Daughter of England

Chapter 5. The Wounded Soldier.

"It is better to be unhappy and know the worst, than to be happy in a fool's paradise."--Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Chapter 5.

The Wounded Soldier.

May 1855

Carol was taking a much needed half hour break from Dr. Morris and the demands of nursing. Keeping clean was a bit of a challenge in this hospital, and Carol seldom found time to bathe, but today she had managed to squeeze in thirty minutes for personal hygiene. She had even been able to wash her hair; a luxury she could not often afford. When she had first arrived at the hospital, Carol had cut most of her long locks off because they only got in the way. Now her hair reached to her shoulders, a comfortable length for keeping it up and out of her face. After brushing out the knots and placing her hair in a neat bun, Carol put her white cap on her head, then reached for the hideous holland scarf, with the words Scutari Hospital embroidered on it. With a disgusted sigh, she pinned it over her right shoulder. Carol was not one to complain, but if only she could do without the ugly scarf. She knew it was necessary though, with so many prostitutes roaming around the barracks, this scarf helped distinguish the nurses from the whores. 

The rest of the uniform wasn't much better; a grey tweed dress and a grey worsted jacket. What was worse, the uniforms were not tailored made for the nurses, and Carol's jackets was just a little too small while the dress was a mite too big. Carol had been disgusted with the idea of wearing such wretched clothing, but Florence made it clear that there were no 'ladies' here, they all were nurses and so they all wore the same uniform; except for the sisters, who wore their habits.

Once her toiletries were complete, Carol went out of the nurse's quarters in search of Dr. Morris, who was sure to be looking for her. As she walked through the courtyard a rough hand clasped her arm. Carol gasped and tried to pull away. A soldier had grabbed her and was trying to drag her towards him.

"Good heavens, sir!" Carol angrily exclaimed, twisting herself to look at the man square in the face.

The sight of her scarf caused the soldier to let go of her. "Oh, Miss, I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't know you were one of Miss Nightingale's women."

"For the future, mister," Carol sternly said, brushing her sleeve, "it is wrong to grab any woman in such a manner, no matter what her status or position."

"Yes Miss," he nodded his head.

 Carol glared at him as he shuffled off. It saddened her to know that many of the men here could be such terrible brutes. Even in an army hospital keeping discipline was a rough and challenging task. Adjusting her cap, Carol went about her business. She stopped by the kitchen to collect a jug of hot water, which was always in high demand when it came to the doctor. As she came out, she passed by her dear friend Sister Agatha, who was carrying an armload of clean, linen bandages.

"Have you heard the news?" Sister Agatha asked in an uncharacteristic show of agitation.

"No, what happened?" Carol's face flashed with concern. Something had to be pretty bad if it caused Sister Agatha to become upset.

"Florence has taken ill! She hasn't eaten anything in four days already."

Carol felt the color drain from her face, but before she could reply, Dr. Morris appeared on the scene.

"Caroline Winther, where the devil have you been?" He angrily demanded.

"Oh, Dr. Morris, it's Florence," Carol gasped.

"Miss Nightingale? Did something happen to her? Last I heard she had left for the hospitals closer to the front."

"Yes sir," Sister Agatha nodded her head. "She has come down there with Crimean fever."