In the Shadow of the Lamp

by Susanne Dunlap

  “You think I was goin’ to let you go off all on yer own to see my Thomas and maybe flirt with him?”

  I knew she was just joking. She wanted to see Thomas. That was her reason. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before, it was so obvious. That explained why she was so mad at me when she found out I was going. “Emma, why didn’t you say?” I asked. “It’s going to be dangerous, and you won’t probably run into Thomas anyway in Balaclava. He might be miles away.”

  “I have to see him. I just have to.”

  Tears sprang to Emma’s eyes. “Emma, what’s wrong?” It wasn’t like her to cry so easily.

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Well, whatever it is, you can’t stay here for three days. You’ll freeze to death. You’ll have to come below and own up.”

  She looked down. “Miss Nightingale won’t half be cross.”

  If she was just cross, Emma would be lucky. Fortunately, not even Miss Nightingale would throw someone overboard because she disobeyed her. “I’ll try to make things right with her. She might be too sick to care right now, anyway.”

  I helped Emma crawl out of the lifeboat and straighten her uniform, then we went down to the cabin. When the two of us walked in, Mrs. Langston’s mouth opened wide.

  “At the last minute Miss Nightingale asked Emma to come along,” I said. With Miss Nightingale in her cabin and not likely to come out for a while, I decided it would be better to lie just a little. How bad was it, after all, that Emma was there? There were plenty of nurses at the Barrack Hospital to manage, even if another few hundred wounded arrived. And things had slowed down a lot lately anyhow. We were in the middle of the Siege of Sebastopol, or so I’d heard. That meant a lot of waiting and hiding in trenches for the men, and not too many actual battles. More men came back sick with dysentery and low fevers than wounded.

  We had a quiet sail across the Black Sea. No storms. It wasn’t icy—the water was too salty for that. Just cold, so we stayed mostly in our stuffy cabin. I was glad Emma came in the end. We played cards and guessing games to pass the time. The others mostly read. Mrs. Langston and the other Sellonite sister prayed a lot and talked about nursing. Mrs. Drake, once she got over her disapproving looks at Emma, spent her time knitting and sleeping. I only saw Dr. Maclean once, when we went up on deck for a breath of air on a day when the wind died down a little. Something made me turn toward the stern and I saw him there, staring in my direction, smoking his pipe. He raised his hand to wave, but I turned away, just like last time. It would be folly to be friendly with him. Still, it pained me not to let him see that I knew he was there, and that I was mostly glad to see him. It would be much simpler if he paid no attention to me at all.

  We didn’t see Miss Nightingale until we got to the peninsula, the Crimea. This was the place all the fighting was for, so Mrs. Langston told us. We needed to beat the Russians back, not let them get a foothold past their borders. I asked her why.

  “It’s very complicated. As far as I understand, things are balanced now, with England, France, and Austria powerful in the west of Europe, and Russia in the east. We don’t want Russia to get too powerful, especially if she unites with Austria. It’s a way of keeping the peace all over Europe.”

  “So we are at war so we may have peace?” I asked, still not understanding.

  “In a sense.”

  I didn’t ask her anything more after that. It all seemed pointless. So many already dead or maimed, and it wasn’t even England we were fighting over. But as we approached shore we would see where the battles were firsthand. Everyone came on deck for that. It was a sight I’ll never forget.

  “Look at all them ships!” Emma exclaimed. I made sure she was on the side of me that was away from Miss Nightingale, who stood farther down the deck. But everyone was so amazed by the sight of all the British, French, and Turkish ships carpeting the sea, bobbing up and down at anchor or slowly moving closer or farther away from shore, that I’d have been surprised if anyone noticed her.

  “Why don’t they sail into the harbor and attack Sebastopol from the water?” I wondered aloud. The city came right down to the water, like Istanbul did, and from what little I knew it looked easy to attack that way. But the British and French ships were all clustered at the mouth of the harbor, like an invisible fence kept them away.

  Mrs. Langston answered. “The Russians sank several of their warships on purpose, just over there”—she pointed to the harbor—“so our fleets couldn’t pass.”

  Of course. There was a fence after all. A lethal trap under the water.

  But not all of the vessels gathered around us were warships. One not far off—close enough for me to make out the women in deck chairs with binoculars, staring at the shore—would’ve looked like a pleasure ship in any other place. Banners flew from the masts, and I could see waiters serving wine in tall glasses to the ladies sitting on deck in their furs.

  Nurse Drake was on my other side. “They’ve come to watch the lovely war,” she said. “See our brave men fight and get killed.”

  If they never got closer than they were then to the battles, it might seem glorious, I thought. They wouldn’t see the fear and pain on the men’s faces, just where they moved, like the painted lead soldiers rich children played with. The red coats of the British brightened up the gray countryside. Every now and then a puff of white smoke would come from above Sebastopol, followed by a distant boom. Like fireworks during the day, but instead they were guns. I saw up close what they did to soldiers, and it wasn’t glorious or pretty. I wanted someone to commandeer that sightseeing ship for a few hundred sick and wounded, and then see how thrilling the fine ladies thought it all was!

  We had to sail around a small spit of land to get to Balaclava, a village on the other side of the hills that protected Sebastopol. We were able to dock at a sheltered harbor, but when the gangplank was lowered and the sailors scrambled down to help fasten ropes to the pier they sank ankle deep in mud. We could hear the squelching and sucking from on deck, not to mention the foul mouths of the men as they began to unload in the muck. How would we get through it ourselves?

  The buildings by the dock were half fallen down, made of wood and stone with thatched roofs. Bony, underfed cows and oxen watched what went on around them with no apparent interest. Dock workers started laying planks over the mud so the passengers could walk up to where the ground was less muddy, though I couldn’t see that it would help much, and so I wandered to the other side of the ship to see what was there while we waited to go on shore.

  There was nothing more than barren earth patched with snow, climbing into the hills that rose between Balaclava and Sebastopol. Dotted around everywhere were round tents, in rows and groups, in any spare bit of ground near the town. With just a stretch of canvas and a pole to hold them up in the middle, the tents couldn’t have provided more than the barest shelter against the winter cold. Here and there amongst them was a wooden hut with a chimney, so no doubt at least a stove inside. And soldiers wandered everywhere. Some were in smart uniforms, looking like they were on their way somewhere in a hurry. Others dragged themselves around, dirty and ragged, like they couldn’t find a place to stop and rest. Most of them had long, bushy beards. I guessed they didn’t have water and soap for shaving.

  Beyond the camps, the houses in the town seemed to be thrown against the hillside, clinging however they could, only a few fitted with roofs that looked as though they wouldn’t let in a steady rain.

  The narrow harbor was dotted with smaller boats going in and out, dodging obstacles in the water. At first I thought it was just odd bits of wood from fallen-down buildings. But it didn’t take long for me to see how wrong I was. Horse carcasses, sewage, dead fish, and things too rotten to identify. I suppose I’d got so used to the smell of death and illness that I hardly noticed how it hung over Balaclava.

  The red coats of the officers and the highlanders’ kilts were the only colors I could see in that brown and dreary place. It made
Scutari seem lively and thriving by comparison.

  “Come, nurses!” Miss Nightingale called us all to gather and disembark at the same time. Emma stood behind me, looking down. But it was no use.

  Miss Nightingale’s eyes rested on Emma, their expression impossible to read, but the corners of her mouth turned down just enough for me to know that she wasn’t pleased at all about this added body. She must have felt me staring at her, because next she looked at me. Our eyes met, and I saw a hard, accusing expression. I immediately felt hurt. It was like the Abington-Smythes all over again. She probably assumed Emma and I plotted together. How would I convince her that it wasn’t true without betraying my friend?

  “Miss Nightingale! We are so grateful for the help of your nurses.” A man in the uniform of the army medical department met us as we stepped on the planks quickly before they too sank in the mud and made our way up to drier ground. He talked to her the whole walk to our quarters, on the other side of the town.

  Our “quarters” consisted of a large tent with wooden sides and a stove in the middle. There were cots set up inside, but that was all. The stove hadn’t been lit.

  “The field hospital building is completed, but we are still constructing huts outside of it for the nurses. When they are finished your nurses will have adequate—if not luxurious—accommodation.” He looked at us, silently counting. “Seven nurses. I confess I had hoped for one or two more. A woman’s touch can do more to heal than all the medical arts.”

  “My understanding is that the field hospital will treat the most critical cases and those deemed to be slight enough that they could return to the battle. In which case, a woman’s touch could make little difference, and might even prove less efficacious than your medical arts.”

  I had got used to Miss Nightingale’s way of knocking people off their guard, especially men. And I knew the doctor had—without intending to—touched on the one subject that disturbed her most about women nursing soldiers. Still, I had to stifle a laugh at the look of shock that crossed his face.

  We had a meal of sorts outside, some kind of watery stew in tin cups. I was hungry enough that I didn’t mind. And it was better than what the men were eating—uncooked salt pork with sugar on it. I’d never seen such a vast crowd of soldiers in my life. They didn’t act like the ones in Scutari, the ones who were well, that is. They stared at us, but not with any kind of real interest. Even the ones who had clean uniforms looked exhausted, as if just picking up their feet to walk was more than they had strength for.

  All the while we sat chatting idly, I wondered when the reckoning would come about Emma. Miss Nightingale didn’t meet my eyes when I looked at her. She was no doubt thinking of other things, as usual.

  But as soon as we’d finished our supper and were about to settle in our temporary lodgings, Miss Nightingale called to us. We stopped. The others continued on, probably thinking one or both of us was going to be sent away.

  “Well, Nurse Fraser. It seems your example has been followed—with or without your sanction.”

  I opened my mouth to say something but Emma stopped me. “It was without, Miss Nightingale. Molly ’ere—Nurse Fraser, I mean—didn’t know nothing.” I was grateful to Emma for that. She didn’t have to take all the blame. I was the one who kept her out of Miss Nightingale’s sight on board and lied to the other nurses.

  “Nonetheless, I believe I know what brought you here. I have taken the trouble to ascertain that your young soldier is far off in the trenches and not easily reached. So your journey was wasted, if that was your intent.”

  How could she have known which soldier it was that Emma was carrying on with? My surprise must have shown in my face.

  “You nurses think you have secrets from me, but you don’t. You know I’ve sent home a dozen women of greater years and more experience than you—mostly for drunkenness and incompetence, but some for flirtation. If I hear of any doings with either of the young soldiers you are both acquainted with, you shall not only return to Scutari immediately but be sent back to London on the next available steamer. Is that understood?”

  I was ashamed. Not so much because she assumed I was there to see Will, but because I was glad she’d not mentioned Dr. Maclean. Was I becoming devious? What did I mean, “becoming”? It was deception that had got me there in the first place. I’d no right to expect anything but suspicion from Miss Nightingale.

  “Well, could’ve been worse,” Emma said as she walked with me to the tent we shared with the other nurses.

  It could have been worse, but I had a funny feeling that wasn’t the end of everything. I knew Emma, and nothing would stop her from doing whatever she could to find her Thomas once she’d set her mind on it.

  The other nurses had already undressed and pulled their blankets up as far as they could, trying to get warm. And no wonder. The wind blew right through the canvas. The stove was no match for it, smoking a lot and heating a little. Emma and I hopped out of our clothes fast and got under the covers before you could say spit. I shivered and rubbed my feet against each other, but they were still frozen through.

  “I’m ready to go and hammer in the nails myself to get those huts built!” Emma exclaimed through her chattering teeth. I would have laughed except the same thought had occurred to me too. I didn’t know how we’d be able to dress wounds if our fingers were stiff as ice.

  “Emma,” I said. “I was that cross at you for hiding away like that.”

  “I know, Moll. But you’ll understand soon, I promise.”

  “Whyever you did it … I’m not half glad you’re here now. I missed you as soon as we set sail.”

  At first Emma said nothing. Then after a bit I heard a sniff, and she reached her hand out from under her blankets to me. I reached back and held her hand tight. Whatever it made Miss Nightingale think about me, having Emma there made all the difference.

  And I thought it was probably a good thing I was there too, to stop her from being too rash about her Thomas. But just then, I didn’t care. We were in the back of beyond, but we were together.

  Chapter 22

  Unlike when we first came to Scutari, the very next day we got to work in the field hospital. It was a different sort of place, with a different rhythm of working, than the hospital I was used to—the wounded came in alone or in twos or threes, not in hundreds. And most of the men were sick. Some had lost fingers from frostbite. A good many had low fevers. One or two had their wives with them even here, and they sat by their husbands’ bedside and knitted or mopped their brows. These men were lucky to have someone who cared about them by their side. They were like safe little islands in the midst of a stormy sea.

  I was curious about the wives. What would make them come? They lived on board ships full of vermin, coming ashore when there was a battle or some action. I saw several of them that first day mounted on horses, their dresses dirty and torn, going off to get as near as they dared to where their husbands were fighting. These were not like the fine ladies on the ship with their spy glasses, drinking wine. They knew what fighting meant, that one day their husbands might not come home, or come home no longer the same men. One of them came into the field hospital to be treated herself, with a graze from a bullet on her arm. I thought that if the army would let women fight, they would do well and be as brave as anyone, especially if they had charge of protecting their own.

  The wives weren’t the only women in the camps, though. Over a ways from the British tents was a very orderly place where the French had their own camp and hospital, with a whole flock of Sisters of Mercy as nurses. Those weren’t too surprising to see, but I was amazed one day when I saw several other women, not in nuns’ habits but in uniforms. Their uniforms weren’t exactly like the men’s, but versions of them, with skirts that ended just below their knees and breeches the rest of the way. They even had swords slung at their sides and ribbons of rank.

  “Who do you s’pose they are?” I asked Emma on our way to the field hospital our second day there. Sh
e just shrugged. I stopped and stared.

  A lady rode up on a horse. Not one of the raggedy women, but well dressed and clean, in a very nice black riding habit. “They’re vivandières,” she said, pointing with her riding crop. “They serve wine and food to the men in the French army. It’s their job.”

  I curtsied. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “I see you’re with Miss Nightingale,” she said. “I have the advantage. Nothing so interesting happens here without everyone in town knowing. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Mrs. Duberly—most everyone calls me Fanny. My husband, Captain Duberly, is paymaster of the Eighth Royal Irish Hussars.” She touched her riding crop to the brim of her hat. “I’m afraid I can’t stay to chat but I’m certain we’ll meet again.”

  She wheeled her horse around, spurred him into a canter and was soon out of sight.

  “I didn’t expect to see ladies here at all,” Emma said. “There’s more English and French ones here than in Scutari, what with the ‘veevondeers’ and all.”

  “We’d better be going,” I said and pulled her along toward the field hospital. “In Miss Nightingale’s view, there’s only one role for women in a place like this.”

  When we got to the hospital, several new patients had been admitted, one a sick soldier being tended by his wife. “You’d think they’d want to stay in England with friends and family, safe from bullets and cannonballs.” I said.

  “I understand why they’re here,” Emma said. “I’d go wherever my Thomas went if I thought I could protect him. Like that Mrs. Duberly we met.” She put her hand on her stomach. “Listen, Moll.” She turned to me with a quick look round to make sure no one was listening. “You got to help me find him. I have to speak to him. Soon!”

  She squeezed my arm so hard it hurt. “What is it?” I asked. But Nurse Roberts walked in then and Emma didn’t answer.