It is the cause, and not the death, that makes the martyr.—Napoleon.
Throughout the spring of 1855 disease continued its ravages amongst the soldiers in the Crimea without abatement, and there was an increase of typhus fever in its worst form. The constitutions of the men were so undermined by the privations through which they had passed that they were unable to fight against the disease.
The “men with the spades” had no cessation from their melancholy toil at Scutari. Deaths occurred daily in the hospitals, and the stricken took the places of the dead only themselves to die before another day had dawned.
The fever also attacked the hospital staff. Eight of the surgeons were prostrated, and of these seven died. Miss Nightingale herself tended Dr. Newton and Dr. Struthers in their last moments, a matter of inexpressible comfort to their friends. For a time there was only one medical attendant in a fit state of health to wait on the sick in the Barrack Hospital, and his services were needed in twenty-four wards. Three of the nurses were also attacked by the fever. With the medical staff prostrated and fever threatening her own band, the duties and responsibilities of the Lady-in-Chief became more formidable. She bore the strain in a marvellous manner, and there is no record that throughout this terrible winter at Scutari she was once unable to discharge her duties. An inflexible will and iron nerve carried her over all difficulties, and it seemed as though Florence Nightingale led a charmed life.
Hitherto she had been spared the sorrow of seeing any of her own band stricken by death, but just when the sweet spring-time was lifting the gloom of this winter of terrible experiences the call came to one of the best beloved of her nurses, Miss Elizabeth Anne Smythe. She had accompanied Miss Nightingale to Scutari, was a personal friend, and had been trained by her. Miss Smythe’s beautiful character and her capabilities as a nurse made her very valuable to her chief, who with great regret consented that she should go from Scutari to the hospital at Kullali, where help seemed more urgently needed. Miss Nightingale had hoped that they might have continued to work side by side until the end of the campaign, but the young sister felt a call to go to Kullali, where help was needed.
Shortly after her arrival she wrote to her friends in excellent spirits with every indication of being in good health, and said how glad she was to have had the courage to come. The presence of such a bright, well-qualified nurse was a great acquisition to the hospital staff, and she soon became a favourite with the patients. In a few days, however, she was stricken with the malignant fever. It was hoped against hope that her youth and good constitution would enable her to resist the attack, and for eight days she lay between life and death, anxiously watched by doctors and nurses. Then peacefully she fell asleep and passed to her martyr’s crown.
She was the first of the “Angel Band” to be stricken by death, and her loss cast a gloom over those that remained, but as Miss Nightingale has herself said, “Martyrs there must be in every cause.”
The funeral of the beloved young sister took place at Easter-time under bright azure skies, when Nature was decking that Eastern land in a fresh garb of loveliness. The simple coffin, covered with a white pall, emblematic of the youthful purity of her who slept beneath, was conveyed through the streets of Smyrna to the English burying-ground, a route of two miles, through crowds of sympathetic spectators. The coffin was preceded by a detachment of fifty soldiers, marching sorrowfully with arms reversed. Immediately in front of the coffin walked two chaplains, and on either side were sisters and nurses. Military and medical officers followed the cortège, which passed through the silent streets, a touching and pathetic spectacle. Christian and Moslem alike joined in paying a tribute of homage to one whose deeds of mercy lifted her above the strife of creeds.
The first young Christian martyr
Is carried to the tomb,