20:08 (Constantinople Time)
Thursday, June 1, 1854 ‘A’
Port of Varna, on the Black Sea
Bulgaria
“Look at all this activity, all these diverse costumes and uniforms!” Wondered Fanny Duberly while leaning against the ship’s side and looking down at the crowded quay. Her husband Henry, standing besides her in his Hussar’s uniform, nodded his head and took her gently by the waist.
“You wanted adventure and travel, dear? Enjoy them before the killing starts. The captain told me that we will wait until tomorrow morning to unload most of our animals and supplies, except for a small reconnaissance party that will find and delimit a campsite for the regiment.”
“Can we at least go down on the quay and do a small walk around town, Henry? I’m sick and tired of being on this ship.”
Henry smiled in sympathy at that: the five-week sea trip had been hard and uncomfortable, to say the least.
“That we can do, dear. Let me just advise Major Henry first.”
The paymaster was back a few minutes later as a small group of cavalrymen was riding off the ship through a large cargo ramp running down from a hull side opening. Fanny watched go out in succession Major Henry, Captain Heneage, Captain Smythe, RSM O’Neil and Jeanne Smythe, the latter driving her light cart and with Doctor Farrell sitting by her side on the bench seat. Jeanne was wearing her equipment vest, something that prompted Fanny to question her husband.
“Henry, what do you think of a woman who goes around armed to the teeth?”
Henry replied slowly while following the reconnaissance party with his eyes.
“Normally, not much good, Fanny. However, that French woman is anything but normal. You saw her during saber and pistol practice, right?”
“Did I ever!” Replied Fanny while rolling her eyes. “If she would have been a man, she would be recognized as fencing champion of the regiment. As for her pistol shooting, I’m not sure that anyone in Europe can equal her.”
Henry nodded and looked at Fanny with a strange expression.
“Correct, dear. That is not all, however.”
“By God, isn’t that enough already? I’m getting jealous of her abilities as it is.”
“Well, you remember that mid-March newspaper article about Captain Smythe killing or wounding four bandits in Hyde Park while walking with Lady Jeanne?”
“How could I forget it? It earned him a round of toasts at the Officers’ Mess on his return to Winchester.”
“Yes, and I went to congratulate him privately afterwards about that. The problem was that, instead of being flattered, he became deeply embarrassed and revealed a secret to me on the condition that I didn’t repeat it to anyone. Captain Smythe didn’t kill or wound those bandits: Lady Jeanne did.”
Fanny was struck speechless for a moment, staring at her husband with utter disbelief.
“That I can’t believe, Henry! No woman could do that, ever, especially when considering that one of the bandits was a murderer and a man considered very dangerous.”
“Think what you want, dear.” Replied softly Henry, shrugging. “Let’s forget this for the moment and let’s take a nice walk.”
Taking the arm he offered her, Fanny followed eagerly Henry down the gangway and onto the quay. They had to make their way through a crowd of sweating soldiers and local workers busy unloading cannon balls, shells and other supplies from the ships moored to the quay. Finally setting foot on the shore, the couple hesitated on which way to go until Henry decided to follow a party of French Army officers down a main street of the port.
Even if the town was a dirty, impoverished one, Fanny found pleasure in being able to walk around and escape the crowded, smelly confines of the H.M.S. SANS PAREIL. It also thrilled her to see such various accoutrements and hear so many languages in one place. In the street they were walking along, Fanny could detail French Zouave soldiers from Algeria, North African Spahi cavalrymen, Ottoman soldiers from Egypt, Tunisia and Albania and even irregular Muslim volunteer cavalrymen called Bashi-Bazouks. She had a glimpse of one of those bearded, ragged men sitting under a porch and caressing the exposed breasts of an equally ragged camp follower, oblivious of the passing humanity around him. Henry saw Fanny scandalized expression then and grinned in amusement.
“War can’t be all work and no fun, dear.”
“Maybe,” replied his wife with a frown, “but don’t count on me undressing in public like this wretch.”
“Oh, I’m not asking for that much.”
That remark earned Henry a light slap on the back of his head and a snub for the next few minutes. The couple soon had to cut their promenade short, though, as it was quickly getting dark. On their return to the ship, they found out that the reconnaissance party was staying overnight at the regimental campsite. Hoping that this would be her last night in their cramped ship’s cabin for at least a few weeks, Fanny changed to a night gown and went to bed. She nearly protested at Henry’s eagerness when he cupped her right breast with one hand as soon as she lay besides him. However, the feeling that his fingers quickly arose in her nipple then reminded her that being married had its advantages too.
08:21 (Constantinople Time)
Friday, June 2, 1854 ‘A’
H.M.S. SANS PAREIL
Port of Varna, Bulgaria
“WOAH, BOB! CALM DOWN!”
It took Henry’s firm hands to get Fanny’s horse back under control, so excited the beast was. Most of the horses about to be disembarked were similarly agitated, anxious to be free from the confines of the ship. Only the pack mules stayed manageable. While waiting for their turn to disembark, the Duberlys watched Captain Tomkinson’s A Troop file off the ship, followed by B Troop, led by Lieutenant Wells. The Quartermaster Troop was last off the ship, with the medical wagon closing the procession. Driven expertly by Misses Champion, the big vehicle was transporting as well Misses Ward and Pearson, plus five other regimental wives who had no means of transport of their own. From what Jeanne Smythe had told her during their sea voyage about the conditions to expect in Varna, Fanny suspected that those women would not stay inactive for long. Her heart pounding with excitement, she spurred her horse to a trot, following Henry’s horse through the narrow streets of the port.
The regimental camp turned out to be a barren, rocky expanse of ground measuring about 200 yards to the side and surrounded on three sides by camps for other cavalry regiments. The free side ran along a small stream, which shoreline was lined at fifty yards intervals with bright signs mounted on pickets. Intrigued by these, Fanny galloped to the stream and examined one of the signs, reading it aloud.
“Fresh water source. No urinating, defecating or throwing of waste of any kind within fifty yards of the water. By order of Regimental Surgeon.”
Looking next around her, Fanny saw Jeanne Smythe’s cart near one corner of the campsite, with the French woman hard at work nearby digging a hole with pick and shovel. The medical wagon pulled to a halt near Jeanne’s cart as Fanny stopped her horse besides the French woman and dismounted. Wearing a light sleeveless shirt, a riding skirt and cavalry boots, Jeanne was already sweating in the rising heat of the day as she was shoveling dirt out of a waist-deep hole. Jeanne smiled up at Fanny while continuing her work.
“Good morning, Fanny. It’s going to be a hot day.”
“It certainly will. What are you doing?”
“Digging a latrine for us women. Maybe our example will push our men into respecting some camp sanitation rules.”
“Uh, I supposed that you are planning something to hide us from the hundreds of men that will camp around us.”
“Of course! I will erect a small bell tent around it that will also protect us from rain. Another tent will be reserved for female bathing and washing.”
“Jeanne, you’re a genius!” Said Fanny enthusiastically. “Can I help?”
Jeanne looked at Fanny’s ankle-length fine city dress, tunic, embroidered blouse and fancy hat before smiling apologetically to her.
“I appreciate the offer, Fanny, but aren’t you kind of overdressed for the job?”
Fanny had one quick look at herself and realized that Jeanne was right.
“Damn! I didn’t think about bringing informal work clothes with me.”
Jeanne’s smile faded then as she looked with concern at Fanny.
“Did you at least bring warm winter clothes?”
“That I did.” Answered Fanny sheepishly. “At first I thought that your were being over pessimistic about the length of this war. Then I changed my mind.”
Jeanne stopped shoveling for a moment, resting on her shovel as she stared seriously at her friend.
“May I ask what changed your mind?”
“Maybe the way you always seem to be ahead of the rest of us in so many things.”
Fanny looked downright embarrassed now as she looked down at Jeanne.
“Jeanne, at first I thought that you were some kind of rich eccentric with mental delusions. After watching you for a few weeks, I now realize that you mean business, deadly serious business. In fact, I’m starting to have more confidence in you than in many of our officers. I wish I knew how you ended up the way your are, though.”
Jeanne was thoughtful for a moment, then spoke quietly.
“Put it on years of adversity, hard training and continuous self-education. War is also an old acquaintance of mine. Sometimes I watch those so-called officers who bought their ranks instead of earning them and am tempted to push them aside and show them how it’s done. However, I do not wish to become too conspicuous, something that would hinder my job of helping the sick and the wounded and could also hurt my husband’s career. For that same reason I would ask you to not include me in your journal. The less known I stay, the better.”
“How do you know that I am writing a journal?” Asked Fanny, surprised. “Only my husband knows about it.”
“Fanny, just assume that I somehow know more than I should and accept me as I am.”
Fanny looked at Jeanne suspiciously for a moment, then nodded her head slowly.
“Alright, I will, but you are the strangest friend I ever had.”
“Thanks, Fanny!” Replied happily Jeanne before resuming her digging work.
11:18 (Constantinople Time)
8th Hussars campsite, Varna
Henry Duberly smiled with amusement when he found his wife Fanny down to her blouse and skirt and digging a narrow ditch around a rectangular tent with the help of Misses Ward. The seven other women from the medical party were busy erecting another big rectangular tent about twenty yards away, isolated from the other tents around it. Fanny stopped digging long enough to accept a kiss from Henry, who then looked at the grounds occupied by the medical section. Apart from the big medical wagon, with its rear and side tents already deployed, five large rectangular tents were either already up or about to be erected around the wagon. The tents were not of the regulation army bell tent model and, apart from being more spacious, were made of much sturdier, better quality fabric than the army-issued ones, having been procured in London by Jeanne Smythe. Two of the tents, including the one Fanny was busy surrounding with a ditch, flanked each side of the medical wagon, while the three others were each twenty yards from it and well separated. Two solid poles were firmly planted in the ground near the wagon, to which were attached four horses and five mules. One of the horses was ‘Bob’, fanny’s mount, while another was Jeanne Smythe’s personal horse. The remaining horses were those for the medical wagon. Near the horse poles was parked the small wooden baggage trailer that had been towed behind the medical wagon. Of conventional construction, in contrast to the medical wagon and cart, that two-wheeled covered cart had been bought in Winchester and quickly modified so that it could be towed by the medical wagon. Overall, the regimental ambulance section now had a mobility and degree of self-sufficiency that the rest of the army could only envy.
“By God!” Exclaimed Henry admiringly while looking around him. “I wish that the regimental quartermaster be this well equipped and organized. That Jeanne Smythe would have made a first class quartermaster if a man.”
Those words made Fanny look dubiously at him.
“You know, Henry, I’m starting to think that us women are not so weak and dependant of men after all.”
She then swept one arm towards the crowd of cavalry soldiers surrounding them.
“Look at those idiots! While the medical section is nearly finished setting up, with no thanks to men, our good officers have been busy all morning shouting useless orders around, harassing their men and wasting everybody’s time. The tent lines have been moved and realigned three times already and not a single latrine or cooking tent has been set up yet.”
Henry blushed under the vehement but well deserved criticism from his wife: the utter lack of field experience of many of the regiment’s officers was already becoming painfully obvious, attracting bitter comments from experienced troopers. What he had come to tell Fanny was thus all the more embarrassing to say.
“Uh, I’m afraid that I have two bad news for you, Fanny.”
“Not concerning us directly, I hope?”
“One, yes. I have been assigned a tent. The problem is that three other junior officers are sharing it with me.”
“WHAT?” Shouted Fanny, getting angry. “And where am I supposed to sleep?”
“I don’t know yet, dear. The quartermaster has not come around yet to assigning tents to women.”
Margaret Ward, who had been discreetly listening on, then cut in politely.
“If I may, Misses Duberly, we have plenty of space left in the women’s tent. You are most welcome to move in if you wish so.”
“Hell, I think that I will do just that.” Replied Fanny while staring down her husband. “So, what is that other bad news you were bringing, dear?”
Wincing at the sarcastic way she had pronounced the word ‘dear’, Henry braced himself as he answered her.
“Well, C and D Troops have arrived, along with the Headquarters Troop, but they have no means of transportation for their baggage and supplies. The quartermaster, Captain McGregor, sent me to see if the doctor would be willing to spare his mules for the day in order to help.”
Fanny and Margaret exchanged a knowing look then.
“Henry,” replied Fanny with an exasperated tone, “you can tell Captain McGregor that he will get an answer after lunch: Doctor Farrell and Lady Jeanne have gone into town to talk with French Army doctors and to procure supplies. Those mules are the private property of Jeanne Smythe and she has a letter signed by Lord Raglan himself certifying that the equipment and animals of the medical section cannot be requisitioned without her tacit agreement. Talking of lunch, what is on the regiment’s menu for noon?”
Fanny didn’t like the way Henry tucked his head in like a turtle at her question.
“Nothing yet, dear: the cooks and their rations are still stuck aboard the ship. We were hoping for your mules to bring some ration biscuits to the men.”
Margaret Ward could barely contain her laughter as Fanny Duberly bent down and leaned on her pick, looking totally discouraged.
“God, is this regiment an army unit or a traveling circus act?”
“Hey,” protested weakly Henry, “you should see the other regiments.”
“I don’t want to know!”
Fanny’s eyes then focused at something in the distance.
“Well, you are in luck after all: here is Jeanne’s cart back from town.”
Looking in the same direction, Henry saw the ambulance cart coming effectively towards them, with Jeanne Smythe and Doctor Farrell sitting in the front. He didn’t like the glum look on their faces as they got nearer. Stopping her cart besides the medical wagon, Jeanne then jumped down from it with commendable agility and faced Henry and Fanny.
“I’m afraid that we have bad news: cholera cases have developed in the French camps. Our men may become infected soon.”
Everybody around Jeanne stiffened at the name of the dreaded killer disease. Fanny then looked at young Doctor Farrell, whose face reflected preoccupation.
“The best thing for us to do now is to prevent its spread through sound camp sanitation and quarantine of the sick. For the sick, we can only help them by combating dehydration, cleaning them up and keeping down the fever. Jeanne gave me a few good ideas about how to do this best.”
All eyes then turned to Jeanne, who spoke slowly.
“Don’t get this wrong, people. Cholera is a nasty, merciless disease. We probably will be swamped with patients emptying themselves constantly by both ends all over the place and who could die within hours of showing the first symptoms. We can help fight dehydration, the most dangerous aspect of cholera, by constantly giving to the sick a solution of water and minerals. A light broth or soup could do. Thankfully, the medical wagon contains a good supply of bed pans and bed sheets that will help us keep the quarantine tent clean. The washing to be done will however be backbreaking, continuous work. One crucial point: everything used to treat cholera victims will have to be washed, then disinfected by boiling. Another important point is to safeguard our fresh water supply from infection. No human waste must touch the stream passing through this camp, or we will all be infected. Our next big piece of work will be to dig a sewer pit away from the river, in which we will throw all the infected waste, plus quicklime at regular intervals. I will direct the work this afternoon while Doctor Farrell alerts Lord Paget and the surgeons of the other regiments of the brigade.”
Henry Duberly looked gravely at Jeanne as she spoke: Doctor Farrell may officially be in charge of the regimental ambulance but there was no mistaking who was in real control. Everything that Jeanne had said however made good, solid sense and cholera was too serious a matter to start petty power games now.
“Misses Smythe, I will talk to Captain McGregor about this to see how he can help you. I however have a pressing request from him. Could you spare your five mules so that the essential rations and supplies can be unloaded from our ships?”
Jeanne shook her head dejectedly before looking back at Henry.
“Hurrah for the Commissariat’s usual incompetence! Tell Captain McGregor that he can have my mules for today, but remind him that there is a big string attached to them. In the meantime, us girls will take a well deserved lunch.”
“You have rations with you?” Asked Henry, both surprised and envious. Jeanne gave him a dubious look, then went to the back of her cart and unloaded a number of wicker baskets, opening them and exposing their content.
“Alright, girls, we have fresh bread, cheese, hard-boiled eggs, smoked beef sausages and red wine. Let’s set the table!”
Henry Duberly shrank under the sarcastic look Fanny then gave him. It became even more stinging when Jeanne went back to the cart and took out of it a live lamb.
“By the way, I also secured our supper. If any of you girls want to, you can bring your husbands a portion then.”
“Hmm, I’ll think about it.” Said Fanny, grabbing one of the baskets and bringing it inside the rear tent of the medical wagon.
08:36 (Constantinople Time)
Saturday, June 3, 1854 ‘A’
8th Hussars camp
Varna, Bulgaria
Fanny Duberly woke up to find herself alone in the women’s tent, now well lit by daylight. She could hear outside the usual noises of an army bivouac: shouted orders; the sound of marching feet and horses hoofs; the clicking of weapons and the conversations of idle soldiers. With her muscles stiff from yesterday’s digging work, she rose from the folding camp cot lent to her by Jeanne and quickly dressed, putting on her most informal gown, which was however still overly fancy for rugged outdoors work. She emerged from the tent, intent on using the women’s latrine, only to nearly bump into a bearded man wearing civilian clothes who was gawking at the medical wagon nearby. The man, who looked in his late thirties, quickly took off his cap and bowed politely.
“I’m sorry for being in the way, madam. Let me present myself: William Howard Russell, correspondent for The Times of London.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir.” Replied Fanny politely but now on her guard. “My name is Fanny Duberly, wife of the paymaster of the 8th Hussars. May I help you?”
“You may, madam.” Said Russell, then pointing at the medical wagon. “This is a most ingenious design. Do you know how long it has been in army service?”
“In fact I do, sir. It was introduced into Hussars’ service on April ninth of this year, but you won’t find any other similar wagon in the army.”
“Oh, why? Is the design flawed?”
Fanny couldn’t help grin as she managed her effects on the journalist, who had taken out a pencil and a notepad.
“Not at all! This wagon is the best I ever saw. It was actually designed specifically for the regimental ambulance by Lady Jeanne Smythe, the wife of one of our officers. She paid for it from her own pocket, her being a rich woman. She gave it as a gift to the regiment to replace the old ambulance wagon that had been smashed in an accident.”
“That is mighty generous of this Lady Smythe. I… wait! Did you say that she designed it as well as pay for it?”
“I did.” Answered Fanny, smiling at Russell’s surprise. “She also volunteered as field nurse and ambulance driver. Would you like to speak with her?”
“Very much so, madam.” Said eagerly the journalist while scribbling on his notepad. He then followed Fanny inside the medical wagon’s rear tent, where they found Doctor Farrell disinfecting his instruments with rubbing alcohol and a clean piece of cloth.
“Aah, Doctor Farrell! May I present you Mister William Russell, correspondent of The Times of London?”
“How do you do, sir?” Said timidly the young doctor while shaking hands with Russell. “I suppose that you would like a tour of the medical section.”
“I would, sir, but I was also hoping to speak to a Lady Jeanne Smythe.”
Farrell then shrugged and smiled apologetically.
“I’m afraid that you are out of luck today, sir: she left early this morning with Misses Ward, one of our assistant nurses, on a three-day trip to the town of Burgas, fifty miles to the South, to get additional supplies.”
“Three days?” Said Russell dejectedly. He however regained quickly his composure and smiled to Farrell. “Well, how about that tour of your section then, Doctor?”
“I will be glad to oblige, sir.” Replied Farrell while packing away his surgical instruments.
09:26 (Constantinople Time)
Quarantine tent, medical section
Russell nodded his head in approval, writing notes down quickly as Doctor Farrell finished describing the equipment of the quarantine tent, the last stop of the guided tour. By now the journalist was both jubilant and angry: jubilant that someone was at last doing the job right; angry that the rest of the army wasn’t like this regimental ambulance. Thanking the frail doctor and shaking his hand, Russell waited until Farrell was back into his medical wagon, then went quickly to the laundry tent, where a young blond woman was washing clothes. The woman, whom he had met earlier during the tour, had seemed eager to be interviewed and have her name mentioned. Mary Pearson effectively appeared pleased when Russell entered the tent. Starting with a few questions concerning her, the journalist waited until she was warmed up to get into his real subject of interest.
“…and you were then hired by Lady Jeanne Smythe, right?”
“Correct, sir.”
“Do you know this Lady Jeanne well, Misses Pearson?”
That made the young blonde giggle.
“Know her well? Not really, but you wouldn’t believe the stories about her. Take the time when she did saber practice with the officers of the regiment…”
11:08 (Constantinople Time)
Tuesday, June 6, 1854 ‘A’
8th Hussars camp
Varna, Bulgaria
Fanny Duberly was kneeling in front of a wooden tub full of soapy water, washing one of Henry’s shirt, when Mary Pearson ran into the laundry tent and shouted excitedly.
“Jeanne and Margaret are back! Their cart is approaching the camp.”
Dropping the shirt in the tub and hurriedly drying her hands with the white apron she wore over her dress, Fanny ran outside and looked south across the shallow stream flowing through the camp. Her heart jumped when she saw Jeanne’s ambulance cart, now less than 400 yards away and with Jeanne and Margaret waving at them. A line of loaded pack mules trailed behind the cart. Fanny looked at the two poles near the medical wagon, to which five mules and four horses were still attached, then back at the mules following Jeanne’s cart.
“Don’t tell me that she bought more mules!”
“It would make good sense, Misses Duberly.” Replied Sarah Champion, standing besides Fanny. “The regiment is still sorely short of transport animals and could certainly use more mules. Besides, the way those approaching mules are loaded, I doubt that Jeanne’s cart could have taken even half of the supplies she bought.”
By the time that Jeanne Smythe drove her cart into the camp, a small crowd of idle soldiers and women had formed to greet her and Margaret Ward. The first near the cart when it stopped was Gordon Smythe, in whose arms Jeanne literally threw herself, sending both of them down in the dirt, laughing and kissing each other. Fanny Duberly was nearly pulled down by Jeanne’s weight when she lent her a hand to get up. Summarily dusting herself off, Jeanne then smiled to Thomas Farrell, who stood in the front ranks of the crowd.
“I found all that we needed in Burgas, Doctor. The town has not been depleted of supplies the way Varna has. We probably should do periodic resupply trips to that town.”
“You did excellent work, Jeanne.” Replied Farrell, pleased, before shouting at the soldiers around him. “May I have volunteers to help unload those mules and the cart and to bring the supplies in the medical section’s cooking tent?”
A chorus of voices answered the doctor, who soon had over twenty men to help him. Putting Sarah Champion in charge of supervising the work detail, Farrell then went to see Jeanne, who was holding hands with her husband.
“Excuse me for interrupting your reunion, but do you have a list of the supplies you procured?”
“Sure!” Said Jeanne with good humor, then searching in a side pouch of her web gear and extracting a piece of paper that she handed to Farrell. “in a nutshell, I bought over two tons of dry foodstuffs, lots of white cotton cloth, cooking oil, spices, smoked fish and cleaning products. Oh, I nearly forgot: add 25 mules and a sword to the lot.”
As she said those last words, she unsheathed a curved Turkish saber slung across her back and grinned at Gordon while showing him the weapon.
“I even had a chance to test it on my way back: four thieves tried to rob us, thinking that two women would be an easy prey. They learned otherwise the hard way.”
Jeanne then noticed a bearded civilian man that was writing furiously on a notepad while standing nearby.
“Are you intent on writing a book about me, sir?” She asked him nonchalantly. The man looked up from his notepad and smiled.
“A book, no. An article, yes. I’m William Howard Russell, correspondent for The Times of London.”
Jeanne shook hands with him, visibly not too thrilled by this encounter.
“Pardon my lack of enthusiasm, sir, but I would rather keep a low profile: celebrity would not help my job as a field nurse.”
“Can I then quote you as the rich and adventurous French wife of a Hussars officer?” Asked Russell, a devilish grin on his face. Jeanne’s own face then softened.
“If worded that way, then I withdraw my objection.”
“How did you kill those four bandits, madam?”
“I beheaded the first one with my new sword when he made the mistake of coming close, then I shot the three others with my Colt revolver.”
As the crowd around her, except for Gordon, who knew her enough by now not to be surprised, stared at her with disbelief, Jeanne cautiously passed a fingertip along her sword’s cutting edge.
“I was really lucky to find this sword: it is a first quality weapon, with a Damascus steel blade and good balance. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a few