_General Alexis_
All that day Mildred Thornton had scarcely left the bedside of her
patient.
For the Russian boy was dying, and as there was no hope for him, Mildred
could only do her best to make him as comfortable as possible.
Now he seemed half asleep, so with her hands folded in her lap the girl
sat near him trying to rest, although unable to keep her mind as quiet
as her hands.
How strange her surroundings! Since her arrival in Europe as a Red Cross
nurse she had lived and worked in two other countries and certainly had
passed through remarkable experiences, yet none of them were to be
compared with these few weeks of nursing in Russia. One might have been
transferred to another planet instead of another land.
As an ordinary American tourist, Mildred had been familiar with Europe
for several years, having spent three summers abroad traveling with her
parents. But this was her first vision of the East, for Russia is
eastern, however she may count herself otherwise.
The American girl now lifted her eyes from the figure of the dying boy
and let them wander down the length of the room which sheltered them.
An immense place, it held rows on rows of other cot beds with white-clad
nurses passing about among them. When they spoke or when the patients
spoke Mildred could rarely guess what was being said, as she knew so few
words of Russian. Yet she had little difficulty with her nursing, for
the ways of the ill are universal and she had already seen so much
suffering.
Now the hospital room was in half shadow, but it was never light nor
aired as the American nurse felt it should be.
The hospital quarters were only a portion of the fortress, a great room,
like a barracks which had been hastily turned into a refuge for the
wounded.
The long stone chamber boasted only four small windows hardly larger
than portholes and some distance from the ground. These opened with
difficulty and were protected by heavy iron bars. But then in Russia in
many private houses no window is ever voluntarily opened from autumn
until Easter, as the cold is so intense and the arrangements for heating
so crude.
Today Mildred wondered if the heavy, sick-laden air was giving her
extraordinary fancies. She kept seeing dream pictures. For as she stared
about the cold chamber of sorrow she beheld with greater distinctness
the image of her own rooms at home.
This was the hour when the maid came to light her yellow-shaded electric
candles; then she would put a fresh log on the fire and stir it to
brightness, not because the added warmth was needed in their big
steam-heated house, but because of the cheerfulness. Then would follow
her mother's invitation to drink a cup of tea with her and Dick in the
library, or would she prefer having it served in her own room?
With this thought the girl's eyes clouded for a moment. Doubtless Dick
and her mother would be having tea together this afternoon and Dick
would in all probability be trying to explain why his sister was not
with him. During her work in France and Belgium her mother and father
had been more than kind, but with this suggestion of coming into Russia
to continue her nursing both her parents had protested.
It is true that they had not actually demanded her presence at home, for
she would not have disobeyed a command. But undoubtedly they had urged
her homecoming.
Her father longed for her because of the rare affection between them and
the fact that he dreaded the conditions and experiences that might await
her and her friends in Russia. For these same reasons her mother also
desired her return, yet Mildred knew that there was another motive
actuating her mother. She might be unconscious of the fact, but if her
daughter should reappear in New York society at the present time,
because of her war experiences she would become an object of unusual
interest and attention.
At this instant the smile that appeared at the corners of the girl's
mouth banished the tired expression it had previously worn. One big
thing her war experiences had done for Mildred Thornton, it had given
her a new sense of values. Now she _knew_ the things that counted.
She had learned to smile at her own failure as a society girl, even to
understand and forgive her mother's chagrin at the fact.
Yet Mildred was influenced in a measure to continue her work in Europe
by these trivial points of view.
Should she return home and re-enter society as her mother wished, sooner
or later she must prove a second disappointment. For she had no social
gifts; she could never learn to talk as her friends did. If questions
were asked of her she could only reply with facts, not because she was
lacking in sympathy or imagination, but because she had not the grace of
words. So with neither beauty nor charm, how could she ever even hope to
gratify her mother by securing the distinguished husband she so desired
for her?
But since there was a place in the world for bees as well as
butterflies, Mildred never meant to allow herself to grow unhappy
again. She had a real talent for nursing; her work had received only
praise. So here in Europe, where there seemed to be the greatest need
of her services, she meant to remain as long as possible. This, in spite
of the alluring picture of home which would thrust itself before her
consciousness.
At this instant the boy on the bed moved and sighed and at the same
instant the American girl forgot herself. He had opened his eyes and
Mildred could see that he had become dimly conscious of his own
condition and his surroundings.
But this boy could never have been more than dimly conscious of most
things in his short life, he was so stupid and could neither read nor
write; indeed, he had a vocabulary of but a few hundred words. Peter had
been a laborer on the estates of a Polish nobleman when the call came to
arms. And so often in the past week while she had been caring for him
Mildred had been reminded of some farm animal by the way the boy
endured pain, he had been so dumb and uncomplaining.
Even now he made no attempt to speak, but as she leaned over and took
his hand Mildred realized that the boy could live but a few moments
longer.
After a little tender smoothing of his cover the girl turned away. The
Russian peasant is always a devout Catholic, so Mildred realized that he
would wish a priest with him at the end.
She had walked only a few feet from the young soldier's bedside when an
unaccustomed atmosphere of excitement in the ward arrested her
attention.
It would not be necessary for her to summon a priest; some one must have
anticipated her desire. For the priest was even now approaching.
However, he was a familiar figure, passing hourly among the wounded and
their attendants; his presence would cause no excitement.
The next instant Mildred understood the priest was not alone. He was
accompanied by one of the most famous men in all Europe.
Although she had never seen him until this instant, Mildred Thornton
had not a moment's doubt of the man's identity. This was the Commander
of the fortress at Grovno, General Dmitri Alexis, at the present hour
the bulwark of many Russian hopes.
For the past few weeks the Germans had been driving the Russians farther
and farther back beyond the boundaries of Poland and near the heart of
Russia. Here at Grovno the Russian army was expected to make a
victorious stand. The faith of the Russian people was centered in
General Dmitri Alexis.
Unlike most Russian officers, he had always been devoted to the
interests of the common people, although a son of one of Russia's noble
families. But he was known to be a shy, quiet man with little to say for
himself, who had risen to his present rank by sheer ability.
To Mildred's eyes he seemed almost an old man; in fact, he must have
been about fifty. His hair was iron gray, but unlike most Russians his
eyes were a dark blue. As he wore no beard, the lines about his mouth
were so stern as to be almost forbidding.
Mildred knew that he was an intimate personal friend of the Czar and
realized just to what extent he must feel the weight of his present
responsibilities.
Therefore she was the more surprised at his appearance in the hospital
ward.
Except for a courtly inclination of his head the great man paid no
attention to the greetings that were offered him by the nurses and
doctors. Walking down the center of the room he had eyes only for the
wounded men who lined the two walls. Then his sternness relaxed and his
smile became a curious compound of pity and regret.
Mildred found herself staring without regard to good manners or
breeding. Why should this man create such an atmosphere of trust and
respect? She had seen other great generals in the armies of the Allies
before today, but never one who had made such an impression.
General Alexis and the priest paused by the bedside of the Russian boy
who was Mildred's patient.
There the great man's face softened until it became almost womanish in
its sympathy. Slowly and reverently the dying boy attempted to raise his
general's hand to his lips.
General Alexis said a few words in Russian which the young soldier
understood, but Mildred could not. For he attempted to shake his head,
to whisper a denial, then smiling dropped his arms down by his sides.
Mildred made no effort to move forward to assist him, for she did not
feel that she had a place in the little group at this moment. She merely
watched and waited, trying to see clearly through the mist in her eyes.
The boy's broad chest, strong once as a young giant's, but now with a
scarcely beating heart beneath it, quivered with what seemed a final
emotion. The same instant General Alexis leaned down and pinned against
the white cotton of his rough shirt the iron cross of all the Russias.
Afterwards he kissed him as simply as a woman might have done.
That was all! So natural and so quiet it was, Mildred Thornton herself
was hardly aware of the significance of the little scene she had just
witnessed.
Here in a country where the gulf between the rich and the poor, the
humble and the great was well nigh impassable, a single act of courage
had bridged it.
What act of valor Peter had performed Mildred never knew. She only knew
that it had called from his duties one of the greatest men in Europe,
that he might by his presence and with his own hands show homage to the
humblest of soldiers.
When the simple ceremony was over the boy lay quite still, scarcely
noticing that his general knelt down beside his bed. For his eyes were
almost closing.
Neither did Mildred dare move or speak.
Against the walls the other nurses and doctors stood quiet as wooden
figures, while the wounded were hushed to unaccustomed silences.
Then the Russian priest began to intone in words which the American
girl could not understand, but in a voice the most wonderful she had
ever heard. His tones were those of an organ deep and beautiful, of
great volume but without noise.
Ceasing, he lifted an ikon before the young soldier's dimming eyes, and
pronounced what must have been a benediction.
The next moment the great stillness had entered the hospital chamber and
the Russian boy with the iron cross above his heart lay in his final
sleep.
All at once Mildred Thornton felt extraordinarily weary. Backward and
forward she could see the big room rise and recede as though it had been
an immense wave. The dim light was turning to darkness, when
instinctively reaching out her hand touched the back of a chair. With
this she steadied herself for the moment. Until now she had not known
how tired she was from her vigil, nor how she had been moved by the
scene she had just witnessed. After a little she would go to her own
room and perhaps Nona or Barbara would be there. But she must wait until
General Alexis and the priest had gone away.
The next moment she realized that the great man had risen and was
approaching toward her.
Mildred looked wholly unlike a Russian woman. Her heavy flaxen hair,
simply braided and twisted about her head, showed a few strands
underneath her nurse's cap. Her face was almost colorless, yet her
pallor was unlike the Russian, which is of a strange olive tone. Now and
then in her nurse's costume Mildred Thornton became almost beautiful,
through her air of strength and refinement and the unusual sweetness of
her expression.
The eyes that were turned toward General Alexis were a clear blue-gray,
but there were deep circles under them, and the girl swayed a little in
spite of her effort to stand perfectly still.
For several seconds the great man regarded her in silence. Then he
stretched forth his hand.
"You are an American Red Cross nurse, I believe. May I have the honor of
shaking your hand. I have been told that three young American women are
here at our fortress at Grovno helping to care for our wounded. You have
traveled many miles for a noble cause. In the name of my Emperor and his
people may I thank you."
The little speech was made in perfect English and with such simplicity
that Mildred did not feel awed or surprised.
However, she was not certain how she replied or if she replied at all.
She only felt her cold fingers held in a hand like steel and the next
moment the great general had gone out of the room.
Immediately after Mildred found herself surrounded by a group of Russian
nurses. The Russians are amazing linguists and several of the nurses
could speak English. Evidently they were overwhelmed by the honor the
American girl had just had bestowed upon her. It had almost overshadowed
for the time the greater glory of the young soldier.
An American Red Cross nurse had been individually thanked by one of the
greatest commanders in Europe for her service and the services of her
friends to his soldiers and his country.
But there was another personal side to the situation which the Russian
hospital staff appeared to find more amazing.
General Dmitri Alexis was supposed never to speak to a woman. He was an
old bachelor and was said to greatly despise the frivolities of Russian
society women.
Incredible as it may seem, there is gossip even inside a great fortress
in time of war.
But Mildred's Russian companions had neither time nor opportunity to
reveal much to her at present. As soon as it was possible she begged
that she might be allowed to go to her own room. Although she shared
it with Nona and Barbara, neither one of them was there at the time.
But instead of lying down at once Mildred wrote a few lines to her
mother. She knew that she would be greatly pleased by the attention
that had just been paid her. Of course Mildred realized that the
General's thanks were not bestowed upon her as an individual, but
as a representative of the United States, whose sympathy and
friendliness Russia so greatly appreciated.