[157] _Invasion of the Crimea_, vol. vi. p. 425.
[158] _Life of Lord Houghton_, vol. i. p. 505.
Of all the documents that have passed under my eyes in writing this memoir, none have touched me more than a bundle of letters to and from friends and relatives of Crimean soldiers. Miss Nightingale was careful to take note of any dying man's last wishes or messages, and the letters in which she forwarded these, to wife or mother, must, by their touch of womanly sympathy, have brought balm to many a stricken heart. "My dear Miss," writes one mother, "I feel the loss of my poor son's death very keenly, but if anything could help my grief it is the thought that he was looked to and cared for by kind friends when so many miles away from his native land." "I beg," writes a sister, "to return you my grateful thanks for all your kindness to my poor dear brother and for writing to tell me of his death. It is great consolation to know that both his soul and body were so kindly cared for." "I can assure you," writes another, "that you are beloved by every poor soldier I have seen." Correspondence of this kind continued in the same manner when Miss Nightingale passed on from Scutari to the Crimea. One letter to a bereaved mother may be given as a representative of many:--
... The first time I saw your son was in going round the wards in the General Hospital at Balaklava. He had been brought in, in the morning.... He was always conscious, and remained so till the very last. He prayed aloud so beautifully that, as the Nurse in charge said, "It was like a sermon to hear him." He asked "to see Miss Nightingale." He knew me, and expressed himself to me as entirely resigned to die. He pressed my hand when he could not speak. He died in the night.... He was decently interred in a burial-ground we have about a mile from Balaklava. One of my own Sisters lies in the same ground, to whom I have erected a monument. Should you wish anything similar to be done over the grave of your lost son, I will endeavour to gratify you, if you will inform me of your wishes. With true sympathy for your loss, I remain, dear Madam, yours sincerely, FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.
There is another bundle, hardly less touching, which contains letters of anxious inquiry addressed to Miss Nightingale from all parts of the United Kingdom, begging her to send, if she can, particulars of the whereabouts or of the illness or of the last hours of husband, brother, father, or son. "In order that you may know him," writes one fond mother, "he is a straight, nice, clean-looking, light-complexioned youth." "Died in hospital, in good frame of mind," was Miss Nightingale's docket for the reply. Every letter was carefully answered, and every message was, I doubt not, given whenever it was in her power to do so. Many are the blessings invoked on Miss Nightingale's head. Often the writer begins by explaining that the newspapers have told of her great kindness and so she will forgive the intrusion. Others show that they take all that for granted by beginning, "Dear Friend," or ending, "Yours affectionately." Many wives beg her to let the soldier know that the children are well and happy. And one letter sends a message to a wounded Lancer from the girl he left behind him, "If alive, please mention my name to him."