Conclusion

I did not return to England by the most direct route, but took the opportunity of seeing more of men and manners in yet other lands. Arrived in England at last, we set to work bravely at Aldershott to retrieve our fallen fortunes, and stem off the ruin originated in the Crimea, but all in vain; and at last defeated by fortune, but not I think disgraced, we were obliged to capitulate on very honourable conditions. In plain truth, the old Crimean firm of Seacole and Day was dissolved finally, and its partners had to recommence the world anew. And so ended our campaign. One of us started only the other day for the Antipodes, while the other is ready to take any journey to any place where a stout heart and two experienced hands may be of use.

I did not take the most direct route back to England. Instead, I took the opportunity to learn more about people and customs in other lands. When we finally arrived in England, we set to work bravely at Aldershott. We hoped to rebuild our fortunes and prevent the ruin that had begun in the Crimea, but it was all in vain. At last, fortune defeated us, though I do not think we were disgraced. We had to surrender on very honorable terms. In plain truth, the old Crimean firm of Seacole and Day was finally dissolved. Its partners had to start over in the world. And so ended our campaign. One of us left only the other day for the Antipodes. The other is ready to travel anywhere a stout heart and two experienced hands may be of use.

Perhaps it would be right if I were to express more shame and annoyance than I really feel at the pecuniarily disastrous issue of my Crimean adventures, but I cannot—I really cannot. When I would try and feel ashamed of myself for being poor and helpless, I only experience a glow of pride at the other and more pleasing events of my career; when I think of the few whom I failed to pay in full (and so far from blaming me some of them are now my firmest friends), I cannot help remembering also the many who profess themselves indebted to me.

Perhaps I should express more shame and annoyance than I really feel about the financial disaster of my Crimean adventures. But I cannot. I really cannot. When I try to feel ashamed of being poor and helpless, I only feel proud of the happier events of my career. I think of the few people I failed to pay in full. Far from blaming me, some of them are now among my firmest friends. But I cannot help remembering the many people who say they are indebted to me.

Let me, in as few words as possible, state the results of my Crimean campaign. To be sure, I returned from it shaken in health. I came home wounded, as many others did. Few constitutions, indeed, were the better for those winters before Sebastopol, and I was too hard worked not to feel their effects; for a little labour fatigues me now—I cannot watch by sick-beds as I could—a week’s want of rest quite knocks me up now. Then I returned bankrupt in fortune. Whereas others in my position may have come back to England rich and prosperous, I found myself poor—beggared. So few words can tell what I have lost.

Let me describe the results of my Crimean campaign in as few words as possible. I certainly returned with my health shaken. I came home wounded, as many others did. Few people’s health improved during those winters before Sebastopol, and I worked too hard not to feel their effects. Now, even a little work tires me. I cannot sit up with the sick as I once could. A week without enough rest completely exhausts me now. I also returned bankrupt. Others in my position may have returned to England rich and prosperous, but I found myself poor, penniless. In just a few words, I have told you what I lost.

But what have I gained? I should need a volume to describe that fairly; so much is it, and so cheaply purchased by suffering ten times worse than what I have experienced. I have more than once heard people say that they would gladly suffer illness to enjoy the delights of convalescence, and so, by enduring a few days’ pain, gain the tender love of relatives and sympathy of friends. And on this principle I rejoice in the trials which have borne me such pleasures as those I now enjoy, for wherever I go I am sure to meet some smiling face; every step I take in the crowded London streets may bring me in contact with some friend, forgotten by me, perhaps, but who soon reminds me of our old life before Sebastopol; it seems very long ago now, when I was of use to him and he to me.

But what have I gained? I would need a whole book to describe it fairly. I have gained so much that even suffering ten times worse than mine would have been a small price to pay. More than once, I have heard people say they would gladly be ill for the pleasures of recovery. By enduring a few days of pain, they would gain the tender love of relatives and the sympathy of friends. In the same way, I rejoice in the trials that have brought me the pleasures I now enjoy. Wherever I go, I am sure to meet a smiling face. Every step I take through the crowded London streets may bring me into contact with a friend. Perhaps I have forgotten him, but he soon reminds me of our old life before Sebastopol. It seems a very long time ago now, when I was useful to him and he to me.

Where, indeed, do I not find friends. In omnibuses, in river steamboats, in places of public amusement, in quiet streets and courts, where taking short cuts I lose my way oft-times, spring up old familiar faces to remind me of the months spent on Spring Hill. The sentries at Whitehall relax from the discharge of their important duty of guarding nothing to give me a smile of recognition; the very newspaper offices look friendly as I pass them by; busy Printing-house Yard puts on a cheering smile, and the Punch office in Fleet Street sometimes laughs outright. Now, would all this have happened if I had returned to England a rich woman? Surely not.

Where, indeed, do I not find friends? Old familiar faces appear on buses, on river steamboats, and at places of entertainment. They also appear in quiet streets and alleys, where I often lose my way while taking shortcuts. They remind me of the months spent on Spring Hill. The sentries at Whitehall pause in their important duty of guarding nothing to give me a smile of recognition. Even the newspaper offices look friendly as I pass them. Busy Printing-house Yard gives me a cheering smile, and the Punch office in Fleet Street sometimes laughs outright. Now, would all this have happened if I had returned to England a rich woman? Surely not.

A few words more ere I bring these egotistical remarks to a close. It is naturally with feelings of pride and pleasure that I allude to the committee recently organized to aid me; and if I indulge in the vanity of placing their names before my readers, it is simply because every one of the following noblemen and gentlemen knew me in the Crimea, and by consenting to assist me now record publicly their opinion of my services there. And yet I may reasonably on other grounds be proud of the fact, that it has been stated publicly that my present embarrassments originated in my charities and incessant labours among the army, by

A few more words before I bring these self-focused remarks to a close. I naturally feel pride and pleasure in mentioning the committee recently formed to help me. If I indulge my vanity by giving my readers their names, it is simply because every one of these noblemen and gentlemen knew me in the Crimea. By agreeing to help me, they now publicly express their opinion of my services there. Yet I may reasonably be proud for another reason too. It has been publicly stated that my current financial difficulties arose from my charitable work and tireless efforts among the army, by