CHAPTER IX
COURAGE, OR PHILOSOPHY?
"I never realized," said Maud, delightedly, "what a strictly modern,professional hospital ship Uncle John has made of this, until we put itto practical use. I am sure it is better than those makeshifts weobserved at Calais, and more comfortable than those crowded hospitals onland. Every convenience is at our disposal and if our patients do notrecover rapidly it will be because their condition is desperate."
She had just come on deck after a long and trying session in assistingDoctors Gys and Kelsey to care for the injured, a session during whichBeth and Patsy had also stood nobly to their gruesome task. There wereeleven wounded, altogether, in their care, and although some of thesewere in a critical condition the doctors had insisted that the nursesneeded rest.
"It is Dr. Gys who deserves credit for fitting the ship," replied Mr.Merrick, modestly, to Maud's enthusiastic comment, "and Ajo isresponsible for the ship itself, which seems admirably suited to ourpurpose. By the way, how is Gys behaving now? Is he still shaking withfear?"
"No, he seems to have recovered his nerve. Isn't it a terribleaffliction?"
"Cowardice? Well, my dear, it is certainly an unusual affliction in thiscountry and in these times. I have been amazed to-day at the courage Ihave witnessed. These Belgians are certainly a brave lot."
"But no braver than the German we brought with us," replied Maudthoughtfully. "One would almost think he had no sensation, yet he mustbe suffering terribly. The doctor will amputate the remnants of his footin an hour or so, but the man positively refuses to take ananaesthetic."
"Does he speak English or French?"
"No; only German. But Captain Carg understands German and so he has beenacting as our interpreter."
"How about the Belgian we picked up on the road?"
"He hasn't recovered consciousness yet. He is wounded in the back and intrying to get to the rear became insensible from loss of blood."
"From what I saw I wouldn't suppose any Belgian could be wounded in theback," remarked Uncle John doubtfully.
"It was a shell," she said, "and perhaps exploded behind him. It's a badwound, Dr. Gys says, but if he regains strength he may recover."
During this conversation Patsy Doyle was lying in her stateroom belowand crying bitterly, while her cousin Beth strove to soothe her. Allunused to such horrors as she had witnessed that day, the girl hadmanaged to retain her nerve by sheer force of will until the Red Crossparty had returned to the ship and extended first aid to the wounded;but the moment Dr. Gys dismissed her she broke down completely.
Beth was no more accustomed to bloodshed than her cousin, but she hadanticipated such scenes as they had witnessed, inasmuch as her year oftraining as nurse had prepared her for them. She had also been a closestudent of the daily press and from her reading had gleaned a knowledgeof the terrible havoc wrought by this great war. Had Patsy not givenway, perhaps Beth might have done so herself, and really it was MaudStanton who bore the ordeal with the most composure.
After a half hour on deck Maud returned to the hospital section quiterefreshed, and proceeded to care for the patients. She alone assistedGys and Kelsey to amputate the German's foot, an operation the man boresplendidly, quite unaware, however, that they had applied localanaesthetics to dull the pain. Dr. Gys was a remarkably skillful surgeonand he gave himself no rest until every one of the eleven had receivedsuch attention as his wounds demanded. Even Kelsey felt the strain bythat time and as Maud expressed her intention of remaining to ministerto the wants of the crippled soldiers, the two doctors went on deck fora smoke and a brief relaxation.
By this time Beth had quieted Patsy, mainly by letting her have her cryout, and now brought her on deck to join the others and get the freshair. So quickly had events followed one another on this fateful daythat it was now only four o'clock in the afternoon. None of them hadthought of luncheon, so the ship's steward now brought tea andsandwiches to those congregated on deck.
As they sat together in a group, drinking tea and discussing theexciting events of the day, little Maurie came sauntering toward themand removed his cap.
"Your pardon," said he, "but--are the wounded all cared for?"
"As well as we are able to care for them at present," answered Beth."And let me thank you, Jakob Maurie--let us all thank you--for the noblework you did for us to-day."
"Pah! it was nothing," said he, shifting from one foot to another. "Ienjoyed it, mamselle. It was such fun to dive into the battle and pullout the wounded. It helped them, you see, and it gave us a grandexcitement. Otherwise, had I not gone with you, I would be as ignorantas all in Dunkirk still are, for the poor people do not yet know whathas happened at the front."
"We hardly know ourselves what has happened," said Uncle John. "We canhear the boom of guns yet, even at this distance, and we left the battleline flowing back and forth like the waves of the ocean. Have a cup oftea, Maurie?"
The man hesitated.
"I do not like to disturb anyone," he said slowly, "but if one of theyoung ladies is disengaged I would be grateful if she looks at my arm."
"Your arm!" exclaimed Beth, regarding him wonderingly as he stood beforeher.
Maurie smiled.
"It is hardly worth mentioning, mamselle, but a bullet--"
"Take off your coat," she commanded, rising from her seat to assist him.
Maurie complied. His shirt was stained with blood. Beth drew out herscissors and cut away the sleeve of his left arm. A bullet had passeddirectly through the flesh, but without harming bone or muscle.
"Why didn't you tell us before?" she asked reproachfully.
"It amounted to so little, beside the other hurts you had to attend," heanswered. "I am shamed, mamselle, that I came to you at all. A littlewater and a cloth will make it all right."
Patsy had already gone for the water and in a few minutes Beth wasdeftly cleansing the wound.
"How did it happen, Maurie?" asked Jones. "I was with you most of thetime and noticed nothing wrong. Besides, you said nothing about it."
"It was on the road, just as we picked up that fallen soldier with thehole in his back. The fight jumped toward us pretty quick, you remember,and while I sat at the wheel the bullet came. I knew when it hit me, butI also knew I could move my arm, so what did it matter? I told myself towait till we got to the ship. Had we stayed there longer, we might allhave stopped bullets--and some bullets might have stopped us." Hegrinned, as if the aphorism amused him, and added: "To know when to runis the perfection of courage."
"Does it hurt?" asked Uncle John, as Beth applied the lint and beganwinding the bandage.
"It reminds me it is there, monsieur; but I will be ready for anothertrip to-morrow. Thank you, mamselle. Instead of the tea, I would like alittle brandy."
"Give him some in the tea," suggested Gys, noting that Maurie swayed alittle. "Sit down, man, and be comfortable. That's it. I'd give amillion dollars for your nerve."
"Have you so much money?" asked Maurie.
"No."
"Then I cannot see that you lack nerve," said the little Belgianthoughtfully. "I was watching you to-day, M'sieur Doctor, and I believewhat you lack is courage."
Gys stared so hard at him with the one good eye that even Maurie becameembarrassed and turned away his head. Sipping his tea and brandy hepresently resumed, in a casual tone:
"Never have I indulged in work of more interest than this. We go intothe thick of the fight, yet are we safe from harm. We do good to bothsides, because the men who do the fighting are not to blame for the war,at all. The leaders of politics say to the generals: 'We have declaredwar; go and fight.' The generals say to the soldiers: 'We are told tofight, so come on. We do not know why, but it is our duty, because it isour profession. So go and die, or get shot to pieces, or lose some armsand legs, as it may happen.' The business of the soldiers is to obey;they must back up the policies of their country, right or wrong. But dothose who send them into danger ever get hurt? Not to the naked eye."
br /> "Why, you're quite a philosopher, Maurie," said Patsy.
"It is true," agreed the Belgian. "But philosophy is like courage--easyto assume. We strut and talk big; we call the politicians sharks, thesoldiers fools; but does it do any good? The war will go on; the enemywill destroy our homes, separate our families, take away our bread andleave us to starve; but we have the privilege to philosophize, if welike. For myself, I thank them for nothing!"
"I suppose you grieve continually for your wife," said Patsy.
"Not so much that, mamselle, but I know she is grieving for me," hereplied.
"As soon as we find time," continued the girl, "we intend to search foryour wife and children. I am sure we can find them for you."
Maurie moved uneasily in his chair.
"I beg you to take no trouble on my account," said he. "With the RedCross you have great work to accomplish. What is the despair of one poorWalloon to you?"
"It is a great deal to us, Maurie," returned the girl, earnestly. "Youhave been a friend in need; without you we could not have made our dashto the front to-day. We shall try to repay you by finding your wife."
He was silent, but his troubled look told of busy thoughts.
"What does she look like?" inquired Beth. "Have you her photograph?"
"No; she would not make a good picture, mamselle," he answered with asigh. "Clarette is large; she is fat; she has a way of scowling when onedoes not bring in more wood than the fire can eat up; and she is veryreligious."
"With that description I am sure we can find her," cried Patsyenthusiastically.
He seemed disturbed.
"If you please," said he plaintively, "Clarette is quite able to takecare of herself. She has a strong will."
"But if you know she is safe it will relieve your anxiety," suggestedBeth. "You told us yesterday you had been searching everywhere for her."
"If I said everywhere, I was wrong, for poor Clarette must be somewhere.And since yesterday I have been thinking with more deliberation, and Ihave decided," he added, his tone becoming confidential, "that it isbetter I do not find Clarette just now. It might destroy my usefulnessto the Red Cross."
"But your children!" protested Patsy. "Surely you cannot rest at easewith your two dear children wandering about, in constant danger."
"To be frank, mamselle," said he, "they are not my children. I had ababy, but it was killed, as I told you. The boy and girl I havementioned were born when Clarette was the wife of another man--ablacksmith at Dinant--who had a sad habit of beating her."
"But you love the little ones, I am sure."
He shook his head.
"They have somewhat the temper of their father, the blacksmith. I tookthem when I took Clarette--just as I took the silver spoons and thecheckered tablespread she brought with her--but now that a cruel fatehas separated me from the children, perhaps it is all for the best."
The doctor gave a snort of disgust, while Ajo smiled. The girls were tooastonished to pursue the conversation, but now realized that Maurie'sprivate affairs did not require their good offices to untangle. UncleJohn was quite amused at the Belgian's confession and was the only oneto reply.
"Fate often seems cruel when she is in her happiest mood," said he."Perhaps, Maurie, your Clarette will come to you without your seekingher, for all Belgium seems headed toward France just now. What do youthink? Will the Germans capture Dunkirk?"
The man brightened visibly at this turn in the conversation.
"Not to-day, sir; not for days to come," he replied. "The French cannotafford to lose Dunkirk, and by to-morrow they will pour an irresistiblehorde against the German invader. If we stay here, we are sure to remainin the rear of the firing line."