THE HOSPITAL
Pep and his master were finally assigned to duty in the great hospital
at Brest and life went on there quite to the dog’s liking.
The hospital was composed of a number of long, low buildings, all cool,
clean, and quiet. There were so many buildings and wards for different
ailments that Pep wondered how his master could ever remember where all
his patients were. When the doctor was too busy to have him around,
Pep spent his time in the dispensary, where he was a prime favorite
with Captain Everts, who had charge of this important portion of the
hospital. The captain was also a doctor, so sometimes his friends
called him “Doc” and sometimes “Cap,” but all were very respectful.
There was a fine soft rug under a great table and here Pep would lie
for hours watching the doctors and nurses come and go. Some of them
spoke to him and some did not. For some of them he would grin and wag
his tail, but the majority he hardly deigned to notice.
He usually went with the doctor for his morning rounds through the
wards. He would follow sedately at his master’s heels from ward to ward.
When his master stopped to examine a patient, Pep stopped and watched
proceedings narrowly. There were several things that he noticed his
master always did. First he would say “Good morning” and “How are you
this fine day?” The doctor always said that no matter if it was raining
buckets full, and it was either raining or cloudy most of the time.
Then the doctor would go to the paper which they called a chart at the
head of the bed and study it intently. Pep could usually tell whether
or not his master was pleased with what he saw on the chart.
When he was not pleased, the doctor would take out his watch and hold
the man’s wrist. He would also sometimes look at the patient’s tongue,
but usually the surgeon spent his time putting on bandages, changing
dressings, and doing other needful things for the poor wounded soldiers.
Some of the men would speak to Pep and for some of them he would stand
on his hind legs and let them stroke his head. If he liked the soldier,
he would lick his hand. So it happened that many of the soldiers came
to look for Pep’s morning visit as much as they did for the doctor’s.
He would often visit at the convalescents’ ward on his own account.
There the men were up walking around, or sitting in chairs. Usually
they would be playing cards, reading, or writing letters home.
They often took Pep into their confidence and told him about their
sweethearts at home, or that he reminded them of a dog they once knew.
Several of the soldiers in this ward became very fond of Pep and he of
them. He would allow himself to be stroked and petted a great deal by
his favorites. He felt in some way that it helped the soldiers to pet
him. He knew that he and his master were here to help the soldiers, so
he would gladly sacrifice his dignity in the good cause.
He would sit gravely listening for half an hour at a time while the
soldiers talked excitedly about the battles they had been in. He noted
that their faces always grew grave or angry when they mentioned the
word Boche. So he finally decided in his dog way, which was not quite
clear as to the reasons why, that Boche meant something bad. It was
probably the enemy, the thing that they were all out here to fight.
Finally one of the men who was fond of dogs and had a trick dog
at home taught Pep to growl at the mention of the Boche, and this
accomplishment greatly pleased the soldiers.
Every two or three days the activities at the hospital would be doubled
and then Pep would often hear the word battle. That meant that the
number of ambulances arriving that day would be greatly increased. At
such times he was always out in the great quadrangle before the main
building watching the ambulances come and go, and the nurses and
doctors unload the wounded men. It was a serious time. No one laughed
or joked here as they did in the dispensary. At such times his master
would not even notice him when he rubbed against his leg to attract his
attention.
Pep slept on his fine rug under the table in the dispensary. Some one
was always on duty, and nurses were coming and going all night. In
fact, the hospital was almost as busy during the night as it was in the
day time.
One night when he had been there about three weeks he was awakened by
the most terrible thunderstorm that he had ever heard, or at least that
was what he thought it. The thunder claps came one after another in
quick succession. Only they were much more staccato than thunder, more
like giant firecrackers. Nurses and doctors were hurrying to and fro,
and the orderly hospital was turned into pandemonium.
Pep came hurriedly out of his place of hiding under the table to
discover what was the matter, and soon heard the word Boche. Every one
was so angry that he decided the Boche must have something to do with
the thunderstorm, but just what he could not imagine.
He was trotting about after the captain growling softly to himself when
a thunderbolt much louder than the rest exploded right in their midst.
Pep heard the sound of breaking glass all about him. Some of the pieces
stuck in his skin and the air was filled with a pungent liquid that
drenched Pep’s back.
He growled savagely, but his growls changed to yelps when the liquid
began eating into his skin. With yelps of pain he fled from the
dispensary, out into the open air. This did not help much, however,
as the liquid still burned fiercely. All was excitement outside. The
thunder had ceased but broken glass was everywhere, while in many
places there were bricks and timbers and splintered boards thrown about
in every direction.
Finally an orderly noticed Pep’s distress and examined him. He brought
ointment and rubbed the dog’s back till the burning almost ceased. But
in the morning it was seen that he had lost a large patch of hair just
back of his shoulders. This was his first wound at the hands of the
Boche, but not his last.
The terrible thunderstorm which Pep had been through was a Boche
bombing expedition which had the base hospital as its mark.
So Pep learned that there were devils in the deep and devils in the
sky, and he knew from what was said about them that they were all
Boches.
After that night he growled louder than ever at the word Boche.
One day about a week after the night bombing expedition Pep’s master
came into the dispensary. Pep was lying under the table on his favorite
rug, asleep, but he aroused himself at the familiar step.
“Hello, old sport,” said the physician, tossing a stick of cinnamon
candy under the table to the dog.
Pep was very fond of candy, especially of cinnamon. His master, who
was something of a joker, said it was because of the bark in it. The
terrier wagged his tail in appreciation, swallowed the candy after two
or three crunches and came out to greet his master.
The doctor sat down heavily in the easy chair by the table and motioned
for Pep to come up into his lap. This was a privilege for special
occasions and the dog complied with alacrity.
The doctor looked about the room wearily. He had just come off
duty after eighteen hours, and was very tired. The large room was
nearly empty, the only other occupant being a young man who sat at a
typewriter clicking away for dear life at the other end of the room.
“It’s just you and I, Pep,” said the man, running the dog’s silky ears
through his fingers in a way the terrier loved. “We can have a good
visit, Pep. I’m lonesome, old chap. I want you to comfort me. I am
thinking of the dear old home and the mistress. What do you suppose
the little woman is doing to-day? I’ll bet you another stick of candy
against three wags of your tail that she is thinking of us. I am sure
of that, old sport.”
The dog took the proffered candy gingerly in his teeth and then dropped
it disdainfully on the floor. His master was incredulous, so stooped
and picked up the candy and offered it again. Pep was usually ravenous
for candy but he again dropped it on the floor, then sat up very
straight and looked hard into his master’s face. His ears were cocked.
His expression was inquiring. There was something afoot, something
in the wind that he did not like. No candy for him until his master
smiled, or looked more cheerful.
The look that the dog fastened on his face was so intent that the
master’s gaze fell before that of his inquisitor. He pulled the dog’s
ear to distract him. But he would not be distracted. Instead, he put
his paws on the man’s shoulders, and looked fairly into his face. The
man stooped down and kissed him on the top of the head.
“You are all I have to kiss now, Pep,” he said. “I’d rather kiss you
than some folks. I’m thinking of home, old chap.”
The dog heaved a deep sigh. He knew that his master was sad and he was
a sort of æolian harp that always responded to his master’s moods with
sympathetic chords.
“Pep,” said the doctor sternly, “sit down in my lap and listen. I want
to talk to you. I am going away.”
The dog sat on his haunches in the man’s lap and listened intently, his
head on one side as though to catch each word, a sad, wistful look on
his face.
The doctor had sometimes used that tone to him before when he was going
away to New York for several days. Then it had meant loneliness and dog
heartache, so Pep was rightfully depressed.
“I’m going away, Pep. It is to the front. I am going where the wounded
men come from and you must be a good dog and stay here and not run
away. Do you understand? You must be a good dog.”
Pep knew the tone was that of reproof and admonishment, so he dropped
his ears and looked very meek.
“The last time I left you, you ran away and made me lots of trouble.
This time you must be good.”
The dog wagged his tail and whimpered. He would be good.
The doctor felt of his collar. It was very heavy and studded with
brass rivets. “It’s strong enough,” he said. “You can’t break that.”
Then he tried it to see if he could slip it over Pep’s head. It was
rather loose, so for luck he took it up a hole. “There, now I’ll get a
good strong chain and I guess you’ll be all right. Of course you’ll be
lonesome and make a great fuss, but these are hard times for us all,
and you will have to be a good soldier like the rest of us.”
Pep had seen the doctor try his collar before when he was to be tied
up. His freedom was very dear to him. He loved to roam about the
hospital. They were going to tie him up. He crawled up and licked his
master’s face eagerly and pleaded in his dog way.
“It isn’t any use, old chap. You have got to be tied up.”
Sadly the terrier sank down in his master’s lap, a look of utter
dejection on his face.
The doctor laughed. “It isn’t as bad as that, old sport. If I come
back we’ll have good times yet. If I don’t, I’ll tell them to send you
home to the mistress. If I don’t come back, you take good care of the
mistress.
“Here come my orders, old chum,” said the physician, giving Pep a final
hug as an orderly came in and put a telegram in the surgeon’s hand. The
doctor read the letter hurriedly and put it into his pocket.
He then brought a heavy dog chain and snapped it into Pep’s collar and
led him out of the dispensary to a storeroom where he sometimes slept
at night. He fastened the chain securely to a staple in the wall and
after giving Pep a parting hug, departed hurriedly, unmindful of his
whimpers and angry barks. Half an hour later the doctor was on a train
speeding away to the front, while Pep sulked dolefully in the storeroom.
Pep seemed to know instinctively that his master had gone for a long
time. The doctor had left him several times before for half a day
since they had been in France, but now it was different. That long
confidential talk in the dispensary and the affectionate hugs and
lavish petting foretold to his dog mind a long separation.
That night Pep howled so persistently that his friend, the Captain,
finally came into the storeroom and gave him a sound thrashing. After
this he was silent except for occasional half stifled whimpers and sobs
of grief. But though he seemed to take his hard fate stoically, he was
not reconciled.
The Captain led him each day on the leash into the dispensary and
chained him to the leg of the table. He watched the movements of every
one who came in and if any one spoke to him he at once told them in as
plain language as a dog could use to unsnap his chain and let him go.
But the Captain warned each newcomer that Pep was to be kept strictly
on the chain until his master’s return.
In the daytime he was not so lonesome or unconsolable, but in the night
he often lay awake whimpering for his master or working at his chain
and collar trying to get loose. He would spend hours tugging at the
chain, pulling at the staple with his teeth, or trying to get at his
collar, until he lay down utterly exhausted.
So it fared with Pep for two weeks, until finally one night when he had
tugged and strained even more violently than usual, one of the links in
his chain which had been only partly welded broke and he was free.
Free from the chain, but not free from the hospital. He knew well that
if any one discovered that he was loose, he would be tied up again, so
he crouched in a corner of the room behind a packing box and awaited
his chance.
Nurses often came to this storeroom in the night for supplies.
After about half an hour, the door opened quickly and some one came
in hurriedly. The door was left half ajar, so Pep slipped out and ran
into the main corridor leading to the great quadrangle in front of the
hospital. Here he slipped behind a door and waited for the next door to
open.
Luck was with him. The telephone was constantly ringing, and soon
nurses and doctors were hurrying to and fro. Presently he learned the
reason why, for they began bringing in an endless procession of wounded
men. The quadrangle was filled with ambulances.
He could hear the motors puffing away from his hiding place. When
wounded and dying men are arriving faster than they can be cared for,
men do not think much about dogs, so it was easy enough for Pep to slip
out through the quadrangle and into the boulevard. He brushed against
the leg of his friend the Captain, who did not even notice him.
Once out on the broad street he turned his nose northward and galloped
away like the wind.
Something away to the northeast was calling, calling, calling. A mind
and a soul that was stronger than his own dog mind was pulling him,
pulling, pulling, pulling, so why should he not know which way to go?
This sense or instinct which some of the dumb animals have is called
orientation. Dogs and horses have it to a marked degree and homing
pigeons and seals even more. Thompson Seton tells of how when
hopelessly lost in the Rocky Mountains a dozen miles from home his
horse carried him straight to camp, when he gave him his head.
My own small dog, a clever beagle, has an almost uncanny sense of my
whereabouts, a sense that transcends mind.
When I arise in the morning and go from my bedroom to the bathroom he
may be playing with some other dogs twenty rods away, but as soon as I
open my bedroom door, as though I had touched a hidden spring in his
dog intellect, he will turn and gallop for the house and be whining at
the front door to be let in when I come down stairs.
These lesser minds are to our stronger minds as filings to the magnet.
We call and they come though no word is spoken and our command may only
be expressed in a great longing.
So Pep galloped and galloped and knew not why, only something was
calling and calling and he could but obey. He did not need a map or a
compass. His dog instinct supplied both.
The reason for his galloping was this. His master, who was also his
god, lay in a narrow gulch at the edge of the Argonne forest, close to
a little brook in a poplar thicket, shot through the hips and nearly
dead from thirst and loss of blood.