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out　that；　according　to　the　regulations；　all　soldiers　should　bring

with　them　into　hospital　an　adequate　supply　of　clothing；　and　he

declared　that　it　was　no　business　of　his　to　make　good　their

deficiencies。　Apparently；　it　was　the　business　of　Miss

Nightingale。　She　procured　socks；　boots；　and　shirts　in　enormous

quantities；　she　had　trousers　made；　she　rigged　up　dressing…gowns。

'The　fact　is；'　she　told　Sidney　Herbert；　I　am　now　clothing　the

British　Army。'



All　at　once；　word　came　from　the　Crimea　that　a　great　new

contingent　of　sick　and　wounded　might　shortly　be　expected。　Where

were　they　to　go？　Every　available　inch　in　the　wards　was　occupied；

the　affair　was　serious　and　pressing；　and　the　authorities　stood

aghast。　There　were　some　dilapidated　rooms　in　the　Barrack

Hospital；　unfit　for　human　habitation；　but　Miss　Nightingale

believed　that　if　measures　were　promptly　taken　they　might　be　made

capable　of　accommodating　several　hundred　beds。　One　of　the　doctors

agreed　with　her；　the　rest　of　the　officials　were　irresolute　it

would　be　a　very　expensive　job；　they　said；　it　would　involve

building；　and　who　could　take　the　responsibility？　The　proper

course　was　that　a　representation　should　be　made　to　the　Director…

General　of　the　Army　Medical　Department　in　London；　then　the

Director…General　would　apply　to　the　Horse　Guards；　the　Horse

Guards　would　move　the　Ordnance；　the　Ordnance　would　lay　the　matter

before　the　Treasury；　and；　if　the　Treasury　gave　its　consent；　the

work　might　be　correctly　carried　through；　several　months　after　the

necessity　for　it　had　disappeared。　Miss　Nightingale；　however；　had

made　up　her　mind；　and　she　persuaded　Lord　Stratford　or　thought

she　had　persuaded　him　to　give　his　sanction　to　the　required

expenditure。　One　hundred　and　twenty…five　workmen　were　immediately

engaged；　and　the　work　was　begun。　The　workmen　struck；　whereupon

Lord　Stratford　washed　his　hands　of　the　whole　business。　Miss

Nightingale　engaged　200　other　workmen　on　her　own　authority；　and

paid　the　bill　out　of　her　own　resources。　The　wards　were　ready　by

the　required　date；　500　sick　men　were　received　in　them；　and　all

the　utensils；　including　knives；　forks；　spoons；　cans　and　towels；

were　supplied　by　Miss　Nightingale。



This　remarkable　woman　was　in　truth　performing　the　function　of　an

administrative　chief。　How　had　this　come　about？　　Was　she　not　in

reality　merely　a　nurse？　Was　it　not　her　duty　simply　to　tend　the

sick？　And　indeed；　was　it　not　as　a　ministering　angel；　a　gentle

'lady　with　a　lamp'；　that　she　actually　impressed　the　minds　of　her

contemporaries？　No　doubt　that　was　so；　and　yet　it　is　no　less

certain　that；　as　she　herself　said；　the　specific　business　of

nursing　was　'the　least　important　of　the　functions　into　which　she

had　been　forced'。　It　was　clear　that　in　the　state　of

disorganisation　into　which　the　hospitals　at　Scutari　had　fallen；

the　most　pressing；　the　really　vital；　need　was　for　something　more

than　nursing；　it　was　for　the　necessary　elements　of　civilised

life　the　commonest　material　objects；　the　most　ordinary

cleanliness；　the　rudimentary　habits　of　order　and　authority。　'Oh；

dear　Miss　Nightingale；'　said　one　of　her　party　as　they　were

approaching　Constantinople；　'when　we　land；　let　there　be　no

delays；　let　us　get　straight　to　nursing　the　poor　fellows！'　'The

strongest　will　be　wanted　at　the　wash…tub；'　was　Miss　Nightingale's

answer。　And　it　was　upon　the　wash…tub；　and　all　that　the　wash…tub

stood　for；　that　she　expended　her　greatest　energies。　Yet　to　say

that；　is　perhaps　to　say　too　much。　For　to　those　who　watched　her　at

work　among　the　sick；　moving　day　and　night　from　bed　to　bed；　with

that　unflinching　courage；　with　that　indefatigable　vigilance；　it

seemed　as　if　the　concentrated　force　of　an　undivided　and

unparalleled　devotion　could　hardly　suffice　for　that　portion　of

her　task　alone。



Wherever；　in　those　vast　wards；　suffering　was　at　its　worst　and　the

need　for　help　was　greatest；　there；　as　if　by　magic；　was　Miss

Nightingale。　Her　superhuman　equanimity　would；　at　the　moment　of

some　ghastly　operation；　nerve　the　victim　to　endure；　and　almost　to

hope。　Her　sympathy　would　assuage　the　pangs　of　dying　and　bring

back　to　those　still　living　something　of　the　forgotten　charm　of

life。　Over　and　over　again　her　untiring　efforts　rescued　those　whom

the　surgeons　had　abandoned　as　beyond　the　possibility　of　cure。　Her

mere　presence　brought　with　it　a　strange　influence。　A　passionate

idolatry　spread　among　the　men　they　kissed　her　shadow　as　it

passed。　They　did　more。　'Before　she　came；'　said　a　soldier；　'there

was　cussin'　and　swearin'　but　after　that　it　was　as　'oly　as　a

church。'　The　most　cherished　privilege　of　the　fighting　man　was

abandoned　for　the　sake　of　Miss　Nightingale。　In　those　'lowest

sinks　of　human　misery'；　as　she　herself　put　it；　she　never　heard

the　use　of　one　expression　'which　could　distress　a　gentlewoman'。



She　was　heroic；　and　these　were　the　humble　tributes　paid　by　those

of　grosser　mould　to　that　high　quality。　Certainly；　she　was　heroic。

Yet　her　heroism　was　not　of　that　simple　sort　so　dear　to　the

readers　of　novels　and　the　compilers　of　hagiologies　the　romantic

sentimental　heroism　with　which　mankind　loves　to　invest　its　chosen

darlings：　it　was　made　of　sterner　stuff。　To　the　wounded　soldier　on

his　couch　of　agony；　she　might　well　appear　in　the　guise　of　a

gracious　angel　of　mercy；　but　the　military　surgeons；　and　the

orderlies；　and　her　own　nurses；　and　the　'Purveyor'；　and　Dr。　Hall；

and；　even　Lord　Stratford　himself；　could　tell　a　different　story。

It　was　not　by　gentle　sweetness　and　womanly　self…abnegation　that

she　had　brought　order　out　of　chaos　in　the　Scutari　hospitals；

that；　from　her　own　resources；　she　had　clothed　the　British　Army；

that　she　had　spread　her　dominion　over　the　serried　and　reluctant

powers　of　the　official　world；　it　was　by　strict　method；　by　stern

discipline；　by　rigid　attention　to　detail；　by　ceaseless　labour；

and　by　the　fixed　determination　of　an　indomitable　will。



Beneath　her　cool　and　calm　demeanour　lurked　fierce　and　passionate

fires。　As　she　passed　through　the　wards　in　her　plain　dress；　so

quiet；　so　unassuming；　she　struck　the　casual　observer　simply　as

the　pattern　of　a　perfect　lady；　but　the　keener　eye　perceived

something　more　than　that　the　serenity　of　high　deliberation　in

the　scope　of　the　capacious　brow；　the　sign　of　power　in　the

dominating　curve　of　the　thin　nose；　and　the　traces　of　a　harsh　and

dangerous　tempersomething　peevish；　something　mocking；　and　yet

something　precisein　the　small　and　delicate　mouth。　There　was

humour　in　the　face；　but　the　curious　watcher　might　wonder　whether

it　was　humour　of　a　very　pleasant　kind；　might　ask　himself；　even　as

he　heard　the　laughter　and　marked　the　jokes　with　which　she　cheered

the　spirits　of　her　patients；　what　sort　of　sardonic　merriment　this

same　lady　might　not　give　vent　to；　in　the　privacy　of　her　chamber。

As　for　her　voice；　it　was　true　of　it；　even　more　than　of　her

countenance；　that　it　'had　that　in　it　one　must　fain　call　master'。

Those　clear　tones　were　in　no　need　of　emphasis：　'I　never　heard　her

raise　her　voice'；　said　one　of　her　companions。　'Only　when　she　had

spoken；　it　seemed　as　if　nothing　could　follow　but　obedience。'

Once；　when　she　had　given　some　direction；　a　doctor　ventured　to

remark　that　the　thing　could　not　be　done。　'But　it　must　be　done；'

said　Miss　Nightingale。　A　chance　bystander；　who　heard　the　words；

never　forgot　through　all　his　life　the　irresistible　authority　of

them。　And　they　were　spoken　quietly　very　quietly　indeed。



Late　at　night；　when　the　long　miles　of　beds　lay　wrapped　in

darkness；　Miss　Nightingale　would　sit　at　work　in　her　little　room；

over　her　correspondence。　It　was　one　of　the　most　formidable　of　all

her　duties。　There　were　hundreds　of　letters　to　be　written　to　the

friends　and　relations　of　soldiers；　there　was　the　enormous　mass　of

official　documents　to　be　dealt　with；　there　were　her　own　private

letters　to　be　answered；　and；　most　important　of　all；　there　was　the

composition　of　her　long　and　confidential　reports　to　Sidney

Herbert。　These　were　by　no　means　official　communications。　Her

soul；　pent　up　all　day　in　the　restraint　and　reserve　of　a　vast

responsibility；　now　at　last　poured　itself　out　in　these　letters

with　all　its　natural　vehemence；　like　a　swollen　torrent　through　an

open　sluice。　Here；　at　least；　she　did　not　mince　matters。　Here　she

painted　in　her　darkest　colours　the　hideous　scenes　which

surrounded　her；　here　she　tore　away　remorselessly　the　last　veils

still　shrouding　the　abominable　truth。　Then　she　would　fill　pages

with　recommendations　and　suggestions；　with　criticisms　of　the

minutest　details　of　organisation；　with　elaborate　calculations　of

contingencies；　with　exhaustive　analyses　and　statistical

statements　piled　up　in　breathless　eagerness　one　on　the　top　of　the

other。　And　then　her　pen；　in　the　virulence　of　its　volubility；

would　rush　on　to　the　discussion　of　individuals；　to　the

denunciation　of　an　incompetent　surgeon　or　the　ridicule　of　a　self…

sufficient　nurse。　Her　sarcasm　searched　the　ranks　of　the　officials

with　the　deadly　and　unsparing