In the Shadow of the Lamp

by Susanne Dunlap

Our first week in the wards I didn’t do any of what you really call nursing. Me and Emma were always the ones helping to stuff the mattresses or clean the floors—though keeping the wards clean, Miss Nightingale said, was just as important as any of the other things nurses did, because it helped the men to heal. I suppose I had no cause to complain. What did I know, after all? I was just lucky to be there.

  But it wasn’t easy, all the same. Seeing the wounded soldiers when they brought them in bothered me something terrible at first. It was all I could do not to cry every time. But before long I learned a trick that helped me keep apart from them, not allow myself to think about how much they must be hurting or who was back at home sleepless, waiting for news of them, good or bad. I’d set myself the task of guessing what was wrong with them, to see if I could figure out what the doctors would do. I never knew if I was right or wrong. But it made me feel like I was learning something. And it took my mind off Will.

  I figured it would take Will some time to get to the Crimea. And he’d have to learn to be a soldier. They’d hardly send him off to fight without teaching him how so he’d be ready, and that would take time.

  What was Will thinking right at that moment? Was he afraid? I realized I didn’t know him all that well, in spite of owing him so much. All I knew was his kindness to me. No one outside my family had ever been so nice. I surely didn’t want him to think I took advantage. So when I got my wages the first week, I put aside half to pay Will back. It will take me only a few weeks to save enough, I thought. I’d find a way to send the money to Lucy, perhaps, to keep it for him until he got back. Or maybe she should just use it, since he’d been going to give it to her that day anyway.

  I was doing all right in Turkey. Earning a wage that would let me bring plenty back to Mum. But it wasn’t easy work—even without nursing in the wards night and day. When it rained the water poured in on us, and we put out pots and basins to catch it and as soon as they filled we’d empty them. Other times the cold wind whistled through the gaps in the walls and the windows that didn’t fit proper in their frames. It was so cold. I never felt warm.

  Then one night we woke up to a terrible banging.

  “It’s a hurricane!” screamed Mrs. Drake, running up and down between our cots with her white nightgown flapping and nightcap half off her head. I wanted to laugh at first, then I realized the wind had whipped up so fiercely it was tearing bits of the building away and flinging them onto the ground.

  “Leastways we’re not on the Vectis,” I said to Emma, pulling my covers up to my chin.

  All at once there was a terrible crash above our heads, over by the tower where Miss Nightingale’s and the Sellonites’ rooms were. In a second we leapt out of our beds and ran as quick as we could through the common room and toward the dark corridor that led to the tower. Miss Nightingale herself stopped us. She came through soaking wet, a splintered wooden post in her hands. “The wind blew my windows in,” she said. “I wonder, Molly, if you’d let me share with you for the rest of the night? You’re the slimmest.”

  There was no question in my mind of my answer. “Of course!” I said. Everyone made their way back to their beds, one or two shooting glances that were green with envy in my direction. “You lie down and make yourself comfortable,” I said. Miss Nightingale stretched out on my cot, trying to shrink herself as small as possible. But it was no use. There wasn’t room for two, no matter how hard she tried. I feared I’d push her out for sure, or be pushed out myself. “If you give me one of the blankets and a pillow, I’ll be just fine on the floor here.”

  “Oh Molly, no!”

  I guessed she only called me Fraser when we were working. “Don’t say another word, Miss Nightingale. I can manage.” I took the blanket and pillow and lay on the hard, damp floor between Emma’s bed and mine.

  “Oh, I’ll be just fine!” Emma whispered to me, reaching down to give me a pinch. It wasn’t hard, though, and I knew she meant it just to tease.

  “Tomorrow we shall have to do something about the sick cookery,” Miss Nightingale murmured, her eyes closed. I thought she must have been dreaming already.

  I tried my hardest to fall asleep, but down on the floor, with the wind coming in above and whooshing into our room, I soon set up shivering and my teeth chattered so anyone could hear them. Emma touched my head.

  “Come up and share with me, you daft thing,” she whispered, then leaned over and took hold of my arm.

  I crawled in with her. The warmth of her soon put a stop to my shaking. We curled up together. I could feel Emma’s breath on my ear.

  “If I tell you a secret do you promise not to say?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m sweet on one of the men. In the lower ward.”

  I craned my head around. “You mustn’t be!”

  “Why not? The great Miss Nightingale doesn’t have charge of my heart! Besides, he was ever so brave in a battle, and isn’t hurt too bad.”

  “But how? When?” As far as I knew, Emma was with me so much that she never had a chance to do something I didn’t know about.

  “Oh, I’d just take a longer route back when Miss N. sent me on an errand. And it wouldn’t take me all that time to go to the latrine when I said I had to.”

  I shook my head. “Emma, you’ll be sent home for sure. You know what Miss Nightingale said.” I don’t know if it was just because I was tired and cold, but a few tears leaked down my cheeks. I wiped them away quickly.

  “What’s the matter? You jealous?” Emma said, nudging me with her knee.

  “No, that’s not it. I just don’t want you to go home,” I said.

  We didn’t talk any more after that, and I soon fell asleep, warmer than I’d been any night since we’d arrived.

  I woke up sometime later, thinking it was dawn. I was in a cramp from not moving—there wasn’t room enough in the cot even for Emma and me, the two smallest, to be comfortable. I looked at the windows. Still dark. Not even moonlight came through them. Who’s lit a candle? I thought.

  I lifted my head to look around. Emma squirmed and nearly pushed me off onto the floor. But it didn’t matter. I saw what caused the light.

  Miss Nightingale was sitting up and had put a match to the lamp by her bedside. It was one of those odd Turkish lamps with a pleated paper shade, a little greasy and dirty so the light wasn’t strong. Very slowly, so she wouldn’t wake anyone, she put one foot at a time out from under my blankets and slipped them into the soft shoes by the bed. She pulled her large black shawl around her and stepped gently between the cots, heading to the door that led to the wards.

  What was she doing? I waited until she passed through the door, leaving it slightly ajar behind her, then eased myself out of Emma’s grasp. I had no slippers. The floor was icy under my feet.

  Trying not to make a sound I walked to the door we never opened and peered through the gap Miss Nightingale had left.

  There I saw her, going quietly to every bed, her lamp held high, looking to see that the men were asleep, pulling blankets up to their chins or tucking stray arms underneath the covers, like a nursemaid with young charges. I watched her slow progress to the end of the ward, fascinated by the care she took.

  Before she turned and came back I stepped away from the door and got back into Emma’s warm bed. No wonder Miss Nightingale was so exhausted—she spent hours every night wandering through the wards, making sure the men were safe.

  By the time we woke up, Miss Nightingale had already gone from my bed. I made it up extra careful, not sure if the damage to her rooms would be repaired before night and she might have to sleep in my cot again. The wind still howled though not as harshly as it was screaming the night before, and the rain had let up some.

  “Well, now that they have all the mattresses they need for the soldiers, at least all they can fit in the hospital, maybe we’ll actually get to do some nursing.” Emma and I chatted while we dressed behind one of the screens in our room.

  Our breakfast—some watery p
orridge and tea—waited for us on the table. Mrs. Clarke made a racket in the kitchen with her pots and was muttering so loudly we could hear her out in the common room. “Wants me to do the sick cookery now! As if I don’t have enough to do. These nurses are a bad lot.” She went on and on. It was her way.

  I looked about, checking the roster Miss Nightingale posted. We’d only been in Scutari for a few weeks and already things were much more organized—and cleaner.

  Miss Nightingale came in, looking more dishearted than I’d ever seen her. “Last night’s gale has been a true disaster,” she said, shaking her head. “A ship containing a thousand beds, linens, clothing, a ton of sugar, a quantity of arrowroot, and numerous other vital supplies was wrecked. Half the crew is gone and there’s not a hope of anything being salvaged.”

  “Shame!” cried Mrs. Drake, always the first to say something.

  “What is worse is that we have a terrible challenge before us today.” The serious look on her face got everyone’s attention. “Just now, a ship has docked—or rather, limped in—bearing seven hundred and fifty wounded, and one hundred and forty-six ill. There are some cases of cholera, so the greatest attention to hygiene must be paid. We shall all need to do our best this morning to get everyone in and treated as quickly as possible. But that is not the worst of it. I have had word that another ship follows this one, with fifteen hundred men who must be accommodated in our hospital.”

  Fifteen hundred men? On top of the hundreds we were already expecting? How on God’s earth would we do it? There was no space. Already the pallets were only eighteen inches apart from each other in every ward, and a walkway of just three feet was left to get from one end of a ward to the other.

  “Fraser and Bigelow, you will help the orderlies with those who are being discharged. They will be given a suit of clothes to wear out of the hospital, and then they must bring them back to us when they have their own uniforms provided again. Mind you make that very clear. You are to keep a register of all the names and regiments of the men that leave.” She gave me a tablet and a pencil to write with. “What’s wrong, Fraser? Better to be seeing to those who are healing than those who may not live the day out.”

  I nodded, but my heart was caught up in my throat. It took me nearly an hour to write my one short letter to Will. I’d have to write fast to keep up—Miss Nightingale expected everyone to be as quick as she was at everything.

  “They’re waiting for you in the lower ward. On your way!”

  Emma and I set off. The destruction in the rest of the hospital was even worse than in our corner. The gale had blown in windows everywhere. Orderlies swabbed the floors, but in some places the water was deep enough to slosh over our shoes. And on the ground floor the rain had made the sewers back up so the mess was all over the floors.

  “Ugh! Disgusting!” Emma said. I had to tuck the paper and pencil under my arm so I could lift my skirts out of the muck. As we passed by one broken window, a big gust came, bringing dust and dirt in. Something lodged in my eye. I put my hands over them quick, forgetting the tablet, which dropped into the stinking water.

  “Oh no!” cried Emma. “It’s ruined.”

  Thank heavens! I thought, wiping my eyes. I was saved. “Don’t you think if we just tell the men to bring the clothes back they will? I’m sure they’d rather wear their uniforms.”

  Emma stared at me. “Is that you inside that head? What happened to Little Goody Two-Shoes?”

  “We’d best hurry. They need these beds for the new ones.” I ignored her. I didn’t want her to know the real reason I was glad the tablet was ruined.

  We rushed into the convalescent ward, where we normally weren’t allowed because the men were well enough to cause trouble with a girl if they’d a mind to. Here the floor wasn’t covered in filth, thank heavens. The orderlies went down the line of men yelling at the ones who just had their arms in slings or bandages round their heads, telling them they’d bloody well better get up unless they wanted to share their beds with someone whose guts had just been shot out.

  Down at the far end, stacks of shirts, trousers, and jackets were roughly arranged by sizes. “Do they know what to do?” I whispered to Emma.

  “Why are you whispering?” She turned and clapped her hands loudly. “Oy, mates. If the orderlies say you’re to go, come see us and we’ll give you a suit of clothes. You can change outside.”

  They must’ve been surprised to be ordered about by a woman. One by one they stood up and came over without a murmur. Most were all right by now, not like some I’d seen in the other wards. The ones who were the most themselves winked at us and even sometimes said, “Hello, darlin’! Where they been keepin’ you?” We ignored them, just handing them a shirt and trousers and pointing to the jackets, each time telling them they were to bring the clothes back tomorrow, as soon as they had uniforms again.

  Some of the men came up in clothes so tattered or ripped apart that they were nearly indecent. We weren’t supposed to care, I knew, but I couldn’t help blushing. And they blushed too, not looking us in the eye.

  “What’ll happen to them?” I asked Emma once we got a system going and settled into our job.

  “The ones as are strong enough will go back and fight,” she said.

  Fight, to be blown apart again, I thought. What was it all for? Mr. Bracebridge told us we were pledged to help our allies, the Turks, when Russia invaded them. But I didn’t know why we cared anything about the Turks. They were so far away from England, and not even Christians, most of them.

  And to make matters worse, I couldn’t help seeing Will in my mind. Any one of the men who might be sent back to fight could be him. A lot were plenty young enough.

  “ ’Ere! Mind where you’re going!” Emma stopped handing out trousers and rushed over to a fellow whose head was bandaged and who staggered about, crashing into other men.

  “I dunno what’s the matter, miss. My head don’t hurt no more. But I can’t stay on my feet.”

  I hurried over to help Emma. The fellow was shaking and seemed like he didn’t know up from down. “He shouldn’t be sent out,” I said. “He’s still poorly.”

  “I’ll get him to sit down,” Emma said.

  “Can you manage on your own for a bit?” I asked. She nodded. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  I went through the ward, past the orderlies already hard at work putting new sheets on the empty mattresses. Everyone did things as fast as ever they could, and as soon as a bed was ready they carried a wounded man in to fill it. It’s like a factory, I thought. Only here we stitch together people.

  “S’cuse me,” I asked one of the orderlies, one who was nice to us nurses, not cross and mean, “I need to find a doctor. There’s a man been discharged what shouldn’t have.”

  He pointed to the stairs. Without thinking I ran up. I asked another orderly on the next floor the same question, and he pointed me down to the far end of the ward, where a screen hid an operation that was under way. Still no tables—they’d been on the supply ship that sank. We weren’t supposed to interrupt a doctor working, so I waited. I’d not seen an operation since that day at the Hôtel Dieu. I got as near as I dared to the screens—Miss Nightingale persuaded Dr. Menzies to use them, as well as to change the sheets when new wounded came in—and listened.

  “We’re going to have to take your arm, soldier,” the doctor said. The doctor’s voice was calm and patient, and he had a slight, soft accent.

  “Will it hurt?”

  “Not so very much worse than it hurts already, and then it will be over. Hold him, men.”

  “No! No! No!” The soldier’s voice rose to a girlish scream. I wanted to cover my ears but all the other wounded soldiers in their beds stared straight at me. I tried not to imagine that leg in the Hôtel Dieu in Paris, the blood and such that poured out of it. Come back to now, I thought. Look at what’s around you. I made myself think about other things. What first came to mind was rats. I didn’t see a single one on this floor. No
food for them, I supposed, now that everything was cleaner. And then it struck me that it was generally quieter. There was no rasping of men scratching at their beards, hairy chests, arms and legs. The chloride of lime had begun to do its work. The vermin stayed away. Everyone somehow seemed healthier, less wasted. It was all because of Miss Nightingale.

  I saw a soldier lying all crooked, his head about to loll off the edge of the mattress. “Let me straighten your pillow,” I said. He was only just conscious, but he murmured and didn’t resist when I nudged him into the center of it again. He raised two fingers on his right hand. It was a thank-you.

  A moment later the doctor came out from behind the screen, his coat and hands covered in blood and his face pale. If I didn’t know he was a doctor, I might have thought that was the first time he had ever amputated a limb, he looked so unwell. I thought I’d better tell him my business quickly. “There’s a man—” He lifted his eyes to mine, and I stopped talking. I knew this doctor. He was the one who nodded to me on the Vectis, when we both looked out and saw the fishing boat. The one who helped me get out of the horrible storm our first night at sea. I thought he looked kind then, and what I heard from behind the screen sounded kind now. I cleared my throat as if I had a cough, just to give myself a little time.

  “Yes?” It was a drawn-out sound, not crisp and sharp like most of the army doctors.

  “Downstairs, a man is crashing about like he’s still got his sea legs. I don’t think he should be discharged with the others.”

  “I can guess the one you mean, Nurse Fraser,” he said.

  I was so surprised he knew my name that I almost missed what he said next.

  “He’s got a bad head wound, won’t likely be right ever again. No one seems to know what to do with him.” The doctor’s face had already regained some of its color.

  “Well, he can’t go back and fight,” I said. “He’d be a danger to our side!”

  A group of orderlies had meanwhile gathered around us to listen, and all of them started laughing. I didn’t mean to be funny. What if Miss Nightingale heard about this? I wasn’t supposed to be on this ward anyway.