Over There with the Canadians at Vimy Ridge
On the way he ran over, in his mind, the list of officers with whom hecould claim anything in the nature of a personal acquaintance and foundit very small. Moreover, he had not known that any of these had beenwounded. In this review of acquaintances of both commissioned andnon-commissioned rank, however, he missed one who should not have beendisregarded, although their intimacy had been of anything but friendlynature. This officer he found lying on the cot in the little room whichhe now entered. It was Second Lieut. Tourtelle.
The surprise became almost startling when Irving saw the face of the"shavetail" brighten up with a look of apparent eagerness as herecognized the caller. The nurse withdrew immediately and the Americansoldier was left alone with his strange "comrade enemy" of No Man'sLand.
"Hello, Ellis," the "second looie" greeted, extending his right hand tohis visitor and making an effort to smile pleasantly. "I sent for youbecause I wanted to have a talk with you. Sit down on the edge of thecot. Sorry there's no chair here, but I'm not the housekeeper."
This latter "breath of levity" didn't sound bad at all, and Irving beganto have a vague suspicion that there might be an intelligent side to thenature of this young officer who had behaved so brutally toward him.However, he indicated that he preferred to stand and waited patientlyfor Tourtelle to continue.
"I called you to ask you to do me a favor," the wounded officercontinued; "but first I want to apologize for the way I treated you. Iwon't attempt to explain why I did it because I don't know. But I actedlike a bum scoundrel and ought to have been reported for it. The factthat you made no complaint against me shows that you're a real man andmakes me feel ashamed of myself."
Irving was rather embarrassed by this unexpected speech on the part ofhis supposed "comrade-enemy." He could not well reject the professionof humility, and yet he was uncertain just how to take it. Lieut.Tourtelle apparently desired to convey the impression that he wassuffering from pangs of deep regret, but although the "pangs" twistedthe muscles of his countenance the visitor was unable to convincehimself as to the depth of the patient's mental suffering.
"I hope you will forgive me, Ellis," the injured soldier said after afew moments' silence. "I had a spell of very bad temper that night andhave regretted nay actions ever since. If there's anything I can do tomake it right, I'll do it."
This seemed to be as much as any reasonable person could ask under thecircumstances; so Irving replied:
"I'm sure I don't bear you any ill will under the circumstances,lieutenant. I admit I was pretty much offended by what you did, but I'msure, after what you've just said, I can let bygones be bygones. Wemust remember that we are fighting a common enemy and it is ridiculousfor us to be fighting one another. We ought rather to be helping oneanother."
"That's an excellent idea," Tourtelle declared. "Now what would you sayif I should ask you to do something for me? Would you resent it?"
"I couldn't very well, after the principle I just laid down," Irvinganswered with the shadow of a smile; "provided it were reasonable," headded.
"Oh, I don't see how there's anything unreasonable in it," the officerreplied quickly. "The only thing is, you may think it a very oddrequest, freakish perhaps. But I think I can explain it satisfactorily.First, let me enlist your sympathy a little by informing you that mywound is more severe than was thought at first. I'm going to lose myleft arm. One of the doctors told me today that it would have to beamputated between the elbow and the shoulder."
"That's too bad," Irving said with evidence of fellow feeling for thesecond lieutenant. "If there were anything I could do to save your armfor you I'd surely do it. But what's the matter?"
"A bad compound fracture and gangrene. The doctor said he'd have to cutit off today or my whole system might be poisoned. But here's the favorI want you to do for me:
"When the doctor told me my arm would have to be cut off, I asked him ifit would be possible to save the limb, so I could take it back home withme."
Irving interrupted this statement with a start of surprise.
"That's what the doctor did when I suggested the idea to him," Tourtellecontinued, noting the effect of his suggestion. "He wanted to know whyI wished to save the arm, and I replied that it was for two reasons:first, because I thought it would make an excellent souvenir; second,because it was tattooed in a very artistic manner and I don't want tolose the art. I'm of an artistic temperament, and it would break myheart more to lose that bit of tattooing on my arm than to lose the armand keep the art."
"I think I get you," said Irving with a smile. "You want me to put thearm in alcohol and preserve it, tattooing and all?"
"That's a clever inference, but not quite to the point," Tourtellecommented without much change of expression on his face. "The doctoroffered a substitute suggestion, and that's what I'm going to put to younow."
The patient paused a moment or two, and Irving waited expectantly forthe next development in the strange narrative of novel events.
*CHAPTER VIII*
*CUBIST ART*
"Yes, I am of an artistic temperament," Lieut. Tourtelle continued in asort of dreamy way, which tended rather to give his audience-of-one "thecreeps" than to "soften his soul," as art is supposed to do.
"If he's an artist, he ought to be painting kaisers, crown princes,Hindenburgs, and Ludendorfs with horns on their heads and arrow-tippedtails," he thought grimly. "But maybe he means it all right. Perhapshe really believes he has artistic temperament, but hasn't sized himselfup right. A few years ago I thought I could write poetry, but found Icouldn't even write an acceptable advertisement in verse for sentimentalcandy or floating soap. I'll humor 'im a while and see what's on 'ismind."
Tourtelle's mind was wandering now, either with a purpose in view orbecause of a real genius delusion. He rambled along thus:
"I made a study of art ever since I was old enough to daub with a littlebox of colors and a paint brush. When I was old enough to attemptsomething better than a smear, I went to an art school and there madequite a hit with the professors with some of my novel ideas. Then whenthat craze of the cubists and the futurists swept the country a fewyears ago, I took it up and made quite a hit with some of my paintings.One painting in particular, a cubist production representing a basket ofeggs spilling down a stairway, was regarded as a student masterpiece.The praise I received over that work intoxicated me, I guess, for Icaused a copy of it to be tattooed on my arm by a fellow student.
"Well, the original was lost and I had only the copy on my arm. So, yousee, I became very fond of that copy, as the original was acknowledgedto be worthy of exhibition along with masterpieces of well knownpainters. By the way, you remember something of that cubist craze a fewyears ago, don't you?"
"Yes," Irving replied, "I remember something about it. There was a gooddeal about it in the magazines. I suppose I recall it because it was soperfectly crazy. Those artists seemed to take great delight in making ahuman being look as if he had gone through a threshing machine andafterwards raided a hornet's nest."
"You've got the idea exactly--I mean the layman's idea," said theself-styled cubist enthusiastically. "And I don't blame you, in a way.But if you could only have got an artist's view of the idea, you'd lookat life a good deal differently. But that's neither here nor there.Oh, yes, it is, too--I forgot myself on the moment. It's here--on myarm--and I want to save it. Now, this is what the doctor told me to do.He told me to peel off the skin where the tattooing is, as soon as thearm is sawed off. That is, he didn't tell me to do it myself, for I'dbe in no condition to perform such an operation on my amputated limb.He meant that's the way it should be done. But I don't believe he'dever look after the job himself. He'd cut the arm off while I'm underthe influence of ether, and that 'u'd be the last I'd ever see of it,including the miniature copy of my painting.
"So I decided to get somebody else to look after the matter, and that'swhat I called you here for. It isn't much
of a job. All you have to dois to cut the skin around the tattooing and peel it off, then pack it insalt to preserve it. The doctor said it would peel off easily and thatsalt packing would keep the skin and the tattooed colors in goodcondition. The nurse got me a little box and some salt, so everythingis ready as soon as the doctor comes along with his saw."
"When is he coming?" Irving inquired.
"Sometimes this afternoon, he said," Tourtelle replied. "What do youthink about it, Ellis? Will you do me the favor?"
"Sure," the private answered with a smile. "I'm sorry you're going tolose your arm, but I'll take care of your cubist art for you withpleasure. I'm really very curious to see what it looks like."
"I'd roll up my sleeve and show you, but I'm afraid I'd hurt my arm,"the "second looie" said in response.
"Oh, no," Irving returned hurriedly, "I wouldn't have you do that foranything. But I'll kind o' hang around until the surgeon comes. If I'mnot here right on the dot, the nurse'll be able to find me without muchtrouble."
*CHAPTER IX*
*BOB'S LETTER*
Irving almost forgot that there had ever been any difficulty between himand Lieut. Tourtelle in contemplation of the novel service he hadpromised to perform. Perhaps his remembrance of that trouble had beensmothered by his curiosity as to the character of this tattooed copy ofa "Basket of Eggs Spilling Down Stairs."
The surgeon came at 3 o'clock in the afternoon and got busy at once.However, before administering the ether, he acknowledged an introductionto Private Ellis and promised to "skin the tattoo off the arm" after theamputation and turn it over to its delegated caretaker.
Irving was permitted to be present during the operation. He watchedwith a good deal of curiosity for a first vision of the cubist art onthe patient's arm, and was not at all disappointed. It surely was aclever piece of work, from the point of view of a votary of this sort ofart. This was the conclusion of all who saw the operation, and it wasthe general subject of conversation until the arm was removed.
The surgeon took more interest in the subject now than he had taken atany time previously. This doubtless was due to the special preparationsmade by the patient for the preservation of the tattooed skin. Whilethe ether was being administered by a nurse, he bared the wounded armand examined the "copy of quaint art" with interest.
"What does he call this picture?" the "military sawbones" asked as hegazed at the seemingly unmethodical arrangement of distorted "cubes" ofall sorts of shapes and angles.
The patient was not yet unconscious, although the nurse was droppingether into the mask covering his mouth and nose. In a low dreamy voicehe answered the question thus:
"It's 'The Basket of Eggs Spilling Down Stairs.'"
The surgeon and the two attending nurses laughed at this answer.
"His mind is wandering under the anaesthetic," said the surgeon.
"No, it isn't," Irving interposed. "He told you the same thing he toldme. You see, he's a cubist. That's his idea of art. That tattooing onhis arm is a copy of a picture painted by him when he was a student inan art school. That's the story he told me this morning."
The expression on the surgeon's face went through a motion-picturemetamorphosis while the boy onlooker was making his statement. First itindicated a kind of professional resentment at the contradiction; thenfollowed a wave of incredulity, succeeded by an enigmatical smirk. Ashe cast a glance of still-smirking amusement at young Ellis, the latterinterpreted it to mean that he questioned the sanity of the patient.
"If I were to perform this operation in the manner that cubists executetheir art, he'd probably want to sue me for malpractice," said thescientific man as he finished preparation for the use of the knife.
The operation was quickly performed, and the surgeon obligingly peeledoff the portion of skin containing the cubist tattooing and handed it toIrving. The latter proceeded at once to pack it in the box of saltprovided for the purpose, and said to the nurse in charge:
"I'll lay it here on the bed beside his pillow, so that he'll find itwhen he wakes up. Will you please call his attention to it?"
The nurse promised to do as requested, and Irving left the building andheard nothing more of the incident for several days. At last hisshoulder recovered from its lameness and he was ordered back to thefront.
Before returning to the trenches, however, he received a letter from hiscousin, Bob, that stirred in him a thrill of excitement that nosensational activities of battle could have aroused. The affair thusrevealed over a distance of thousands of miles confronted Irving withwhat seemed at first a most remarkable coincidence. But the boy wasunable to accept it as such without first making an inquiry aboutcertain suspicious circumstances. He suspected at once that somethingwas doing that ought to be laid before army officials for investigation.
"I'm getting along first rate, Irving," Bob wrote. "My wounds have allhealed. I was pretty badly shot to pieces. One of the bones of my leftleg was pretty much shattered. They thought, at first they'd have toamputate the limb, but it was saved, thank goodness, although the kneewill always be stiff. I had half a dozen shell and machine gun woundsin my body, too, though fortunately all of them were well removed fromvital spots. But, although these injuries were as bad as one would careto receive, all of them together were not nearly as dangerous oruncomfortable as the dose of gas I got. Believe me, Irving, I don'twant any more of that. If you want my opinion of it, I'll tell you Ithink it's more cruel than submarine warfare where they sink passengerships without warning. The doctors thought for a while that I was goingto have the 'con,' but I'm about over the effects of my dose now."
"Well, while I was convalescing, I had to have some amusement--I meanafter I was able to be up and around, but hardly strong enough to shovelsnow. Say, we've had some awful heavy snow storms this winter. Regularblizzards, with snow over your shoetops when you're standing on yourhead. That's snowing some, isn't it?
"Well, about the time I was able to get around without doing myself anyharm--the gas effects kept me pretty weak quite a while,--I went up toToronto to visit some friends. I was invited up there by one of theboys who was gassed at the same time I was. He and others had organizeda 'Gas club,' consisting of fellows who had been gassed in the war.Grewsome idea, wasn't it? But it took famously. They wanted me tojoin, and I went up there and was initiated.
"Well, while I was up there, I saw considerable outdoor life. Severalof us went hunting on snowshoes one day, and that capped the climax ofmy physical exertions. I ought to have been more careful, for I was notstrong enough yet for such life. Well, I became ill on the way, and theboys got me to a hospital in the outskirts of the city and a physicianexamined me. The doctor said there was nothing serious the matter withme, only over-exertion in my weakened condition, so I did not notifyfather and mother.
"Two days later the doctor said I was in good enough condition to leavethe hospital, but advised me to go straight home and not try any moresuch vigorous exercise until I was in condition to return to thetrenches. This was in the evening, and I decided to remain in thehospital until morning. I was sitting up when the doctor called, andafter he left I went out into the hall to find a telephone to call up myfriend and tell him of my plan to return home next day.
"The building is an old brick structure that undoubtedly would have beencondemned for hospital purposes if the interior woodwork had not been ofthe best material and well put together. However, the layout wasdecidedly old-fashioned and confusing to one accustomed to modernarchitecture. Anyway, I got lost, so to speak, in the hall while tryingto find my way to the stairway.
"I found a stairway, but soon realized that it was not the one I wanted,and was about to turn back, when something caught my attention and heldit for several minutes. I was on a kind of half-floor landing before anentrance into a low rear addition, and from that position found myselfgazing into a laboratory in which something very strange was going o
n.Three men were in the room, one of them little more than a boy and inthe khaki uniform of a soldier; the other two in civilian clothes. Inthe upper half of the door were two glass panels, through which I couldsee very clearly, and the transom over the door was swung partly open.
"There was something peculiar about the two older men which almostfascinated me. Both had a decidedly foreign look. One wassmooth-shaven, except for a heavy kaiser mustache; the other, the olderof these two, wore a full beard.
"The young fellow in khaki was seated on a chair, with his left armbared above the elbow, resting on a table. The other two men wereworking over the arm in a most studious manner. Over them was abrilliant calcium light which illuminated their work. I could see thearm very plainly and it took me only a minute or two to determine whatthe two older men were doing to it.
"They were tattooing the arm, and a most remarkable kind of tattooing itwas. They were extremely careful with their work and progressed slowly.Judging from the care they took and the slowness with which theyprogressed, they must have worked on that arm several days. Also,spread out before them, was a small sheet of white paper, to which theyreferred frequently.
"It is hard to describe to you the appearance of the result of theirwork, but I'll send you a copy of the original they were working fromand explain how I got it. I think you'll agree with me that it looksmore like a piece of kindergarten patchwork than anything elseimaginable.
"While I was gazing in a kind of fascination at the strange scene, theman with the kaiser mustache turned suddenly and saw me. His nextmovement was just as sudden and much more astonishing. He sprang to thedoor, flung it open, and before I could realize what was taking place hehad seized me by the arm and was dragging me into the laboratory. Istruggled to prevent him from getting me inside, but, because of myweakened condition, was unsuccessful. My next impulse was to cry outfor help, but the situation seemed to me so ridiculous that I decided Iwould only make myself look foolish by so doing. This hospital wassurely a highly respectable institution, I reasoned, and themisunderstanding of which I was a victim would soon be cleared up.Perhaps these men thought I was a spying meddler bent on some maliciousmischief.