Part 2

The view was lovely, looking _over_ the banks of snowy-white clouds to the very blue sea, with the other islands in the distance, and behind us the grand old Peak.

The ride down (a different way) was rather perilous, the ponies jumping from rock to rock in a perfectly marvellous way, often just on the side of a precipice. But it was too much for some of our party, and they insisted upon walking down; and this rather delayed us, as they could not go nearly so fast, nor were they so sure-footed as the ponies.

We got in at 8 P.M., very tired and very sunburnt, but having enjoyed the day immensely; and our ponies were quite fresh, and wanted to gallop all the way directly they got on the road.

I don't think I have told you about the tree-frogs; they make such a noise after sundown you might think there were thousands of ducks quacking. A gentleman wanted to take some back to England with him; so one day we caught half-a-dozen for him, and they all escaped in our rooms! Such a hunt for them! And I could not finish telling you about Orotava without one word about the _fleas_. They are really a great trial, and seem to abound everywhere, especially in the carriages.

After various false alarms our little steamer, the _Fez_ (560 tons), arrived, and began to take in a cargo of pumice-stone. The solemn old oxen brought the carros for our baggage, and our many friends escorted us down to the jetty, where most of the Spanish population seemed to be collected to see us off.

It is always a difficult landing at Orotava, and the small ship's-boat gave us a good tossing before we were hauled up the gangway. It was rather horrid before we got away, and I was the only lady who was not sea-sick before the anchor was up!

Such a change from the _Ruapehu_! Just one very small saloon, and our cabins very tiny; no upper deck, and very little room on the main deck; of course, no doctor on board, and no stewardess. But it was only for a short time, we thought, and we were determined to make the best of things, and soon found there were compensations--namely, a charming captain, nice crew, and most attentive stewards. And very soon my small deck-chair was established on the bridge, and I learnt more about navigation than I should have learnt in years on a liner. There were twelve of us passengers (all people we knew), and twenty-two officers and crew; also a big dog, and a sheep who occasionally strolled into our cabins, until nearly the end of the voyage, when the meat hung up in the stern (there was no refrigerator on board) had run low, and then one day I saw a sheep's skin being washed over the side! There were also many noisy cocks and hens, and a few ducks; and, last but not least, swarms of rats! I had some sugar-cane in my cabin, and the rats rather fancied it; and when I threw things at them to make them go away, they would sit on the cabin doorstep to wash their faces and lick their lips!

We had lovely weather as far as Madeira. When we got there we found it was a public holiday, and we should have to stay three days, as there were 300 pipes of wine to be got on board, and the natives would not work on the holiday. This gave us a good opportunity to see the island, and it was very enjoyable. It is far more green than Tenerife, but I should say the climate, though very mild, is not nearly so dry.

The captain arranged a very nice trip for us to a part of the island that is not often visited by people who call only at Funchal.

We had to get up in the middle of the night, and go on board a small launch (that takes the mails round the island) at 2.30 A.M. It was beautiful moonlight, and Funchal looked very pretty as we steamed away round the great Loo Rock. We reached Caliette at 5 A.M., and had to whistle for some time before the people woke up and brought a small boat out for us.

They made us some coffee, and we had breakfast, and then got into hammocks slung on long poles; and two men carried us up and up the hills till we came to a weird tunnel, which we went through by the light of pine-torches, and emerged in the most grand scenery--rugged hills and beautiful waterfalls, such very vivid greenery everywhere. And amongst all the semi-tropical vegetation we came upon one bed of English forget-me-nots that was most refreshing.

We lunched and rested for some time by a beautiful waterfall, called, I think, "Rabacal"; and then going down it was very hot, and, in spite of the steepness of the paths, some of us slept in the hammocks as we jogged along. The men carried us about twenty-five miles in the course of the day, and did not seem at all tired. But there was a little competition to carry me, as I was the lightest of the party! We got back to Funchal about 9 P.M., and were quite ready for bed.

Owing to this delay at Madeira (on account of the general holiday) the voyage is taking much longer than usual, and by the time we get in--or hope to get in--we shall be fourteen days out from Orotava, instead of the five days we took from London to Santa Cruz. In consequence of this the provisions are running rather low, and a few things have quite run out; but I have enjoyed the voyage immensely.

Before I return home, I hope to visit two or three Children's Hospitals in London, to be interviewed by the matrons, so as to settle where I will go to begin training. I am not old enough for admission to a General Hospital yet.

IV

CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL, LONDON, _June 1891_.

I thought I would wait till I had been here three months before writing to tell you of my raw probationer days. At first it was all so very new to me that it seemed very, very hard; and I really think that, if it had not been for the fact that one of my brothers had bet me that I should give it up in a fortnight, I should have done so in the first week. But I rarely bet, and when I do, I like to win! And having had to wait so many years before I could persuade a matron that I was old enough and strong enough, I really could not lightly give it up.

By the end of my month on trial I began to feel my way, and was quite certain that I wished to stay on if they would keep me; and though they were not enthusiastic in telling me my services were invaluable, their only cause of complaint appeared to be that I was slow. So they were graciously pleased to accept my fifty-two guineas (in instalments), and for that sum to allow me the privilege of working hard and fast for an average of eleven hours a day (paying for my own laundry, and buying my own uniform) for the period of one year.

I don't think I was slow in attending to the children; but at first a very large part of one's time is taken up with cleaning and housemaiding--sweeping, dusting, scrubbing, polishing the brass taps and bed-knobs, and washing the children's pinafores and bibs, &c.

When I began, I hardly knew the difference between a broom and a scrubbing-brush. I knew nothing of the labour-saving properties of soda and Hudson's soap, and I don't think I had ever dusted a room; so I did not know how fond the dust was of collecting on the top of screens and pictures and window-ledges, and it took me time to discover these things.

At home our breakfast-hour had always been 9 A.M., and, except for a day's hunting, there were very few things that excited my interest before that hour; so I expected to find it difficult to have had my breakfast and to be ready to go on duty at 7 A.M. But in looking back upon my first week in hospital, the thing that impressed itself upon me more than the trouble of early rising was the fact that during that first month I was always hungry! I have got over the difficulty now, as a weekly parcel of "tuck" arrives from home; and when this comes to an end, I buy some potted-meat or (if funds are low) some plain chocolate to carry on till the next parcel arrives. Nearly all the nurses either have food sent, or else buy a good deal. Of course I did not know this would be necessary, and had not got money at first. And there are a few nurses who cannot afford to buy, but of course we share with them.

Dinner is at 6 P.M., and that is the best meal of the day, as the Matron sometimes comes to it; so the meat is generally well cooked. It is always a scramble to get lunch some time between ten and twelve, and it is not interesting--just chunks of cold meat, and (every other day) bread-and-treacle. Our butter is issued to us twice a week--¼ lb. in a little tin mug--and we have to carry this mug about, for meals in the dining-hall and in the ward kitchen, for as long as it lasts. But if you don't keep a sharp eye on your mug, it often becomes empty in the first day or two, and you stand a good chance of having to eat dry bread for the days before the new butter is put out. I very much dislike coffee; but there is nothing else provided for breakfast but coffee and a loaf of stale bread, and our own butter (if we have any left), so we don't seem to start the day very well. For the rest, we make tea twice a day in the ward kitchens, and can use the ward bread. If funds are high and the lunch bad, we sometimes indulge in rashers of bacon; sometimes on Sunday we have a sausage or two; but it is more usual to fill in the cracks with tea and cake.

Up to now I have been working in a medical ward of twenty-one cots. The sister has charge of a surgical ward as well, and I think she prefers the surgical work; so we don't see very much of her, except when the physicians go round, or when we have very bad cases in. I like her very well, but she is rather stiff; and most of the information I am picking up is from the staff nurse and from the house physician, who is most kind in explaining the reasons for the various symptoms we notice in the cases, and what results he hopes for in the treatment he prescribes.

We had a very sad case in the other day. A working man brought in a little chap of two, called Stanley, very ill with pneumonia and rickets. He said his wife was in another hospital (for an operation), and he had to go to work and leave all his children in charge of the eldest, a boy of ten; and his wife had been so very ill he had had to go to see her in the evenings, and so had not noticed how ill Stanley was. At first he kept holding out his arms to me, and calling in such a piteous little voice, "Lady, lady"; but he soon got quite contented, only every day weaker and weaker. His quiet, patient father came every evening and sat by him, and his mother was to come to see him as soon as ever she was well enough; but the poor woman was too late, and when early one morning she arrived in a cab with a nurse from the hospital, he had just been carried down to the mortuary, and we could only take her to see him lying there, looking very sweet, with some white lilies in his hand.

Then we have dear Philip in. He is tubercular, and _such_ a pretty boy; but I think he is too good to live. I am afraid his mother drinks, and he has a rough time of it at home; but his father is a very nice man. Here we all spoil him, as he is really very ill, but is always so patient and bright. He has a mop of brown curls and the smile of an angel. He is one of the few children of the slums who always insists upon kneeling up to say his prayers; and though sometimes he has so little breath to spare that I have to say the words for him, he just kneels there and smiles when I get hold of the words he wants to help him out.

As a contrast, another of my patients was Samuel Abraham, the very ugliest little scrap of skin and bones you ever saw. When he came in he was seven months old, and weighed only eight pounds. He was in for six weeks, and absolutely refused to put on a single ounce. Then every one got tired of Samuel, and as I had not had a turn at feeding him, he was handed over to me; and, more by good luck than by good management, he began to improve, and at the end of my first week he had put on six ounces, and since then he has steadily gained in weight, and begins to look more like a baby than a monkey. He went home the other day, and I wonder much whether his poor mother will be able to rear him, as I am sure he will miss the hourly attention he has had here. We should have kept him longer; but we had three cases of scarlet fever, and they had to be sent to the Fever Hospital, and all the children who could be moved had to go home, and the ward will be sulphured. But I am writing this letter as I sit in the bare ward beside one poor little boy called Jackie, who is so desperately ill with meningitis that they don't like to move him. It is a curious case. Jackie belongs to well-to-do people, and his illness was caused by a fall out of a mail-cart. His head is so retracted that it really nearly touches his buttocks, and he lies in a stiff backward bow. He is quite unconscious, and I have to feed him with a nasal tube; his temperature goes up to 104 and 105.

At first I was rather nervous at being "special" with him, as I have been here only three months, and I have never seen a case like this before; and the sister may not come in to see me, as she has to go into the surgical ward, and we may still be infectious. But of course I can ask her advice about anything, and the house physician comes in twice a day, and is most kind. He assures me no one could possibly do more for Jackie than I am doing. I think he will be moved to a small ward to-morrow (if he lives so long), and then I expect I shall have to disinfect, and very likely go to a surgical ward.

V

CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL, LONDON, _November 1891_.

I know it is a long time since my last letter to you, but really the days are so full of work there seems to be no peace for letters; and at night one is so weary that, after a wrestle to obtain a bath, one feels fit for nothing but bed. And when I get to bed I feel obliged to take my anatomy and physiology books and do a little study, as the residents are very good about giving us lectures, and I should hate not to do decently in the exams.

I think when I last wrote we had just closed the medical ward (whose Sister had had the honour of beginning my hospital education), and after a few hours off duty I was sent up to a surgical ward on the top floor, next door to the theatre.

I went up rather in fear and trembling, as it was noted for being the hardest ward in the hospital--as the nurses were responsible for the theatre as well--and I didn't see how I could squeeze more work into the days than I had been doing on the medical side. But I received a nice welcome from the sister, and soon found that she was one of the best. She didn't wait for us to do things wrong, and then scold us; but she took pains to show us the _best_ way to do them, and then woe betide those who didn't do their best!

I shall always remember my second morning up there, when she said, "Nurse, your bathroom looks very smart and nice." It was the first time a Sister had given me a word of praise, and from that day I didn't mind how hard I worked to please her. There was a different atmosphere about that ward, and I soon felt better in it. The children, too, were a more cheery set. Some of them were very ill; but we did not get the poor little "wasting" babies, and it was very seldom we had a child who minded a noise, so that the boys (at certain hours of the day) could be allowed to sing all the popular songs of the day; and they were a very merry crew. Many people think it must be very depressing to see so many sick children; but, as a matter of fact, the children have very little pain--or, at any rate, only for a very short time--and many of them are enjoying a better time than they have had in their lives before. They are kept clean and warm, and have plenty of good food and plenty of toys to play with, and people who understand them when they have a pain, even when they can't explain where it is.

There have been many changes since I came here. Several nurses who came after I did have already left, and one has gone away ill. I had been in the surgical ward only a fortnight when I was unlucky enough to pick up influenza, and was sent to bed, with another nurse, in a small quarantine-room up above the measles ward. They were rather suspicious as to whether we had scarlet fever, as there was still some in the hospital; so no one was supposed to visit us except the home sister. Her visits were few and far between. Poor thing, she was stout, and the stairs were many! We both felt pretty bad with high temperatures, and should have come off badly for attention if it had not been for the "measles nurse," who had only two convalescent children, and she used to break the rules and come up to look after us. One day she had run up with an offering of buttered toast, when we heard a door open downstairs, and _felt_ that the Matron was coming. Nurse vanished into our little kitchen-pantry; but there was no escape from that without passing our wide-open door, and, besides, the Matron was sure to call upon the measles ward on her way downstairs. The buttered toast was stowed away under the bed-clothes, and we were trying to be calm and answer Matron's enquiries as to our health, when we heard a rattling of the hand-lift on which our food was sent up from the kitchen, and we realised that nurse had determined to crawl into that, and so descend to her post of duty. With much alarm we heard the lift go down, and trembled lest the unaccustomed weight should cause it to go down with a run. Matron must have thought us very distrait; but we pleaded severe headaches--a plea that was true enough--and she soon went away, "hoping we should shortly be fit for duty again." We were very thankful when nurse appeared to report her safety, with nothing worse than a crushed cap and a crumpled apron, which had been severely commented upon by the Matron.

They were short of nurses, so as soon as I could get about I went on duty again, and had a nice welcome back to my ward. But it happened to be very heavy just then with several small babies, and two of them had hare-lips that had been operated upon, and it was most important that they should not be allowed to cry at all. So one evening I was sitting in the ward cleaning some instruments that had been used in the theatre for a nasty case of mastoid abscess, and one of these babies began to whimper. I jumped up to subdue it, and in doing so I had the bad luck to prick my thumb. The baby soon settled down again, and then Sister came in and cleaned and dressed my thumb; but in a few days I was in for a badly poisoned hand, and it had to be opened in several places by the house surgeon. He wanted me to be off duty, and out-of-doors as much as possible; so Sister arranged to give me some extra off-duty time, and was awfully kind in doing part of my work for me. But when she told Matron about it, Matron said, "Nurse has been off duty over a week with influenza. If she has to go off again, she had better go home and stop there, as she is not strong enough for the work." But Sister didn't want me to go, and fortunately the ward was getting lighter, and I could keep the babies quiet even with my arm in a sling; so I did what I could, and was sent into the kitchen when the visiting surgeon went round, lest he should order me away. The house surgeon was furious with the Matron about it, but he looked after me well, and though my arm was very painful for a fortnight, and allowed me very little sleep, it soon improved. But my thumb is still stiff and unbendable, and the house surgeon is afraid it will always be so, as he had to cut into it so deeply.

I must tell you about a quaint child we had in about that time. She was a little Irish girl called Kathleen, with a mop of red hair and a pretty little face, but with very crossed eyes. Kathleen was five years old, but had never walked, as her legs were badly deformed; but she got about at a great pace on the floor in a style of her own invention. You never quite knew where you were with Kathleen. She had a very sharp temper; but she was devoted to Sister, and was obedient to me. But any directions given to her as to her behaviour by other nurses were received with scorn and entirely ignored; and if Sister and I happened to be off duty together, on our return we generally had to remonstrate with the child for some piece of naughtiness, and then she would soon be sobbing and penitent.

One day I was off in the afternoon, and when tea-time came Kathleen was missing. They searched everywhere for her; and Matron, who happened to pass, joined in the search. Eventually she was found shut up in the Sisters' dining hall, very much engaged with the food-cupboard. The butter had all gone, so had most of the sugar, some of the biscuits, and, when discovered, she was just drinking up the vinegar with relish. Matron remarked, "A good toffee mixture!" And then she spent half-an-hour trying to make the child say she was sorry, but without success; so she smacked her, and sent her to bed! On my return, of course, I had an account of Kathleen's misdoings, and thought it better to take no notice of her. All the evening as I did my work the little white-faced thing sat up in her cot watching me go up and down the ward, with her poor crooked eyes quite dry; but when the children were all settled for the night and the lights turned down, I went to her, and she flung her arms round my neck and sobbed out, "I _am_ sorry, and I won't do it never no more. But I wasn't sorry to that woman, and I don't care if she does smack me; but I shall tell my mother when I go home." Then I lifted her out of her cot to warm her toes by the fire, and after a long talk I extracted a promise that she would tell Matron she was sorry next day; and in a very few minutes she was fast asleep.

I expect that I shall be moved from this ward very soon, and I shall be very sorry. The work is hard and fast, but Sister works as hard as we do; so we are very happy together, and I feel I am getting on.

I have got used to the theatre work too, and (after much labour) have learnt the names of all the instruments in common use, so that I can hand them as they are asked for; and sometimes I am trusted to put out what I think will be required for an operation, and when Sister looks them over she doesn't often find anything missing.

VI

CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL, LONDON, _March 1892_.

Soon after I last wrote I was sent down to the Out-Patients' Department--quite a different kind of work, and I shouldn't like it for long, but it was interesting for a time.

The numbers vary a great deal. From fifty to a hundred children may be brought up in one day, and many of them require small dressings to be attended to. Then, on two afternoons in the week, the surgeons do small operations; and sometimes there are half-a-dozen children all recovering from anæsthetics at the same time, and all requiring to be carefully watched.

There is a dear old Sister in charge, and one afternoon a week we go out together to visit any special hip cases that are being treated in their own homes, after having been in-patients here. _Such_ slums we sometimes have to go to; and yet it is wonderful how nicely the poor mothers keep these children when they are just shown the right way. We have one jolly little chap, who has been for two months in an extension apparatus rigged up on a big perambulator, with the weight hanging over the handle. He has improved so much that they will soon wheel him up in his bed-carriage, and I think the doctor will then sign his release from the extension.