COURAGE, OR PHILOSOPHY?
"I never realized," said Maud, delightedly, "what a strictly modern,
professional hospital ship Uncle John has made of this, until we put it
to practical use. I am sure it is better than those makeshifts we
observed at Calais, and more comfortable than those crowded hospitals on
land. Every convenience is at our disposal and if our patients do not
recover rapidly it will be because their condition is desperate."
She had just come on deck after a long and trying session in assisting
Doctors Gys and Kelsey to care for the injured, a session during which
Beth and Patsy had also stood nobly to their gruesome task. There were
eleven wounded, altogether, in their care, and although some of these
were in a critical condition the doctors had insisted that the nurses
needed rest.
"It is Dr. Gys who deserves credit for fitting the ship," replied Mr.
Merrick, modestly, to Maud's enthusiastic comment, "and Ajo is
responsible for the ship itself, which seems admirably suited to our
purpose. By the way, how is Gys behaving now? Is he still shaking with
fear?"
"No, he seems to have recovered his nerve. Isn't it a terrible
affliction?"
"Cowardice? Well, my dear, it is certainly an unusual affliction in this
country and in these times. I have been amazed to-day at the courage I
have witnessed. These Belgians are certainly a brave lot."
"But no braver than the German we brought with us," replied Maud
thoughtfully. "One would almost think he had no sensation, yet he must
be suffering terribly. The doctor will amputate the remnants of his foot
in an hour or so, but the man positively refuses to take an
anaesthetic."
"Does he speak English or French?"
"No; only German. But Captain Carg understands German and so he has been
acting as our interpreter."
"How about the Belgian we picked up on the road?"
"He hasn't recovered consciousness yet. He is wounded in the back and in
trying to get to the rear became insensible from loss of blood."
"From what I saw I wouldn't suppose any Belgian could be wounded in the
back," remarked Uncle John doubtfully.
"It was a shell," she said, "and perhaps exploded behind him. It's a bad
wound, Dr. Gys says, but if he regains strength he may recover."
During this conversation Patsy Doyle was lying in her stateroom below
and crying bitterly, while her cousin Beth strove to soothe her. All
unused to such horrors as she had witnessed that day, the girl had
managed to retain her nerve by sheer force of will until the Red Cross
party had returned to the ship and extended first aid to the wounded;
but the moment Dr. Gys dismissed her she broke down completely.
Beth was no more accustomed to bloodshed than her cousin, but she had
anticipated such scenes as they had witnessed, inasmuch as her year of
training as nurse had prepared her for them. She had also been a close
student of the daily press and from her reading had gleaned a knowledge
of the terrible havoc wrought by this great war. Had Patsy not given
way, perhaps Beth might have done so herself, and really it was Maud
Stanton who bore the ordeal with the most composure.
After a half hour on deck Maud returned to the hospital section quite
refreshed, and proceeded to care for the patients. She alone assisted
Gys and Kelsey to amputate the German's foot, an operation the man bore
splendidly, quite unaware, however, that they had applied local
anaesthetics to dull the pain. Dr. Gys was a remarkably skillful surgeon
and he gave himself no rest until every one of the eleven had received
such attention as his wounds demanded. Even Kelsey felt the strain by
that time and as Maud expressed her intention of remaining to minister
to the wants of the crippled soldiers, the two doctors went on deck for
a smoke and a brief relaxation.
By this time Beth had quieted Patsy, mainly by letting her have her cry
out, and now brought her on deck to join the others and get the fresh
air. So quickly had events followed one another on this fateful day
that it was now only four o'clock in the afternoon. None of them had
thought of luncheon, so the ship's steward now brought tea and
sandwiches to those congregated on deck.
As they sat together in a group, drinking tea and discussing the
exciting events of the day, little Maurie came sauntering toward them
and removed his cap.
"Your pardon," said he, "but--are the wounded all cared for?"
"As well as we are able to care for them at present," answered Beth.
"And let me thank you, Jakob Maurie--let us all thank you--for the noble
work you did for us to-day."
"Pah! it was nothing," said he, shifting from one foot to another. "I
enjoyed it, mamselle. It was such fun to dive into the battle and pull
out the wounded. It helped them, you see, and it gave us a grand
excitement. Otherwise, had I not gone with you, I would be as ignorant
as all in Dunkirk still are, for the poor people do not yet know what
has happened at the front."
"We hardly know ourselves what has happened," said Uncle John. "We can
hear the boom of guns yet, even at this distance, and we left the battle
line flowing back and forth like the waves of the ocean. Have a cup of
tea, Maurie?"
The man hesitated.
"I do not like to disturb anyone," he said slowly, "but if one of the
young ladies is disengaged I would be grateful if she looks at my arm."
"Your arm!" exclaimed Beth, regarding him wonderingly as he stood before
her.
Maurie smiled.
"It is hardly worth mentioning, mamselle, but a bullet--"
"Take off your coat," she commanded, rising from her seat to assist him.
Maurie complied. His shirt was stained with blood. Beth drew out her
scissors and cut away the sleeve of his left arm. A bullet had passed
directly through the flesh, but without harming bone or muscle.
"Why didn't you tell us before?" she asked reproachfully.
"It amounted to so little, beside the other hurts you had to attend," he
answered. "I am shamed, mamselle, that I came to you at all. A little
water and a cloth will make it all right."
Patsy had already gone for the water and in a few minutes Beth was
deftly cleansing the wound.
"How did it happen, Maurie?" asked Jones. "I was with you most of the
time and noticed nothing wrong. Besides, you said nothing about it."
"It was on the road, just as we picked up that fallen soldier with the
hole in his back. The fight jumped toward us pretty quick, you remember,
and while I sat at the wheel the bullet came. I knew when it hit me, but
I also knew I could move my arm, so what did it matter? I told myself to
wait till we got to the ship. Had we stayed there longer, we might all
have stopped bullets--and some bullets might have stopped us." He
grinned, as if the aphorism amused him, and added: "To know when to run
is the perfection of courage."
"Does it hurt?" asked Uncle John, as Beth applied the lint and began
winding the bandage.
"It reminds me it is there, monsieur; but I will be ready for another
trip to-morrow. Thank you, mamselle. Instead of the tea, I would like a
little brandy."
"Give him some in the tea," suggested Gys, noting that Maurie swayed a
little. "Sit down, man, and be comfortable. That's it. I'd give a
million dollars for your nerve."
"Have you so much money?" asked Maurie.
"No."
"Then I cannot see that you lack nerve," said the little Belgian
thoughtfully. "I was watching you to-day, M'sieur Doctor, and I believe
what you lack is courage."
Gys stared so hard at him with the one good eye that even Maurie became
embarrassed and turned away his head. Sipping his tea and brandy he
presently resumed, in a casual tone:
"Never have I indulged in work of more interest than this. We go into
the thick of the fight, yet are we safe from harm. We do good to both
sides, because the men who do the fighting are not to blame for the war,
at all. The leaders of politics say to the generals: 'We have declared
war; go and fight.' The generals say to the soldiers: 'We are told to
fight, so come on. We do not know why, but it is our duty, because it is
our profession. So go and die, or get shot to pieces, or lose some arms
and legs, as it may happen.' The business of the soldiers is to obey;
they must back up the policies of their country, right or wrong. But do
those who send them into danger ever get hurt? Not to the naked eye."
"Why, you're quite a philosopher, Maurie," said Patsy.
"It is true," agreed the Belgian. "But philosophy is like courage--easy
to assume. We strut and talk big; we call the politicians sharks, the
soldiers fools; but does it do any good? The war will go on; the enemy
will destroy our homes, separate our families, take away our bread and
leave us to starve; but we have the privilege to philosophize, if we
like. For myself, I thank them for nothing!"
"I suppose you grieve continually for your wife," said Patsy.
"Not so much that, mamselle, but I know she is grieving for me," he
replied.
"As soon as we find time," continued the girl, "we intend to search for
your wife and children. I am sure we can find them for you."
Maurie moved uneasily in his chair.
"I beg you to take no trouble on my account," said he. "With the Red
Cross you have great work to accomplish. What is the despair of one poor
Walloon to you?"
"It is a great deal to us, Maurie," returned the girl, earnestly. "You
have been a friend in need; without you we could not have made our dash
to the front to-day. We shall try to repay you by finding your wife."
He was silent, but his troubled look told of busy thoughts.
"What does she look like?" inquired Beth. "Have you her photograph?"
"No; she would not make a good picture, mamselle," he answered with a
sigh. "Clarette is large; she is fat; she has a way of scowling when one
does not bring in more wood than the fire can eat up; and she is very
religious."
"With that description I am sure we can find her," cried Patsy
enthusiastically.
He seemed disturbed.
"If you please," said he plaintively, "Clarette is quite able to take
care of herself. She has a strong will."
"But if you know she is safe it will relieve your anxiety," suggested
Beth. "You told us yesterday you had been searching everywhere for her."
"If I said everywhere, I was wrong, for poor Clarette must be somewhere.
And since yesterday I have been thinking with more deliberation, and I
have decided," he added, his tone becoming confidential, "that it is
better I do not find Clarette just now. It might destroy my usefulness
to the Red Cross."
"But your children!" protested Patsy. "Surely you cannot rest at ease
with your two dear children wandering about, in constant danger."
"To be frank, mamselle," said he, "they are not my children. I had a
baby, but it was killed, as I told you. The boy and girl I have
mentioned were born when Clarette was the wife of another man--a
blacksmith at Dinant--who had a sad habit of beating her."
"But you love the little ones, I am sure."
He shook his head.
"They have somewhat the temper of their father, the blacksmith. I took
them when I took Clarette--just as I took the silver spoons and the
checkered tablespread she brought with her--but now that a cruel fate
has separated me from the children, perhaps it is all for the best."
The doctor gave a snort of disgust, while Ajo smiled. The girls were too
astonished to pursue the conversation, but now realized that Maurie's
private affairs did not require their good offices to untangle. Uncle
John was quite amused at the Belgian's confession and was the only one
to reply.
"Fate often seems cruel when she is in her happiest mood," said he.
"Perhaps, Maurie, your Clarette will come to you without your seeking
her, for all Belgium seems headed toward France just now. What do you
think? Will the Germans capture Dunkirk?"
The man brightened visibly at this turn in the conversation.
"Not to-day, sir; not for days to come," he replied. "The French cannot
afford to lose Dunkirk, and by to-morrow they will pour an irresistible
horde against the German invader. If we stay here, we are sure to remain
in the rear of the firing line."