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New Zealand Spectator and Cook's Strait Guardian, Volume XII, Issue 1283, 18 November 1857, Page 4

* Wonderful adventures of Mrs. Seacole, in Many Lands. Edited by W. J. S. With an introductory Preface by W. H. Russell, Esq., the Times' Correspondent in the Crimea. London: James Blackwood, Paternoster-row.

warding hospital nurses to Scutari ; and she at length bravely determined to go out of her own independent will, and establish an hotel and store similar to one once favourably known to the soldiery, under her management, in Jamaica. In this enterprise she is joined by an old friend, Mr. Day. Shesails for Scutari, where she visits the hospital and sees Miss Nightingale. Thence she goes to Balaklava, and, after a world of difficulty, establishes Mother Seacole’s British Hotel. A glimpse at her trials, her work, and the harrowing scenes she witnesses, is furnished by the following batch of quotations :— THE SICK WHARF AT BALAKLAVA. The very first day that I approached the wharf a party of sick and wounded had just arrived. Here was work for me, I felt sure. With so many patients the doctors must be glad of all the hands they could get. Indeed, so strong was the old impulse within me, that I waited for no permission, but, seeing a poor artilleryman stretched upon a pallet, groaning heavily, I ran up to him at once, and eased the stiff dressings. Lightly my practised fingers ran over the familiar work, and well was I rewarded when the poor fellow’s groans subsided into a restless uneasy mutter. God help him I He had been bit in the forehead, and I think his sight was gone. I stooped down, and raised some tea to his baked lips (here and there upon the wharf were rows of little pannikins containing this beversge). Then bis band touched mine, and rested there, and I heard him mutter indistinctly, es though the discovery had arrested bis wandering senses —“Ha! this is surely a woman’s hand.” J couldn’t say much, but I tried to whisper something about hope and trust in God ; but all the while I think his thoughts were running on this strange discovery. Perhaps I had brought to his poor mind memories of his home, and the loving ones there, who would ask no greater favor than the privilege of helping him thus ; for he continued to hold my hand in his feeble grajp, and whisper, “God bless you, woman—whoever you are, God bless you !” —over and ever again. J de, not think that the surgeons noticed me at first, although, rs this was my introduction to Balaklava, I had not neglected my person? 1 , appearance, and wore my favorite yellow dress, and blue bonnet, with the red ribbons ; but I noticed one coming to me, who, I think, would have laughed very merrily had it net been for the poor fellow at my feet. As it was, he came forward and shook hands very kindly, saying, “How do you do, ma’am ? Much obliged to you for looking after my poor fellow ; very glad to see you here.” And glad they always were, the kind-hearted doctors, to let me help them to look after the sick and wounded sufferers brought to that fearful wharf. I wonder if I can ever forget the scenes I witnessed there ? Oh! they were heart-rending. I declare that I saw rough bearded men stand by and cry like the coftest hearted woman at the sights of suffering they saw ; while some who scorned comfort for themselves would fidget about for hours before the long trains of mules and ambulances came in, nervous lest the most trifling thing that could minister to the sufferers’ comfort should be neglected. I have often heard mon talk and preach very learnedly and conclusively about the great wickedness of the human heart ; I used to wonder whether they would have modified those opinions if they had been my companions for one day of the six weeks I. spent upon that wharf, and seen but one day’s experience of the Christian sympathy and brotherly love shown by the strong to the weak. The task was a trying one, and familiarity, you might think, would have worn down their keener feelings of pity and sympathy ; but it was not so. I was in the midst of my sad work one day when the Admiral (Boxer) came up, and stood looking on. He vouchsafed no word nor look of recognition in answer to my G&lute, but stood silently by, his hands behind his back, watching the sick being lifted into the boats. You might have thought that he had little feeling, so stern and expressionless was bis face ; but since, when they raised a sufferer somewhat awkwardly, and he groaned deeply, that rough man broke out all at once with an oath, that was strangely like a prayer, and bade the men, for God’s sake, take more care. And, coming up to me, he clapped me on the shoulder, saying, “I am glad to see you here, old lady, among these poor fellows while I am most strangely deceived if I did not see a tear-drop gathering in his eye. It was on this same day, I think, that, bending down over a poor fellow whose senses had quite gone, and, I fear me, would never return to him in this world, he took me for his wife, and calling me “ Mary, Mary, ’ many limes, asked me how it was he had got borne su quickly, and why he did not see the children ; and said he felt sure he should scon get better now. Poor fellow ! I could not undeceive him. I think the fancy happily caused hy the touch of a woman’s hand soothed his dying hour ; for I do not fancy be could have lived to reach Scutari. I never knew it for certain, but I always felt sure that he would never wake from (hat dream of home in thio world. . . But it must not be supposed that we had no cheerful scents upon ihe sick wharf. Sometimes a lighthearted ftllow—generally a sailor—would forget his pain, and do his best to keep the rest in good spirits. Once I beard my name eagerly pronounced, and turning round, recognised a sailor whom I remembered as one of the crew of the Alarm, stationed at Kingston a few years back. “Why, as I live, if this ain’t Aunty Seacole, of Jamaica ! Shiver all that’s left of my poor timbers,” —and I saw that the left leg war, gone—“ if this ain’t a rum go, mates !” “ Ah ! my man, I’m sorry to see you in this sad plight.” “ Never fear for me, Aunty Seacole; I’ll make the best of the leg the Rooshiaus have left me. I’ll get at them soon again, never fear. You don’t think, messmates,’’ —he never left his wounded comrades alone—“that they’ll think less of us at home for coming back with a limb or so short?" “You bear your troubles well, my son.” “ Eh! do I, Aunty ?” and he seemed surprised, “Why, look ye, when I’ve seen so many pretty fellows knocked off the ship’s roll altogether, don’t you think I ought to be thankful if I can answer to the bo’swain's call anyhow ?” And this was the sailors’ philosophy always. And tips brave fellow, after he had sipped some lemonade, and laid down, when he heard the men groaning, raised his head and comforted them in the same strain again; and, it may seem strange, but it quieted them. MRS, SEACOLE’s CRIMEAN HOTEL. Let me, in a few words, describe the British Hotel. It was acknowledged by all to be the most complete thing there. It cost no less than £BOO. The buildings and yards took up at least an acre of ground, and were as perfect as we could make them. The hotel and store

house consiste d of a long iron room, with counters, closets, and shelves; above it was another 10- 1 room, used by us for storing our goods, and above this floated a large union-jack. Attached to this building was a little kitchen, not unlike a ship’s caboose—all stoves and shelves. In addition to the iron house were two wooden bouses, with sleeping apartments for myself and Mr. Day, outhouses for our servants, a canteen for the soldiery, and a large enclosed yard for our stock, full of stables, low huts, and sites, Everything, although rough and unpolished, was comfortable and warm ; and there was a completeness about the whole which won general admiration. The reader may judge of the manner in which we had stocked the interior of our store from the remark often repeated by the officers, that you might get everything at Mother Seacole’s, (rom an anchor down to a needle. CRIMEAN RATS. Thieves, biped and quadruped, human and animal, troubled me more than ever ; and perhaps the most difficult to deal with were the least dangerous. The Crimean rats, for instance, who had the appetites of London aidermen, and were, as little dainty as hungry schoolboys. Whether they had left Sevastopil, guided by ihe instinct which lend? their kindred in other parts of the world to forsake sinking ships, or because the garrison rations offended their palates, or whether they had patriotically emigrated, to make war against the English larders, I do not pretend to guess ; but, whatever was their motive, it drew them in great abundance to Spring-hill. They occasionally did us damage, in a single night, to the tune of two or three pounds— wasting what they could not devour. You could keep nothing sacred from their strong teeth. When hard pressed, they more than once attacked the live sheep; and at last they went so far as to nibble one of our black cooks, Francis, who slept among the flour barrels. 'On the following morning he camo to me, his eyes rolling angrily, and bis white teeth gleaming, to shew me a mangled finger, which they had bitten, and ask me to dress it. He made a great fuss ; and a few mornings later he came in a violent passion thio time, and gave me instant notice Io quit my service, although we were paying him £2 aweek, with board end rations. This time the rats had, it appeared, been bolder, and attacked hio head, in a spot where its natural armour, the woo], was thinnest, and the silly fellow had a notion that the souls of the slain Russian soldiers had entered the rats, and made vengeful vzar upon their late enemies. Driven to such an extremity, I made up my mind to scour the camp, in search of a cat, and, after a long day’s hunt, I came to the conclusion that the tale of Whittington was by no means an improbable one. Indeed, had a brisk young fellow with a cat, of even ordinary skill in its profession, mode their appearance st Spring-hill, I would gladly have put them in the way —of laying the foundation at least of a fortune. Al last, I found a benefactor, in the Guards’ camp, in Colonel D , of the Coldstreams, who kindly promised me a great pet, well known in the camp, and perhaps by some who may read these pages, by the name of Pinkie, pinkie was then helping a brother officer to clear bis hut, but on the following dav, a guardsman brought the noble fellow down. ” He lived in clover for a few days, but had an English cat-like attachment for his old house, and despite the abundance of game, Pinkie scon stole away to his old master’s quarters, three miles off. More than once the men brought him back to me, but the attractions of Scring-hill were never strong enough to detain him long with me. POCKET-HANDKERCHIEFS AT A PREMIUM. An officer bad ridden down one day to obtain refreshments (this was very early in the spring); some nice fowls had just been taken from the spit, and I offered one to him. Paper was one of the most hardly obtainable luxuries of the Crimea, and I rarely had any to waste upon my customers; so I called out, “ Give me vour pocßet-bandkerchief, my son, that 1 may wrap it up. You see we could not be verv particular out there ; but he smiled very bitterly as he answered, “Pocket-handkerchief, mother—byJove 1 I wish I had one. I tore my last shirt into shreds a fortnight ago, and there’s not a bit of it left now. Shortly after, a hundred dozen of these useful articles came to my store, ami I sold them all to officers and men very speedily, A WORD FOP. LORD RAGLAN. M itbin a week after General E ’s death, a still greater calamity happened. Lord Raglan died—that great soldier who bad such iron courage with the gentle smile and kind word that always show the good man. I was familiar enough with his person ; for, although people did not know it in England, he was continually in the saddle looking after his suffering men, and scheming plans for their benefit. And the humblest soldier will remember that, let who might look stern and distant, the first man in the British Army erer had a kind word to give him. During the lime be was ill,l v;es at head-quarters several times, and once his servants allowed me to peep into the room where their master lay. I do not think they knew that he was dying, but they seemed very sad and low—far more so’than he for whom they feared. And on the day of his funeral I was there again. I never saw such heartfelt gloom as that which brooded on the faces of his attendants ; but it was good to hear bow they all, even the humblest, bad some kind memory of the great General whom Providence had called from his post at such a season of danger and distress. And once again they let me into the room in which the coffin lay, and I timidly stretched out my band and touched a corner of the union-jack which lay upon it ; and I then watched it wind its way through the’ long lines of soldiery towards Kamiescb, while ever and anon, the guns thundered forth in sorrow, not in anger. And for days after 1 could not help thinking of the Caradoc, which was ploughing its way through the sunny sea with its sad burden, MRS. SEACOLE IN SEVASTOPOL. When I found that strict orders had been given to admit no one inside Sevastopol I became quite excited ; and making my way to General Garrett’s quarters, I made such an ■ earnest representation of what I considered my ' right that I soon obtained a pass, of which the following is a copy ;— “ Pass Mrs. Seacole and her attendants, with refreshments for officers and soldiers in the Redan and in Sevastopol. Garrett, M.G., Cathcart’s-bill, September 9, 1855.” , So many attached themselves to my staff, becoming for the nonce my attendants, that f had . some difficulty at starting ; but nt last 1 passed all the sentries safely, much to the annoyance ol many officers, who were trying every conceiv-

able scheme to evade them, and entered the city. I can give you no very clear description of its condition on that Sunday morning, a year and ahalf ago. Many parts of it were still blazing furiously—explosions were taking place in all directions —every step had a score of dangers : and yet, curiosity and excitement carried us on and on. I was often stopped to give refreshments to officers and men who bad been fasting lor hours. Some on the other hand, had found their way to Russian cellars ; and one body of men were most ingloriously drunk, and playing the wildest pranks. They were dancing, yelling, and singing—some of them with Russian women’s dresses fastened round their waists, ar.d old bonnets stuck upon their heads. I was offered many tiophies. All plunder was stopped by the sentries and confiscated, so that (lie soldiers could afford lobe liberal. By one I was offered a great velvet sofa ; another pressed a huge arm chair, which had graced some Sevastopol study, upon me ; while a third begged my acceptance of a portion of a grand piano. What 1 did carry away was very unimportant; a ' gaily.decorated altar-candle, studded with gold and silver stars, which the present Commander-in-Chief condescended to accept as a Sevastopol memorial ; an old cracked china teapot, which in happier times had very likely dispensed pleasure to many a small tea party ; a cracked bell, which had rung many to prayers during the siege, and which I bore away on my saddle ; and a parasol, given me by a drunken soldier. He had a silk skirt on, and torn lace upon his wrists, and he came mincingly up, holding the parasol above his head, and imitating the walk of an affected lady, to the vociferous delight of bis comrades. And all this, and much more, in that fearful charnel city, with death and suffering on every side. D

REDAN NO BONO,” The French, when they wanted—it was very seldom—to wound the pride of the English soldiery, used to ray significantly, in that jargon by which the various nations in the Crimea endeavoured to obviate the consequences of what occurred at the Tower of Babel some time ago, “Malakhoff bono —Redan no beno.” And this’ of course, usually led to recriminatory statements, and history was ransacked to find something consolatory to English pride. Once I noticed a brawny man, of the Army Works Corps, □ringing a small French Zouave to my canteen, evidently with the view of standing treat. The Frenchman seemed mischievously inclined, and, probably relying upon the good humour on the countenance of his gigantic companion, began a little playful badinage, ending with the taunt of Redan, no bono—Redan, no bono.” I never saw any man look so helplessly angry as the Englishman did. For a few minutes he seemed absolutely rooted to the ground. Of course lie could have ctusbed his mocking friend with ease, but how could he answer his taunt. All at once, however, a happy thought struck him, and rushing up to the Zouave, be caught him round the waist and threw him down, roaring out, “Waterloo was bono—W aterloo was bono.” It was as much as the people on the premises could do ’o part them, so convulsed were we all with laughter.

In her. noble devotion to the comfort of the British soldiers, to which eloquent tribute has been paid by Mr. W. 11. Russell, The Times' Crimean correspondent, she lost much money, end missed the opportunities through which a more selfish and unscrupulous sutler would have seen the way to wealth. She came back to England poor in purse, but ennobled by the sympathy she bad created in the breasts of all who bad an opportunity of forming the least notion of her great services. For those services some public recognition is to be made, to which we trust our readers will lend a cheerful assistance. The first step towards this will be the purchase of her book, after reading which we will leave tb.em to find the right way of directing their benevolence.