What an old-world story it seems now to talk of “setting sail”!
On the 4th of November, the day before the battle of Inkermann, they had reached their goal, and had their work before them at Scutari.
A friend of mine who knows Scutari well has described it in summer as a place of roses, the very graves wreathed all over with the blossoming briars of them; and among those graves she found a nameless one, on which, without revealing identity, the epitaph stated, in the briefest possible way, that this was the grave of a hospital matron, adding in comment the words spoken of Mary when she broke the alabaster box—and in this instance full of pathos—the six words, “She hath done what she could.” And I find from one of Miss Nightingale’s letters that it was she herself who inscribed those words.
Unspeakable indeed must have been the difficulties with which any previous hospital matron had to contend, rigid and unbreakable for ordinary fingers the red tape by which she must have been bound. On this subject Kinglake has written words which are strong indeed in their haunting sincerity.
He writes of an “England officially typified that swathes her limbs round with red tape,” and of those who, though dogged in routine duty, were so afraid of any new methods that they were found “surrendering, as it were, at discretion, to want and misery” for those in their care.
“But,” he adds, “happily, after a while, and in gentle, almost humble, disguise which put foes of change off their guard, there acceded to the State a new power.
“Almost at one time—it was when they learnt how our troops had fought on the banks of the Alma—the hearts of many women in England, in Scotland, in Ireland, were stirred with a heavenly thought impelling them to offer and say that, if only the State were consenting, they would go out to tend our poor soldiers laid low on their hospital pallets by sickness or wounds; and the honour of welcoming into our public service this new and gracious aid belonged to Mr. Sidney Herbert.”
He goes on to explain and define Mr. Herbert’s exact position at the War Office; how he was not only official chief there, but, “having perhaps also learnt from life’s happy experience that, along with what he might owe to fortune and birth, his capacity for business of State, his frank, pleasant speech, his bright, winning manners, and even his glad, sunshine looks, had a tendency to disarm opposition, he quietly, yet boldly, stepped out beyond his set bounds, and not only became in this hospital business the volunteer delegate of the Duke of Newcastle, but even ventured to act without always asking the overworked Department of War to go through the form of supporting him by orders from the Secretary of State; so that thus, and to the great advantage of the public service, he usurped, as it were, an authority which all who knew what he was doing rejoiced to see him wield. If he could not in strictness command by an official despatch, he at least could impart what he wished in a ‘private letter;’ and a letter, though ostensibly ‘private,’ which came from the War Office, under the hand of its chief, was scarce likely to encounter resistance from any official personages to whom the writer might send it.
“Most happily this gifted minister had formed a strong belief in the advantages our military hospitals would gain by accepting womanly aid; and, proceeding to act on this faith, he not only despatched to the East some chosen bands of ladies, and of salaried attendants accustomed to hospital duties, but also requested that they might have quarters and rations assigned to them; and, moreover, whilst requesting the principal medical officer at Scutari to point out to these new auxiliaries how best they could make themselves useful, Mr. Sidney Herbert enjoined him to receive with attention and deference the counsels of the Lady-in-Chief, who was, of course, no other than Miss Nightingale herself.