34 SIR WILLIAM FLOWER CHAP. 



several other assistant surgeons who had been performing the 

 same useless pilgrimage, which in some measure accounted for 

 the want of efficient medical aid. As I turned homewards 

 (resolved carefully to avoid the General Hospital and all the 

 Deputy-Inspectors for the future) I fell into conversation with 

 a French officer, who asked if I would like to see their 

 " Ambulance," which he said we would pass close to ; so I went 

 in with him, and soon introduced myself to one of the doctors, of 

 whom there were eight or nine, all very civil, pleasant men, 

 including the principal one. They took me round and showed 

 me everything, the waggons beautifully fitted with splendid sets 

 of surgical instruments. There was not a patient left, except a 

 few Russians, the rest having all been taken on board ; they 

 regretted that most of their operating was finished, but if I would 

 wait there was a Russian to have his leg off and they would do 

 it at once. Accordingly, the patient was brought into a tent 

 regularly fitted like a Paris or a London operating theatre, with 

 proper table and everything convenient, and the amputation was 

 done with as much neatness and propriety as it could be at 

 home. After thanking them for their kindness, I found my way 

 back to our camp, certainly most favourably impressed with the 

 French arrangements, especially in comparison with ours. . . . 



I must soon close this rambling letter. I have applied to be 

 sent down to Balaclava for a week or so to get away from this 

 cold and damp, which has given me one or two slight feverish 

 attacks and makes me feel rheumatic, but a couple of days' fine 

 weather would make me all right. 



Now, my dear father, again thanking you for your letter, and 

 with my best love to all, ever your affectionate son, 



WILLIAM HENRY FLOWER. 



Though writing cheerfully to his father and, so 

 as not to alarm him, making light of his "one or 

 two slight feverish attacks," Flower was, when he 

 wrote, and had been for the past six days, laid up in 

 his tent with both feet frost-bitten and a severe 



