“Very well,” she said.
General Stackhouse stared at her with grim, deep-set eyes. He said, “I have been told that Miss Nightingale and her nurses are a dedicated lot.”
“I think you may say that,” she said.
The General nodded in the glow of the lantern on the plank table before him. “That had better be true, my lady,” he said. “Because when the battle begins tomorrow you will find yourself in a Hell on earth!”
CHAPTER 12
Joy slept little that night. The wind and rain continued to lash the tent which she shared with Nurse Jane Ellman. The younger woman had sank in the sleep of the thoroughly exhausted, but this was not so in Joy’s case. She was too concerned about the battle scheduled to begin in full force in the morning.
Much of her concern was for Captain Colin Hill, who was somewhere out there with his regiment. She had heard so little from him, and the news filtering back from the battle front had been bad. Tomorrow’s battle might change the turn of events, it might also cost her the life of the man she loved! At least she would be in a front line hospital tent doing what little she could.
A light drizzle continued as dawn came. When she awoke she was aware of the distant rumble of the great cannon, and the occasional quivering of the ground. The battle was already underway! The forlorn little band of nurses and doctors had a hasty breakfast. Then with Captain Morgan in charge, they mounted the wagons once more for the final lap of their journey.
As they were driven along the muddy road in the drizzle she asked Captain Morgan, “How long will it take us to reach the hospital?”
The young man grimaced. “With luck a half-hour. But we may find ourselves dodging enemy shells as we get nearer the front. That could delay us.”
The drizzle cleared as they neared the bustle of the encampment. Joy was amazed at the clutter of tents, horses, and troops scattered over a vast area. Each section seemed to have a leader, and be engaged in some phase of battle preparations. Units were marched off to join a formation somewhere out of sight, where the front line must be.
She said to Captain Morgan, “At least the sun will shine.”
“Could be all the worse for us,” the young Captain advised her. “The drizzle probably gave us some cover.”
The noise of battle was nearer, and occasionally bursts of smoke and glowing fire could be seen on the horizon. There was an air of frantic motion about the camp, loud commands from mounted officers, nervous neighing of the majestic cavalry horses, and the thud of the marching feet of the foot soldiers.
They reached the hospital tent, and found it a miniature replica of their wards and operating rooms in Scutari. The surgeon in charge, Major Patstone, came to greet her with his shirt-sleeves rolled up and dried flecks of blood on his arms. He was a middle-aged man, with a bald head and gray, mutton chop whiskers.
“Thank God, you’re here, my lady,” he said. “We have grave need of you and your group. And the need will grow as the battle wears on.”
“We are ready, Major,” she said, removing her cloak.
From then on she had little time to think. She was kept continually busy supervising the arrival of the wounded on stretchers, and then assisting with surgery when one of the nurses collapsed from the ordeal.
It was a veritable inferno! The great wave of moaning, torn men kept arriving on stretchers and on foot. The news from the battle front was grim. It appeared the stalwart British force, which had ridden to battle so splendidly in their crimson jackets, were now mostly dead on the battlefield. This flood of wounded represented the survivors. In a sense they were fortunate ones — though many of them would die in the hospital tent.
In a brief moment when there was a temporary lull, Captain Morgan came anxiously to advise her, “Our supplies of morphine are almost exhausted. What are we to do?”
She said, “Try Major Patstone or one of his aides. Surely they have a stock.”
“I’ll try,” the young man worried. “But I’ve already spoken to one of his men and received no help.”
“I’m going back to surgery,” she said, pushing back a wisp of blonde hair from her perspiring and grimy face. “I’ll speak to him myself.”
She did, and another small supply of morphine was sent to the second tent where surgery was also done.
Joy was lost to everything but working with the grim Major Patstone. As the surgeon and his assistant took care of one case after another, she acted as nursing assistant, ready with instruments, clamps, and other needed items. She took a moment to stand by the entrance of the tent after a difficult abdominal repair, and so saw the stretcher bearers bringing in the next patient. She gasped as she saw it was Colin!
With a sob she followed the stretcher to the operating table where a weary Major Patstone and his assistant waited.
She grasped the arm of the surgeon and told him, “This is Captain Colin Hill. He was our liaison officer and he is my fiancé!”
The bald surgeon raised his eyebrows. “You want to send in another nurse to replace you while we work on him?”
“No!”
The surgeon sighed as he stared at the white face of the unconscious Colin. Then he began probing at the bloodied left sleeve of the unconscious man on the table. He asked for a knife to cut away the bloodstained cloth, and revealed what seemed more a mass of pulverized, bloody flesh than a recognizable arm.
Major Patstone said harshly, “The left arm is damaged beyond repair!”
“Surely something can be done to save it!” she pleaded.
The bald man gave her a look. “You want him to live, don’t you?”
“Yes!”
“His only chance is to be rid of that mess of shattered bone and flesh. If we can amputate we may be able to avoid infection and save him!”
She nodded dully. “Yes. I know you are right.”
“You still want to assist?”
“Yes,” she said tensely. “I’ll manage. I’d rather be the one to assist.”
“You are a sensible, young woman and a brave one,” the Major said. “So let us get along with it!”
It brought back memories of her first experience with surgery in the tiny hospital in Invermere. The memory of the rasping sound when John Hastings had sawed through the shattered bones of Jock’s legs! She had stood up to the ordeal then, she should certainly be equal to this challenge.
The tent in which they were performing the surgery had become more like a butcher’s shop than a hospital operating area. There had been no time to clean the ground around the table. And there was no time for anything but the most elemental surgery. She obeyed the curt instructions of the surgeon as she helped with the amputation of the left arm of the man she loved.
Her great concern now was whether or not he would live. Half of those with amputations died from loss of blood or infection. As soon as the surgery was over Colin was moved to the larger tent serving as a ward for post-surgical cases. For twenty-four hours he remained there.
Then Major Patstone came to her and said, “We are ready to transport some of those who’ve had surgery back to Scutari. I’d like you to take charge of the move.”
“Very well, Major,” she said, relieved that she would thus remain close to Colin, who would be among those transported. She asked, “How has the battle gone?”
“Disastrously!” the bald man said grimly. And he turned and walked away.
Colin was still delirious from fever when the transport party reached the main hospital in Scutari. Despite her busy schedule Joy managed to be at his bedside a good deal of the time. And the other members of the nursing group who had come to care for the handsome, young captain also gave him any special attention they could.
Several nights later Florence Nightingale came to stand soberly at his bedside while Joy was sitting beside him. Colin was still lost in a feverish coma brought on by infection. The veteran nurse said in a low voice, “Has he made any noticeable improvement?”
“I can’t see any.”
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“He has failed greatly,” the older nurse observed as she studied the hollow-eyed Colin, his pale face showing a scraggly, brown beard. It was hard to recognize the handsome Captain in this human wreck.
Joy worried, “I can get no assurance from the doctors. They are hardened to seeing many die of fever!”
“So many cases! The hospital has never been so crowded! Even I am stunned by the enormity of it!”
She sighed. “At first I worried how he would feel about losing his arm. Now I can think only of his recovering. I cannot care about anything else!”
Florence Nightingale said, “I shall join my prayers with yours. He must recover!”
The battle for Colin’s life went on. Then one morning, when she was busy in another ward, Nurse Ellman hurried to her and exclaimed, “Captain Hill has come out of his fever coma! He spoke to me just now!”
Joy was filled with happiness. She ran to his bedside. His eyes were open, and a gleam of recognition showed in his haggard face. His cracked lips moved in a whisper, “Joy!”
“Colin, dearest!” She said with a grateful sob and knelt down and kissed him.
So his recovery began. His fever decreased, and the arm stump slowly healed. At first he did not mention his loss, nor did she say anything to him. Until one evening, when she came to sit with him for a while.
A wry smile showed on his thin, pale face as he indicated his missing arm. “Lucky Hill!” he said. “It seems my luck finally ran out!”
“I think you are especially lucky,” she argued. “Have you any idea how many of your comrades died out there?”
His face shadowed. “It was a senseless slaughter! I shall never forget it! You are right, I should not complain.”
She said, “At least you’re finished with it now. Let them mismanage the war as they wish, they can’t make you one of the victims any longer!”
Colin smiled weakly. “Maybe I can get back my post with Miss Nightingale as liaison officer.”
“We never had a better one!”
“But now I shall be short-handed! Remember that!” It was a small attempt at a joke, and a hint the old Colin was fighting his way back.
She felt the time had come to discuss some of the things which had happened while he was at the front. She said in a troubled voice, “I’ve not said anything until now. But you must know that Colonel Sanger is dead.”
He nodded from his pillow. “Miss Nightingale was here to see me one day. She told me all the facts! I wish I had been here to defend you! What a rotter that man was!”
She looked down at her hands. “I did not mean to kill him.”
“The Court Martial realized that or they wouldn’t have cleared you,” he said. “You had to save yourself. From the beating he gave you it would seem he was ready to kill you.”
“It happened so swiftly!”
“Try to forget it,” Colin urged her.
She looked at him soberly. “It won’t be easy. I hope I didn’t disgrace the nursing corps or you.”
“You did nothing of the sort,” Colin told her with some of his old spirit. Reaching a thin hand up to take hers, he said, “You must erase it from your mind. I do not want to ever talk about it again!”
“If that is your wish.”
“It is,” he told her. And he drew her down to be kissed.
They went on to talk of other things and she decided it was a good time to tell him about Jock’s grave injuries and his recovery. She said, “When I was in Scotland, a man who was a good friend was injured in a woods accident. Both of his legs had to be amputated.”
“I seem to vaguely remember your mentioning it,” Colin said. “Now it has new interest for me. Tell me more about him.”
She proceeded to tell him the whole story. She explained how his bride-to-be had given him back his ring after he was crippled, and how Heather had a love affair with him. And of his subsequent recovery and happy existence.
When she finished, he smiled faintly and said, “I dare say Heather played the most important part in Jock’s recovery, just as you have with mine.”
His improvement was slow. But he was among the fortunate who were able to get up for Christmas dinner. Joy and her little band of nurses made forlorn attempts to brighten the hospital with such decorations as they could find. Someone had sent a box of mistletoe from England. This reminder of happier times was strategically placed in doorways and other places where it would do the most good.
As a result, there was much kissing between nurses and patients, and much good-natured teasing about it. Even the usually stern Florence Nightingale gave her approval to this.
Colin had gained weight, and his face though pale was once more handsome. He moved about the wards, giving what comfort he could to the more grievously wounded, and paying no attention to his empty left sleeve.
On Christmas Eve he came face to face with Joy under a sprig of mistletoe in the doorway of one of the wards. He took her in his arms and kissed her to the approving cries and laughter of his fellow patients.
She laughed and blushed. “That was wicked of you! Now I shall not be able to keep any kind of discipline in the wards.”
“Everyone is kissing with the possible exception of Miss Nightingale,” he teased her. “And for all I know she may be joining in!”
They exchanged simple Christmas presents. Her gift to him was an amber pipe and some tobacco sent her by her brother. He had also sent her a warm woollen sweater. Colin somehow found a silk shawl with exquisite embroidery, which he gave her.
The holiday season brought a welcome slowdown in the number of wounded arriving in Scutari. The fighting seemed to have become sporadic. They celebrated the New Year with the dismal feeling the war might drag on forever. But in late January of 1856, there were rumors of peace talks. The rumors became so numerous that Joy dared to hope.
Florence Nightingale, never blessed with good health, had so over-taxed her strength that she fell ill. She rose from her sick bed, weak and thin. Joy had been forced to take on many of her superior’s duties.
One morning as Joy stood before the desk of her superior discussing the day’s problems, Miss Nightingale said, “I know now I made no error in taking you on as my assistant. I can’t think how the work would have gone on during my illness if you hadn’t been here to take over.”
“I’m sure someone else would have done as well,” she protested modestly.
“I can think of no others with your qualifications,” the veteran nurse said. “I would like to recommend you for some sort recognition but, alas, I have little influence with London. You know that.”
“The recognition is not important to me,” Joy told her.
“Still, you deserve some official praise.”
Joy said, “In view of the Sanger incident I think it might be better not to say anything. I’m quite content.”
The older woman sighed. “I had almost forgotten about Colonel Sanger. And I trust you have. Even with him gone I have had to put up with intrigues and jealousies. The heads of the medical staff are the worst. Now, with the war near an end, they have decided to approve my recommendation for more nurses.”
Joy was startled. She pointed out, “Yet when the battles were at their worst we were refused help!”
The veteran nurse confided, “The talk is that this new nursing group will be sent out here under the direction of a military officer who has been my chief opponent at the War Office.”
“I believe he was a crony of Colonel Sanger’s,” she recalled. “But surely the War Office ought to treat you with more respect!”
“It is not Sidney Herbert’s fault,” Florence Nightingale said. “Someone else in high position is responsible. But I do not care. The troops here know what I have accomplished. The Queen takes an active interest in what we are doing, and she will not be deceived.”
“That is truly important.”
The veteran nurse smiled knowingly. “You may be certain of that. For only this morning I have been informed
that Her Majesty has bestowed on me the authority and title of General Superintendent of the Nursing Staff.”
“You deserved such recognition long ago!”
“No matter,” her superior said. “We have made our mark here. Nursing will go on! I shall be part of it. What about you?”
She blushed. “I haven’t thought much about it. I expect when this awful war finally ends Captain Hill will ask me to marry him.”
“He’d be a fool if he didn’t,” Florence Nightingale said.
“His being wounded deferred our plans.”
“He will make you an excellent husband. I’d prefer him with one arm to most men with two.”
Joy smiled. “You may be sure that is how I feel.”
“See that he names a date soon,” the veteran nurse told her. “I have reason to believe the war will soon be at an end.”
Florence Nightingale’s prediction was sound. The Armistice came, and Joy sailed for England on the same ship with Colin. He was in excellent health, and carried himself with a jaunty air. Happily the voyage home was not too rough. She had a ship filled with patients needing care but she had plenty of help.
There was little privacy for them on the crowded vessel. One fine afternoon, as the ship neared the English coast, they stood together by the rail at a temporarily deserted part of the deck.
Colin said, “I’m counting the hours until we dock.”
“Very soon now,” she said with a smile.
He said, “I can’t wait to be in London again. And yet I’m not sure what will happen to me after I get there.”
“You will come and stay with me at Berkeley Square,” Joy said.
His handsome face showed a sad smile. “How kind you are, dear lady. Not every wounded soldier can be so lucky.”
She said, “You are a very special wounded soldier as far as I’m concerned.”
He became serious. “You must not think you are bound by any promises we made in the past.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you are free,” he said.
Vintage Love Page 180