AN AMATEUR SURGEON
They laid the wounded Cretan on the lounge in the parsonage. He was
pale as death from loss of blood, and kept snapping at his under lip
with his teeth, but he did not groan.
"We are a pair of storks now," he said, smiling at Curtis, and then he
fainted away. Curtis cut the trouser from the wounded leg. A ball had
struck the shin.
"It's not badly splintered, old man," said the American, as Michali
opened his eyes again. "I don't know anything about surgery, but I
should think the proper thing would be to wash it, support it with some
splints and bind it up tight. Shall I try it?"
"What you need?" asked Michali.
"Some warm water, two or three straight sticks and a piece of cloth
that I can tear up into strips."
The wounded man called for the necessary articles and they were soon
brought. Curtis washed the blood away carefully.
The end of a piece of bone pushed against the skin from beneath and
made a sharp protuberance.
"I'm awfully sorry, old man, but I've got to hurt you--like the devil,
I'm afraid."
"All right, my friend," replied Michali, "only do not be long."
"No, only a minute. Here, lie on your back. That's right. Now take
hold of the sides of the lounge and hang on tight. That'll help you.
I know it from having teeth filled. Now, tell this old man to take
hold of your ankle so, with both hands, and pull, slowly, carefully,
till I say 'stop,' and not to commence pulling till I say 'now.' You'd
better explain--your Greek is some better than mine."
Michali explained.
"Does he understand?"
"Perfectly."
Curtis put his hand about the broken shin in such a way that he could
push the fragment of bone into place.
"This can't be wrong," he reflected. "At any rate, there's nothing
else to do."
Looking at the old man he nodded.
"Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!" gurgled Michali, as though the words were
being pulled from his throat with a hook. There was so much agony in
them, they meant so much more than the screams of a weaker person would
have meant, that the amateur surgeon felt sick at his stomach and it
cost him a tremendous effort to see through a sort of blindness that
settled like a cloud before his eyes. But the two ends of the bone
came together and he resolutely pushed the splinter into place.
Still holding the leg tightly he looked at Michali. Great drops of
sweat were standing on the Cretan's face and his underlip was bleeding,
but he smiled bravely.
"All over," said Curtis. "Now for the sticks and the strips."
Fortunately for the success of the operation the boy who had led the
mule was outside, giving an account of the progress of the battle. He
proved a greater attraction even than the broken leg. Curtis, finding
himself alone with his patient, shut and locked the door.
"Does it hurt you very much, old man?" he asked. "I suppose the proper
thing now would be to give you something to put you to sleep. Don't
you think you could sleep a little while anyway?"
"No, no, I cannot sleep. It hurts me some, but not much--not too much."
Curtis sat quietly for some time in the semi-darkness of the room,
listening to the chatter of the boy outside, punctuated by the excited
exclamations of the listeners. He glanced at the drawn face of
Michali, which had a ghastly hue in the wan light. The wounded man's
eyes were open, but he made no sound.
"He's a plucky beggar," thought Curtis. "I wonder if it would do him
any harm to talk? I say, Michali," he asked aloud, "how is it going?
What are they doing up there?"
"They tried to come through about eleven o'clock--but how can I tell
you, since you do not the ravine know? It begins wide on the other
side--a deep, steep valley, with many pine trees, and paths along the
sides. Near the top of the mountain the ravine becomes narrow, between
walls of rock, what you call it?--perpendicular. If the Turk ever gets
over the summit we are lost. Very well--that devil Ampates! Lindbohm
should have killed him!"
"Why, what did he do?"
"Without him the Turk never could have found the best path. Well, we
have men on all the paths with dogs--good dogs, hear half a mile,
bark--O, like the devil! We stay high up, most of us, where ravine is
narrow, so not to scatter out too much. We hide behind the rocks on
both sides of the ravine, on the other side the mountain. We listen
and listen, O, how we listen! Nothing. The wind in the pine trees.
For hours we listen. My ears get very wide awake. I think I hear the
wind among the stars. Then, all at once, we sit up very straight,
holding our guns ready. 'Boo! boo! woo!' It is old Spire's dog, down
below. We sit very still. Perhaps the dog made a mistake. Perhaps he
bark at the moon. But no. 'Bang!' goes old Spiro's gun. Then we
know. That was the signal--Ah, mother of God!"
No Greek can talk without violent gesticulations, that frequently bring
all the muscles of his body into play. Michali forgot the leg in his
excitement, and gave a little jump that wrenched it slightly.
"Never mind, old man. Don't talk any more--you'd better lie quiet,"
said Curtis. "You drove 'em back, did you?"
"Twenty men went down to the mouth of the pass. We stayed back the
narrow part to guard, high up, behind the rocks. Pretty soon they
commence shooting and yelling. It was moonlight there, you see, but
dark like--like--"
"Like a pocket," suggested Curtis.
"Like a pocket in the ravine, where we were. They keep
shooting--'biff, bang, biff, bang'--then all at once--'r-r-r-r-r!' more
than a hundred guns at once. 'That's the Turks,' said Lindbohm. 'By
damn! they must not get through. Michali, twenty men must come down
with me, twenty stay here.' I pick out twenty, and down we go, and
hide. Then the women light the fire. Whoof! the light jumps up and
slashes open the ravine. There they come, there come the Turks,
running, running. The boys keep shooting from above, 'ping! ping!' but
they not hit much, straight down so. One, two, three drop, but the
rest keep coming. We lay our rifles across the rocks and take aim.
Lindbohm, he keep saying, very low, 'Not yet, not yet, steady, boys,
steady--'"
"Steady, boys, steady!" cried Curtis; "that's old Lindbohm--yes, yes?"
"My God! I think the Turks get right on top of us, when 'bang!'
Lindbohm shoot right by my ear and blow a hole through a Turk. Then we
all shoot, shoot, shoot, but every time one Turk die, two new ones come
around the corner. And I think they get through, but the women pry off
big piece of rock. O, most as big as this house, and it kill two
Turks. Then the Turks turn and run--"
"Hurrah!" sobbed Curtis.
"Hurrah!" echoed Michali. "We killed thirty-four damned Turks!"
"How many men did you lose?" asked Curtis.
"One, shoot through the head. He high up and fall down into the
ravine. Turks laugh very loud. Another here, through the stomach. He
die pretty soon--he with us. His name Yanne. And me, I get this
little wound in the leg. How they hit my leg, I don't know."
As they were talking the church bell began to ring.