In the Shadow of the Lamp

by Susanne Dunlap

  “And you need me to take her there? To the trenches? How will she get back?”

  This was the hard part. We both had to go. It was the plan. “Well, in fact, I thought I’d go with her, so we could come back together.” By now my glove was tied in a knot and I started trying to unpick it so I could put it back on my cold hand.

  “You’d do that? For your friend?”

  I didn’t dare look at him. Perhaps he thought I was foolish. At times I thought so myself. Why would I throw everything away for Emma? Especially now that I didn’t have to find Dr. Maclean, he was right here. “I can’t just leave her to it.” I knew right then, aside from what Emma needed from me, just finding Dr. Maclean again would never be enough.

  “All right. I’ll help you. But I mean you, Molly, not Emma. She’s foolish to get herself into such a predicament. Let’s see if we can do this without compromising your future.”

  He explained he could get an extra donkey to take supplies up. He’d ask for some things from the hospital and get us to bring them to him tomorrow. Then Emma and I would go back, go to bed, and sneak out together to meet him above the camp. There was a chaplain up there who would know where to find Thomas, and most likely could take us to him.

  “You do realize that I could be disciplined for this if anyone found out,” he said, once we’d made all our plans.

  “Then why do it?” I asked, throwing his own question back at him.

  “Do you know why they sent me here?” he asked. I shook my head no. “They found out—or guessed, anyway—after we took that soldier’s appendix out, that I wasn’t everything I claimed to be.”

  “But … you saved that man’s life!” I was confused. He was a doctor. He’d proved it.

  “I told you I only had one year of medical training. After my father refused to pay for more, I studied on my own whenever I could. But I’m not really qualified. And that’s all they care about.”

  “But you’re good at it!” I said. “You do just as well—maybe better—than the other doctors I’ve seen.”

  He smiled at me, but it wasn’t his usual broad, friendly smile. “You say that, in your position as an extensively experienced nurse.”

  His words stung. I turned away.

  “I didn’t mean that, Molly. You’re very capable, you know I think so.”

  “Is that why you’re willing to help me?”

  “It’s not the only reason.”

  “Why then?”

  His face became serious again, his eyes sparkling in the corners as if his feelings might leak out at any moment. “You really don’t know? I thought we settled that in Scutari.” He leaned toward me. For some reason, all I could think of was the horrible smell of the harbor there, the mud and filth everywhere, and how different it was from the way Dr. Maclean smelled. His breath had the faintest hint of pipe tobacco on it, and his skin smelled like cold air and gunpowder. His lips touched mine.

  “James!”

  Dr. Maclean sat up quickly and moved the arm that had crept around my waist so that it looked as though he’d just been scratching his head. I stood.

  “There you are. You’re wanted to settle a wager in the captain’s tent.” An officer, looking too clean and neat in his uniform, with the white straps crossing his breast and a short cloak pinned across one shoulder, stopped just below where we’d been talking, huffing and winded from the climb.

  “Just coming, Philip.” Dr. Maclean stood and faced me. “Remember the list for the hospital. I’ll call for the items tomorrow.” Without a good-bye, as if I really was a messenger there for the purpose of taking his instructions, he jogged off down the hill and went away with the young officer.

  Chapter 24

  As soon as Emma and I had a moment alone I told her the plan.

  “You’re a brick, Moll!” she said and threw her arms around me. I pushed her off, glancing around to make sure no one saw us who might suspect we were plotting something together. In truth, as soon as I left Dr. Maclean I started having doubts. So much at stake, for all of us. The one with the most to lose, I thought, was Dr. Maclean. Or maybe it was me. Emma had already lost the most important thing she had, so it wouldn’t matter to her one way or the other. In fact, she was the only one who could really come out ahead in all this.

  But I’d done it, made the plan, and now I had to stick to it.

  The next day dragged on and on, and I was so jumpy I kept dropping things in the wards, just when I was trying to be as quiet and invisible as I could. It was my turn to clean out the closet where we kept the bandages and such, with scissors and cotton batting and all. Somehow I managed to catch my sleeve on one of the scissors, and when I moved, the whole tray crashed to the ground. I jumped out of the way just in time to avoid being stabbed in the leg.

  “Got your monthly, Nurse Fraser?” Mrs. Drake asked quietly. She was just passing by on her way to one of the sick wards.

  “No, nothing like that. Just clumsy,” I said. “How’s your chest pain?”

  “Oh, it comes and goes. I expect it’s nothing.”

  She left me to pick up the mess I’d created.

  Neither Emma nor I could eat much that evening. Of course, Emma had trouble keeping anything down and had almost run out of ways to hide it when she had to go and vomit. I wondered if any of the other nurses guessed or if they were too wrapped up in their own concerns to bother about it. Ever since I knew, it seemed so obvious.

  We went to bed as usual and waited for the others to start snoring, which never took very long. We were on our feet all day, and sleep comes easily when you’re that tired. Emma and I did as we planned, lumping up cushions and blankets to make it look like we were still there. I slipped out without taking anything, but to my surprise, Emma had her valise. As soon as we were where no one would hear us, I asked, “What’d you bring that for?”

  “You don’t think I’m coming back here after Thomas and me are married, do you?”

  I didn’t ask her more. There wasn’t time.

  We hurried through the dark streets, skirts picked up to avoid the mud, and reached the camps. In the moonlight they looked almost lovely, the round, white tents scattered in a sort of pattern here and there. I’d never been out so late in Turkey, and it made me feel free, like no one was watching me for once.

  Dr. Maclean was waiting for us where he said he would be. He had the promised donkey, as well as a second horse. “We’ll go faster on the horses. I’m afraid you’ll have to ride astride, but no one will see you. The donkey can trot behind. Both horses are needed up top, so he’ll carry the two of you back.”

  Emma left her case behind a rock. Dr. Maclean first helped me up and then settled Emma behind me. His hands were strong. My skirts hiked up because of having to put my legs over the saddle on either side, and he gently tugged them down to cover as much as possible, touching my calf softly. It sent a thrill right up to my stomach.

  I watched him swing himself up on the horse with ease. The packages of supplies were already loaded on the donkey so we started up the hill right away. It wasn’t steep at first, but soon I was glad we weren’t walking, seeing how the track wound around and the side of the hill sheared away. We climbed higher and higher. I could see Balaclava from time to time below us, a few campfires amongst the tents surrounding the town, and lamps here and there where men were drinking late.

  “What regiment is your young man fighting with, Nurse Bigelow?”

  “The Nineteenth,” she said. Then after a minute, “What’s that?”

  Emma pointed to a large metal machine on the side of the road at Kadikoy, the only little village between Balaclava and the front lines. And village was a generous name: I counted three houses, which were more like huts, and all dark as if no one lived there.

  “It’s a stationary engine,” Dr. Maclean answered. “It’s used to bring guns and ammunition up to the trenches.”

  “How do the men get their food?” I asked, realizing as we went up and saw how rough the ground was, wi
th deep ravines and no trees or shelter anywhere, that it would be hard to carry anything.

  “They have to bring their rations themselves. A week’s worth at a time. And whatever water they can carry, in case the reservoir the army dug has frozen over. And then they have to find their own fuel for a fire to cook it.”

  That and fight too, I thought. They must wonder what they’re doing here. So far away from home, and not even fighting over English soil. For all the explanations, I still couldn’t see it. Why did it matter to us if the Russians had charge of the holy lands?

  Out in the dark, quiet night, Dr. Maclean’s voice sounded echoing and hollow, near and far away at the same time, and barely more real than my own thoughts. I shivered, only partly because the higher we climbed, the colder it got. We were passing over ground that had seen battles, disease, and death. Perhaps it was because I was tired and also afraid, doing something I knew was wrong, but as we climbed, I began to hear whispers.

  “What did you say?” I said to Emma over my shoulder.

  “Nothing! It’s too cold to talk.”

  But as we rose, the whispers grew louder. Nothing distinct at first, then soft, desperate cries of “Help!” “I’m shot!” “My leg. I can’t feel it!” and more such murmurings. I shook my head. Were the whispers coming from inside me, or outside, all around us? Did Emma and Dr. Maclean hear them? “Please … help … I can’t go on …” The whispers continued, talking directly to me.

  Then I saw it, up ahead. A low, green glow, stretching right across the top of the hill in front of us. But it wasn’t a steady glow, like you might see if there were lights. It flickered, glowing brighter and fainter in points. My horse stopped and whinnied.

  “What’s the matter?” Dr. Maclean turned his horse with the donkey in tow and came back to us.

  I couldn’t answer him. The whispers were now so loud and overlapping each other that they became an unceasing hiss that hurt my ears. I put my hands over them and shut my eyes. “Help!” I said, but my voice came out hoarse.

  Before I knew it, Dr. Maclean had taken me down from the horse and was carrying me across the ground. The whispers quieted. I opened my eyes. His forehead was creased in worry and he walked quickly toward something. I looked ahead and saw a wooden hut with a smoldering campfire in front of it. A sign hung over the door with the apothecary’s symbol painted on it. What an odd place for a dispensary, I thought, not in town or close to the lines. By the time we reached it I was more curious than frightened by what I had just seen and heard.

  At the door, Dr. Maclean set me down on my feet gently, as if he was afraid I’d topple over. “I’m all right now,” I said. “I don’t know what came over me so sudden like.” He kept hold of my shoulders anyway, and I didn’t stop him.

  As if she knew she was wanted without us having to knock, an old woman opened the door and stepped right up to me. She put her hand on my forehead, then looked at Dr. Maclean. “What are you doing hereabouts with a young lady—two young ladies?” By now Emma had led both horses and the donkey to where we stood. “On your way up to the trenches?”

  She took my arm and led me through the door into her hut, where she struck a match and lit a lamp.

  The hut was much bigger than it seemed from the outside, and on shelves I could see medical supplies and other things that would be the envy of our field hospital as well as brandy, cigars, and other items. She saw me staring. “I don’t have to deal with the British bureaucracy to get my supplies. I just use cash. Works every time.”

  “Blimey!” said Emma, standing right behind me.

  “Let me introduce my good friend, Mother Seacole,” Dr. Maclean said. “This is Nurse Fraser and Nurse Bigelow.”

  I curtsied. “How d’you do.” Then I really looked at her for the first time. I’d never seen a woman with such dark skin, not as dark as the Nubian slaves some of the Turks had in Scutari, but too dark to be just sunburned. I tried not to stare.

  “Here with Miss Nightingale, I gather. Come, sit down, child.” She led me to a bench, knelt in front of me, and took hold of both my hands, examining my face and eyes as if she could see something there that wasn’t on the surface. After a moment she sat back on her heels and said, “Ah.”

  “What is it?” Emma asked.

  “I couldn’t exactly say,” Mother Seacole said. “You’ve had a turn. I’ve seen it happen with sensitive souls. There’s something about a battlefield that gets under the skin. It can be hard to fathom.”

  “I just … I heard something. And saw something.”

  “No matter, child. This is a horrible, sad place. I do what I can for the men, but there are many restless spirits who died here unnecessarily. I’d have gladly given my soul to Miss Nightingale if she’d have had me, but her supporters didn’t approve. The War Office didn’t approve either. So my British friends helped me out, and here I am.”

  Emma and Dr. Maclean just stared at both of us. Emma as if we were stark raving mad, Dr. Maclean with a soft, sorrowing look.

  “We have a ways to go yet, and I’m much better,” I said, beginning to feel foolish for causing such a to-do.

  “Wait!” Mother Seacole said. “I have something for you that might help if you get that way again.” She went to a locked cupboard, fished a key out of a hidden pocket in her dress, and opened it. She brought me a sachet of something on a string and placed it round my neck. “It’s mandrake root. I won’t go into all the legends, but I find a good sniff gets me out of my unpleasant moods and back to the present in a jiffy.”

  I’m not the sort who lays myself open to people easily, but something about Mother Seacole made me throw my arms around her neck and give her a squeeze, just like she was my own mother back in the East End. She squeezed me too and patted me on the back. “If you can get away, come and see me whenever you like. I could use some help, especially when the shells have been flying from the Redan.”

  We left. She stood in her doorway, her large person blocking out almost all the light from the lamp inside. I patted the sachet she gave me. Miss Nightingale definitely wouldn’t approve. But there was no more whispering now.

  Chapter 25

  Our stop cost us about half an hour on a night where we could hardly afford to lose a minute. As we continued to climb to the British offensive positions, the ground became rougher and rougher. Our horse stumbled more than once in holes that were hard to see in the pale moonlight.

  “We’ve pushed them back a little, but sometimes the shells still reach this far,” Dr. Maclean said, pointing to a deep dent he steered his horse around. “It’s worse up ahead. We’ll go to the hospital tent first, leave the animals, then the rest will have to be on foot.”

  We continued on in silence for a while. Ahead I could hear the low murmur of people resting—not sleeping, but I guessed taking advantage of a few hours when they didn’t have to be on their guard.

  The hospital tent wasn’t much—just a bigger version of the tents down below. And they didn’t have many supplies either, not like in Mother Seacole’s dispensary. About half a dozen wounded men lay on the ground, groaning.

  “Did you bring more bandages? Any chloroform?” A doctor I didn’t know came forward from the darkness at the back of the tent. He was much older than Dr. Maclean. He glanced at us. “I thought Miss Nightingale didn’t want her nurses at the front lines.”

  “She doesn’t. These two came up out of their own desire to be of some help. They’d like to see the chaplain. Is he about?”

  The two of them unloaded the donkey with hardly a sound and spoke in hushed, hurried sentences. Even their motions were quick and efficient. The other doctor, named Dr. Hastings, said the chaplain was with the Eighty-eighth, where four men had died that day of dysentery.

  “They’re over by the Redan,” Dr. Maclean said, using the same clipped, quiet tone with us he had used with the doctor. “We’ll have to be quick.” He saluted Dr. Hastings and motioned us to follow him.

  The closer we came to the trenches
, the harder it was for me to breathe. It wasn’t just the smell—thousands of men who hadn’t washed for days, and the stink of rot and blood—it was something else, something even more powerful than the sights and sounds that almost overcame me farther down the hill. I felt like something was crushing my heart, like I was the earth and the weight of all these soldiers was on top of me. I tried not to let on that anything was bothering me. I caused enough trouble earlier, and now we were so close. Emma looked worried but excited. I just concentrated on making my heart slow down and putting one foot in front of the other so I could keep up with Dr. Maclean.

  We walked for a good half hour before we reached the British guns. They were like big ugly pots angled upward behind built-up earth with brick reinforcing it. I could see that the enemy would only know their locations by the plumes of smoke that came out when they were fired. But at night, the guns remained silent. Gunners leaned against the sides of the gun carriage, smoking pipes or sleeping. They’d stacked the cannonballs up in a grid, ready to be fed into the barrels of the big guns. I wondered what was in them—canister? The enemy soldiers would be just as badly wounded as ours.

  A short way down from the guns a group of soldiers sat clustered around the chaplain. Their faces were all fixed on his, like he held the answer to some huge question. It seemed small and stupid to go and interrupt him for our concerns. We didn’t belong here. Not in our dresses and gloves, thinking about life. Up here, the business was survival or death. I think even Emma realized that. I saw her clutching her stomach, like she wanted to protect what was inside her from feeling this place.

  The chaplain saw us, made the sign of the cross to his audience, stood, and came over. “Dr. Maclean.” He put out his hand and they shook. “Do you need me in the hospital tent?”

  “No, thankfully. I wondered if you knew where we could find a soldier in the Nineteenth, named …” He turned to Emma.