After inspecting the mess-kitchen, we retired, and thence went to the General Hospital. The doctor-in-chief not being there, we were shown round by a staff-doctor. I found the kitchen very dark, and badly built, for such a number of patients; but the distribution of food and the regulation of the same were on a much better footing than at the Barrack Hospital. On noticing this to the head cook, he gave the credit to Dr. O’Flaherty. Upon being introduced to that gentleman, I recognised him as one of my visitors in Dublin, at the same time as Brigadier-General Lord W. Paulet. I promised to have the kitchen altered as soon as it could possibly be done, and started for the Barrack Hospital to visit Miss Nightingale. As Signor Roco had settled his business, he left me and returned to Pera; consequently, I entered the great Barrack Hospital alone. The entrance was crowded with officers of rank and medical gentlemen. The High-street, facing the General’s quarters, was literally crammed with soldiers, more or less conscious of the state of warlike affairs. Most of them kept vandyking from the gin palace to their quarters, their red jackets forming a strange contrast to the quiet dress and solemn air of the Moslem soldiers upon duty.
After shaking hands with some officers and doctors whom I had the pleasure of knowing in England, I inquired of a sentry for Miss Nightingale’s apartment, which he at once pointed out to me. On my entering the ante-room, a Sœur de Charité, whom I addressed, informed me that somebody was with that lady. She added, “I am aware that Miss Nightingale wishes to see you, so I will let her know that you are here.” I hoped to have a few minutes to myself in order to take an observation of this sanctuary of benevolence; but my project was defeated by my being immediately admitted; and this compels me to trace this picture from memory.
Upon entering the room, I was saluted by a lady, and not doubting that this was our heroine, “Madam,” said I, “allow me to present my humble respects. I presume I have the honour of addressing Miss Nightingale.”
“Yes, sir. Monsieur Soyer, I believe?”
“The same, Madam.”
“Pray take a seat. I hear you had a rough voyage out.”
“Very much so, especially from Marseilles to Ajaccio.”
“So I heard, Monsieur Soyer.”
“I have brought several parcels and letters for you; among the latter, one from the Duchess of Sutherland.”
After having perused this epistle, Miss Nightingale remarked: “I believe her Grace is right; you will no doubt be able to render great service in the kitchen department.”
“For which I shall need the good-will and assistance of all the heads of this monster establishment; and I must beg, above all things, that you who have already done so much for the sick and the wounded, will be kind enough to give me the benefit of your valuable experience.”
“I will, Monsieur Soyer; but first of all, I should advise you to see Lord William Paulet, Dr. Cumming, and the Purveyor-in-Chief, Mr. Milton.”
“Many thanks for your kind advice. I had the pleasure of seeing Lord William yesterday, as well as Dr. Cumming. To Mr. Milton I shall pay my respects upon leaving you.”
“You had better do so; for the principal part of your business you will have to transact with those gentlemen.”
“A very excellent remark, which I shall not fail to attend to.”
“Another gentleman you must see in the purveyor’s department, is Mr. Tucker. You will then be able to commence operations.”
“Very true: I shall not think of commencing before I am well acquainted with every one in each department that has reference to the cooking. I shall submit every sample of diets, with a statement of the quantity and kind of ingredients of which they are composed, for the approval and opinion of the medical authorities; as I shall have to deal with patients, and not with epicures.
“Perfectly right,” said Miss Nightingale.
“That no time may be lost, I should very much like this afternoon to visit the kitchens now in use, inspect the stores, and procure a statement of the daily rations allowed to each patient, if I can have one of the inspectors to go round with me.”
“Certainly you can; I will send for somebody who will be happy to accompany you.”
“Perhaps you would favour us with your company, as I should be most happy to attend to any suggestion you might like to make.”
“I will go with you with great pleasure; but here comes Doctor Macgregor, the under-superintendent, who will be our guide. He told me that he had met you before.”
“Yes; we met yesterday at Lord William Paulet’s.”
“Doctor,” said Miss Nightingale, “Monsieur Soyer wishes you to accompany him round the various kitchens and store-rooms.”
“I will do that with the greatest pleasure; but he had better be introduced to Mr. Milton and to Mr. Tucker. Mr. Milton is out, but Mr. Tucker will do instead.”
Our visitorial pilgrimage then commenced. We first visited Miss Nightingale’s dietary kitchen, in which I immediately recognised the whole of the little camp batterie de cuisine which my friend Comte told me that the Duke of Cambridge had presented to the hospital. Justice was indeed done to it, for every separate article of which it was composed was in use. Miss Nightingale had a civilian cook as well as an assistant. Everything appeared in as good order as could be expected, considering what there was to be done. I noticed the very bad quality of the charcoal, which smoked terribly, and was nothing but dust. Of course, this interfered materially with the expedition of the cooking, which is a subject of vital importance in an hospital, where punctuality is as essential as quality. Addressing the Doctor, I said, “Suppose you have fifty or a hundred patients under your direction—according to the disease you vary the diet, and according to the state of the patient you vary the hour of his meal.”
“Of course we do.”
“Then, this defect, simple as it may appear, should be reported and immediately remedied.”
“The only excuse I can find for the rations and diets not being ready at the time required is entirely owing to the bad quality of the charcoal, which, as regards time, would deceive the best of cooks, and is quite sufficient to upset the best of culinary arrangements. However, I will take note of the various things which strike me as being out of order or bad, and this will give me a good chance of effecting an immediate improvement.”
“You are perfectly right,” said Miss Nightingale. “I assure you that Dumont, my cook, is always complaining of the charcoal, which, as you see, is so full of dust that it will not burn; and some days he cannot manage to cook at all with it.”
“Well, I will endeavour to remedy this great evil.”
“Doctor,” said Miss Nightingale, “you had better tell Monsieur Soyer to whom he is to apply in this matter.”
“Oh, Mr. Milton or Mr. Tucker will be able to give him the necessary information. We will now visit another.”
About half-way down the long corridor, we found another extra diet kitchen, managed by soldiers; but it was far from being in good order—on the contrary, all was in the greatest confusion. The kitchen was full of smoke, and everything was boiling too fast. In consequence of the bad quality of the charcoal, a wall of bricks had been raised round each stove, and thus wood and charcoal were used ad libitum, burning the rice-pudding, and over-doing everything. In fact, everything had the disagreeable flavour of being burnt. As I did not wish to alarm them, I merely remarked that the fire was too fierce; and, on the following morning, I took one of my men with me to teach them how to manage better.
We then visited several other kitchens, all of which were, more or less, in the same state. To this there was, however, a single exception, to which I must do justice by observing,