Horrors of war
Chapter 6
On Lord Wellesley’s orders, a company stayed behind with the severely wounded, along with fifteen nurses and two doctors. Elizabeth and Rose were among the nurses and the doctors were Dr. Murphy and Dr. Porter. Ramon, Agostinho and Carlos, whose leg wound was almost healed by now, were part of the company left to guard them, so Elizabeth was happy that she was not separated from her friends.
There were a hundred and seventy wounded British and Portuguese soldiers in their care, so it was hard work for the nurses and doctors alike to see to their care, but no one complained. They were happy to be of help to the unfortunate lads who fought so bravely against the tyranny invading Europe.
Life in camp was hard work. Besides tending to the wounded, they also had to keep them clean, which meant doing laundry and boiling the used bandages to keep them as clean as possible, as the doctors warned that their biggest enemy was infection. It was back breaking work and more often than not, Elizabeth fairly crawled into her cot and fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, but often enough nightmares woke her in the middle of the night.
They spent the rest of the year and most of the winter months in Vimeiro.
Elizabeth was deeply saddened whenever they lost a patient, which was inevitable as more often than not infection did set in, no matter how hard they tried to keep everything clean. Sometimes limbs needed to be amputated, even when they had hoped that it would not be necessary. Despite the nightmares that robbed her of her rest, she concertedly maintained her cheerful demeanour, trying to bring a smile to the faces of those who were suffering so. And she managed. Most of the time.
Thoughts of Longbourn were very seldom intruding on her, now that she was caught up in the brutal realities of war and life. Mrs. Bennet’s pettiness had long faded into insignificance when compared with the harsh realities of war. And so did Mr. Bennet’s inactivity, although that had been even more highlighted to her when she saw all the suffering around her. Despite the fact that she was deeply scarred and saddened by what she had seen and seeing every day, she was happy that she was there, trying to help as little as she could, instead of languishing at Longbourn. She was fully confident that she had made the right decision when she quitted her father’s house.
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In April, those who were unfit to fight any longer had been picked up by a warship from Vimeiro and taken back to England. Those who remained started their long march into Spain. Their progress was rather slow and tedious, as many of the soldiers were still very weak after their long convalescence. It was only the nurses who got to ride in wagons while the soldiers were lumbering on foot, requiring frequent stops and care from the nurses. Thus, they rarely covered more than fifteen miles in a day. It took them two weeks to arrive at Badajoz where they were to rest for a couple of weeks.
Elizabeth welcomed the newness and the liveliness of the busy city as it diverted her thoughts from the horrors, pain and human misery that she had witnessed these past months.
The magnificent Fort of Alcazaba fairly took her breath away. She often wandered among its walls, making sketches and enjoying the magnificent views of the city that the arched windows of the beautiful fort afforded.
She also very much admired the many gates of the city which had an architecture so vastly different from what she was used to, but what really impressed her the most was the majesty of the first Catholic Cathedral that she ever had set foot in. From the outside it looked very large, more like a little city of its own, but nothing prepared her for the gothic majesty she found inside. She spent hours admiring the magnificent artefacts on display, the stained windows and especially the enormous organ. When she first heard it come to life under the masterful hands of the deacon playing it, she was overwhelmed by the power of its sound which seemed to resonate in every fibre of her body.
She enjoyed every minute they spent in the delightful, pretty town so infused with history and so different from what she had ever seen before. It was so exotic and so very different from the English towns and the English country side she was used to. The view of the magnificent palm trees somewhat assuaged her longing to yet again ramble for hours on end in the woods and across the fields of Longbourn, but she knew that such rambles were not something that her future held any longer, therefore she had to get reconciled to the thought.
She missed her sisters, Jane and Mary most of all. Jane had always been her closest friend, her confidante and truly the best person that ever lived. Mary had a lot of common sense, although she lacked Jane’s angelic serenity. Now that she thought about it, Elizabeth realized that Mary was more like herself than any of her other sisters. While not actively disliked by their mother like she had been, Mary was mostly ignored by Mrs. Bennet except when she was expounding on her despair of ever seeing Mary married. Mary had grown up with just as little maternal love as Elizabeth did, and she did not even have their father’s affection or if she did, Mr. Bennet did a very good job at hiding it.
This kind of thoughts inevitably brought Mr. Bennet to her mind. For years she had thought that her father loved and cherished her. Now she was more and more convinced that he merely found amusement in teaching her the things he liked and while away long winter nights with her as his companion, in pursuit of activities he found enjoyable, like reading and debating over the books they read, or playing chess. Of course, her head for numbers came in handy too when she laboured for days to balance the estate ledgers, bent over her father’s desk while he was reading peacefully by the fire, sipping his port. All had been good and well as long as his peace had not been too much disturbed by Mrs. Bennet’s shrill wailings, but the moment when her mother’s quarrel with her intruded on his equanimity, she had become dispensable. To be exiled from her beloved home only so that no undue noise grates on Mr. Bennet’s ears while he did nothing to put an end to that noise at its source, had significantly lowered her esteem of her father. This had hurt her to the core, but fortunately, it also angered her greatly, which prevented her to miss him or her mother even one bit. Therefore, instead of wallowing in self-pity and pining over things lost, Elizabeth learned to accept what had passed between her and her parents with philosophical serenity, sure that she was guided on her new path by a higher power. She liked to call it God’s will, or maybe Fate. Maybe her calling was to be here, to help these poor boys who had suffered and lost so much more than she did. In comparison with their sufferings, hers were petty and meaningless.
She often wondered where will she take her life from here. The war will end at some point and, if she were to survive it, she had to think what she will do next. The past year taught her one thing only. How to care for people and their physical, and maybe a bit their emotional needs. It had been a hard learned lesson with many a stumbling, as sometimes even the doctors did not have the answers she sought. However, now this was the one thing she knew how to do best. She knew that there was still more for her, and indeed all of them to learn. Maybe this is what she could do. Found a school for war nurses. Or maybe even open a hospital. But all these things needed serious funds, which unfortunately she did not have. Maybe Aunt and Uncle Gardiner could help. Not with the funds of course, as they too could hardly spare that kind of money. But maybe they could help her with raising the funds through some charity events. They had extensive connections among the middle class and knew many people. She started to think of this in earnest and soon, it became her favourite daydream.
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The company arrived in the little town of Talavera de la Reina, some five and seventy miles from Madrid in mid-July, having stopped in many smaller towns for a week or two to allow for the men to rest. These were Lord Wellesley’s orders, who did not want the convalescing men to overtax their weakened bodies. Elizabeth often joked with the men that this was for them all like a Grand Tour the wealthy gentlemen took on the continent, managing to bring a smile or two to their weary faces.
There were rumours that a big battle was in the offing. General Lord Wellesley’s troops joined with those of General Cuesta, but their numbers were pretty evenly matched with those of the French troops led by Marshal Victor and Major-General Sebastiani.
Most of those who had just recovered from the previous battle and knew exactly what a horror a battle could be, were thinking of it with some trepidation but at the same time, they were determined to fight for their country to their last breath if need be.
Elizabeth and the other nurses, helped by Mrs. Porter and Mrs. Murphy, did all that they could to keep up the morale among the soldiers, offering to write letters to their beloved ones on their behalf, getting them to sing by the campfires, telling anecdotes and ensuring that they were taken good care of. They too dreaded the upcoming battle but there was nothing to be done about it.
The days passed with excruciating slowness, the scorching heat of the summer days not making it any easier on anyone.
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The battle of Talavera begun on the afternoon of July the 27 th and it lasted late into the night of the 28 th .
It had been a deeply nightmarish experience for all those who were part of it. An army of nurses and doctors worked tirelessly to help the wounded, friends and foes alike. Even though this was not the first battle they were part of and they had learned a lot along the way, the nurses were overwhelmed by the inpouring of the wounded.
Elizabeth and Rose were fighting their tears while they were trying to help the injured. Neither of them was speaking a word, other than what was necessary to give instructions or ask for assistance. This was worse than any nightmare. The carnage was unbelievable. And as if the damage made by the cannons, muskets and bayonets were not enough, the dry grass caught fire, burning alive the poor wounded who lay helpless in the fields, unable to flee.
Elizabeth could not watch it without trying to help somehow. With Carlos’ help, who had been assigned to help at the hospital, they quickly gathered some forty lads and fifteen nurses willing to brave the flames. They loaded stretchers with blankets soaked in water. Tying wet rags across their faces to protect themselves from the smoke, they spread through the fields in search of survivors.
It was a heart wrenching scene. Many of the poor soldiers were too badly burned or wounded to have a chance to survive, and it was the hardest thing that Elizabeth ever had to do in her life, leaving those who were beyond help behind, in order to be able to save those who still had a chance.
They went back five times and brought back to the hospital tents one hundred and twenty men. ‘So few compared to how many we had to leave behind’ Elizabeth’s soul bled, but now it was not the time to think about that. The wounded and the burned needed to be tended to, and with great haste.
The doctors could not handle it all by themselves so they had the more experienced nurses care for those who did not need immediate surgery. They all worked through the night.
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In the morning they found that during the night the French troops have fled, leaving their dead and wounded behind. A collective groan of exasperated exhaustion rose from the doctors and nurses alike, but they resignedly proceeded to tend to the new wounded that were being brought in.
Lord Wellesley had the soldiers scour the battlefield, bringing the wounded to the hospital and collecting the dead and burying them. It was a day of intense labour and great grief for all of them.
Along with many of the doctors and nurses, Elizabeth had refused to rest, let alone sleep until all the wounded were first tended to and settled into cots in the additional tents the soldiers had erected near the hospital tent. Given the sheer number of the wounded, Lord Wellesley had selected two hundred soldiers to help the nurses who could not possibly see by themselves to all of them. With the ladies’ instructions and under their supervision, the men were helping with changing bandages, cleaning and feeding the unfortunate ones who could not do it themselves.
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Elizabeth found that even when she finally sought out her own cot, she could not easily fall asleep. And even when she did finally fall asleep, she would wake within minutes, the faces and the cries for help of all those unfortunate ones she had to leave behind in the burning fields haunting her, the terror in their eyes filling her with the same terror, their agonized cries still ringing in her ears.
It was still well before dawn but she could no longer sleep, or even lay quietly in her cot. Not wanting to disturb the other nurses’ rest, she hastily dressed as silently as she could and she stole out of the tent.
She walked a short distance to a small clump of trees which had miraculously escaped the destruction. Crumpling down next to the tree farthest from the camp, she finally allowed herself to cry. She cried like she had never cried before in her life. She had no coherent thought, she only sobbed uncontrollably as the images of her nightmare flashed again before her eyes. Alas, this was no mere nightmare born of an overactive imagination. It was the memory of the stark reality.
She did not know how long she had been there but when her sobs finally begun to quiet down, the sun was just rising above the horizon like it did every day, oblivious and uncaring of the tragedy that played out the days before on this little speck of dirt that was their world.
“Miss Elizabeth” Lord Wellesley’s gentle voice startled her. “It pains me to see you so distressed.” He had been watching her for quite a while and his heart went out to her, as he knew exactly what she was feeling, grieved that such a young person, barely more than a child, had to see and endure such horrors. “I will not lie to you and tell you that in time it will become easier, that you will get used to it. One cannot.” He lowered himself to sit next to her.
“You… you too…?”
“Yes. I am pained by every life we lose, by each and every soldier I see badly wounded or losing a limb. But then, I tell myself that if we do not fight, many more innocent lives will be lost or destroyed forever. If we do not fight here and now, soon the tyrant will march in England, destroying everything in his path, subduing the British people and make us his slaves. Our freedom is worth fighting for, even if we pay a hefty price while doing so.”
Elizabeth nodded, but her eyes were tortured. “There were many… too many… we could not get them all out. They…” she choked back another sob.
“From what I have seen, many out there were beyond anyone’s help. You did what a good triage nurse does. You saved the ones that could be saved. And they are many. Murphy told me how you organized and led the rescue. We’ve lost eight hundred lads in this battle. You and your rescue team brought back one hundred and twenty who would have been beyond help had you not have thought and acted quickly. That means one hundred and twenty lads who will return to their families instead of being buried next to the others. Please think of this when feelings of guilt, helplessness and regret overpower you.”
“I shall try” Elizabeth gave him a wan, watery smile. “I cannot promise to succeed though” a ghost of her impertinent smile lifting the corners of her mouth.
“All we can do is to try” he said wistfully. “That, and do all we can to win this war, lest they died in vain” he added with a pained faraway look of his own.