She celebrated her ninetieth birthday on May 12, 1910, and one of the first acts of King George V, who came to the throne only a few days previously, was to send her a telegram of congratulation.
After her return from the Crimea, Miss Nightingale was engaged for several years, under the direction of the secretary of state for war, in reorganizing the military hospital service of Great Britain. Her instructions and rules in regard to army nursing, which fill a large volume, prepared at the request of the war office, have been the basis of reforms throughout the world. They were of special importance during the Civil War in the United States and the war between France and Germany which followed shortly after, and led to the founding of the Red Cross Society, now established in every civilized country.
Miss Nightingale did not confine her work to the military service, but directed and assisted the organization of training schools for nurses in all the principal cities of Great Britain and the establishment of district nursing associations for outdoor relief among the poor. Her theory had always been that hospitals should be reserved for surgical cases and infectious or contagious diseases and that, so far as possible, the indigent sick should be treated in their own homes.
She reorganized the infirmaries connected with workhouses and almshouses throughout Great Britain, and through her influence acts of Parliament were passed making compulsory the employment of trained nurses in these institutions instead of women paupers to whose tender mercies the care of the sick had always been committed.
During all this activity, Miss Nightingale found time to write a series of books of instruction, and many pamphlets and papers concerning public health and the efficiency of hospital administration. In 1858, she published a book on hospital construction. In 1860, her “Notes on Nursing,” a volume of five hundred pages, ran up to an edition of one hundred thousand copies. Other publications on similar subjects came from her pen with extraordinary frequency.
But at last her frail constitution broke down under this labour and responsibility. She became a helpless invalid, confined to her bed for more than twenty-five years, yet she continued to devote her entire time to “doing good work—work after my own heart, and, I trust, God’s work.” From her pillow she continued to direct several institutions and movements in which she was particularly interested. The meetings of boards of directors and trustees of a dozen benevolent institutions were held regularly in her bedroom, and her judgment was regarded of the highest value on all subjects relating to hospital management and benevolent work. Even up to the last month of her life she continued to receive reports and to give instructions, to write communications to the government authorities and to give advice upon various subjects, and it was not until forty-eight hours before her death that she was considered dangerously ill.
There never was a more useful woman than Florence Nightingale, and never one more honoured and revered throughout the world. Therefore there was a universal demand in England that she should be honoured with a burial and a monument in Westminster Abbey, and when the executors of her estate who were in charge of the funeral refused an offer from the dean and chapter, there was great surprise. It afterward appeared that Miss Nightingale had given the following directions in her will:
“I give my body for dissection or post-mortem examination for the purposes of medical science, and I request that the directions about my funeral given by me to my uncle, the late Samuel Smith, be observed. My original request was that no memorial whatever should mark the place where lies my ‘mortal coil.’ I much desire this, but should the expression of such wish render invalid my other wishes, I limit myself to the above-mentioned directions, praying that my body may be carried to the nearest convenient burial ground, accompanied by not more than two persons without trappings, and that a simple cross with only my initials, date of birth and of death, mark the spot.”
Balaklava, which was the scene of Miss Nightingale’s usefulness, is an ancient village of Greek fishermen, whose ancestors settled on the southern shores of the Crimea at least three thousand years ago, to catch the unusually large variety of fish in which that section of the Black Sea abounds. Balaklava is the source of a large portion of the supply of the eggs of the pilchard, the most popular of caviars among Russian epicures. The name Balaklava is a composition of “bella” and “klava,” which means “fine port,” although the bay is no larger than a Norwegian fiord, and is set like a sapphire between two emerald mountains. The entrance is as crooked as the letter S and very narrow. Balaklava is also an unfashionable summer resort, a retreat for tired people, who wish to escape society and who are not fond of style. There are three or four unpretentious hotels, two or three beautiful villas, and every fisher-wife takes boarders. There are bathing houses, a hydropathic sanitarium, and on the mountain side among the vineyards a “grape cure” establishment, which at the height of the fad was largely patronized.
There is only one street in the village and houses on only one side of that. Every citizen, therefore, has the benefit of an exquisite view. There are a few small shops and cafés and two pavilions where visitors can sit and sip their tea and look over the waters. The view is fascinating and the effect is heightened by the miniature character of the place—the bay is so tiny, the village so small, and the cliffs which enclose them are so high and bold and rugged.