Wonderful Adventures of Mrs. Seacole in Many Lands by Mary Seacole - Chapter 16

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter sixteen of Wonderful Adventures of Missus Secual in Many
Lands by Mary Seacoal. This LibriVox recording is in the
public domain. Chapter sixteen. Before I left the Crimea to
return to England, the Attudant General of the British Army
gave me a testimonial which the reader has already read

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in chapter fourteen, in which he stated that I had
frequently exerted myself in the most praiseworthy manner in attending
wounded men, even in positions of great danger. The simple
meaning of this sentence is that, in the discharge of
what I conceived to be my duty, I was frequently
under fire. Now I am far from wishing to speak

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of this fact with any vanity or pride, because, after all,
one soon gets accustomed to it, and it fails at
last to create more than temporary uneasiness. Indeed, after Sebastopol
was ours, you might often see officers and men strolling
cool even leisurely, across and along those streets exposed to

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the enemy's fire, when a little haste would have carried
them beyond the reach of danger. The truth was, I
believe they had grown so habituated to being in peril
from shot or shell, that they rather liked the sensation
and found it difficult to get on without a little
gratuitous excitement and danger. But putting aside the great engagements,

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where I underwent considerable peril, one could scarcely move about
the various camps without some risk. The Russians had, it seemed,
sunk great ship's guns into the earth, from which they
fired shot and shell at a very long range, which
came tumbling and plunging between and sometimes into the huts
and tents, in a very unwieldy and generally harmless fashion. Once,

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when I was riding through the camp of the rifles,
a round shot came plunging towards me, and before I
or the horse had time to be much frightened, the
ugly fellow buried itself in the earth with a heavy thud,
a little distance in front of us. In the first
week of June, the third bombardment of Sebastopol opened, and
the Spring Hill visitors had plenty to talk about. Many

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were the surmises as to when the assault would take place,
of the success of which nobody entertained a doubt. Somehow
or other important secrets oozed out in various parts of
the camp which the Russians would have given much to know,
and one of these places was the British Hotel. Some
such whispers were afloat on the evening of Sunday, the

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seventeenth of June, and excited me strangely. Any stranger not
in my secret would have considered that my conduct fully
justified my partner, mister Day in sending me home as
better fitted for a cell in bedlam than the charge
of a hotel in the Crimea. I never remember feeling
more excited or more restless than upon that day, and

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no sooner had night fairly closed in upon us, than
instead of making preparations for bed this same stranger would
have seen me wrap up the nights were still cold
and start off for a long walk to Cathcart's Hill,
three miles and a half away. I stayed there until
past midnight, but when I returned home there was no
rest for me, for I had found out that in

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the stillness of the night, many regiments were marching down
to the trenches, and that the dawn of day would
be the signal that should let them loose upon the Russians.
The few hours still left before daybreak were made the
most of at spring Hill. We were all busily occupied
in cutting bread and cheese and sandwiches, packing up fowls,
tongues and ham, wine and spirits, while I carefully filled

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the large bag which I always carried into the fields
slung across my shoulder, with lint, bandages, needles, thread and medicines.
And soon after daybreak everything was ready packed upon two
mules in charge of my steadiest lad and I leading
the way on horseback. The little cavalcade left the British

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hotel before the sun of the fatal eighteenth of June
had been many hours old. It was not long before
our progress was arrested by the cavalry pickets closely stationed
to stop all stragglers and spectators from reaching the scene
of action. But after a blight parley, and when they
found out who I was and how I was prepared
for the day's work, the men raised a shout for me,

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and with their officer's sanction, allowed me to pass. So
I reached Cathcart's Hill, crowded with non combatants, and leaving
there the mules loaded myself with what provisions I could carry,
and it was a work of no little difficulty and danger.
Succeeded in reaching the reserves of Sir Henry Barnard's division,
which was to have stormed something I forget what, but

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when they found the attack upon the radan was a failure,
very wisely abstained. Here I found plenty of officers who
soon relieved me of my refreshments, and wounded men who
found the contents of my bag very useful. At length
I made my way to the Waronsov road, where the
temporary hospital had been erected, and there I found the

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doctors hard enough at work, and hastened to help them
as best I could. I bound up the wounds and
ministered to the wants of a good many, and stayed
there some considerable time. Upon the way, and even here
I was under fire more frequently than was agreeable. A
shot would come, plowing up the ground and raising clouds
of dust, or a shell whiz above us. Upon these

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occasions those around would cry out, lie down, mother, lie down,
and with very undignified and unladylike haste, I had to
embrace the earth and remain there until the same voices
would laughingly assure me that the danger was over, or
one more thoughtful than the rest, would come to give
me a helping hand and hope that the old lady

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was neither hit nor frightened. Several times in my wanderings
on that eventful day, of which I confessed to have
a most confused remembrance, only knowing that I looked after
many wounded men, I was ordered back, but each time
my bag of bandages and comforts for the wounded proved
my passport. While at the hospital, I was chiefly of

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use looking after those who, either from lack of hands
or because their hurts were less serious, had to wait,
pained and weary until the kind hearted doctors, who however,
looked more like murderers, could attend to them. And the
grateful words and smile which rewarded me for binding up
a wound or giving cooling drink was a pleasure worth

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risking life for at any time. It was here that
I received my only wound during the campaign. I threw
myself too hastily on the ground in obedience to the
command of those around me to escape a threatening shell,
and fell heavily on the thumb of my right hand,
dislocating it. It was bound up on the spot and
did not inconvenience me much, but it has never returned

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to its proper shape. After this, first washing my hands
in some sherry from lack of water, I went back
to Cathcart's Hill, where I found my horse and heard
that the good for nothing lad, either frightened or tired
of waiting, had gone away with the mules. I had
to ride three miles after him, and then the only

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satisfaction I had arose from laying my horsewhip about his shoulders.
After that, working my way round how I can scarcely tell,
I got to the extreme left attack, where General Eyre's
division had been hotly engaged all day and had suffered severely.
I left my horse in charge of some men, and
with no little difficulty and at no little risk, crept

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down to where some wounded men lay, with whom I
left refreshments. And then it was growing late. I started
for spring Hill, where I heard all about the events
of the luckless day from those who had seen them
from posts of safety, while I, who had been in
the midst of it all day, knew so little. On

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the following day, some irishmen of the eighth Royals brought
me in token of my having been among them a
Russian woman's dress and a poor pigeon, which they had
brought away from one of the houses in the suburb
where their regiment suffered so severely. But that evening of
the eighteenth of June was a sad one, and the
news that came in of those that had fallen were

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most heart rending. Both the leaders who fell so gloriously
before the Radan had been very good to the mistress
of spring Hill, But a few days before the eighteenth
Colonel Y had merrily declared that I should have a
silver salver to hand things about on instead of the poor,
shabby one I had been reduced to. While Sir John

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C had been my kind patron for some years, it
was in my house in Jamaica that Lady C had
once lodged when her husband was stationed in that island.
And when the recall home came, Lady C, who had
she been like most women, would have shrunk from any exertion,
declared that she was a soldier's wife and would accompany him. Fortunately,

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the Blenim was detained in the roads a few days
after the time expected for her departure, and I put
into its father's arms, a little Scotchman born within sight
of the blue hills of Jamaica, and yet with these
at home, the brave general, as I read in the
Times a few weeks later, displayed a courage amounting to rashness,

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and sending away his aided camp, rushed on to a
certain death. On the following day, directly I heard of
the armistice, I hastened to the scene of action, anxious
to see once more the faces of those who had
been so kind to me in life. That battlefield was
a fearful sight for a woman to witness, And if

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I do not pray God that I may never see
its like again, it is because I wish to be
useful all my life, and it is in scenes of
horror distress that a woman can do so much. It
was late in the afternoon, not I think, until half
past four, that the Russians brought over the bodies of
the two leaders of yesterday's assault. They had stripped Sir

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John of epaulets, sword and boots. Ah, how my heart
felt for those at home who would so soon hear
of this day's fatal work. It was on the following
day I think that I saw them bury him near
Cathcart's Hill, where his tent had been pitched. If I
had been in the least humor for what was ludicrous,

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the looks and curiosity of the Russians who saw me
during the armistice would have afforded me considerable amusement. I
wonder what rank they assigned me. How true it is,
as somebody has said, that misfortunes never come singly, note well,
pleasures often do. For while we were dull enough at

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this great trouble, we had cholera raging around us, carrying
off its victims of all ranks. There was great distress
in the Sardinian camp on this account, and I soon
lost another good customer, General E, carried off by the
same terrible plague. Before Missus E left the Crimea, she
sent several useful things kept back from the sale of

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the general's effects. At this sale, I wanted to buy
a useful wagon, but did not like to beard against
Lord w who purchased it. But I tell this anecdote
to show how kind they all were to me. When
his lordship heard of this, he sent it over to
spring Hill with a message that it was mine for
a far lower price than he had given for it,

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And since my return home I have had to thank
the same nobleman for still greater favors, but who indeed
has not been kind to me. Within a week after
General E's death, as still greater calamity happened, Lord Ragland died,
that great soldier who had such iron courage, with the

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gentle smile and kind word that always show the good man.
I was familiar enough with his person, for although people
did not know it in England, he was continually in
the saddle, looking after his suffering men and scheming plans
for their benefit. And the humblest soldier will remember that
let who might look stern and distant, the first man

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in the British Army ever had a kind word to
give him. During the time he was ill, I was
at headquarters several times, and once his servants allowed me
to peep into the room where their master lay. I
do not think they knew that he was dying, but
they seemed very sad and low, far more so than
he for whom they feared. And on the day of

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his funeral I was there again. I never saw such
heartfelt gloom as that which brooded on the faces of
his attendants, But it was good to hear how they all,
even the humblest, had some kind memory of the great General,
whom Providence had called from his post at such a
season of danger and distress. And once again they let

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me into the room in which the coffin lay, and
I timidly stretched out my hand and touched a corner
of the Union jack which lay upon it, And then
I watched it wind its way through the long lines
of soldiery towards Camiesh, while ever and Anon the guns
thundered forth in sorrow, not in anger, And for days

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after I could not help thinking of the Caraadoc, which
was plowing its way through the Sunny sea with its
sad burden. It was not in the nature of the
British army to remain long dull, and before very long
we went on as gaily as ever, forgetting the terrible
eighteenth of June, or only remembering it to look forward
to the next assault, compensating for all. And once again

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the British Hotel was filled with a busy throng, and
laughter and fun re echoed through its iron rafters. Nothing
of consequence was done in the front for weeks, possibly
because mister Russ was taking holiday and would not return
until August. About this time, the stores of the British
Hotel were well filled, not only with every conceivable necessary

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of life, but with many of its most expensive luxuries.
It was at this period that you could have asked
for few things that I could not have supplied you
with on the spot, or obtained for you if you
had a little patience and did not mind a few
weeks delay. Not only spring Hill and Cadacoy, which a
poor place enough when we came, had grown into a

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town of stores and had its market regulations and police.
But the whole camp shared in this unusual plenty. Even
the men could afford to despise salt, meat and pork,
and fed as well, if not better than if they
had been in quarters at home. And there were coffee
houses and places of amusement opened at Balaklava, and balls

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given in some of them, which raised my temper to
an unwonted pitch, because I foresaw the dangers which they
had for the young and impulsive, and sure enough they
cost several officers their commissions. Right glad was I one
day when the great purifier fire burnt down the worst
of these places, and ruined its owner, a bad frenchwoman.

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And the railway was in full work, and the great
road nearly finished, and the old one passable, and the
mules and horses looked in such fair condition that you
would scarcely have believed Farrier Sea of the Land Transport Corps,
who would have told you then and will tell you
now that he superintended, on one bleak morning of February

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not six months agone, the task of throwing the corpses
of one hundred and eight mules off the cliffs at
Karajani into the Black Sea beneath. Of course, the summer
introduced its own plagues, and among the worst of these
were the flies. I shall never forget those crimean flies,
and most sincerely hope that, like the Patagonians, they are

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only to be found in one part of the world.
Nature must surely have intended them for black beetles and
accidentally given them wings. There was no exterminating them, no
thinning them, no escaping from them by night or by day.
One of my boys confined himself almost entirely to laying
baits and traps for their destruction, and used to boast

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that he destroyed them at the rate of a gallon
a day, but I never noticed any perceptible decrease in
their powers of mischief and annoyance. The offices in the
front suffered terribly from them. One of my kindest customers,
a lieutenant serving in the Royal Naval Brigade, who was
a close relative of the Queen whose uniform he wore,

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came to me in great perplexity. He evidently considered the
flying nuisance the most trying portion of the campaign, and
of far more consequence than the Russian shot and shell. Mammy,
he said he had been in the West Indies and
so called me by the familiar term used by the
creole children, Mammy. These flies respect nothing, not content with

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eating my prog they set to at night and make
a supper of me, and his face showed traces of
their attacks. Confound them. They'll kill me, Mammy. They're everywhere,
even in the trenches, and you'd suppose they wouldn't care
to go there. From choice. What can you do for me, mammy?
Not march, But I rode down to mister Bees's store

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at Caddakoi, where I was lucky in being able to
procure a piece of muslin which I pinned up. Time
was too precious to allow me to use needle and
thread into a mosquito net with which the Prince was delighted.
He fell ill later in the summer when I went
up to his quarters and did all I could for him.
As the summer wore on, busily passed by all of

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us at the British Hotel, rumors strong than ever were
heard of a great battle soon to be fought by
the reinforcements which were known to have joined the Russian army,
and I think that no one was much surprised when
one pleasant August morning, at early dawn, heavy firing was
heard towards the French position on the right by the Chennaia,

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and the stream of troops and onlookers poured from all
quarters in that direction, prepared and loaded as usual. I
was soon riding in the same direction and saw the
chief part of the morning's battle. I saw the Russians
cross and recross the river. I saw their officers cheer
and wave them on in the coolest, bravest manner, until

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they were shot down by scores. I was near enough
to hear at times in the lull of artillery and
above the rattle of the musketry, the excited cheers which
told of a daring attack or a successful repulse. And
beneath where I stood, I could see what the Russians
could not, Steadily drawn up, quiet and expectant, the squadrons

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of English and French cavalry, calmly yet impatiently, waiting until
the Russians partial success should bring their sabers into play.
But the contingency never happened, and we saw the Russians
fall slowly back in good order, while the dark plumed
Sardinians and red pantalooned French spread out in pursuit and

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formed a picture so excitingly beautiful that we forgot the
suffering and death they left behind. And then I descended
with the rest into the field of battle. It was
a fearful scene. But why repeat this remark? All death
is trying to witness, even that of the good man

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who lays down his life hopefully and peacefully. But on
the battlefield, when the poor body is torn and rent
in hideous ways, and the scared spirit struggles to loose
itself from the still strong frame which holds it tightly
to the last, death is fearful. Indeed, it had come
peacefully enough to some. They lay with half opened eyes

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and a quiet smile about the lips that showed their
end to have been painless. Others it had arrested in
the heat of passion, and frozen on their pallid faces,
a glare of hatred and defiance that made your warm
blood run cold. But little time had we to think
of the dead, whose business it was to see after
the dying, who might yet be saved. The ground was

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thickly cumbered with the wounded, some of them calm and resigned,
others impatient and restless, a few filling the air with
their cries of pain, all wanting water and grateful to
those who had ministered it and more substantial comforts. You
might see officers and strangers, visitors to the camp, riding

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about the field on this errand of mercy. And this,
although surely it could not have been intentional, Russian guns
still played upon the scene of action. There were many
others there bent on a more selfish task. The plunderers
were busy everywhere. It was mars to see how eagerly

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the French stripped of the dead what was valuable, not
always in their brutal work, paying much regard to the
presence of a lady. Some of the officers, when I
complained rather angrily, laughed and said it was spoiling the Egyptians.
But I do think the Israelites spared their enemies those garments,
which perhaps were not so unmentionable in those days as

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they have since become. I attended to the wounds of
many French and Sardinians and helped to lift them into
the ambulances which came tearing up to the scene of action.
I derived no little gratification from being able to dress
the wounds of several Russians. Indeed, they were as kindly
treated as the others. One of them was badly shot

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in the lower jaw and was beyond my or any
human skill. Incautiously, I inserted my finger into his mouth
to feel where the ball had lodged, and his teeth
closed upon it in the agonies of death so tightly
that I had to call to those around to release it,
which was not done until it had been bitten so
deeply that I shall carry the scar with me to

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my grave. Poor fellow. He meant me no harm, for
as the near approach of death softened his features. A
smile spread over his rough, inexpressive face, and so he died.
I tended another Russian, a handsome fellow and an officer
shot in the side, who bore his cruel suffering with

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a firmness that was very noble. In return for the
little use I was to him, he took a ring
off his finger and gave it to me, And after
I had helped to lift him into the ambulance, he
kissed my hand and smiled far more thanks than I
had earned. I do not know whether he survived his wounds,
but I fear not. Many others on that day gave

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me thanks in words the meaning of which was lost
upon me, and all of them in that one common
language of the whole world, smiles. I carried two patients
off the field, one the French officer wounded on the hip,
who chose to go back to spring Hill and be
attended by me there, and who, on leaving told us

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that he was a relative of the Marshal Pelissier. The
other a poor Cossack colt I found running round its dam,
which lay beside its Cossack master, dead, with its tongue
hanging from its mouth. The colt was already wounded in
the ears and forefoot, and I was only just in
time to prevent a French corporal, who, perhaps for pity's sake,

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was preparing to give it its coup de grass I
saved the poor thing by promising to give the frenchman
ten shillings if he would bring it down to the
British hotel, which he did that same evening. I attended
to its hurts and succeeded in rearing it, and it
became a great pet at spring Hill and accompanied me
to England. I picked up some trophies from the battlefield,

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but not many, and those of little value. I cannot
bear the idea of plundering either the living or the dead.
But I picked up a Russian metal cross, and took
from the bodies of some of the poor fellows nothing
of more value than a few buttons, which I severed
from their coarse gray coats. So end my reminiscences of
the Battle of the Chennaia fought as all the world

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knows on the sixteenth of August eighteen fifty five. End
of chapter sixteen