THE RESPONSE.
Mr. Sidney Herbert (afterwards Lord Herbert of Lea) was at this time at
the head of the War Department in England. He was a man of noble nature
and tender heart, whose whole life was spent in doing good, and in
helping those who needed help. He heard with deep distress the dreadful
tidings of suffering that came from the Crimea, and his heart responded
instantly to the call for help. Yes, the women of England must rise up
and go to that far, desolate land to tend and nurse the sick and wounded
and dying; but who should lead them? What one woman had the strength,
the power, the wisdom, the tenderness, to meet and overcome the terrible
conditions? Asking himself this question, Mr. Herbert answered without a
moment's hesitation: "Florence Nightingale!"
He knew Miss Nightingale well; she was a dear friend of himself and his
beautiful wife, and had again and again given them help and counsel in
planning and managing their many charities, hospitals, homes for sick
children, and so forth. He knew that she possessed all the qualities
needed for this work, and he wrote to her, asking if she would undertake
it. Would she, he asked, go out to Scutari, taking with her a band of
nurses who would be under her orders, and take charge of the hospital
nursing?
He did not make light of the task.
"The selection of the rank and file of nurses would be difficult--no one
knows that better than yourself. The difficulty of finding women equal
to a task after all full of horror, and requiring, besides intelligence
and goodwill, great knowledge and great courage will be great; the task
of ruling them and introducing system among them great, and not the
least will be the difficulty of making the whole work smoothly with the
medical and military authorities out there. This it is which makes it so
important that the experiment should be carried out by one with
administrative capacity and experience."
He went on to assure Miss Nightingale that she should have full power
and authority, and told her frankly that in his opinion she was the one
woman in England who was capable of performing this great task.
"I must not conceal from you that upon your decision will depend the
ultimate success or failure of the plan.... If this succeeds, an
enormous amount of good will be done now, and to persons deserving
everything at our hands; and which will multiply the good to all time."
It was a noble letter, this of Mr. Herbert's, but he might have spared
himself the trouble of writing it. Florence Nightingale, in her quiet
country home, had heard the call to the women of England; and even while
Mr. Herbert was composing his letter to her, she was writing to him, a
brief note, simply offering her services in the hospitals at Scutari.
Her letter crossed his on the way; and the next day it was proclaimed
from the War Office that Miss Nightingale, "a lady with greater
practical experience of hospital administration and treatment than any
other lady in the country," had been appointed by Government to the
office of Superintendent of Nurses at Scutari, and had undertaken the
work of organizing and taking out nurses thither.
Great was the amazement in England. Nothing of this kind had ever been
heard of before. "Who is Miss Nightingale?" people cried all over the
country. They were answered by the newspapers. First the _Examiner_ and
then the _Times_ told them that Miss Nightingale was "a young lady of
singular endowments both natural and acquired. In a knowledge of the
ancient languages and of the higher branches of mathematics, in general
art, science, and literature, her attainments are extraordinary. There
is scarcely a modern language which she does not understand, and she
speaks French, German and Italian as fluently as her native English. She
has visited and studied all the various nations of Europe, and has
ascended the Nile to its remotest cataract. Young (about the age of our
Queen), graceful, feminine, rich, popular, she holds a singularly gentle
and persuasive influence over all with whom she comes in contact. Her
friends and acquaintances are of all classes and persuasions, but her
happiest place is at home, in the centre of a very large band of
accomplished relatives, and in simplest obedience to her admiring
parents."
One who knew our heroine well wrote in a more personal vein:
"Miss Nightingale is one of those whom God forms for great ends. You
cannot hear her say a few sentences--no, not even look at her, without
feeling that she is an extraordinary being. Simple, intellectual, sweet,
full of love and benevolence, she is a fascinating and perfect woman.
She is tall and pale. Her face is exceedingly lovely; but better than
all is the soul's glory that shines through every feature so exultingly.
Nothing can be sweeter than her smile. It is like a sunny day in
summer."
Though well known among a large circle of earnest and high-minded
persons, Miss Nightingale's name was entirely new to the English people
as a whole, and--everything else apart--they were delighted with its
beauty. Had she been plain Mary Smith, she would have done just as good
work, but it would have been far harder for her to start it. Florence
Nightingale was a name to conjure with, as the saying is, and it echoed
far and wide. Everybody who could write verses (and many who could not),
began instantly to write about nightingales. _Punch_ printed a cartoon
showing a hospital ward, with the "ladybirds" hovering about the cots
of the sick men, each bird having a nurse's head. Another picture
represented one of the bird-nurses flying through the air, carrying in
her claws a jug labeled "Fomentation, Embrocation, Gruel." This was
called "The Jug of the Nightingale," for many people think that some of
the bird's beautiful, liquid notes sound like "jug, jug, jug!"
Not content with pictures, _Punch_ printed "The Nightingale's Song to
the Sick Soldier," which became very popular, and was constantly quoted
in those days.
Listen, soldier, to the tale of the tender nightingale,
'Tis a charm that soon will ease your wounds so cruel,
Singing medicine for your pain, in a sympathetic strain,
With a jug, jug, jug of lemonade or gruel.
Singing bandages and lint; salve and cerate without stint,
Singing plenty both of liniment and lotion,
And your mixtures pushed about, and the pills for you served out
With alacrity and promptitude of motion.
Singing light and gentle hands, and a nurse who understands
How to manage every sort of application,
From a poultice to a leech; whom you haven't got to teach
The way to make a poppy fomentation.
Singing pillow for you, smoothed; smart and ache and anguish soothed,
By the readiness of feminine invention;
Singing fever's thirst allayed, and the bed you've tumbled made
With a cheerful and considerate attention.
Singing succour to the brave, and a rescue from the grave,
Hear the nightingale that's come to the Crimea;
'Tis a nightingale as strong in her heart as in her song,
To carry out so gallant an idea.
Of course there were some people who shook their heads; there always are
when any new work is undertaken. Some thought it was improper for women
to nurse in a military hospital; others thought they would be useless,
or worse; others again thought that the nurses would ruin their own
health and be sent home in a month to the hospitals of England. There
were still other objections, which were strongly felt in those days,
however strange they may sound in our ears to-day.
"Oh, dreadful!" said some people; "Miss Nightingale is a Unitarian!"
"Oh, shocking!" said others. "Miss Nightingale is a Roman Catholic!" And
so it went on. But while they were talking and exclaiming, drawing
pictures and singing songs, Miss Nightingale was getting ready. In six
days from the time she undertook the work she was ready to start, with
thirty nurses, chosen with infinite care and pains from the hundreds who
had volunteered to go. There was no flourish of trumpets. While England
was still wondering how they could go, and whether they ought to be
allowed to go--behold, they were gone! slipping away by night, as if
they were bound on some secret errand. Indeed, Miss Nightingale has
never been able to endure "fuss and feathers," and all her life she has
looked for a bushel large enough to hide her light under, though happily
she has never succeeded.
Only a few relatives and near friends stood on the railway platform on
that evening of October 21, 1854. Miss Nightingale, simply dressed in
black, was very quiet, very serene, with a cheerful word for everyone;
no one who saw her parting look and smile ever forgot them. So, in night
and silence, the "Angel Band" whose glory was soon to shine over all the
world, left the shores of England.
But though England slept that night, France was wide awake the next
morning. The fishwives of Boulogne had heard what was doing across the
Channel, and were on the lookout. When Miss Nightingale and her nurses
stepped ashore they were met by a band of women, in snowy caps and
rainbow-striped petticoats, all with outstretched hands, all crying,
"Welcome, welcome, our English sisters!"
They knew, Marie and Jeanne and Suzette. Their own husbands, sons, and
brothers were fighting and dying in the Crimea; their own nurses, the
blessed Sisters of Mercy, had from the first been toiling in hospital
and trench in that dreadful land; how should they not welcome the
English sisters who were going to join in the holy work?
Loudly they proclaimed that none but themselves, the fishwives of
Boulogne, should help the _soeurs Anglaises_. They shouldered bag and
baggage; they swung the heavy trunks up on their broad backs, and with
laughter and tears mingled in true French fashion, trudged away to the
railway station. Pay? Not a sou; not a centime! The blessing of our
English sisters is all we desire; and if they should chance to see
Pierre or Jacques _là-bas_--ah! the heavens are over all. A handshake,
then, and _Adieu! Adieu! vivent les soeurs!_ the good God go with you!
And that prayer was surely answered.