FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE
THE ANGEL OF THE CRIMEA
[Illustration: FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.]
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE
THE ANGEL OF THE CRIMEA
_A STORY FOR YOUNG PEOPLE_
BY
LAURA E. RICHARDS
AUTHOR OF "CAPTAIN JANUARY,"
"THE GOLDEN WINDOWS," ETC.
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATED
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK AND LONDON
1911
Copyright, 1909, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
_Published September, 1909_
Printed in the United States of America
TO
THE SISTER ELEANOR
OF THE SISTERHOOD OF SAINT MARY
HERSELF THROUGH MANY LONG YEARS A DEVOTED
WORKER FOR THE POOR, THE SICK, AND THE
SORROWFUL, THIS BRIEF RECORD OF AN
HEROIC LIFE IS AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED
For the material used in this little book I am chiefly indebted to
Sarah A. Tooley's "Life of Florence Nightingale," and to Kinglake's
"Invasion of the Crimea."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. HOW FLORENCE GOT HER NAME--HER THREE
HOMES 1
II. LITTLE FLORENCE 9
III. THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER 19
IV. LOOKING OUT 32
V. WAITING FOR THE CALL 40
VI. THE TRUMPET CALL 45
VII. THE RESPONSE 58
VIII. SCUTARI 68
IX. THE BARRACK HOSPITAL 75
X. THE LADY-IN-CHIEF 85
XI. THE LADY WITH THE LAMP 98
XII. WINTER 114
XIII. MISS NIGHTINGALE UNDER FIRE 129
XIV. THE CLOSE OF THE WAR 143
XV. THE TASKS OF PEACE 159
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.
CHAPTER I.
HOW FLORENCE GOT HER NAME--HER THREE HOMES.
One evening, some time after the great Crimean War of 1854-55, a company
of military and naval officers met at dinner in London. They were
talking over the war, as soldiers and sailors love to do, and somebody
said: "Who, of all the workers in the Crimea, will be longest
remembered?"
Each guest was asked to give his opinion on this point, and each one
wrote a name on a slip of paper. There were many slips, but when they
came to be examined there was only one name, for every single man had
written "Florence Nightingale."
Every English boy and girl knows the beautiful story of Miss
Nightingale's life. Indeed, hers is perhaps the best-loved name in
England since good Queen Victoria died. It will be a great pleasure to
me to tell this story to our own boys and girls in this country; and it
shall begin, as all proper stories do, at the beginning.
Her father was named William Nightingale. He was an English gentleman,
and in the year 1820 was living in Italy with his wife. Their first
child was born in Naples, and they named her Parthenope, that being the
ancient name of Naples; two years later, when they were living in
Florence, another little girl came to them, and they decided to name her
also after the city of her birth.
When Florence was still a very little child her parents came back to
England to live, bringing the two children with them. First they went to
a house called Lea Hall, in Derbyshire. It was an old, old house of gray
stone, standing on a hill, in meadows full of buttercups and clover. All
about were blossoming hedgerows full of wild roses, and great
elder-bushes heavy with white blossoms; and on the hillside below it
lies the quaint old village of Lea with its curious little stone houses.
Lea Hall is a farmhouse now, but it still has its old flag-paved hall
and its noble staircase of oak with twisted balustrade, and broad solid
steps where little Florence and her sister "Parthe" used to play and
creep and tumble. There was another place near by where they loved even
better to play; that was the ancient house of Dethick. I ought rather to
say the ancient kitchen, for little else remained of the once stately
mansion. The rest of the house was comparatively new, but the great
kitchen was (and no doubt is) much as it was in the days of Queen
Elizabeth.
Imagine a great room with heavy timbered roof, ponderous oaken doors,
and huge open fireplace over which hung the ancient roasting jack. In
the ceiling was a little trap-door, which looked as if it might open on
the roof; but in truth it was the entrance to a chamber hidden away
under the roof, a good-sized room, big enough for several persons to
hide in.
Florence and her sister loved to imagine the scenes that had taken place
in that old kitchen; strange and thrilling, perhaps terrible scenes;
they knew the story of Dethick, and now you shall hear it too.
In that old time which Tennyson calls "the spacious days of great
Elizabeth," Dethick belonged to a noble family named Babington. It was a
fine house then. The oaken door of the old kitchen opened on long
corridors and passages, which in turn led to stately halls and noble
galleries. There were turrets and balconies overlooking beautiful
gardens; and on the stone terraces gay lords and ladies used to walk and
laugh and make merry, and little children run and play and dance, and
life go on very much as it does now, with work and play, love and
laughter and tears.
One of the gay people who used to walk there was Anthony Babington. He
was a gallant young gentleman, an ardent Catholic, and devoted to the
cause of the beautiful and unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots.
Though ardent and devoted, Babington was a weak and foolish young man.
He fell under the influence of a certain Ballard, an artful and
designing person who had resolved to bring about the death of the great
English Queen, and was induced by him to form the plot which is known in
history as Babington's Conspiracy; so he was brought to ruin and death.
In the year 1586 Queen Mary was imprisoned at Wingfield Manor, a country
house only a few miles distant from Dethick. The conspirators gathered
other Catholic noblemen about them, and planned to release Queen Mary
and set her once more on the throne.
They used to meet at Dethick where, it is said, there is a secret
passage underground leading to Wingfield Manor. Perhaps--who
knows?--they may have sat in the kitchen, gathering about the great
fireplace for warmth; the lights out, for fear of spies, only the
firelight gleaming here and there, lighting up the dark corners and the
eager, intent faces. And when the plot was discovered, and Queen
Elizabeth's soldiers were searching the country round for the young
conspirators, riding hither and thither along the pleasant country lanes
and thrusting their sabres in among the blossoming hedgerows, it was
here at Dethick that they sought for Anthony Babington. They did not
find him, for he was in hiding elsewhere, but one of his companions was
actually discovered and arrested there.
Perhaps--again, who knows?--this man may have been hiding in the secret
chamber above the trap-door. One can fancy the pursuers rushing in,
flinging open cupboards and presses, in search for their prey; and
finding no one, gathering baffled around the fireplace. Then one,
chancing to glance up, catches sight of the trap-door in the ceiling.
"Ha! lads, look up! the rascal may be hiding yonder! Up with you, you
tall fellow!" Then a piling up of benches, one man mounting on another's
shoulders--the door forced open, the young nobleman seized and
overpowered, and brought down to be carried off to London for trial.
Anthony Babington and his companions were executed for high treason, and
Queen Mary, who was convicted of approving the plot, was put to death
soon after.
All this Florence Nightingale and her sister knew, and they never tired
of "playing suppose" in old Dethick kitchen, and living over again in
fancy the romantic time long past. And on Sundays the two children went
with their parents to old Dethick church, and sat where Anthony
Babington used to sit, for in his days it was the private chapel of
Dethick. It is a tiny church; fifty people would fill it to
overflowing, but Florence and her sister might easily feel that the four
bare walls held all the wild history of Elizabeth's reign.
Anthony Babington in doublet and hose, with velvet mantle, feathered
cap, and sword by his side; little Florence Nightingale in round Leghorn
hat and short petticoats. It is a long step between these two, yet they
are the two most famous people who ever said their prayers in old
Dethick church. The lad's brief and tragic story contrasts strangely
with the long and beautiful story of Florence Nightingale, a story that
has no end.
When Florence was between five and six years old, she left Lea Hall for
a new home, Lea Hurst, about a mile distant. Here her father had built a
beautiful house in the Elizabethan style, of stone, with pointed gables,
mullioned windows and latticed panes. There was a tiny chapel on the
site he chose, hundreds of years old, and this he built into the house,
so that Lea Hurst, as well as Lea Hall and Dethick, joined hands with
the old historic times. In this little chapel, by and by, we shall see
Florence holding her Bible class. But I like still to think of her as a
little rosy girl, running about the beautiful gardens of Lea Hurst, or
playing house in the quaint old summerhouse with its pointed roof of
thatch. Perhaps she brought her dolls here; but the dolls must wait for
another chapter.
Soon after moving to Lea Hurst, the Nightingales bought still another
country seat, Embley Park, in Hampshire, a fine old mansion built in
Queen Elizabeth's time, and at some distance from Lea Hurst.
After this the family used to spend the summer at Lea Hurst, and the
winter at Embley. There were no railroads then in that neighborhood; the
journey was sometimes made by stagecoach, sometimes in the Nightingales'
own carriage.
Embley Park is one of the stately homes of England, with its lofty
gables, terraces and shadowing trees; and all around it are sunny lawns,
and gardens filled with every sweet and lovely flower.
Now you know a little of the three homes of Florence Nightingale, Lea
Hall, Lea Hurst, and Embley Park; next you shall hear what kind of child
she herself was.