Wonderful Adventures of Mrs. Seacole in Many Lands

eating his meat raw to having the trouble of cooking it (our English soldiers are bad campaigners), often finds his greatest troubles in the want of those little delicacies with which a weak stomach must be humoured into retaining nourishment. How often have I felt sad at the sight of poor lads, who in England thought attending early parade a hardship, and felt harassed if their neckcloths set awry, or the natty little boots would not retain their polish, bearing, and bearing so nobly and bravely, trials and hardships to which the veteran campaigner frequently succumbed. Don’t you think, reader, if you were lying, with parched lips and fading appetite, thousands of miles from mother, wife, or sister, loathing the rough food by your side, and thinking regretfully of that English home where nothing that could minister to your great need would be left untried⁠—don’t you think that you would welcome the familiar figure of the stout lady whose bony horse has just pulled up at the door of your hut, and whose panniers contain some cooling drink, a little broth, some homely cake, or a dish of jelly or blancmange⁠—don’t you think, under such circumstances, that you would heartily agree with my friend Punch’s remark:⁠—

“That berry-brown face, with a kind heart’s trace
Impressed on each wrinkle sly,
Was a sight to behold, through the snow-clouds rolled
Across that iron sky.”

I tell you, reader, I have seen many a bold fellow’s eyes moisten at such a season, when a woman’s voice and a woman’s care have brought to their minds recollections of those happy English homes which some of them never saw again; but many did, who will remember their woman-comrade upon the bleak and barren heights before Sebastopol.

Then their calling me “mother” was not, I think, altogether unmeaning. I used to fancy that there was something homely in the word; and, reader, you cannot think how dear to them was the smallest thing that reminded them of home.

Some of my Crimean patients, who were glad of me as nurse and doctress, bore names familiar to all England, and perhaps, did I ask them, they would allow me to publish those names. I am proud to think that a gallant sailor, on whose brave breast the order of Victoria rests⁠—a more gallant man can never wear it⁠—sent for the doctress whom he had known in Kingston, when his arm, wounded on the fatal 18th of June, refused to heal, and I think that the application I recommended did it good; but I shall let some of my patients’ letters, taken from a large bundle, speak for me. Of course I must suppress most of their names. Here are two from one of my best and kindest sons.

“My dear Mamma⁠—Will you kindly give the bearer the bottle you promised me when you were here this morning, for my jaundice. Please let me know how much I am to take of it. Yours truly,

“F. M., C.E.”

You see the medicine does him good, for a few days later comes another from the same writer:⁠—

“My dear Mrs. Seacole⁠—I have finished the bottle, which has done my jaundice a deal of good. Will you kindly send another by bearer. Truly yours,

“F. M.”

It was a capital prescription which had done his jaundice good. There was so great a demand for it, that I kept it mixed in a large pan, ready to ladle it out to the scores of applicants who came for it.

Sometimes they would send for other and no less important medicines. Here is such an application from a sick officer:⁠—

“Mrs. Seacole would confer a favour on the writer, who is very ill, by giving his servant (the bearer) a boiled or roast fowl; if it be impossible to obtain them, some chicken broth would be very acceptable.

“I am yours, truly obliged,

“J. K., 18th R.S.”

Doesn’t that read like a sick man’s letter, glad enough to welcome any woman’s face? Here are some gentlemen of the Commissariat anxious to speak for me:⁠—

“Arthur C⁠⸺, Comm. Staff Officer, having been attacked one evening with a very bad diarrhoea at Mrs. Seacole’s, took some of her good medicine. It cured me before the next morning, and I have never been attacked since.⁠—October 17th, 1855.”

“Archibald R. L⁠⸺, Comm. Staff, Crimea, was suffering from diarrhoea for a week or more; after taking Mrs. Seacole’s good medicines for two days, he became quite well, and remained so to this day.⁠—October 17th, 1855.”

Here is Mr. M⁠⸺, paymaster of the Land Transport Corps, ready with a good account of my services:⁠—

“I certify that Madame Seacole twice cured me effectually of dysentery while in the Crimea, and also my clerk and the men of my corps, to my certain knowledge.”

And some of the men shall speak for themselves:⁠—

“Stationary Engine, December 1, 1855.

“I certify that I was severely attacked by diarrhoea after landing in the Crimea. I took a great deal of medicine, but nothing served me until I called on Mrs. Seacole. She gave me her medicine but once, and I was cured effectually.

“Wm. Knollys, Sergt., L.T.C.”

“This is to certify that Wm. Row, L.T.C., had a severe attack of illness, and was in a short time restored to health by the prompt attention and medical skill of Mrs. Seacole, British Hotel, Spring Hill, Crimea.”

Many of my patients belonged to the Land Transport and Army Works Corps. The former indeed were in my close neighbourhood, and their hospital was nearly opposite to the British Hotel. I did all I could for them, and have many letters expressive of their gratitude. From them I select the following:⁠—

“Headquarters, Camp, Crimea, June 30, 1856.

“I have much pleasure in bearing testimony to Mrs. Seacole’s kindness and attention to the sick of the Railway Labourers’ Army Works Corps and Land