<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></SPAN>CHAPTER XIII.</h2>
<p class="center" style="padding-top: 1.5em; padding-bottom: 1.5em;">MY WORK IN THE CRIMEA.</p>
<p>I hope the reader will give me credit for the assertion
that I am about to make, viz., that I enter upon the particulars
of this chapter with great reluctance; but I
cannot omit them, for the simple reason that they
strengthen my one and only claim to interest the public,
viz., my services to the brave British army in the Crimea.
But, fortunately, I can follow a course which will not only
render it unnecessary for me to sound my own trumpet,
but will be more satisfactory to the reader. I can put on
record the written opinions of those who had ample means
of judging and ascertaining how I fulfilled the great object
which I had in view in leaving England for the Crimea;
and before I do so, I must solicit my readers’ attention to
the position I held in the camp as doctress, nurse, and
“mother.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</SPAN></span>
I have never been long in any place before I have found
my practical experience in the science of medicine useful.
Even in London I have found it of service to others. And
in the Crimea, where the doctors were so overworked, and
sickness was so prevalent, I could not be long idle; for I
never forgot that my intention in seeking the army was to
help the kind-hearted doctors, to be useful to whom I have
ever looked upon and still regard as so high a privilege.</p>
<p>But before very long I found myself surrounded with
patients of my own, and this for two simple reasons. In
the first place, the men (I am speaking of the “ranks”
now) had a very serious objection to going into hospital
for any but urgent reasons, and the regimental doctors
were rather fond of sending them there; and, in the second
place, they could and did get at my store sick-comforts
and nourishing food, which the heads of the medical staff
would sometimes find it difficult to procure. These reasons,
with the additional one that I was very familiar with the
diseases which they suffered most from, and successful in
their treatment (I say this in no spirit of vanity), were
quite sufficient to account for the numbers who came daily
to the British Hotel for medical treatment.</p>
<p>That the officers were glad of me as a doctress and
nurse may be easily understood. When a poor fellow lay
sickening in his cheerless hut and sent down to me, he
knew very well that I should not ride up in answer to his
message empty-handed. And although I did not hesitate
to charge him with the value of the necessaries I took
him, still he was thankful enough to be able to <em>purchase</em>
them. When we lie ill at home surrounded with comfort,
we never think of feeling any special gratitude for the
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</SPAN></span>
sick-room delicacies which we accept as a consequence of
our illness; but the poor officer lying ill and weary in his
crazy hut, dependent for the merest necessaries of existence
upon a clumsy, ignorant soldier-cook, who would almost
prefer eating his meat raw to having the trouble of cooking
it (our English soldiers are bad campaigners), often finds
his greatest troubles in the want of those little delicacies
with which a weak stomach must be humoured into
retaining nourishment. How often have I felt sad at the
sight of poor lads, who in England thought attending early
parade a hardship, and felt harassed if their neckcloths set
awry, or the natty little boots would not retain their
polish, bearing, and bearing so nobly and bravely, trials and
hardships to which the veteran campaigner frequently
succumbed. Don’t you think, reader, if you were lying,
with parched lips and fading appetite, thousands of miles
from mother, wife, or sister, loathing the rough food by
your side, and thinking regretfully of that English home
where nothing that could minister to your great need
would be left untried—don’t you think that you would
welcome the familiar figure of the stout lady whose bony
horse has just pulled up at the door of your hut, and
whose panniers contain some cooling drink, a little broth,
some homely cake, or a dish of jelly or blanc-mange—don’t
you think, under such circumstances, that you would
heartily agree with my friend <i>Punch’s</i> remark:—</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“That berry-brown face, with a kind heart’s trace<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Impressed on each wrinkle sly,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Was a sight to behold, through the snow-clouds rolled<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Across that iron sky.”<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>I tell you, reader, I have seen many a bold fellow’s eyes
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</SPAN></span>
moisten at such a season, when a woman’s voice and a
woman’s care have brought to their minds recollections of
those happy English homes which some of them never saw
again; but many did, who will remember their woman-comrade
upon the bleak and barren heights before
Sebastopol.</p>
<p>Then their calling me “mother” was not, I think,
altogether unmeaning. I used to fancy that there was
something homely in the word; and, reader, you cannot
think how dear to them was the smallest thing that
reminded them of home.</p>
<p>Some of my Crimean patients, who were glad of me as
nurse and doctress, bore names familiar to all England, and
perhaps, did I ask them, they would allow me to publish
those names. I am proud to think that a gallant sailor, on
whose brave breast the order of Victoria rests—a more
gallant man can never wear it—sent for the doctress whom
he had known in Kingston, when his arm, wounded on the
fatal 18th of June, refused to heal, and I think that the
application I recommended did it good; but I shall let
some of my patients’ letters, taken from a large bundle,
speak for me. Of course I must suppress most of their
names. Here are two from one of my best and kindest
sons.</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Mamma</span>,—Will you kindly give the bearer the
bottle you promised me when you were here this morning,
for my jaundice. Please let me know how much I am to
take of it. Yours truly,</p>
<p class="sig">“F. M., <i>C. E.</i>”</p>
</div>
<p>You see the medicine does him good, for a few days
later comes another from the same writer:—</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</SPAN></span>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Seacole</span>,—I have finished the bottle,
which has done my jaundice a deal of good. Will you
kindly send another by bearer. Truly yours,</p>
<p class="sig">“F. M.”</p>
</div>
<p>It was a capital prescription which had done his jaundice
good. There was so great a demand for it, that I kept
it mixed in a large pan, ready to ladle it out to the scores
of applicants who came for it.</p>
<p>Sometimes they would send for other and no less important
medicines. Here is such an application from a
sick officer:—</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>“Mrs. Seacole would confer a favour on the writer, who
is very ill, by giving his servant (the bearer) a boiled or
roast fowl; if it be impossible to obtain them, some chicken
broth would be very acceptable.</p>
<p class="sig">“I am yours, truly obliged,<br/>
“J. K., 18th R. S.”</p>
</div>
<p>Doesn’t that read like a sick man’s letter, glad enough
to welcome any woman’s face? Here are some gentlemen
of the Commissariat anxious to speak for me:—</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>“Arthur C——, Comm. Staff Officer, having been
attacked one evening with a very bad diarrhœa at Mrs.
Seacole’s, took some of her good medicine. It cured me
before the next morning, and I have never been attacked
since.—October 17th, 1855.”</p>
</div>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>“Archibald R. L——, Comm. Staff, Crimea, was suffering
from diarrhœa for a week or more; after taking
Mrs. Seacole’s good medicines for two days, he became quite
well, and remained so to this day.—October 17th, 1855.”</p>
</div>
<p>Here is Mr. M——, paymaster of the Land Transport
Corps, ready with a good account of my services:—</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</SPAN></span>
<p>“I certify that Madame Seacole twice cured me effectually
of dysentery while in the Crimea, and also my clerk
and the men of my corps, to my certain knowledge.”</p>
</div>
<p>And some of the men shall speak for themselves:—</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="address">“Stationary Engine, December 1, 1855.</p>
<p>“I certify that I was severely attacked by diarrhœa
after landing in the Crimea. I took a great deal of medicine,
but nothing served me until I called on Mrs. Seacole.
She gave me her medicine but once, and I was cured
effectually.</p>
<p class="sig">“<span class="smcap">Wm. Knollys</span>, Sergt., L.T.C.”</p>
</div>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>“This is to certify that Wm. Row, L.T.C, had a
severe attack of illness, and was in a short time restored to
health by the prompt attention and medical skill of Mrs.
Seacole, British Hotel, Spring Hill, Crimea.”</p>
</div>
<p>Many of my patients belonged to the Land Transport
and Army Works Corps. The former indeed were in my
close neighbourhood, and their hospital was nearly opposite
to the British Hotel. I did all I could for them, and have
many letters expressive of their gratitude. From them I
select the following:—</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="address">“Head-Quarters, Camp, Crimea, June 30, 1856.</p>
<p>“I have much pleasure in bearing testimony to Mrs.
Seacole’s kindness and attention to the sick of the Railway
Labourers’ Army Works Corps and Land Transport Corps
during the winters of 1854 and 1855.</p>
<p>“She not only, from the knowledge she had acquired in
the West Indies, was enabled to administer appropriate
remedies for their ailments, but, what was of as much or
more importance, she charitably furnished them with
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</SPAN></span>
proper nourishment, which they had no means of obtaining
except in the hospital, and most of that class had an objection
to go into hospital, particularly the railway labourers
and the men of the Army Works Corps.</p>
<p class="sig">“<span class="smcap">John Hall</span>,<br/>
“Inspector-General of Hospitals.”</p>
</div>
<p>I hope that Mr. P——, of the Army Works Corps, will
pardon my laying the following letter before the public:—</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Seacole</span>,—It is with feelings of great
pleasure that I hear you are safely arrived in England,
upon which I beg to congratulate you, and return you
many thanks for your kindness whilst in the Crimea.</p>
<p>“The bitter sherry you kindly made up for me was in
truth a great blessing to both myself and my son, and as I
expect to go to Bombay shortly, I would feel grateful to
you if you would favour me with the receipt for making
it, as it appears to be so very grateful a beverage for weakness
and bowel complaints in a warm climate. With
many kind regards, believe me, dear madam, your obliged
servant,</p>
<p class="sig">“<span class="smcap">Samuel P——</span>,<br/>
“Late Superintendent Army Works Corps.”</p>
</div>
<p>Here is a certificate from one of the Army Works’
men, to whose case I devoted no little time and trouble:—</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>“I certify that I was labouring under a severe attack
of diarrhœa last August, and that I was restored to health
through the instrumentality and kindness of Mrs. Seacole.</p>
<p>“I also certify that my fingers were severely jammed
whilst at work at Frenchman’s Hill, and Mrs. Seacole
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</SPAN></span>
cured me after three doctors had fruitlessly attempted to
cure them.</p>
<p>“And I cannot leave the Crimea without testifying to
the kindness and skill of Mrs. Seacole, and may God
reward her for it.</p>
<p class="sig">“<span class="smcap">James Wallen</span>,<br/>
“5th Division Army Works Corps.”</p>
</div>
<p>Here are three more letters—and the last I shall print—from
a sailor, a soldier, and a civilian:—</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>“This is to certify that Wm. Adams, caulker, of
H.M.S. ‘Wasp,’ and belonging to the Royal Naval
Brigade, had a severe attack of cholera, and was cured in
a few hours by Mrs. Seacole.”</p>
</div>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>“I certify that I was troubled by a severe inflammation
of the chest, caused by exposure in the trenches,
for about four months, and that Mrs. Seacole’s medicine
completely cured me in one month, and may God reward
her.</p>
<p class="sig">“<span class="smcap">Charles Flinn</span>, Sergt. 3rd Co. R.S.M.”</p>
</div>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="address">“Upper Clapton, Middlesex, March 2, 1856.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Madam</span>,—Having been informed by my son, Mr.
Edward Gill, of St. George’s Store, Crimea, of his recent
illness (jaundice), and of your kind attention and advice
to him during that illness, and up to the time he was, by
the blessing of God and your assistance, restored to health,
permit me, on behalf of myself, my wife, and my family, to
return you our most grateful thanks, trusting you may be
spared for many years to come, in health of body and
vigour of mind, to carry out your benevolent intention.
Believe me, my dear madam, yours most gratefully,</p>
<p class="sig">“<span class="smcap">Edward Gill</span>.”</p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</SPAN></span>
And now that I have made this a chapter of testimonials,
I may as well finish them right off, and have done
with them altogether. I shall trouble the patient reader
with four more only, which I have not the heart to omit.</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="address">“Sebastopol, July 1, 1856.</p>
<p>“Mrs. Seacole was with the British army in the Crimea
from February, 1855, to this time. This excellent woman
has frequently exerted herself in the most praiseworthy
manner in attending wounded men, even in positions of
great danger, and in assisting sick soldiers by all means in
her power. In addition, she kept a very good store, and
supplied us with many comforts at a time we much
required them.</p>
<p class="sig">“<span class="smcap">Wm. P——</span>,<br/>
“Adjutant-General of the British Army in the Crimea.”</p>
</div>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="address">“July 1, 1856.</p>
<p>“I have much pleasure in stating that I am acquainted
with Mrs. Seacole, and from all that I have seen or heard
of her, I believe her to be a useful and good person, kind
and charitable.</p>
<p class="sig">“C. A. W——,<br/>
“Lt.-Gen. Comm. of Sebastopol.”</p>
</div>
<p>The third is from the pen of one who at that time was
more looked to, and better known, than any other man in
the Crimea. In the 2nd vol. of Russell’s “Letters from
the Seat of War,” p. 187, is the following entry:—</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>“In the hour of their illness these men (Army Works
Corps), in common with many others, have found a kind
and successful physician. Close to the railway, half-way
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</SPAN></span>
between the Col de Balaclava and Kadikoi, Mrs. Seacole,
formerly of Kingston and of several other parts of the
world, such as Panama and Chagres, has pitched her abode—an
iron storehouse with wooden sheds and outlying tributaries—and
here she doctors and cures all manner of
men with extraordinary success. She is always in attendance
near the battle-field to aid the wounded, and has
earned many a poor fellow’s blessings.”</p>
</div>
<p>Yes! I cannot—referring to that time—conscientiously
charge myself with doing less for the men who had only
thanks to give me, than for the officers whose gratitude
gave me the necessaries of life. I think I was ever ready
to turn from the latter to help the former, humble as they
might be; and they were grateful in their way, and as far
as they could be. They would buy me apples and other
fruit at Balaclava, and leave them at my store. One made
me promise, when I returned home, to send word to his
Irish mother, who was to send me a cow in token of her
gratitude for the help I had been to her son. I have a
book filled with hundreds of the names of those who came
to me for medicines and other aids; and never a train of
sick or wounded men from the front passed the British
Hotel but its hostess was awaiting them to offer comforts
to the poor fellows, for whose suffering her heart bled.</p>
<p><i>Punch</i>, who allowed my poor name to appear in the
pages which had welcomed Miss Nightingale home—<i>Punch</i>,
that whimsical mouthpiece of some of the noblest
hearts that ever beat beneath black coats—shall last of all
raise its voice, that never yet pleaded an unworthy cause,
for the Mother Seacole that takes shame to herself for
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</SPAN></span>
speaking thus of the poor part she bore of the trials and
hardships endured on that distant shore, where Britain’s
best and bravest wrung hardly Sebastopol from the grasp
of Britain’s foe:—</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“No store she set by the epaulette,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Be it worsted or gold lace;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For K. C. B. or plain private Smith,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">She had still one pleasant face.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“And not alone was her kindness shown<br/></span>
<span class="i1">To the hale and hungry lot<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who drank her grog and ate her prog,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And paid their honest shot.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“The sick and sorry can tell the story<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Of her nursing and dosing deeds;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Regimental M.D. never worked as she,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">In helping sick men’s needs.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“Of such work, God knows, was as much as she chose<br/></span>
<span class="i1">That dreary winter-tide,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When Death hung o’er the damp and pestilent camp,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And his scythe swung far and wide.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“She gave her aid to all who prayed,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">To hungry and sick and cold;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Open hand and heart, alike ready to part<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Kind words and acts, and gold.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<hr style="width: 20%;" /></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“And—be the right man in the right place who can—<br/></span>
<span class="i1">The right woman was Dame Seacole.”<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>Reader, now that we have come to the end of this
chapter, I can say what I have been all anxiety to tell you
from its beginning. Please look back to <SPAN href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Chapter VIII.</SPAN>,
and see how hard the right woman had to struggle to
convey herself to the right place.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</SPAN></span></p>
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