Secret for a Nightingale (37 page)

There was a terrible morning when the wounded were being brought in and among them was one man with his right leg smashed.

I was trying to make him comfortable when Dr. Adair came up with one of the other doctors, whose name was Legge. I stood back while they examined the man, who lay back looking as though he were on the point of death.

The doctor moved away and Dr. Adair said: “Gangrene.-It’s got to come off.”

“The shock will kill him,” replied Dr. Legge.

“The gangrene will kill him in any case. I’m going to take the risk and the sooner the better.”

“He’ll never stand up to it.”

“I shall do it,” said Dr. Adair. Then he noticed me.

“You can be in attendance,” he added.

Dr. Legge was looking at him in horror.

“But.. he began.

“She’s come here as a nurse,” said Dr. Adair.

“If women undertake to be professionals, they’ll have to get used to these things.” He looked at me sardonically.

“We’ve got to make use of what we’ve got. God knows, it’s poor enough.” His glance raked me like a scalpel.

I was not sure whether he was referring to me or to the equipment both, I supposed.

“I’ll perform the surgery at once.”

“He can’t stand it.”

“There’s just a chance and I’m going to take it.”

It was like something out of a hideous nightmare. The operation had to be performed in the ward. There was nowhere else. The patient was put on a board supported by trestles.

“This will be gruesome. Miss er Nightingale,” said Dr. Adair to me with a twist of his lips.

“I hope you won’t faint. It doesn’t help and you will be ignored if you do. We shan’t be leaving the patient to administer sal volatile.”

“I didn’t expect you would and I shall not faint.”

“Don’t be too sure. You will soothe the patient. Hold his hand. Let him grip you. Do your best.”

“I will.”

And I did. I used all my strength. I was praying earnestly all the time.

“Dear God,” I kept saying.

“Dear God.” And that poor man was saying with me.

“Dear God.”

I did not look at what was happening. I knew that I could not do that.

I just held his hand and he clung to mine, gripping it so fiercely that it felt numb . and I went on praying aloud with him.

Mercifully he dropped into unconsciousness.

“There’s nothing more you can do,” said Dr. Adair.

I turned away. I felt I had come through the most taxing ordeal of my life and not too badly. I saw Dr. Adair next day and he was ungracious enough to say nothing of my part in it.

Later that day the man died.

I learned it from Dr. Adair himself. I was outside the ward when I saw him.

“Our operation was not successful,” he said.

“It seemed … unnecessary,” I said.

“Unnecessary! Do you know what gangrene is? It’s the death of the tissues. It’s the result of the interruption of the blood supply.”

“I know. He would have died, but it seems unnecessary to have inflicted extra pain.”

“Are you advising me, Miss er Nightingale?”

“Certainly not. I am just saying that it seems sad that this man, who was doomed in any case, had to suffer the amputation unnecessarily.”

“Our job is to save life, Miss Pleydell. If there is a chance

we must take that chance. At best we have saved a life; at worst we have gained a little experience. “

“So the patient, having already been used by those who wish to make war, still has his uses. He may help renowned doctors to become even more so.”

“There,” he said, ‘you have got to the root of the matter. “

He bowed ironically and passed on.

I was very shaken by the experience, but there was no time to brood.

Men were still arriving from Balaclava surely the most futile battle ever fought. Oh, it was magnificent, the Charge of the Light Brigade.

Glorious, some called it those who had not seen the wretched survivors. The fortunate were those who died in that wild, foolhardy charge.

Soon afterwards Lady Mary Sims and Mrs. Jarvis-Lee went home. They said they thought they could serve their country better in England. Perhaps they could, for they were useless as nurses but would be very efficient organizing charity balls and bazaars for the support of the hospitals.

People talked a great deal about the brilliant Dr. Adair. We were so fortunate to have him in the hospital, they said. I believed he was all that I had thought him to be a clever doctor, no doubt, but without sympathy or sensitivity. I was sure he looked upon his patients as material for his experiments. I told myself that all along he had known he could not save that man’s life by amputating his leg;

but he had wanted to do so in the hope of learning something.

Suffering did not touch him. What mattered to him was his quest for knowledge and, of course, the aggrandisement of Dr. Damien Adair.

When the terrible aftermath had begun to die down a little and the dead had been buried and the survivors were teetering on the brink of life and death, I did not see Dr. Adair for two days. I was very aware of that, for the days seemed oddly empty. I missed the flaring of resentment, the anger against him which had become so much a part of my existence; and my determination to bring him to his just desserts in some way as yet not clear to me was stronger than ever.

Then I heard that he was no longer in the hospital.

Although Charles was in the Barrack Hospital, as it was so near we did meet now and then; and when I saw him I asked what had happened to Dr. Adair.

“He has just gone off… for a few weeks, I believe.”

“Surely not on holiday!”

“Maybe he wanted a little respite.”

“A respite? When all this is going on?”

“He has worked very hard.”

“So have we all. I should have thought his place was here.”

Charles said: “He was working day and night.”

“But we all were.” I wondered why everyone wanted to defend him.

And that was all I knew.

Life went on grimly. After the Battle of Inkerman was won by the British and French, we had thought Sebastopol would fall into our hands and that, we guessed, would be the turning-point of the war.

Alas, the powers that be had made another misjudgement. Sebastopol was under siege and that was how it was going to remain for some time to come. There would be no easy victory.

The winter was approaching fast and casualties were arriving constantly. We had very little time off duty but I think it was realized that we needed some respite and that if we did not have it, we ourselves should be ill.

We needed to get away from the hospital for a few hours and we were told that a party of us might take one of the caiques and visit Constantinople for an hour or so.

We set out in a group of six. We should not have been allowed to go in pairs. Some of us were to pick up stores which were needed.

We felt quite excited to get away from the gloom of the hospital and the perpetual presence of pain; and we all had a feeling of determination that for this short space of time we must stop thinking about the horrors through which we had all lived for so long and which would be waiting for us on our return.

The caique carried us across to the opposite side “of the Bosphorus and Constantinople lay before us. The very name had a romantic ring, and how magnificent it looked with its domes and minarets. There was the old castle of the Seven Towers with its gloomy history, since so many sultans had been put to death there by rebellious soldiery, and where many other prisoners had been incarcerated for years and submitted to hideous torture. I wanted to see the Topkapi Palace, home of sultans, with their fabulous wealth and harems.

Often I had looked across the narrow strip of water and felt there was a world unknown to me, a world strangely different from Victorian England perhaps a little like that of India which I had known in my youth, for that had seemed different before I had seen it through adult eyes and it had lost so much of its romance.

We had been warned that we must be careful. We knew that there were really two cities one was called Christian Constantinople and that other, which was often called Stamboul, was the Turkish quarter and lay on the south side of the Golden Horn. There were bridges connecting the two and we were told on no account to venture into Stamboul.

It was so exciting to be among all that Saracenic and Byzantine architecture and I was longing to explore.

I suppose we were conspicuous in our uniforms with our holland scarves on which was embroidered Scutari Hospital in red. I noticed how people glanced at us and stood aside to let us pass.

It was the bazaars and little alleys which attracted most of the nurses. These were crowded and it was difficult to keep together.

Henrietta slipped her arm through mine.

“Don’t lose me,” she whispered.

“I’d be a bit scared if you did.”

The streets grew narrower; the shops were like dark caves in which all sorts of merchandise was displayed . brass, ornaments, jewellery, silks. Here and there one of the owners sat at his door smoking a hubble-bubble pipe; strange music came from somewhere; barefooted boys ran through the crowds, pushing against us, reminding us that we must take care of what little money we had.

We stopped at a stall to look at some earrings. There were various colours in enamel and they were very pretty.

“Hardly suitable for ward duty,” I commented.

“My dear girl, we are not going to be here forever. You wait.

Sebastopol will fall, and it will be home for us. “

“I hope you are right.”

“I am going to buy some. These blue ones. You should have the green.”

The old man set aside his hubble-bubble pipe, scenting business, and the transaction took a little time. We were expected to bargain but did not know how, and I think we disappointed our salesman, who would rather have had a lower price and a little entertainment.

And when we had paid for our earrings we discovered that we were no longer with the party.

“Never mind,” said Henrietta.

“We’ll find our way back.”

“And I think we should set about doing it immediately,” I replied.

We attempted to retrace our steps but instead of coming out of the maze of bazaars we found ourselves getting deeper into it.

I noticed a dark man watching us, and it seemed to me that he might be following us.

We came to an alley.

“Let’s try this,” said Henrietta.

“It’s less crowded. Perhaps we could find someone who speaks English and could direct us.”

We had not gone far when, to our dismay we realized that the alley was a cul-de-sac, and as we attempted to retrace our steps, several boys they must have been in their early teens came towards us. Two slipped behind us and the others barred our way.

I took Henrietta’s arm and attempted to push past them;

but they had surrounded us. One of them seized my cloak; the others had Henrietta by the sleeve.

I said: “We want to get to the caiques. We have to get back to the hospital.”

One of them came closer and held out his hand.

“Money,” he said.

“You give poor boy.”

Henrietta looked at me.

“We’re poor nurses,” she said.

“We have no money.”

It was clear that they did not understand a word. They were glaring at us menacingly.

I don’t know what would have happened then but the dark man whom I had seen in the bazaar came into the alley.

He made straight for us and let out a stream of words which must have been abuse at the boys; and it was effective for it sent them scurrying away.

He turned to us. He had only a few words of English, which made communication difficult, but I imagined he was asking us if he could help.

I said: “We want to go to the caiques. We must get back to the hospital.”

“Hospital,” he said, nodding and pointing to our scarves. I looked at Henrietta with relief. This seemed like a stroke of good fortune.

“Follow,” said our rescuer.

We did and he led us out of the cul-de-sac to a spot where two or three horse-drawn carriages were waiting, evidently for hire.

I said: “We do not need a carriage. We cannot be far from the waterfront.”

But he was already handing Henrietta into one of them. I got in beside her, protesting, and while I was trying to get Henrietta out, the carriage started and our rescuer was giving the driver instructions.

It was not long before I noticed that we were not going in the direction of the waterfront.

“This is not the way,” I muttered to Henrietta.

Her eyes were wide with alarm.

“Oh … Anna, what do you think it means?”

I shook my head. I dared not imagine what this man’s intentions were when, to my horror, I realized we were crossing one of the bridges which spanned the Golden Horn and so were being taken out of Christian

Constantinople to that other part of the city into which we had been warned not to enter.

The horse increased its pace and I thought that any moment we should overturn; this did not happen, though I feared that those children and old people in our path would be ridden down; somehow they always managed to escape. We had come to a street of several tall houses;

they looked dark and mysterious because there were few windows.

Then our carriage turned into a gateway and we were in a courtyard.

“Out,” said the man.

I looked at Henrietta, wondering whether we should refuse to get out.

It was not, however, our choice. Our captor had made it clear that we must obey. He pulled first Henrietta and then me out of the carriage;

and gripping our arms, he led us through a doorway to a dark passage.

Before us was a flight of stairs.

“Up,” said our captor.

I turned to him.

“Listen,” I said loudly.

“Where is this? I demand to know. We are nurses. English nurses. You implied that you were taking us to the waterfront. Where is this? I will not go a step further.”

His answer was to take my arm and push me up the stairs. I heard Henrietta gasp.