the open
air were very pleasant. The view of the city and the country around was
very beautiful, and so calm and peaceful that it was impossible to think
it could be the scene of war. Colonel Inglis slept in the garden with
the soldiers. Occasionally he managed to come during the day into his
wife’s room for a few minutes. She never left the house, except once for
a walk with the chaplain to see the fortifications. The church was used
for service for the last time on June 14th, after that it was turned
into a storehouse for grain. Mrs. Inglis herself laid in all the stores
she could get, sugar, arrowroot, beer, wine, and food for the goats who
supplied milk for the children.
About this time Mrs. Inglis began to feel ill, and it was discovered
that she had the smallpox. She wished to be moved to a tent so as not to
expose others to infection, but it was decided that the risk would be
too great; for it was known that a great force of rebels were
approaching the city, and that they would soon be besieged. All the
troops in Lucknow were now brought in from the camp and stationed in and
about the Residency and a fort near by. Then, on June 30th, some of them
were ordered out to meet and drive back the rebels. But the natives with
the guns proved faithless and deserted the English, so that the force
had to retreat. Mrs. Inglis, ill though she was, could not stay in bed,
and posted herself at the window to see the sad sight of the troops
straggling back in twos and threes. She and her friend Mrs. Case were in
terrible anxiety about their husbands. Just then Colonel Inglis came in;
he was crying, and, after kissing his wife, he turned to Mrs. Case and
said, “Poor Case.” Mrs. Inglis writes that never will she forget the
shock of his words, nor the cry of agony from his widow. Colonel Inglis
had to leave them at once. In all the horror of the moment there was no
time for thought. The rebels were firing heavily on the Residency, and
the room was not safe. Hastily collecting a few necessaries, Mrs. Inglis
and her children took refuge with the other ladies in a room below,
which was almost underground; the shot was flying about so quickly that
they could not venture out, and not long after they had left their room
upstairs a shell fell into it. Fortunately her native servants were
faithful, and brought them food during the day.
[Illustration: THE GATEWAY OF THE RESIDENCY, LUCKNOW, SHOWING MARKS OF
SHOT AND SHELL ON THE BRICKWORK.]
At night the firing grew less, and Colonel Inglis came in to take them
over to a room he had prepared for them in a building which had been the
gaol, and which was fairly safe. It was only 12 ft. by 6, and there she
and her children stayed with Mrs. Case and her sister. They were all so
worn out with wretchedness that they slept that night. Next day they did
what they could to make their room comfortable. It had neither doors nor
windows, only open arches, and they hung up curtains to make some sort
of privacy. Though the smallpox was then at its height, Mrs. Inglis
suffered no harm from the anxieties of that terrible day; but she was
alarmed lest her children should catch the disease, as she could not
keep them from her bed. But fortunately they did not take any harm, and
she seems to have recovered quickly. There were two wells in their
courtyard, so that they had a plentiful supply of water, and for the
moment there was plenty of food.
The next day another terrible attack was made by the rebels. As they sat
trembling in the midst of the heavy cannonading, feeling sure that the
enemy must get in, Mrs. Case proposed that they should say the litany,
which they did, she and her sister kneeling by Mrs. Inglis’s bed. Mrs.
Inglis writes that the soothing effect was marvellous; they grew calm in
spite of their alarm. Next morning Sir Henry Lawrence was wounded by a
shell that burst into his room. There was no hope of his recovery, and
after three days of awful suffering, nobly borne, he died, leaving the
entire command to Colonel Inglis. Day after day one or other of the
little garrison or of the women were hit by shells. The chaplain was
shot whilst shaving one morning. Mrs. Inglis watched anxiously over her
children, who grew pale and thin from the confinement and the terrible
heat. July 16th, was her little boy’s birthday, and she thought sadly of
the other children of his father’s regiment who on that day used to have
a dinner and a dance in his honour. She did not know that on that very
day those other poor children were murdered by the rebels at Cawnpore.
Every day the anxiety grew. They had hoped before this to hear of
English troops coming to relieve them, but no news came. There was
nothing to be done but to wait and try to keep back the rebels, whose
attacks were constant. Death was always near. One evening Mrs. Inglis
was standing outside the door with her baby in her arms when she heard
something whiz past her ears. She rushed inside, and afterwards found a
piece of shell buried in the ground just where she had been standing.
Her children were her greatest comfort, and as she had them to amuse and
look after she never had an idle moment. Sometimes she tried to read
aloud, but it was impossible for them to fix their minds on a book. In
their games the children would imitate what was going on around them.
They made balls of earth and threw them against the wall saying that
they were shells bursting. Johnny, the eldest boy, would hear where a
bullet fell and run and pick it up whilst it was still warm. They slept
through all the firing and never seemed frightened.
Sunday services were regularly held, and again and again at the worst
moments prayer was their only support. Mrs. Inglis used to visit the
other ladies as much as she could; and, being of a hopeful nature
herself, managed to raise their spirits. Her own best moment in the day
was in the early morning, when her husband used to come to see her and
sit outside her door drinking his tea. One day a shell burst in their
own courtyard; the children were playing about and for a moment her
anxiety was intense, till she saw that they were all safe. Tales of
hairbreadth escapes were heard daily; one doctor had his pillow under
his head shot without his being hurt. But there were many who did not
escape and the condition of the wounded in the heat and the crowded
hospital left little hope of recovery. Anxiety and constant work turned
Colonel Inglis’s hair grey during the long suspense. Their position was
growing desperate. He knew that General Havelock was trying to fight his
way through the rebels and come to their help, for a native spy carried
letters between the two commanders, written in Greek characters and
rolled up and hidden in a quill. General Havelock wished Colonel Inglis
to be ready to help his approach by an attack from inside, but Colonel
Inglis was obliged to write on August 16th, after more than six weeks of
siege, that this was impossible, owing to the weak condition of his
shattered force. Food was growing scarce, and there was much sickness.
On one evening five babies were buried.
It was not till near the end of September that the sound of distant guns
struck Mrs. Inglis’s ear one day and told her that relief was near. Each
boom seemed to her to say, “We are coming to save you.” Five days
afterwards, on September 25th, at six in the evening, she heard
tremendous cheering and knew that the relief had come. She was standing
outside her door, when a soldier came rushing up to fetch the Colonel’s
sword, which he had not worn since the siege began. A few minutes
afterwards the Colonel himself entered, bringing with him Colonel
Havelock, a short grey-haired man. He had fought his way in with the
relief force. He shook hands with Mrs. Inglis, saying that he feared she
had suffered a great deal. She could hardly speak to answer him, and
only longed to be alone with her husband. Colonel Inglis felt the same,
and after taking Havelock out, returned in a few minutes, and, kissing
her, exclaimed, “Thank God for this.” For a brief moment there was
unmixed happiness. Then the thought rushed into her mind of all the
others whose lot was so different from hers and whose dear ones had
perished in the siege.
A moment later a messenger came asking if they had any cold meat for
starving officers, and very soon Mrs. Inglis learnt how severely those
who had come to their rescue had suffered as they fought their way in
through the narrow streets of the town. She also heard of the wonderful
scene when they at last got in and met the besieged. On all sides were
hand-shakings and warm greetings, the relieving soldiers lifting the
children of the besieged in their arms and kissing them. But little by
little Mrs. Inglis realised that, though relieved, they were not
rescued. The soldiers who had fought their way in under Outram and
Havelock were not enough to drive back the enemy or even to take the
women and children safely out of Lucknow. They were only able to help
them to resist the besiegers, and their presence increased the anxiety
about the supply of food, which was getting very low and had to be used
with the greatest care. The number of wounded was also terribly
increased, and the state of the overcrowded hospital and the want of all
the things needed for the care and comfort of the patients added greatly
to their suffering. The only chance now was to hold out till the coming
of Sir Colin Campbell with more troops, and meanwhile the attacks of the
enemy increased in fury; there was constant firing and no place was
really safe, so that Mrs. Inglis was never easy if her children were out
of her sight.
During the siege, Mrs. Inglis had found a little white hen which used to
stay about their room and be fed by her children. When food grew scarce
they decided to kill and eat it; but that very morning Johnny ran in
exclaiming, “O, mamma, the white hen has laid an egg.” One of the
officers, whose leg had been cut off, was very ill and weak, and Mrs.
Inglis at once took the egg, a great luxury in those days, to him. The
hen laid an egg for him every day till he died and then ceased for the
rest of the siege, but they would not kill it after that.
It was not till the middle of November, seven weeks after the coming of
Havelock, that they knew that Sir Colin Campbell was near. It was
Colonel Inglis’s birthday, and they invited another officer to dinner,
and actually had a fruit tart for dinner, a luxury which Mrs. Inglis
would not have dreamt of had not her hope of relief been high. Little
Johnny ran out to call their guest, screaming at the top of his voice,
“Come to dinner; we’ve got a pudding.”
It was November 17th, a most anxious, exciting day, when Sir Colin
Campbell at last reached Lucknow. He did not come inside the
entrenchments, and when Colonel Inglis arrived very late to dinner it
was with the bad news that they were all to leave the Residency the next
evening. Sir Colin did not think he was strong enough to recapture the
town, and felt that the utmost he could do was to carry off in safety
the garrison and the women and children. It was a bitter blow to Colonel
Inglis to be told that he must leave in the hands of the enemy the place
which he had so long defended at such terrible loss. He offered to stay
and hold it if 1000 men could be left to him and the women and children
removed; but it was not allowed, and there was nothing to do but to
obey. There was a hurried packing of all such things as could be taken
with them. The women and children started, late on the afternoon of
November 19th, to leave the place where they had been closely besieged
for nearly five months. The road by which they were led out of the town
was considered safe, except in three places on which the enemy were
firing at intervals. There an officer carried the children and they all
ran as fast as they could, but Mrs. Inglis did not feel in the least
afraid. In a large garden in the outskirts of the town they found the
other women and children, and the officers of Sir Colin Campbell’s
force, who were all most kind, and feasted them with tea and bread and
butter, which were great luxuries. Sir Colin came and talked to Mrs.
Inglis for some time and was most attentive, but she said that all the
while she knew that he was wishing them very far away, and no wonder,
for without the women and children to take care of, he would have been
free to attack the enemy. It was ten at night before they started on
their journey with an escort of soldiers. Mrs. Inglis with her three
children and three other ladies and another child were squeezed tightly
together in one bullock waggon. She had only just got her baby to sleep
when the word halt was called, silence was ordered, and all lights were
put out. Clearly an attack was feared, and she was terrified lest her
baby should begin crying again and betray where they were. After waiting
in absolute silence for a quarter of an hour, the order was given to
move on, and in two hours they reached a camp where tents had been got
ready for them and food prepared and they could lie down and sleep. Next
morning some of the officers invited Mrs. Inglis and her friends to
breakfast, and she writes that, though she hopes she was not very
greedy, she much appreciated the good things with which their table was
loaded. The next day she had the great joy of receiving the home letters
from her mother and friends in England which had been accumulating for
five months, and she was able to write home herself.
Colonel Inglis had been left behind to bring out the garrison, which he
did at night without the loss of any men. It was an immense relief to
Mrs. Inglis when he reached the camp in safety. The next day they
started on their march, the great procession of carriages and carts with
the women, children, and luggage, guarded by the soldiers. They could
only move very slowly and often had to stop because the carriages and
carts got hemmed together. Several days were spent in this way. Mrs.
Inglis could not see her husband every day, and great was her joy when
he could visit her for a few minutes. She tells how on Sundays, if he
came, they read the service together, and how at another time she could
have a quiet walk and talk with him. They passed through Cawnpore, where
a bright moon shone on the ruined houses, and everything reminded them
of the horrors that had taken place there a few months before, when
their fellow-countrywomen with their children had been cruelly butchered
by the rebels. Eighteen days after leaving Lucknow they reached the
railway. It had been a most trying and fatiguing journey, especially for
the sick and wounded, over rough roads, in crowded, jolting carts. The
train took them to Allahabad, where they were received with enthusiastic
cheering from the crowds gathered to greet them, a reception which Mrs.
Inglis felt most overpowering. At last they were in a safe place and
could rest. By degrees steamers carried them down the Ganges to
Calcutta. Mrs. Inglis was glad to linger amongst the last, for her
husband was at Cawnpore with the troops, and at Allahabad she could hear
daily from him. She begged him to let her stay where she was, instead of
going back to England, but he would not consent. As she travelled down
the Ganges to Calcutta, a wearisome journey of three weeks in an
overcrowded steamer, she heard from her fellow-passengers the stories of
their hardships and losses. It was wonderful to think that she and her
husband and three children were all safe. Strangely enough their dangers
were not over yet, for the steamer that was taking them from Calcutta to
England struck a rock and the passengers had to make their escape in
small boats through the heavy surf. The waves were very high, and seemed
as if they would swamp them, but little Johnny laughed merrily each time
they broke over the boat. Fortunately they were picked up by a passing
ship, and ultimately reached England in safety. Colonel Inglis stayed
for some months in Cawnpore, but then his health broke down, which was
not surprising after the terrible time he had been through. He was
forced to ask for leave and was able to join his wife in England.
IX
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE, who has done so much to improve the nursing of the
sick, was born on May 12, 1820, at Florence, in Italy, and was named
after her birthplace. Her parents soon went back to live in England,
where her father owned a country-house, called Lea Hurst, in Derbyshire.
They spent their summers in Derbyshire, and in the autumn moved to
Embley Park, in Hampshire, another house belonging to Mr. Nightingale.
Florence grew up loving the country and the country people who lived
round her home. As a little girl she was very fond of dolls, and used to
pretend that they were ill, and nurse them, and bandage their broken
limbs, with the greatest care and skill. She was devoted to animals and
had many pets for whom she cared tenderly. Once, when she was out riding
on her pony, she came upon an old shepherd whose dog had had his leg
hurt by some mischievous boys. The shepherd thought that there was
nothing to be done but to kill the dog to put it out of its misery. But
Florence begged to be allowed to try to cure it. The leg proved not to
be broken, and Florence poulticed it so cleverly that the dog was soon
well again.
[Illustration:
_Photo: London Stereoscopic Co._
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.
]
Florence was educated at home. Her father was very particular about her
studies, and she learnt well and quickly. Even as a child she loved to
visit sick people, and as soon as she was grown up, she spent most of
her time in the cottages and in the village school. The old and the sick
loved her visits, and her gentle, clever ways did much to ease their
suffering. For the children, she invented all kinds of amusements, and
delighted in playing with them. She also held a Bible class for the
elder girls. So far her life had been spent much like that of many other
English girls. She was pretty and charming and known to be very clever;
she had travelled a good deal, and her home-life, with parents who
delighted in her and one sister to whom she was devoted, was absolutely
happy. But every year her interest in nursing the sick grew stronger.
She had been much impressed by meeting Elizabeth Fry, and by hearing
from her of the Institute of Kaiserswerth in Germany, where deaconesses
were trained for nursing the sick poor. In order to find out how the
sick were nursed in her own country, she visited some of the chief
hospitals, and was grieved to find what ignorant, rough women the nurses
were. They had no training, and did little for the comfort of the
patients; the hospitals were dirty and badly kept, and the nurses were
much given to drinking. Miss Nightingale also travelled in France,
Germany, and Italy to visit the hospitals. There she found things on the
whole much better, as the nursing was mostly done by nuns, or Sisters of
Charity, religious women who had given their lives for the service of
their fellow-creatures.
When she was twenty-nine, Miss Nightingale decided to go herself to
Kaiserswerth to study nursing. She spent only a few months there, but
she was delighted with what she saw and learned. Many years afterwards
she wrote: “Never have I met with a higher love, a purer devotion than
there. There was no neglect. The food was poor—no coffee but bean
coffee—no luxury but cleanliness.” She was much loved at Kaiserswerth;
and an English lady who was there eleven years afterwards was told that
many of “the sick remembered much of her teaching, and some died
happily, blessing her for having led them to Jesus.” Miss Nightingale
wrote a little book about Kaiserswerth, in which she urged that women
should be encouraged to work, and should be trained properly for their
work. She herself at first used the knowledge that she had gained in
tending the poor who lived near her own home. After a while, she moved
to London that she might be able to help in other charitable work. She
was interested in a Home that had been started for sick governesses,
which she heard was in a very unsatisfactory condition, and went to live
there herself, shutting herself off from all society that she might care
for the sick women in the Home, and arrange for its proper management.
She was not at all strong, and after a time grew ill from the strain of
too much work and had to go back to the country to rest.
It was about this time that England and France declared war on Russia,
and the Crimean War began. England had not been at war for forty years,
and the army was in no way well prepared. The country rejoiced to hear
of the victory of the Alma won over the Russians, but people learnt with
indignation of the sufferings of the soldiers after the battle. Nothing
was ready for the care of the wounded, even food and clothing were
scarce. Letters from the Crimea told terrible stories of the sufferings
of the men. The French had fifty Sisters of Mercy to tend their sick,
but the English had no female nurses. In the _Times_ newspaper, a long
letter, giving an account of the terrible state of things, was
published, which ended with these words: “Are there no devoted women
amongst us, able and willing to go forth to minister to the sick and
suffering soldiers of the East in the hospitals at Scutari? Are none of
the daughters of England, at this extreme hour of need, ready for such a
work of mercy?” Many were stirred by this appeal and sent in offers of
help to the War Office. Mr. Sidney Herbert, the Minister for War, was
eager to send the needed help, but he felt that to send out women not
trained for such work would be useless. He knew Miss Nightingale
intimately, and it seemed to him that she was the one woman in England
whose character and training fitted her to take the lead in this matter.
He got the permission of the government to ask her to undertake the post
of Superintendent of Nurses for the Crimea. Then he wrote to her to tell
her the state of affairs. A large barrack hospital had been set apart
for the sick and wounded soldiers at Scutari on the Bosphorus. Here the
wounded were brought by ship from the Crimea. Masses of stores were
being sent out, but there were no female nurses, and as women had never
been employed to nurse soldiers, there were no experienced nurses ready
to go, though many devoted women had offered their services. Mr. Herbert
felt that there would be great difficulty in ruling the band of
untrained nurses, and in making the new arrangements work smoothly with
the medical and military authorities. He told Miss Nightingale that, if
she would go, she should have full authority over the nurses, and the
support of the government in all she might wish to do. He said that the
whole success of the plan depended upon her willingness to go, and that
her experience, her knowledge, her place in society gave her the power
to do this work which no one else possessed. In those days it was quite
a new thing to think of a lady being a nurse at all, and quite an
unheard-of thing that a lady should go to nurse soldiers. Mr. Herbert
thought that if this new plan succeeded, it would do an enormous amount
of good both then and afterwards.