THE WOUNDED MAN
The torchbearers had come up and a group, picturesque and terrible, was
formed, by the bright light of the burning resin. Karl had not been
plundered like the other corpses, the dog had guarded his body and
prevented this. Helen was stretched upon him, her lips to his, weeping
and groaning. Benedict was on his knees beside her, with the dog's paws
on his shoulders. The surgeon stood, his arms folded, like a man
accustomed to death and its sadness. Fritz had thrust his head through
the leaves of a thorn-tree. Every one was silent and motionless for a
moment.
Suddenly Helen cried out, she sprang up, covered with Karl's blood, her
face haggard and her hair wild. They all looked at her.
"Ah!" she cried. "I am going mad." Then, falling on her knees, "Karl!
Karl! Karl!" she cried.
"What is it?" asked Benedict.
"Oh! have pity on me," said Helen. "But I thought I felt a breath on my
face. Did he wait for me, to give his last sigh?"
"Excuse me, madam," said the surgeon, "but if he whom you call Karl is
not dead, there is no time to be lost in looking to him."
"Oh! come and look, sir," said Helen, moving quickly to one side.
The surgeon knelt down, the soldiers brought the torches near, and
Karl's pale, but still handsome face was seen. A wound in his head had
covered his left cheek with blood, and he would have been unrecognizable
if the dog had not licked the blood away from his face as it flowed.
The surgeon loosened his collar; then he raised him to undo his tunic.
The wound was terrible, for the back of his tunic was red with blood.
The surgeon undid his coat, and with the swiftness of habit cut his coat
up the back; then he called for water.
"Water," repeated Helen in an automatic voice that sounded like an echo.
The river was only fifty paces away, Fritz ran to it and brought back
the wooden shoe, with which he was accustomed to bail out the boat, full
of water. Helen gave her handkerchief.
The surgeon dipped into the water and began to wash the wounded man's
chest, while Benedict supported his body across his knees. It was only
then that they saw a clot of blood on his arm, this was a third wound.
That on his head was insignificant. That in his chest seemed the most
serious at first, but an artery had been cut in his right arm, and the
great loss of blood had led to a fainting fit during which the blood had
ceased to flow.
Helen, during this sad examination, had not ceased asking.
"Is he dead? is he dead?"
"We are going to see," said the surgeon. And on examination it proved
that his blood still flowed. Karl was not dead.
"He lives!" said the surgeon.
Helen cried out and fell on her knees.
"What must we do to bring him to life?" she asked.
"The artery must be tied," said the surgeon, "will you let me take him
to the ambulance?"
"Oh, no, no!" cried Helen. "I cannot be parted from him. Do you think he
will bear being taken to Frankfort?"
"By water, yes. And I confess to you that considering the interest you
take in this young man, I would rather some one else performed this
operation. Now, if you have any way of taking him quickly by water--"
"I have my boat," said Fritz, "and if this gentleman" (he pointed to
Benedict) "will give me a helping hand we will be in Frankfort in three
hours."
"It remains to be seen," said the surgeon, "considering his great loss
of blood, whether he will live three hours."
"My God, my God!" cried Helen.
"I don't dare to ask you to look, madam, but the earth is soaked with
his blood!"
Helen gave a cry of dismay, and put her hand before her eyes.
While talking, while reassuring, while frightening Helen with the
terrible cold-bloodedness of a man used to death, the surgeon was
binding up the wound in Karl's chest.
"You say you fear that he has lost too much blood? How much blood can
one lose without dying?" asked Helen.
"It depends, madam."
"What have I to fear or hope for?" asked Helen.
"You have to hope that he will live to reach Frankfort, that he has not
lost as much blood as I fear he has, and that a clever surgeon will tie
up the artery. You have to fear that he will have a second hæmorrhage
to-day, or in eight or ten days, when the wound is healed."
"But we can save him, can't we?"
"Nature has so many resources, that we must always hope, madam."
"Well," said Helen, "do not let us lose an instant."
Benedict and the surgeon took the torches, the two soldiers carried the
wounded man to the bank. They laid him in the stern of the boat on a
mattress and blanket fetched from Aschaffenburg.
"May I try to rouse him?" asked Helen, "or ought I to leave him in his
present state?"
"Do not do anything to bring him back to consciousness, madam it is this
which stops the hæmorrhage, and if the artery is tied before he wakes,
all may be well."
They all took their places in the boat, the two Prussians stood holding
the torches; Helen was kneeling, the surgeon supported the wounded man;
Benedict and Fritz rowed. Frisk, who did not seem to feel pride in
having played such a splendid part, was sitting in the prow. This time,
well ballasted, pulled by four arms, vigorous and accustomed to the
exercise, the boat sped like a swallow over the surface of the water.
Karl remained unconscious. The doctor had thought that the air, cooler
on the water than on the land, would rouse him, but it did not. He
remained motionless, and gave no sign of life.
They arrived at Dettingen. Benedict gave a handsome reward to the two
Prussian soldiers, and asked the surgeon, whom Helen could only thank by
pressing his hands, to tell Frederic all the details of the expedition.
Benedict called Lenhart, who was sleeping on the box of his carriage,
and told him to go to Frankfort as fast as possible, and tell some
porters to wait with a litter on the banks of the Main at Frankfort. As
for him, with Helen and Earl, he continued his journey by water, that
being the smoothest road that one can find for a sick man.
Towards Hanau the sky began to get light; a great band of rosy silver
stretched itself above the Bavarian mountains.
It seemed to Helen that the wounded man shuddered. She gave a cry that
made the two rowers turn, then without another movement, Karl opened his
eyes, murmured the name of Helen, and closed them again. All this was so
rapid, that if Fritz and Benedict had not seen it with her, she would
have doubted it. That opened eye, that gently murmured word did not seem
a return to life, but the dream of a dying man.
The sun in rising sometimes has this effect on the dying, and before
closing for ever their eyes look for the last time upon the sun. This
idea came to Helen.
"Oh, Heaven!" she murmured, with sobs. "Is he breathing his last sigh?"
Benedict left the oar for a moment and went to Karl. He took his hand,
felt his pulse; and found it imperceptible. He listened to his heart; it
seemed to be still.
At each test Helen murmured: "Oh, Heaven!"
At the last test he shared her doubts. He took out a lancet, which he
always carried, and pricked the shoulder of the wounded man, who did not
feel or move; but a feeble drop of blood appeared.
"Be of good courage, he is still alive," he said, and again took up his
oar.
Helen began to pray.
Since the evening, no one had eaten but Fritz. Benedict broke a piece of
bread and gave it to Helen. She refused it with a smile.
They reached Offenbach, and could see Frankfort in the distance
silhouetted against the sky. They were due there at about eight o'clock.
At eight o'clock, in fact, the boat stopped at the landing-place by the
bridge. Soon they saw Lenhart and his carriage, and close to him a
litter. They raised the wounded man with the same precautions as before,
put him in the litter, and drew the curtains round him.
Benedict wished Helen to go in Lenhart's carriage; the bodice of her
dress was stained with blood. She wrapped herself in a large shawl and
walked beside the litter. To save time she asked Benedict to go and seek
for the same doctor who had attended the Baron von Bülow, Doctor
Bodemacker. She herself crossed all the town from the Sachsenhausen
Strasse to her mother's house, following the litter which bore Karl.
People watched her pass with astonishment, and went to question Fritz
who walked behind. And when he said it was a _fiancée_ who was following
the body of her lover, and as every one knew that Fräulein Helen von
Chandroz was engaged to Count Karl von Freyberg, they recognized the
beautiful young lady, and stepped back bowing respectfully.
When they reached the house the door was already open. Her grandmother
and sister were waiting on each side of the door, and as she passed
Helen took a hand of each.
"To my room!" she said.
The wounded man was taken to her room and laid on her bed. At that
moment Doctor Bodemacker arrived with Benedict.
The doctor examined Karl, and Benedict looked on with anxiety almost
equal to Helen's.
"Who saw this man before me?" asked, the doctor. "Who bound his
wounds?"
"A regimental surgeon," answered Helen.
"Why did he not tie the artery?"
"It was at night, by torchlight, in the open air; he did not dare. He
told me to get a cleverer man, and I came to you."
The surgeon looked at Karl uneasily. "He has lost a quarter of his
blood," he murmured.
"Well?" asked Helen.
The doctor bent his head.
"Doctor," cried Helen, "don't tell me there is no hope: it is always
said that people quickly recover lost blood."
"Yes," replied the doctor, "when he can eat. But never mind, a doctor
must do all he can. Can you help me?" he asked Benedict.
"Yes," he answered, "I have some idea of surgery."
"You will leave the room, won't you?" the surgeon asked Helen.
"Not for the world!" she cried, "no, no, I will stay to the end."
The operation on the arm was finished with a cleverness which astonished
Benedict.
"Now," said the doctor, "ice water must be slowly dropped on that arm!"
Some ice was procured and in five minutes was upon the arm.
"Now," said the doctor, "we shall see."
"What shall we see?" asked Helen anxiously.
"We shall see the effect of the ice water."
All three were standing by the bed, and it would be difficult to say
which was the most interested in its success: the doctor, from
professional pride; Helen, from her great love of the wounded man; or
Benedict, from his friendship with Karl and Helen.
At the first drops of ice water which fell on the arm, Karl shuddered
visibly. Then his eyelids trembled, his eyes opened, and he looked round
him with surprise until they became fixed on Helen. A faint smile
appeared on his lips and the corners of his eyes. He tried to speak and
breathed the name of Helen.
"He must not speak," said the doctor, "until to-morrow at least."
"Enough, my beloved," said Helen. "To-morrow you can tell me you love
me."