[74] Miss Jones resigned her appointment at St. John's House in 1868, owing to differences of opinion with the Council, and set up a private nursing establishment. She died in 1887.
The party, as ultimately recruited, was composed of ten Roman Catholic Sisters (five from Bermondsey and five from Norwood), eight Anglican Sisters (from Miss Sellon's Home at Devonport), six nurses from St. John's House, and fourteen from various English hospitals. It has often been supposed that the nurses who accompanied Miss Nightingale were ladies of gentle birth, but, with a few exceptions, this was not the case. On the eve of their departure, the nurses were addressed by Mr. Herbert in his dining-room. He told them that if any desired to turn back, now was the time of decision, and he impressed upon them that all who went were bound implicitly to obey Miss Nightingale in all things. "All started on their ways," we are told,[75] "strengthened by his heart-stirring words, and cheered no less by the sunny brightness of his presence than by his kindly and unfailing sympathy." Unhappily the effect was not in all cases permanent, as we shall hear.
"Do not answer this," wrote a Minister to Miss Nightingale; "for I am sure you must have more on your hands now than a Secretary of State." But what struck those about her was her perfect calm. "No one is so well fitted as she to do such work," wrote Lady Canning to Lady Stuart de Rothesay (Oct. 17); "she has such nerve and skill, and is so wise and quiet. Even now she is in no bustle and hurry, though so much is on her hands, and such numbers of people volunteer services." She had only one worry. Her pet owl had died. When her family were leaving Embley to see her off, the feeding of the owl was forgotten in the hurry and flurry. It was embalmed, and "the only tear its mistress shed through that tremendous week," says her sister, "was when I put the little body into her hands. 'Poor little beastie, it was odd how much I loved you.'"[76] For the rest, she was "as calm and composed in this furious haste," wrote her sister (Oct. 19), "with the War Office, the Military Medical Board, half the nurses in London to speak to, her own Committee and Institution, as if she were going out for a walk." She was quiet because, like Wordsworth's Happy Warrior, in the heat of excitement, she "kept the law in calmness made, and saw what she foresaw." Like the character drawn by another master-hand, "in the tumult she was tranquil," because she had pondered when at rest.