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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 

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