Early next morning the “Angel Band,” as Kinglake so beautifully termed Miss Nightingale and her nurses, landed at Boulogne, where a reception awaited them which was in marked contrast to the quiet and almost secret departure from London the night before. France was our ally; her sons had fallen in the recent battle of the Alma beside our own, and here was a band of English sisters, Protestant and Roman Catholic, united in a common errand of mercy passing through her land to the relief of the sick and wounded. It was a circumstance to arouse French enthusiasm, and when Miss Nightingale and her nurses stepped ashore they were met by a stalwart company of Boulogne fishwives, a merry and picturesque band in snowy caps and gay petticoats, who seized trunks and bags and almost fought for the privilege of carrying the luggage of les sœurs to the railway station. They would accept no pay, not a sou, and they bustled along with their brawny arms swinging to straps and handles, or with boxes hoisted on their broad backs, chattering of “Pierre” or of “Jacques” out at the war, and praying the bon Dieu that if he suffered the sisters might tend him. The tears streamed down many of the old and weather-beaten cheeks when they said adieu. They claimed but one reward, a shake of the hand, and then as the train steamed out of the station they waved their hands and cried Vive les sœurs!
They proceeded to Paris and made a passing stay at the mother-house of the sisters of St. Vincent de Paul, where Miss Nightingale was no stranger. The good sisters were overwhelmed with joy to receive her, and delighted to have the opportunity of entertaining the company. Before leaving Paris Miss Nightingale called on her friend Lady Canning, who, in a letter, October 24th, 1854, says: “To-day we are appointed to go to St. Cloud, and I have had to rush about after bonnets, etc. It is horrid to be given to frivolities just now, when one is hearing all the horrors from the Crimea, and in the expectation of more.... Miss Nightingale came to see me—very happy and stout-hearted, and with an ample stock of nurses.” When, after a short rest in Paris, Miss Nightingale and her band set out for Marseilles, the port of embarkation, they met with the utmost attention as they travelled. Porters declined to be tipped and hotel proprietors would make no charges. It was an honour to serve les bonnes sœurs.
At Marseilles they embarked for Constantinople in the Vectis, a steamer of the Peninsular line. Alas! the elements showed no more favour to the “Angel Band” than they did to St. Paul in the same seas. The passage was a terrible one. A hurricane blew straight against the Vectis in the Mediterranean, and for a time the ship was in danger. The company reached Malta on October 31st, and after a brief stay set sail for Scutari. Miss Nightingale arrived at the scene of her labours on November 4th, the day before the battle of Inkerman. What that victory meant in the tale of suffering and wounded men even the hospital authorities then formed no adequate conjecture. Never surely did a band of women arriving in an unknown land meet such a gigantic task.
The sufferers already in hospital had heard of the coming of the sisters, but the news seemed too good to be true, and when Miss Nightingale went her first round of the wards, accompanied by members of her devoted band, “Tommy’s” heart was full. One poor fellow burst into tears as he cried, “I can’t help it, I can’t indeed, when I see them. Only think of English women coming out here to nurse us! It seems so homelike and comfortable.”
CHAPTER XII
THE LADY-IN-CHIEF
The Barrack Hospital—Overwhelming Numbers of Sick and Wounded—General Disorder—Florence Nightingale’s “Commanding Genius”—The Lady with the Brain—The Nurses’ Tower—Influence over Men in Authority.
A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort and command;
And yet a spirit still and bright,
With something of an angel light.