Singing succour to the brave, and a rescue from the grave, Hear the Nightingale that's come to the Crimea, 'Tis a Nightingale as strong in her heart as in her song, To carry out so gallant an idea. This is only one of a whole series of poems--notably one written at the time of her dangerous illness in May, 1855--inspired by the "Lady of the Lamp," who did not forget, on her side, to acknowledge that the wounded common soldiers had behaved "like gentlemen and Christians to their nurses." Her saintship is secure, in spite of the adroit disparagement of modern iconoclasts; and the verdict of the common soldier was happily expressed by a private at a dinner given to Crimean troops by the people of Folkestone and Hythe in 1856: "We cannot forget Miss Nightingale--nor can we forget mismanagement." [Illustration: "Well, Jack, here's good news from home. We're to have a medal." "That's very kind. Maybe one of these days we'll have a coat to stick it on."] [Sidenote: _Familiar Grievances_] Florence Nightingale was not forgotten by the nation; the Queen sent her an autograph letter of thanks and a brooch, but no official recognition was bestowed upon her by the British Government until 1907, when she was given the Order of Merit. As for William Russell, _Punch_ laboured in season and out of season to secure some public acknowledgment of his humanity and courage, but the debt remained unpaid for forty years, and was then liquidated by a mere knighthood. The Crimean War was not a great war, judged by modern standards, but it assuredly was not a picnic, and it abounded in prospective plagiarism. Note, for example, the complaint of the treatment of the "Jolly Russian prisoners," in the winter of 1854:-- How jolly the prisoner, who gets for his pay, From his captor's own purse seven shillings a day! And that's how we pension our officer-foes, For which we shall certainly pay through the nose. The nation that prisoners so handsomely pays The wages of postmen will probably raise, And doubtless provide on a grand scale for all The children and wives of our soldiers who fall. Note again the criticisms of official reticence about individual acts of bravery in the lines "The Unmentioned Brave: Song by a Commanding Officer," early in 1855:-- Oh! no, we never mention them, Their names must not be heard, My hand Routine forbids to trace Of their exploits one word. Most glorious though their deeds may be, To say it I regret, When they expect a word from me, They find that I forget. You say that they are happy now, The bravest of the brave, A "special" pen recording how Mere Grenadiers behave. Of "special" pens I disapprove, An inconvenient set, Who oftentimes the veil remove, And print what we forget.