On May 2nd, 1855, Florence Nightingale, having completed six months’ continuous labour in establishing a system of good administration in the hospitals at Scutari, set out for Balaclava. She was anxious to see how the sick and wounded were faring at the actual seat of war, and it was also her duty as Superintendent of the Nursing Staff in the East to inspect the hospitals in the Crimea.

There were some sad good-byes to say before she quitted the scene of her work at Scutari, for death would have claimed many brave fellows ere she returned to her old post. Sorrowful eyes followed the gleam of the familiar lamp as she went her final rounds on the night before her departure, and heads were pathetically turned to catch a last look at her shadow as it passed on the whitened wall.

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.”

The people did not, however, know how illustrious the lady was, for Miss Nightingale preserved an incognito on her way to the camp. At that time there were only four ladies in the Crimea, excepting the sisters of mercy, who were never seen out, so there was great curiosity as the cavalcade approached headquarters to know who the lady was, and Mr. Bracebridge had to give evasive replies to enquiring officers.

Florence Nightingale’s ride to camp proved an adventurous one. The road was bad and not nearly wide enough for all the traffic. Crowds of many nationalities, together with a ceaseless stream of mules, horses, oxen, artillery waggons, cannon, infantry, and cavalry struggled over the uneven muddy road, drivers and officers shouting, horses kicking, sometimes a waggon overturned, and everybody in a state of turmoil. Miss Nightingale’s horse kicked and pranced in company with the horses of her escort, and but for a cool nerve and steady hand she would certainly have come to grief. But the skill in horsemanship which she had acquired as a girl amongst the hills and dales of Derbyshire now served her in good stead, and the ride was accomplished in safety.

The first halt was made at the hospital in a small Greek church at the village of Kadikoi. After a little tour of inspection Miss Nightingale and her party galloped up to the top of a high hill from which was visible a panorama of the camp, with its myriads of white tents dotted over the landscape. Now, indeed, she was in touch with that great bivouac of warfare which the wounded at the Barrack Hospital in Scutari had raved about in their fever wanderings. Upon the air came the roar of the cannon from Sebastopol, the sound of trumpets, the beating of drums, and the general din of military manœuvres. Around the martial plain rose the rugged heights of Balaclava with that valley of death sacred to the “noble six hundred”:—

Florence Nightingale sat long on her horse, gazing afar at the stirring scene and then turned sadly away. She knew that hundreds of poor fellows away in yonder trenches were doomed to swell the ranks of the dead and wounded ere the siege of Sebastopol was ended.

Proceeding on her way to headquarters, Miss Nightingale called to inspect several of the small regimental hospitals. When at length the vicinity of Lord Raglan’s house was reached, Mr. Bracebridge, acting as advance guard, galloped forward, to announce the approach of the Lady-in-Chief, only to find, however, that the Commander-in-Chief, who had not received intimation of her coming, was away. Miss Nightingale having left a message of thanks to Lord Raglan for his visit of the previous day, now proceeded to the General Hospital before Sebastopol.

This hospital contained some hundreds of sick and wounded, and great was the joy of the poor fellows at receiving a visit from the “good lady of Scutari,” as they called Miss Nightingale. When she went out past the huts to the cooking encampment, some of the men who had been patients at the Barrack Hospital recognised Miss Nightingale and gave her three hearty cheers, followed by three times three. She was much affected by such an unexpected demonstration, and being on horseback could only bow to the men by way of thanks. The shouts grew so vociferous that Miss Nightingale’s horse turned restive, and one of her friends was obliged to dismount and lead it by the bridle until the men’s enthusiasm had abated.

The party now proceeded through the French and English camps which surrounded Sebastopol. Miss Nightingale expressed a wish to have a peep into the besieged stronghold, and a column was formed to escort her to a convenient point. Some sharp firing was going on, and as the visitors approached a sentry in much trepidation begged them to dismount, pointing to the shot and shell lying around, and remarking that a group of people would attract the enemy to fire in their direction. Miss Nightingale laughingly consented to seek the shelter of a stone redoubt where she could view Sebastopol through a telescope. From this vantage ground she obtained an excellent sight of the doomed city, being able to discern the principal buildings and to see the duel of shot proceeding between the allied armies and the enemy.

Miss Nightingale was in an adventurous mood, and proposed to go still farther into the trenches up to the Three-Mortar Battery. Her friends Mr. Bracebridge, Dr. Anderson, and M. Soyer were favourable to her wish, but the sentry was in a great state of consternation.

“Madam,” said he, “if anything happens I call on these gentlemen to witness that I did not fail to warn you of the danger.”

“My good young man,” replied Miss Nightingale, “more dead and wounded have passed through my hands than I hope you will ever see in the battlefield during the whole of your military career; believe me, I have no fear of death.”

The party proceeded and, arrived at the battery, obtained a near view of Sebastopol. M. Soyer was in his most volatile mood, and relates that the following incident occurred: “Before leaving the battery, I begged Miss Nightingale as a favour to give me her hand, which she did. I then requested her to ascend the stone rampart next the wooden gun carriage, and lastly to sit upon the centre mortar, to which requests she very gracefully and kindly acceded.” Having thus unsuspectedly beguiled Miss Nightingale into this position, the irrepressible Frenchman boldly exclaimed:

“Gentlemen, behold this amiable lady sitting fearlessly upon that terrible instrument of war! Behold the heroic daughter of England—the soldier’s friend!” All present shouted “Bravo! Hurrah! hurrah! Long live the daughter of England.”

When later Lord Raglan was told of this incident, he remarked that the battery mortar ought to be called “the Nightingale mortar.”

While in that elevated position the heroine was recognised by the 39th Regiment, and the men set up such ringing cheers as wakened echoes in the caves of Inkerman and startled the Russians in Sebastopol.

The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon and shadows to gather over the trenches and fortifications of the besieged city when Miss Nightingale started on the return journey. She and her party, proceeding at a sharp gallop through the camps, were overtaken by darkness when only half-way back to Balaclava, and losing their way, found themselves in a Zouave camp, where the men were drinking coffee and singing their favourite African song. They informed the travellers that brigands were roaming about, and that it was dangerous to take the road after nightfall. However, brigands or not, there was nothing for it but to push on down the deep ravine which now faced them. The road was so steep and slippery that one of the gentlemen dismounted to lead Miss Nightingale’s horse by the bridle. When they halted to water the horses, this gentleman received a severe blow in the face by coming in sharp contact in the dark with the head of Miss Nightingale’s steed. He concealed the injury, though his face was streaming with blood and his eyes blackened, until they reached Balaclava hospital, when the Queen of Nurses returned his kind attention by helping to dress his wounds. Proceeding to the harbour, she retired to her state cabin on the Robert Lowe, and so ended Florence Nightingale’s adventurous visit to the camp hospitals before Sebastopol.