Chapter 8

I LONG TO JOIN THE BRITISH ARMY BEFORE SEBASTOPOL—MY WANDERINGS ABOUT LONDON FOR THAT PURPOSE—HOW I FAIL—ESTABLISHMENT OF THE FIRM OF “DAY AND MARTIN”—I EMBARK FOR TURKEY.

I LONG TO JOIN THE BRITISH ARMY OUTSIDE SEBASTOPOL. I GO ABOUT LONDON TRYING TO DO SO, BUT FAIL. THE FIRM OF “DAY AND MARTIN” IS ESTABLISHED. I SET SAIL FOR TURKEY.

Before I left Jamaica for Navy Bay, as narrated in the last chapter, war had been declared against Russia, and we were all anxiously expecting news of a descent upon the Crimea. Now, no sooner had I heard of war somewhere, than I longed to witness it; and when I was told that many of the regiments I had known so well in Jamaica had left England for the scene of action, the desire to join them became stronger than ever. I used to stand for hours in silent thought before an old map of the world, in a little corner of which some one had chalked a red cross, to enable me to distinguish where the Crimea was; and as I traced the route thither, all difficulties would vanish. But when I came to talk over the project with my friends, the best scheme I could devise seemed so wild and improbable, that I was fain to resign my hopes for a time, and so started for Navy Bay.

As I described in the last chapter, war had been declared against Russia before I left Jamaica for Navy Bay. We were all anxiously awaiting news of an invasion of the Crimea. Whenever I heard of a war somewhere, I longed to see it. Then I learned that many regiments I had known so well in Jamaica had left England for the fighting. My desire to join them grew stronger than ever. I used to stand for hours in silent thought before an old map of the world. Someone had chalked a red cross in one small corner so I could find the Crimea. As I traced the route there, all difficulties seemed to vanish. But when I discussed the plan with my friends, even my best scheme seemed so wild and unlikely. I had to put aside my hopes for a time, and so I set off for Navy Bay.

But all the way to England, from Navy Bay, I was turning my old wish over and over in my mind; and when I found myself in London, in the autumn of 1854, just after the battle of Alma had been fought, and my old friends were fairly before the walls of Sebastopol, how to join them there took up far more of my thoughts than that visionary gold-mining speculation on the river Palmilla, which seemed so feasible to us in New Granada, but was considered so wild and unprofitable a speculation in London. And, as time wore on, the inclination to join my old friends of the 97th, 48th, and other regiments, battling with worse foes than yellow fever or cholera, took such exclusive possession of my mind, that I threw over the gold speculation altogether, and devoted all my energies to my new scheme.

But all the way from Navy Bay to England, I kept turning my old wish over in my mind. I arrived in London in the autumn of 1854, just after the battle of Alma. My old friends were now before the walls of Sebastopol. I spent far more time thinking about how to join them than about the dream of gold mining on the river Palmilla. The venture had seemed so feasible to us in New Granada, but in London it was considered wild and unprofitable. As time passed, my wish to join my old friends in the 97th, 48th, and other regiments took over my thoughts. They were battling worse enemies than yellow fever or cholera. So I gave up the gold venture altogether and devoted all my energies to my new plan.

Heaven knows it was visionary enough! I had no friends who could help me in such a project—nay, who would understand why I desired to go, and what I desired to do when I got there. My funds, although they might, carefully husbanded, carry me over the three thousand miles, and land me at Balaclava, would not support me there long; while to persuade the public that an unknown Creole woman would be useful to their army before Sebastopol was too improbable an achievement to be thought of for an instant. Circumstances, however, assisted me.

Heaven knows my plan was fanciful enough! I had no friends who could help me with it. Indeed, I had no friends who would understand why I wanted to go or what I wanted to do there. If I spent my money carefully, it might get me across the three thousand miles to Balaclava. But it would not support me there for long. And it was far too unlikely that I could persuade the public that an unknown Creole woman would be useful to their army before Sebastopol. I could not consider it for a moment. Circumstances, however, helped me.

As the winter wore on, came hints from various quarters of mismanagement, want, and suffering in the Crimea; and after the battles of Balaclava and Inkermann, and the fearful storm of the 14th of November, the worst anticipations were realized. Then we knew that the hospitals were full to suffocation, that scarcity and exposure were the fate of all in the camp, and that the brave fellows for whom any of us at home would have split our last shilling, and shared our last meal, were dying thousands of miles away from the active sympathy of their fellow-countrymen. Fast and thick upon the news of Inkermann, fought by a handful of fasting and enfeebled men against eight times their number of picked Russians, brought fresh and animated to the contest, and while all England was reeling beneath the shock of that fearful victory, came the sad news that hundreds were dying whom the Russian shot and sword had spared, and that the hospitals of Scutari were utterly unable to shelter, or their inadequate staff to attend to, the ship-loads of sick and wounded which were sent to them across the stormy Black Sea.

As winter went on, reports came from various sources of mismanagement, shortages, and suffering in the Crimea. After the battles of Balaclava and Inkermann and the terrible storm of November 14, our worst fears came true. We learned that the hospitals were packed to suffocation. Everyone in the camp faced shortages and exposure. Any of us at home would have shared our last shilling and our last meal with those brave men. Yet they were dying thousands of miles away, beyond the reach of their fellow countrymen’s active sympathy. At Inkermann, a handful of hungry, weakened men had fought against eight times their number of handpicked Russians. The Russians had been brought fresh and full of energy to the battle. Soon after news of Inkermann arrived, all England was reeling from the shock of that terrible victory. Then more sad news came. Hundreds of men spared by Russian shot and sword were dying. Shiploads of sick and wounded men were being sent across the stormy Black Sea to the hospitals of Scutari. The hospitals were utterly unable to shelter them, and the staff were too few to care for them.

But directly England knew the worst, she set about repairing her past neglect. In every household busy fingers were working for the poor soldier—money flowed in golden streams wherever need was—and Christian ladies, mindful of the sublime example, “I was sick, and ye visited me,” hastened to volunteer their services by those sick-beds which only women know how to soothe and bless.

But as soon as England learned the worst, she set about making up for her past neglect. In every household, busy fingers worked for the poor soldier. Money flowed in golden streams wherever it was needed. Christian ladies remembered the sublime example, “I was sick, and ye visited me.” They hurried to volunteer at the bedsides of the sick, whom only women know how to comfort and bless.

Need I be ashamed to confess that I shared in the general enthusiasm, and longed more than ever to carry my busy (and the reader will not hesitate to add experienced) fingers where the sword or bullet had been busiest, and pestilence most rife. I had seen much of sorrow and death elsewhere, but they had never daunted me; and if I could feel happy binding up the wounds of quarrelsome Americans and treacherous Spaniards, what delight should I not experience if I could be useful to my own “sons,” suffering for a cause it was so glorious to fight and bleed for! I never stayed to discuss probabilities, or enter into conjectures as to my chances of reaching the scene of action. I made up my mind that if the army wanted nurses, they would be glad of me, and with all the ardour of my nature, which ever carried me where inclination prompted, I decided that I would go to the Crimea; and go I did, as all the world knows.

Should I be ashamed to admit that I shared the general enthusiasm? I longed more than ever to put my busy fingers to work where swords and bullets had done the most damage and disease was most widespread. The reader will not hesitate to add that my fingers were experienced. I had seen much sorrow and death elsewhere, but they had never frightened me. I could feel happy bandaging the wounds of quarrelsome Americans and treacherous Spaniards. If so, how much more delighted would I be to help my own “sons,” suffering for a cause so glorious to fight and bleed for! I never stopped to weigh the odds or guess at my chances of reaching the fighting. I decided that if the army needed nurses, they would be glad to have me. With all the passion in my nature, which always led me wherever I wanted to go, I decided that I would go to the Crimea. And go I did, as all the world knows.

Of course, had it not been for my old strong-mindedness (which has nothing to do with obstinacy, and is in no way related to it—the best term I can think of to express it being “judicious decisiveness”), I should have given up the scheme a score of times in as many days; so regularly did each successive day give birth to a fresh set of rebuffs and disappointments. I shall make no excuse to my readers for giving them a pretty full history of my struggles to become a Crimean heroine!

Of course, without my old strong-mindedness, I would have given up the plan twenty times in twenty days. Strong-mindedness has nothing to do with stubbornness and is in no way related to it. The best term I can think of for it is “judicious decisiveness”. Each new day brought a fresh set of rejections and disappointments. I make no apology to my readers for giving them a fairly full account of my struggles to become a Crimean heroine!

My first idea (and knowing that I was well fitted for the work, and would be the right woman in the right place, the reader can fancy my audacity) was to apply to the War Office for the post of hospital nurse. Among the diseases which I understood were most prevalent in the Crimea were cholera, diarrhœa, and dysentery, all of them more or less known in tropical climates; and with which, as the reader will remember, my Panama experience had made me tolerably familiar. Now, no one will accuse me of presumption, if I say that I thought (and so it afterwards proved) that my knowledge of these human ills would not only render my services as a nurse more valuable, but would enable me to be of use to the overworked doctors. That others thought so too, I took with me ample testimony. I cannot resist the temptation of giving my readers one of the testimonials I had, it seems so eminently practical and to the point:—

My first idea was to apply to the War Office for a post as a hospital nurse. I knew I was well suited to the work and would be the right woman in the right place. The reader can imagine my audacity. I understood that cholera, diarrhea, and dysentery were among the most common diseases in the Crimea. All were known to some degree in tropical climates. As the reader will remember, my experience in Panama had made me reasonably familiar with them. No one will accuse me of presumption if I say that I thought my knowledge of these illnesses would make me a more valuable nurse. I also thought it would enable me to help the overworked doctors. Events later proved me right. I took plenty of testimonials with me to show that others thought so too. I cannot resist sharing one of them with my readers, because it is so practical and to the point:

So I made long and unwearied application at the War Office, in blissful ignorance of the labour and time I was throwing away. I have reason to believe that I considerably interfered with the repose of sundry messengers, and disturbed, to an alarming degree, the official gravity of some nice gentlemanly young fellows, who were working out their salaries in an easy, off-hand way. But my ridiculous endeavours to gain an interview with the Secretary-at-War of course failed, and glad at last to oblige a distracted messenger, I transferred my attentions to the Quartermaster-General’s department. Here I saw another gentleman, who listened to me with a great deal of polite enjoyment, and—his amusement ended—hinted, had I not better apply to the Medical Department; and accordingly I attached myself to their quarters with the same unwearying ardour. But, of course, I grew tired at last, and then I changed my plans.

So I spent a long time making tireless requests at the War Office, blissfully unaware of how much effort and time I was wasting. I have reason to believe that I greatly disturbed the rest of several messengers. I also alarmingly disrupted the official seriousness of some pleasant, gentlemanly young men, who were earning their salaries in a relaxed, casual way. But of course my ridiculous efforts to meet the Secretary-at-War failed. At last, happy to oblige a frantic messenger, I turned my attention to the Quartermaster-General’s department. There I met another gentleman, who listened to me with great polite amusement. Once his amusement was over, he suggested that I might do better to apply to the Medical Department. So I began calling on them with the same tireless enthusiasm. But of course I eventually grew tired, and then I changed my plans.

Now, I am not for a single instant going to blame the authorities who would not listen to the offer of a motherly yellow woman to go to the Crimea and nurse her “sons” there, suffering from cholera, diarrhœa, and a host of lesser ills. In my country, where people know our use, it would have been different; but here it was natural enough—although I had references, and other voices spoke for me—that they should laugh, good-naturedly enough, at my offer. War, I know, is a serious game, but sometimes very humble actors are of great use in it, and if the reader, when he comes in time to peruse the evidence of those who had to do with the Sebastopol drama, of my share in it, will turn back to this chapter, he will confess perhaps that, after all, the impulse which led me to the War Department was not unnatural.

I do not blame the authorities for a single moment for refusing to listen to my offer. I was a motherly yellow woman offering to go to the Crimea and nurse her “sons” there. They were suffering from cholera, diarrhea, and a host of lesser illnesses. In my country, where people know how useful we are, things would have been different. But here it was natural enough for the authorities to laugh at my offer, even though I had references and others spoke for me. They laughed good-naturedly enough. I know war is a serious game, but sometimes even very humble players are of great use in it. In time, the reader will come to read the accounts of those involved in the Sebastopol drama, including their accounts of my part in it. If the reader then turns back to this chapter, perhaps he will admit that my impulse to go to the War Department was not so unnatural after all.

My new scheme was, I candidly confess, worse devised than the one which had failed. Miss Nightingale had left England for the Crimea, but other nurses were still to follow, and my new plan was simply to offer myself to Mrs. H—— as a recruit. Feeling that I was one of the very women they most wanted, experienced and fond of the work, I jumped at once to the conclusion that they would gladly enrol me in their number. To go to Cox’s, the army agents, who were most obliging to me, and obtain the Secretary-at-War’s private address, did not take long; and that done, I laid the same pertinacious siege to his great house in —— Square, as I had previously done to his place of business.

I freely admit that my new plan was worse than the one that had failed. Miss Nightingale had left England for the Crimea, but other nurses were still to follow. My new plan was simply to offer myself to Mrs. H-- as a recruit. I felt I was exactly the kind of woman they needed: experienced and fond of the work. So I immediately assumed they would gladly accept me as one of their nurses. It did not take long to visit Cox’s, the army agents, and get the Secretary-at-War’s private address. They were very helpful to me. With the address in hand, I besieged his grand house in -- Square just as persistently as I had his office.

Many a long hour did I wait in his great hall, while scores passed in and out; many of them looking curiously at me. The flunkeys, noble creatures! marvelled exceedingly at the yellow woman whom no excuses could get rid of, nor impertinence dismay, and showed me very clearly that they resented my persisting in remaining there in mute appeal from their sovereign will. At last I gave that up, after a message from Mrs. H. that the full complement of nurses had been secured, and that my offer could not be entertained. Once again I tried, and had an interview this time with one of Miss Nightingale’s companions. She gave me the same reply, and I read in her face the fact, that had there been a vacancy, I should not have been chosen to fill it.

I waited for many long hours in his great hall, while scores of people passed in and out. Many looked at me curiously. The servants, noble creatures! They were amazed by the yellow woman whom no excuse could send away and no rudeness could discourage. They made it very clear that they resented my staying there, silently appealing against their supreme authority. At last I gave up, after Mrs. H. sent word that all the nurses needed had been hired and my offer could not be considered. I tried once again, and this time I had an interview with one of Miss Nightingale’s companions. She gave me the same answer. I could see from her face that even if there had been a vacancy, I would not have been chosen to fill it.

As a last resort, I applied to the managers of the Crimean Fund to know whether they would give me a passage to the camp—once there I would trust to something turning up. But this failed also, and one cold evening I stood in the twilight, which was fast deepening into wintry night, and looked back upon the ruins of my last castle in the air. The disappointment seemed a cruel one. I was so conscious of the unselfishness of the motives which induced me to leave England—so certain of the service I could render among the sick soldiery, and yet I found it so difficult to convince others of these facts. Doubts and suspicions arose in my heart for the first and last time, thank Heaven. Was it possible that American prejudices against colour had some root here? Did these ladies shrink from accepting my aid because my blood flowed beneath a somewhat duskier skin than theirs? Tears streamed down my foolish cheeks, as I stood in the fast thinning streets; tears of grief that any should doubt my motives—that Heaven should deny me the opportunity that I sought. Then I stood still, and looking upward through and through the dark clouds that shadowed London, prayed aloud for help. I dare say that I was a strange sight to the few passers-by, who hastened homeward through the gloom and mist of that wintry night. I dare say those who read these pages will wonder at me as much as they who saw me did; but you must all remember that I am one of an impulsive people, and find it hard to put that restraint upon my feelings which to you is so easy and natural.

As a last resort, I asked the managers of the Crimean Fund if they would pay for my passage to the camp. Once there, I would trust that something would turn up. But this attempt failed too. One cold evening, I stood in the twilight as it quickly deepened into a winter night. I looked back on the ruins of my last dream. The disappointment seemed cruel. I knew how unselfish my reasons were for wanting to leave England. I was certain I could be of service among the sick soldiers. Yet I found it so difficult to convince others of these things. Doubts and suspicions entered my heart for the first and last time, thank Heaven. Was it possible that American prejudices against people of color had some roots here? Did these ladies hesitate to accept my help because my skin was somewhat darker than theirs? Tears streamed down my foolish cheeks as I stood in the streets, where fewer and fewer people remained. I wept with grief that anyone should doubt my motives and that Heaven should deny me the opportunity I sought. Then I stood still and looked up through the dark clouds that shadowed London. I prayed aloud for help. I dare say I was a strange sight to the few passersby hurrying home through the gloom and mist of that winter night. I dare say those who read these pages will find me just as strange as those who saw me did. But you must all remember that I am one of an impulsive people. I find it hard to restrain my feelings in the way that comes so easily and naturally to you.

The morrow, however, brought fresh hope. A good night’s rest had served to strengthen my determination. Let what might happen, to the Crimea I would go. If in no other way, then would I upon my own responsibility and at my own cost. There were those there who had known me in Jamaica, who had been under my care; doctors who would vouch for my skill and willingness to aid them, and a general who had more than once helped me, and would do so still. Why not trust to their welcome and kindness, and start at once? If the authorities had allowed me, I would willingly have given them my services as a nurse; but as they declined them, should I not open an hotel for invalids in the Crimea in my own way? I had no more idea of what the Crimea was than the home authorities themselves perhaps, but having once made up my mind, it was not long before cards were printed and speeding across the Mediterranean to my friends before Sebastopol. Here is one of them:—

The next day, however, brought fresh hope. A good night’s rest had strengthened my determination. Whatever happened, I would go to the Crimea. If there was no other way, I would go on my own responsibility and at my own expense. People there had known me in Jamaica and had been under my care. There were doctors who would vouch for my skill and willingness to help them. There was also a general who had helped me more than once and would do so again. Why not trust in their welcome and kindness, and leave at once? If the authorities had allowed me, I would gladly have served them as a nurse. But since they had declined my services, why not open a hotel for invalids in the Crimea in my own way? I knew no more about what the Crimea was like than the authorities at home did, perhaps. But once I had made up my mind, it was not long before cards were printed. They were soon speeding across the Mediterranean to my friends before Sebastopol. Here is one of them:

This bold programme would reach the Crimea in the end of January, at a time when any officer would have considered a stall in an English stable luxurious quarters compared to those he possessed, and had nearly forgotten the comforts of a mess-table. It must have read to them rather like a mockery, and yet, as the reader will see, I succeeded in redeeming my pledge.

This bold plan would reach the Crimea at the end of January. At that time, any officer would have considered a stall in an English stable luxurious compared with his own quarters. He would also have nearly forgotten the comforts of dining with his fellow officers. The plan must have seemed like a mockery to them. Yet, as the reader will see, I succeeded in keeping my promise.

While this new scheme was maturing, I again met Mr. Day in England. He was bound to Balaclava upon some shipping business, and we came to the understanding that (if it were found desirable) we should together open a store as well as an hotel in the neighbourhood of the camp. So was originated the well-known firm of Seacole and Day (I am sorry to say, the camp wits dubbed it Day and Martin), which, for so many months, did business upon the now deserted high-road from the then busy harbour of Balaclava to the front of the British army before Sebastopol.

While this new plan was taking shape, I met Mr. Day again in England. He was going to Balaclava on shipping business. We agreed that, if it seemed desirable, we would open a store and a hotel together near the camp. That was how the well-known firm of Seacole and Day began. I am sorry to say that the camp wits nicknamed it Day and Martin. For many months, the firm did business on the main road from Balaclava to the British army’s front before Sebastopol. The road is now deserted, though Balaclava was a busy harbour then.

These new arrangements were not allowed to interfere in any way with the main object of my journey. A great portion of my limited capital was, with the kind aid of a medical friend, invested in medicines which I had reason to believe would be useful; with the remainder I purchased those home comforts which I thought would be most difficult to obtain away from England.

I did not let these new arrangements interfere in any way with the main purpose of my journey. With the kind help of a medical friend, I spent a large part of my limited funds on medicines. I had reason to believe these medicines would be useful. With the rest, I bought the comforts of home that I thought would be hardest to find away from England.

I had scarcely set my foot on board the “Hollander,” before I met a friend. The supercargo was the brother of the Mr. S——, whose death in Jamaica the reader will not have forgotten, and he gave me a hearty welcome. I thought the meeting augured well, and when I told him my plans he gave me the most cheering encouragement. I was glad, indeed, of any support, for, beyond all doubt, my project was a hazardous one.

I had barely stepped aboard the “Hollander” when I met a friend. The supercargo was the brother of Mr. S--, whose death in Jamaica the reader will not have forgotten. He gave me a warm welcome. I thought our meeting was a good sign. When I told him my plans, he gave me the most encouraging support. I was glad of any support, because my plan was, beyond all doubt, a risky one.

So cheered at the outset, I watched without a pang the shores of England sink behind the smooth sea, and turned my gaze hopefully to the as yet landless horizon, beyond which lay that little peninsula to which the eyes and hearts of all England were so earnestly directed.

Cheered at the start of my journey, I watched England’s shores disappear behind the smooth sea without a pang of sadness. I looked hopefully toward the horizon, where no land was yet visible. Beyond it lay the little peninsula on which all England’s eyes and hearts were so intently fixed.

So, cheerily! the good ship ploughed its way eastward ho! for Turkey.

So, cheerfully, the good ship sailed east toward Turkey!