'It is a very feeling
letter,' said the men.
And so the months passed, and that fell winter which had begun
with Inkerman and had dragged itself out through the long agony
of the investment of Sebastopol, at last was over. In May, 1855,
after six months of labour, Miss Nightingale could look with
something like satisfaction at the condition of the Scutari
hospitals. Had they done nothing more than survive the terrible
strain which had been put upon them, it would have been a matter
for congratulation; but they had done much more than that-- they
had marvellously improved. The confusion and the pressure in the
wards had come to an end; order reigned in them, and cleanliness;
the supplies were bountiful and prompt; important sanitary works
had been carried out. One simple comparison of figures was enough
to reveal the extraordinary change: the rate of mortality among
the cases treated had fallen from forty-two percent to twenty-two
per 1,000. But still, the indefatigable lady was not satisfied.
The main problem had been solved-- the physical needs of the men
had been provided for; their mental and spiritual needs remained.
She set up and furnished reading-rooms and recreation rooms. She
started classes and lectures. Officers were amazed to see her
treating their men as if they were human beings, and assured her
that she would only end by 'spoiling the brutes'.
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