THE RED CROSS NURSE SETS SAIL
THE girls' cheeks were rosy and their hair was tangled by the wind as
Helen and the rest of the U. S. C. left the car at West Street and made
their way to the French Line Pier. Roger was heading the flock of
Mortons, Mrs. Smith was with Dorothy, the Hancocks had come from Glen
Point, more for the fun of seeing a sailing than to say "Good-bye" to
Mademoiselle, whom they hardly; knew. The Watkinses were accompanied by
their elder brother, Edward, a young doctor.
There was a mighty chattering as the party hastened down the pier. A
mightier greeted them when they reached the gang plank.
"Every Frenchman left in New York must be here saying 'Good-bye' to
somebody!" laughed Tom as his eye fell on the throng pressing on to the
boat over a narrow plank across which passengers who had already said
their farewells were leaving, and stewards were carrying cabin trunks.
"Only one _passerelle_ for all that!" exclaimed a plump Frenchman whose
age might be guessed by the fashion of his moustache and goatee which
declared him to be a follower of Napoleon III. He was carrying a bouquet
in one hand and kissing the other vehemently to the lady on the deck who
was to be made the recipient of the flowers as soon as her admirer
could manage to squeeze himself down the over-crowded gang plank.
Taxis driving up behind the U. S. C. young people discharged their
occupants upon the agitated scene. All sorts of messages were being sent
across to friends on the other side, many of them shouted from pier to
deck with a volubility that was startling to inexperienced French
students.
It was quite twenty minutes before the Club succeeded in filing Indian
fashion across the _passerelle_. They were met almost at once by
Mademoiselle, for she had been watching their experiences from the
vessel.
"Before you say 'Good-bye' to me," she said hurriedly, "I want you to go
over the ship. I have special permission from the Captain. You must go
quickly. There are not many minutes, you were so long in coming on."
She gave them over to the kind offices of a "_mousse_" or general
utility boy, who in turn introduced them to a junior officer who
examined their permit as "friends of Mademoiselle Millerand" and then
conveyed them to strange corners whose existence they never had guessed.
First they peeked into a cabin which was one of the handsomest on the
ship but whose small size brought from Ethel Brown the comment that it
was a "stingy" little room. The reading and writing rooms she approved,
however, as being cheerful enough to make you forget you were seasick. A
lingering odor of the food of yester-year seemed to cling about the
saloon and to mingle with a whiff of oil from the engine room that had
assailed them just before they entered. People were saying farewells
here with extraordinary impetuosity, men embracing each other with a
fervor that made the less demonstrative Americans smile. One group was
looking over a pile of letters on the table to see if absent friends had
sent some message to catch them before they steamed.
Below were other staterooms, rows upon rows of them, and yet others
below those. By comparison with the fragrances here that in the saloon
seemed a breeze from Araby the Blest.
From above the party had looked down on the engines whose huge steel
arms slid almost imperceptibly over each other as if they were slowly,
slowly preparing to spring at an unseen foe; as if they knew that great
waves would try to still them, the mighty workers of the great ship. A
gentle breathing now seemed to stir them, but far, far down below the
waterline the stokers were feeding the animal with the fuel that was to
give him energy to contend with storms and winds and come out victor.
Half naked men, their backs gleaming in the light from the furnaces,
threw coal into the yawning mouth. The heat was intense, and the Ethels
turned so pale that young Doctor Watkins hurried them into the open air.
Helen was not sorry to breathe the coolness of the Hudson again and even
the boys drew a long breath of relief, though they did not admit that
they had been uncomfortable.
"Mademoiselle Millerand awaits you in the tea room," explained the young
officer, and he conducted them to a portion of the deck where passengers
could sit in the open, or, on cold or windy days, behind glass and watch
the sea and the passengers pacing by.
Mademoiselle greeted them with shining eyes. During their absence there
had been some farewells that had been difficult.
"You have seen everything?" she inquired pleasantly. "Then you must have
some lemonade with me before you go," and she gave an order that soon
brought a trayful of glasses that tinkled cheerfully.
"We are not going to be sentimental," she insisted. "This is just
'Good-bye,' and thank you many times for being so good to me at school,
and many, many times more for the bundle that is in my room to surprise
me. I shall open it when the Statue of Liberty is out of sight, when I
can no more see my adopted land. Then shall I think of all of you and of
your Club for Service."
"Where do you expect to be sent, Mademoiselle?" inquired Doctor Watkins
as the party walked toward the _passerelle_ over which they must somehow
contrive to make their way before they could touch foot upon the pier.
"To Belgium, I think. My brother is a surgeon and I have a distant
relative in the ministry--"
"What--_the_ Millerand?"
Mademoiselle smiled and nodded.
"So probably I shall be sent wherever I wish--and my heart goes but to
Belgium. It is natural."
"Yes, it is natural. May you have luck," he cried holding out his hand.
"Mademoiselle is going to Belgium," he told the young people who were
awaiting their turn at the gang-plank.
They gazed at her with a sort of awe. Tales of war's horrors were common
in the ears of all of them, and it was difficult to believe that the
slight figure standing there so quietly beside them would see with her
own eyes the uptorn fields and downfallen cottages, the dying men and
the miserable women and children they had seen only in imagination.
"Oh," gasped Ethel Blue; "oh! _Belgium!_ Oh, Mademoiselle, _won't_ you
send us back a Belgian baby? The Club would _love_ to take care of it!
Wouldn't we? Wouldn't we?" she cried turning from one to another with
glittering eyes.
"We would, Mademoiselle, we would," cried every one of them; and as the
big ship was warped out of the pier they waved their handkerchiefs and
their hands and cried over and over, "Send us a Belgian baby!"
"_Un bebe belge! Ces chers enfants!_" ejaculated a motherly Frenchwoman
who was weeping near them. "A Belgian baby! These dear children."
And then, to James's horror, she kissed him, first on one cheek and then
on the other.