Aunt Jane's Nieces in the Red Cross

  CHAPTER X

  THE WAR'S VICTIMS

  While the others were conversing on deck Maud Stanton was ministering tothe maimed victims of the war's cruelty, who tossed and moaned below.The main cabin and its accompanying staterooms had been fitted with allthe conveniences of a modern hospital. Twenty-two could easily beaccommodated in the rooms and a dozen more in the cabin, so that theeleven now in their charge were easily cared for. Of these, only threehad been seriously injured. One was the German, who, however, was nowsleeping soundly under the influence of the soothing potion thatfollowed his operation. The man's calmness and iron nerve indicated thathe would make a rapid recovery. Another was the young Belgian soldierpicked up in the roadway near the firing line, who had been shot in theback and had not yet recovered consciousness. Dr. Gys had removedseveral bits of exploded shell and dressed the wound, shaking his headdiscouragingly. But since the young man was still breathing, with afairly regular respiration, no attempt was made to restore him to hissenses.

  The third seriously injured was a French sergeant whose body wasliterally riddled with shrapnel. A brief examination had convinced Gysthat the case was hopeless.

  "He may live until morning," was the doctor's report as he calmly lookeddown upon the moaning sergeant, "but no longer. Meanwhile, we mustprevent his suffering."

  This he accomplished by means of powerful drugs. The soldier soon lay ina stupor, awaiting the end, and nothing more could be done for him.

  Of the others, two Belgians with bandaged heads were playing a quietgame of ecarte in a corner of the cabin, while another with a slightwound in his leg was stretched upon a couch, reading a book. A youngFrench officer who had lost three fingers of his hand was cheerfullyconversing with a comrade whose scalp had been torn by a bullet and whodeclared that in two days he would return to the front. The others Maudfound asleep in their berths or lying quietly to ease their pain. It wasremarkable, however, how little suffering was caused these men by fleshwounds, once they were properly dressed and the patients madecomfortable with food and warmth and the assurance of proper care.

  So it was that Maud found her duties not at all arduous this evening.Indeed, the sympathy she felt for these brave men was so strong that itwearied her more than the actual work of nursing them. A sip of waterhere, a cold compress there, the administration of medicines to keepdown or prevent fever, little attentions of this character were all thatwere required. Speaking French fluently, she was able to converse withall those under her charge and all seemed eager to relate to theirbeautiful nurse their experiences, hopes and griefs. Soon she realizedshe was beginning to learn more of the true nature of war than she hadever gleaned from the correspondents of the newspapers.

  When dinner was served in the forward cabin Beth relieved Maud and afterthe evening meal Dr. Gys made another inspection of his patients. Allseemed doing well except the young Belgian. The condition of the Frenchsergeant was still unchanged. Some of those with minor injuries wereordered on deck for a breath of fresh air.

  Patsy relieved Beth at midnight and Maud came on duty again at sixo'clock, having had several hours of refreshing sleep. She found Patsytrembling with nervousness, for the sergeant had passed away an hourprevious and the horror of the event had quite upset the girl.

  "Oh, it is all so unnecessary!" she wailed as she threw herself intoMaud's arms.

  "We must steel ourselves to such things, dear," said Maud, soothing her,"for they will be of frequent occurrence, I fear. And we must begrateful and glad that we were able to relieve the poor man's anguishand secure for him a peaceful end."

  "I know," answered Patsy with a little sob, "but it's so dreadful. Oh,what a cruel, hateful thing war is!"

  From papers found on the sergeant Uncle John was able to notify hisrelatives of his fate. His home was in a little village not fifty milesaway and during the day a brother arrived to take charge of the remainsand convey them to their last resting place.

  The following morning Captain Carg was notified by the authorities towithdraw the _Arabella_ to an anchorage farther out in the bay, andthereafter it became necessary to use the two launches for intercoursebetween the ship and the city. Continuous cannonading could be heardfrom the direction of Nieuport, Dixmude and Ypres, and it was evidentthat the battle had doubled in intensity at all points, owing to heavyreinforcements being added to both sides. But, as Maurie had predicted,the Allies were able to hold the foe at bay and keep them from advancinga step farther.

  Uncle John had not been at all satisfied with that first day'sexperience at the front. He firmly believed it was unwise, to the vergeof rashness, to allow the girls to place themselves in so dangerous aposition. During a serious consultation with Jones, Kelsey, CaptainCarg and Dr. Gys, the men agreed upon a better plan of procedure.

  "The three nurses have plenty to do in attending to the patients in ourhospital," said Gys, "and when the ship has its full quota of woundedthey will need assistance or they will break down under the strain. Ouryoung ladies are different from the professional nurses; they are sokeenly sensitive that they suffer from sympathy with every patient thatcomes under their care."

  "I do not favor their leaving the ship," remarked Dr. Kelsey, the mate."There seems to be plenty of field workers at the front, supplied by thegovernments whose troops are fighting."

  "Therefore," added Jones, "we men must assume the duty of driving theambulances and bringing back the wounded we are able to pick up. AsMaurie is too stiff from his wound to drive to-day, I shall undertakethe job myself. I know the way, now, and am confident I shall get alongnicely. Who will go with me?"

  "I will, of course," replied Kelsey quietly.

  "Doctor Gys will be needed on the ship," asserted Uncle John.

  "Yes, it will be best to leave me here," said Gys. "I'm too great acoward to go near the firing line again. It destroys my usefulness, andKelsey can administer first aid as well as I."

  "In that case, I think I shall take the small ambulance to-day," decidedAjo. "With Dr. Kelsey and one of the sailors we shall manage very well."

  A launch took them ashore, where the ambulances stood upon the dock.Maurie had admitted his inability to drive, but asked to be allowed togo into the town. So he left the ship with the others and disappearedfor the day.

  Ajo took the same route he had covered before, in the direction ofNieuport, but could not get within five miles of the town, which was nowheld by the Germans. From Furnes to the front the roads were packed withreinforcements and wagon trains bearing ammunition and supplies, andfurther progress with the ambulance was impossible.

  However, a constant stream of wounded flowed to the rear, some withfirst aid bandages covering their injuries, others as yet uncared for.Kelsey chose those whom he considered most in need of surgical care orskillful nursing, and by noon the ambulance was filled to overflowing.It was Jones who advised taking none of the fatally injured, as the armysurgeons paid especial attention to these. The Americans could be ofmost practical use, the boy considered, by taking in charge such as hada chance to recover. So nine more patients were added to the ship'scolony on this occasion, all being delivered to the care of Dr. Gyswithout accident or delay--a fact that rendered Ajo quite proud of hisskillful driving.

  While the ambulance was away the girls quietly passed from berth toberth, encouraging and caring for their wounded. It was surprising howinterested they became in the personality of these soldiers, for eachman was distinctive either in individuality or the character of hisinjury, and most of them were eager to chat with their nurses andanxious for news of the battle.

  During the morning the young Belgian who had lain until now in astupor, recovered consciousness. He had moaned once or twice, drawingMaud to his side, but hearing a different sound from him she approachedthe berth where he lay, to find his eyes wide open. Gradually he turnedthem upon his nurse, as if feeling her presence, and after a moment ofobservation he sighed and then smiled wanly.

  "Still on earth?" he said in French.

&
nbsp; "I am so glad," she replied. "You have been in dreamland a long time."

  He tried to move and it brought a moan to his lips.

  "Don't stir," she counseled warningly; "you are badly wounded."

  He was silent for a time, staring at the ceiling. She held some water tohis lips and he drank eagerly. Finally he said in a faint voice:

  "I remember, now. I had turned to reload and it hit me in the back. Abullet, mademoiselle?"

  "Part of a shell."

  "Ah, I understand.... I tried to get to the rear. The pain was terrible.No one seemed to notice me. At last I fell, and--then I slept. Ithought it was the end."

  She bathed his forehead, saying:

  "You must not talk any more at present. Here comes the doctor to seeyou."

  Gys, busy in the cabin, had heard their voices and now came to look athis most interesting patient. The soldier seemed about twenty years ofage; he was rather handsome, with expressive eyes and features bearingthe stamp of culture. Already they knew his name, by means of anidentification card found upon him, as well as a small packet of letterscarefully pinned in an inner pocket of his coat. These last were alladdressed in the same handwriting, which was undoubtedly feminine, toAndrew Denton. The card stated that Andrew Denton, private, was formerlyan insurance agent at Antwerp.

  Doctor Gys had rather impatiently awaited the young man's return toconsciousness that he might complete his examination. He now devoted thenext half hour to a careful diagnosis of Denton's injuries. By this timethe patient was suffering intense pain and a hypodermic injection ofmorphine was required to relieve him. When at last he was quietlydrowsing the doctor called Maud aside to give her instructions.

  "Watch him carefully," said he, "and don't let him suffer. Keep up themorphine."

  "There is no hope, then?" she asked.

  "Not the slightest. He may linger for days--even weeks, if we sustainhis strength--but recovery is impossible. That bit of shell tore ahorrible hole in the poor fellow and all we can do is keep himcomfortable until the end. Without the morphine he would not live twelvehours."

  "Shall I let him talk?"

  "If he wishes to. His lungs are not involved, so it can do him no harm."

  But Andrew Denton did not care to talk any more that day. He wanted tothink, and lay quietly until Beth came on duty. To her he gave a smileand a word of thanks and again lapsed into thoughtful silence.

  When Ajo brought the new consignment of wounded to the ship the doctorsand nurses found themselves pretty busy for a time. With wounds to dressand one or two slight operations to perform, the afternoon passedswiftly away. The old patients must not be neglected, either, so CaptainCarg said he would sit with the German and look after him, as he wasable to converse with the patient in his own tongue.

  The German was resting easily to-day but proved as glum anduncommunicative as ever. That did not worry the captain, who gave theman a cigarette and, when it was nonchalantly accepted, lighted his ownpipe. Together they sat in silence and smoked, the German occupying aneasy chair and resting his leg upon a stool, for he had refused to liein a berth. Through the open window the dull boom of artillery couldconstantly be heard. After an hour or so:

  "A long fight," remarked the captain in German.

  The other merely looked at him, contemplatively. Carg stared for fiveminutes at the bandaged foot. Finally:

  "Hard luck," said he.

  This time the German nodded, looking at the foot also.

  "In America," resumed the captain, puffing slowly, "they make fineartificial feet. Walk all right. Look natural."

  "Vienna," said the German.

  "Yes, I suppose so." Another pause.

  "Name?" asked the German, with startling abruptness. But the other neverwinked.

  "Carg. I'm a sailor. Captain of this ship. Live in Sangoa, when ashore."

  "Sangoa?"

  "Island in South Seas."

  The wounded man reached for another cigarette and lighted it.

  "Carg," he repeated, musingly. "German?"

  "Why, my folks were, I believe. I've relations in Germany, yet. Munich.Visited them once, when a boy. Mother's name was Elbl. The Cargs livednext door to the Elbls. But they've lost track of me, and I of them.Nothing in common, you see."

  The German finished his cigarette, looking at the captain at timesreflectively. Carg, feeling his biography had not been appreciated, hadlapsed into silence. At length the wounded man began feeling in hisbreast pocket--an awkward operation because the least action disturbedthe swathed limb--and presently drew out a leather card case. With muchdeliberation he abstracted a card and handed it to the captain, who puton his spectacles and read:

  "Otto Elbl. 12th Uhlans"

  "Oh," he said, looking up to examine the German anew. "Otto Elbl ofMunich?"

  "Yes."

  "H-m. Number 121 Friedrichstrasse?"

  "Yes."

  "I didn't see you when I visited your family. They said you were atcollege. Your father was William Elbl, my mother's brother."

  The German stretched out his hand and gripped the fist of the captain.

  "Cousins," he said.

  Carg nodded, meditating.

  "To be sure," he presently returned; "cousins. Have another cigarette."