Rarely has any human being had such a retrospect of harrowing experience and of insuperable difficulties overcome as passed through Florence Nightingale’s mind when she reviewed the past six months. The Barrack Hospital as she had found it, crowded with suffering humanity in the most appalling state of loathsome neglect, seemed like a hideous nightmare, scarcely to be realised in comparison with the order, comfort, and cleanliness which now prevailed.
It was with a heart of thankfulness to the Giver of all Good that she had been permitted to accomplish this great work that Florence Nightingale on a bright May morning stepped aboard the good ship Robert Lowe and set sail for the Crimea. She was accompanied by a staff of nurses and her friend Mr. Bracebridge, and by M. Soyer, the celebrated chef, who was going to reform culinary matters at the “front,” and attended by her boy Thomas, a young drummer who had abandoned his “instruments and sticks,” as he called them, to devote himself to the Lady-in-Chief. No general in the field had a more devoted aide-de-camp than Florence Nightingale had in Thomas. He was a lad of twelve, full of life, fun, and activity and of amusing importance, but such was his devotion that he would have been cut to bits ere harm came near his beloved mistress.
The short voyage was made in lovely weather, when the spring air was redolent with perfume and freshness, and scarcely a ripple moved the blue waters of the Bosphorus. Miss Nightingale greatly enjoyed being on deck as the vessel glided past some of the most beautiful scenes in that Eastern land. There rose the mosques and minarets of Constantinople, enveloped, as it seemed, in golden vapour, then the Golden Horn was passed, and the European and Asiatic shores opened out in a scene of Oriental beauty. The picturesque caiques skimmed the waters like magic craft, and Miss Nightingale was fortunate in seeing the gorgeous flotilla of the Sultan, consisting of large caiques brilliantly decorated with gilded and rich silken hangings, and manned by gaily dressed oarsmen, leave the marble staircase of the Dolmabatchke Palace to convey the Sultan and his suite to the Mosque of Sultan Mahomet, for it was Friday, the Turkish Sunday. Fifty guns proclaimed the departure of the nautical procession. Then Kullali was passed, and the voyagers thought sadly of the young sister who had recently died there at her post in the hospital. On went the vessel, past the Sweet Waters of Asia, where the Turks hold high festival, and the resorts of Therapia and Buyukdére, until at length the dazzling Oriental coast was almost lost to view as the ship entered the Black Sea.
However, Miss Nightingale’s delight in the sights and scenes through which she was passing did not render her oblivious to her fellow-passengers. There were six hundred soldiers on board and many officers and Government officials. The second day of the voyage, being Sunday, Miss Nightingale, accompanied by the captain, visited the lower deck and talked with the soldiers, and having heard that there were some invalids on board, asked to see them. In passing from sufferer to sufferer, she at length came to a fever patient who had refused to take his medicine.
“Why will you not take the medicine?” asked Miss Nightingale.
“Because I took some once,” the man replied, “and it made me sick; and I haven’t liked physic ever since.”
“But if I give it to you myself,” said the Queen of Nurses with a pleasant smile, “you will take it, won’t you?”
The poor fellow looked very hard at her and replied, “Well, sure enough, ma’am, it will make me sick just the same.” However, he took the draught and forgot the anticipated consequence as Miss Nightingale chatted to him about the last engagement he was in.
The distant booming of the cannon in Sebastopol intimated to the travellers that they were nearing their destination, and on one of the high peaked mountains they could plainly see the Russian picket mounting guard. An hour later the vessel reached the harbour of Balaclava, which presented a wonderful sight with the numerous great ships lying at anchor. The news had spread that Miss Nightingale was expected to arrive that day, and the decks of the vessels in harbour were crowded with people anxious to get a glimpse of her. Immediately the Robert Lowe came to anchor, the chief medical officer of the Balaclava Hospital and other doctors and officials came on board to welcome Miss Nightingale, and for an hour she held what her fellow-voyager, M. Soyer, facetiously termed “a floating drawing-room.” Later, Lord Raglan, Commander-in-Chief of the British forces, came to welcome the illustrious heroine, but only to find that she had already landed and begun her work of hospital inspection.
Next day, Miss Nightingale, accompanied by Mr. Bracebridge, M. Soyer, and an escort of other friends, set out for the camp to return Lord Raglan’s visit. She “was attired simply in a genteel amazone, or riding-habit,” relates M. Soyer, “and had quite a martial air. She was mounted upon a very pretty mare, of a golden colour, which, by its gambols and caracoling, seemed proud to carry its noble charge. The weather was very fine. Our cavalcade produced an extraordinary effect upon the motley crowd of all nations assembled at Balaclava, who were astonished at seeing a lady so well escorted.”