It is characteristic of Miss Nightingale’s method and dispatch that only a week elapsed from the day on which she made her great resolve to go to the help of the wounded soldiers until she had her first contingent of nurses in marching order. She was a “general” who had no parleying by the way, but worked straight for her ultimate object, and she possessed also the rare faculty of inspiring others to follow her lead. Her attention was now concentrated on procuring the right kind of nurses to accompany her to the hospital at Scutari.
Her mission was duly proclaimed from the War Office in an official intimation that “Miss Nightingale, a lady with greater practical experience of hospital administration and treatment than any other lady in this country,” had undertaken the noble and arduous work of organising and taking out nurses for the soldiers. The Times also notified that “Miss Nightingale had been appointed by Government to the office of Superintendent of Nurses at Scutari,” and subscriptions for the relief of the soldiers were solicited.
Lady Canning, writing on October 17th, 1854, immediately after Miss Nightingale’s appointment was made known, gave the following interesting description of her quiet demeanour in the midst of the general excitement: “You will be glad to hear that Government sends out a band of nurses to Scutari, and Miss Nightingale is to lead them. Her family have consented, and no one is so well fitted as she is to do such work—she has such nerve and skill, and is so gentle and wise and quiet. Even now she is in no bustle or hurry, though so much is on her hands, and such numbers of people volunteer services.”
The public naturally asked the question, “Who is Miss Nightingale?” and were answered by a descriptive and biographic account in The Examiner, which was repeated by The Times. One feels that the account must have appeared startling in days before attention had been given to the Higher Education of women, and when Girton and Newnham were not even dreams of the future. It ran 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.”
The last clause would satisfy apprehensive people that a young lady of such unusual attainments was not a “revolting daughter.”
Another and more intimate description of Miss Nightingale at this period reveals to us the true and tender womanhood which learning had left untouched. “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.”
MR. PUNCH’S CARTOON OF THE “LADY-BIRDS.”
The euphonious name of the lady nurse who had thus suddenly risen into fame was quickly caught by the populace, and the nurses selected to accompany her were dubbed the “nightingales,” and there was much pleasantry about their singing. Mr. Punch slyly surmised that some of the “dear nightingales” going to nurse the sick soldiers would “in due time become ringdoves.” A cartoon showed a hospital ward with the male inmates beaming with content as the lady-birds hovered about them. Another illustration depicted a bird, with the head of a nurse, flying through the air carrying by one claw a jug labelled “Fomentation, Embrocation, Gruel.” It was entitled “The Jug of the Nightingale.”
Punch’s poet contributed “The Nightingale’s Song to the Sick Soldier,” which became a popular refrain, and is worthy of quotation:—