an living, refused employment.
She declared in her little book of adventures,[1] published soon after
the war ended, that at her last rebuff she cried as she walked along
the street.

But Mary Seacole's determination to proceed to the Crimea was not
shaken by her inability to prevail upon the authorities to accept her
services, and after consideration she decided to go to the front at her
own expense. She had sufficient money to pay her passage to Balaclava,
and to support her for some months after her arrival, but not enough to
enable her also to supply herself with the medical outfit necessary for
work at the seat of war. The only way in which she could hope to be in
a position to help the sick and wounded was by earning money in the
Crimea, and therefore she decided to start an hotel at Balaclava for
invalid officers. By the next mail she sent out to the officers who
had known her at Jamaica a notice that she would shortly arrive at
Balaclava, and establish an hotel with comfortable quarters for sick
and convalescent officers.

While Mary Seacole was making preparations for her departure she met a
shipper named Day, who, hearing of her plans, offered to enter into
partnership with her in the proposed hotel. This offer she accepted,
as with a partner she would be able to devote more time to the wounded.

At Malta Mary Seacole found herself once more among people who knew and
appreciated her. Some medical officers who had been stationed at
Kingston were among those who welcomed her, and believing that Florence
Nightingale would be glad of her help, gave her a letter of
introduction to that noble Englishwoman. Having made arrangements for
her work in the Crimea, Mary Seacole had now no desire to become
attached to any nursing staff, but she accepted the letter of
introduction, as she was anxious to make the acquaintance of Florence
Nightingale, who was then at the barracks at Scutari, a suburb of
Constantinople, which were being used as a hospital for British troops.

When Mary Seacole arrived at Scutari, Florence Nightingale was too busy
to grant her an interview immediately, so she spent the period of
waiting in inspecting the wards. As she passed along, many of the
invalid soldiers recognised her and called to her. Some of them she
had nursed in Jamaica, and the sight of her kindly brown face filled
them with recollections of happy days in the West Indies. To every man
who recognised her she said a few c