THE BRIDGE
It was several minutes before Lucia saw him again; he was lying flat, a
little to one side of the road, and he was very still. She waited,
hoping against hope to see him move, and fighting against the horrible
thought that filled her mind.
"He is dead," she exclaimed, terrified, "and they are moving; and the
bridge!"
Without another thought she got up and very carefully started down the
descent, her mind concentrated on the bridge. She did not attempt to
go to the road, but kept to the shelter of the rocks, and a little to
one side of the fire. The shells were bursting all around her, but she
was above the range of the guns, and comparatively safe.
She hurried as fast as she could, but it was hard to keep the
direction, in all the noise and blinding flames. She did not dare to
look towards Cellino, or think what that hideous column of smoke might
mean.
At last she reached the river, and the bridge was in sight a little
distance ahead. It was an old stone bridge, and wide enough for men to
walk four abreast. At that point the river was very wide and the
bridge was made in three arches. It looked very substantial, and Lucia
stopped, suddenly terrified by the thought that she did not have the
slightest idea how or where to blow it up.
She looked about her as if for inspiration. She found it in the moving
line of men just visible far above in the mountains.
The Austrians! They were advancing, and the sudden realization of it
brought out all her courage and daring, and intensified the hatred in
her heart.
"They shall not cross our bridge," she shouted defiantly, and raced
ahead regardless of the rain of shot and shell.
But when she reached the bridge she stopped again, helpless and
completely baffled. The wall rose above her high and impregnable. A
little farther along, the window of the convent seemed to be ablaze
with light. The church had been struck, and Lucia could feel the heat
of the flames from where she stood.
The North Gate seemed miles away, and she turned to the convent. She
knew there was a door that gave on to the river bank, and she ran
forward. She found it and pushed frantically against it. It was
locked, the only other opening being a window higher up.
Lucia looked at it in despair. It was her only chance. The glass had
been smashed by the impact of the bursting shells and lay in broken
bits under her feet. She could just reach the ledge with her hands,
and the stone felt warm. The wall was rough and uneven, and after a
struggle she managed to find a foothold and pulled herself up. The
jagged glass still in the casement cut her hands, but she did not stop
to think about it. Once inside she ran along the dark corridor and up
the few steps that led to the first floor. The big iron doors were
open, and she caught her first sight of the town.
The convent was just outside, and on the road that led south a great
stream of people carrying every size of bundles, was hurrying along.
Lucia recognized some of them, but the faces she most longed to see
were not there.
She turned away, for the sight seemed to drain all her courage, and she
longed to run after them, but the memory of that moving mass of
soldiers made her true to her trust, and she hurried through the
convent, calling for aid.
At the farthest door she discovered several of the sisters hurrying
about and trying to clear the big ward filled with wounded soldiers.
They had been brought in that morning, and some of them were very ill
indeed. The sisters were carrying them out on improvised stretchers.
Those who were able to stand up staggered along as best they could by
themselves. Lucia saw one boy leaning heavily against the door, and
ran to him.
"Roderigo Vicello!" she exclaimed, when she looked up at him.
Roderigo swayed and would have fallen if she had not supported him.
"I can not go," he said weakly. "I am too tired, and I want to go. I
have watched her out of sight, but I am too tired to follow."
Lucia looked at him intently. It seemed to her impossible that a man,
and a soldier, could bother to think of a girl at such a time. She
took his arm firmly and shook him.
"Do you know how to blow up a bridge that is mined?" she demanded
excitedly.
"Yes, pull out the pin," Roderigo replied, "if it is a time fuse," he
spoke slowly and painstakingly.
"Pin?" Lucia exclaimed impatiently, "I don't understand, you will have
to come. Listen, the Austrians are just a little way off across the
river, they must not cross the bridge."
Roderigo was alert at once. The light came back into his eyes and his
body stiffened.
"What are you saying?" he demanded. "Do you mean, they are coming from
that side?"
"Yes," Lucia exclaimed, "there is no time to spare; hurry, I will help
you."
She put her strong, young arm about his waist, and by leaning most of
his weight on her shoulder he managed to crawl along. Lucia was half
crazy with impatience, but she suited her step to his, and helped him
all she could.
At last they reached the lower door. She opened it hurriedly and the
bridge was in sight, but so were the Austrians. They were so near that
what had seemed one solid mass now resolved itself into individual
shapes. To Lucia it seemed as if a great sea of men were rushing down
upon them.
The exertion from the walk made Roderigo sway, and just before they
reached the bridge he fell forward. Lucia crouched down beside him,
and begged and pulled until he was on the bridge.
"Now where is it? Tell me what to do," she begged, "see they are
almost here."
With a tremendous effort Roderigo pulled himself to the edge of the
bridge and located the mine. In a voice that was so weak that Lucia
could hardly hear it he gave the directions. Lucia obeyed.
"When will it go off?" she demanded. "Will we have time to get away?"
Roderigo shrugged his shoulders.
"You will," he said. "Run as fast as you can, I don't know how long it
will take."
Lucia did not wait to argue. She caught him under his arms and dragged
him back to the convent as fast as she could.
Roderigo had given up all hope, but as they drew nearer to the door of
the convent, the wish to live asserted itself, and he got to his feet
and ran with Lucia. They did not stop until they were safe on the road
beyond. The last inhabitant of Cellino was out of sight, and it seemed
as if they were alone.
They waited, Lucia supporting Roderigo's head in her arms.
The explosion came, there was a crash, and then a great shaking of the
earth. Lucia listened, her eyes flashing.
"Wait here," she said to Roderigo, "I will return at once." She ran
hurriedly back to the convent and down again to the door.
The old bridge was ruined. Great pieces of it were torn out and had
fallen high on the banks. The center span was entirely gone, and the
river, broad and impassable, ran smoothly between the jagged ends.
Lucia did not stand long in contemplation of the scene before her. She
hurried back to the road. A sister was beside Roderigo, and Lucia went
to her.
"It is not safe back in there," she said, pointing to the convent. "A
shell may hit it."
The sister nodded.
"It hardly matters," she replied quietly. "No place is safe. We will
take him there; he is too ill to be carried far."
Lucia agreed, and between them they carried the unconscious Roderigo
back to the ward and laid him gently on one of the beds.
Sister Francesca turned back the cuffs of her robe and began doing what
she could. As she worked she talked.
"We were all ordered to leave," she said; "but when we were well along
the road I turned back. It seemed so cowardly to go when we were most
needed. The rest thought that by night the Austrians would be in
possession, but I could not believe it."
She was a little woman with a soft voice and big blue eyes, and she
spoke with such gentle assurance that Lucia felt comforted.
"They will not come to-night," she said, "for the bridge is down, and
our troops will surely be able to force them back."
Sister Francesca nodded.
"I hope so. At any rate, there will be wounded and my place is here."
At the word "wounded," the vivid picture of the smoke-choked valley,
the shell explosion, and the still form of the Italian soldier flashed
before Lucia's mind.
"What am I doing here?" she said impatiently. "There are wounded now
and perhaps we can save them."
She did not offer any further explanation, but slipped out of the big
room and hurried back to the road once more.
The sun had set and twilight gleamed patchy through the clouds of
smoke. It was still light enough to see, and Lucia hurried to the
gate. The first sight that she had of Cellino made her stop and
shudder. The church was in ruins, and every pane of glass was broken
in the entire village. In their haste the refugees had thrown their
belongings out of their windows to the street below, and then had gone
off and left them. Great piles of furniture and broken china littered
the way, and stalls had been tipped over in the market place.
No one stopped Lucia; the town was deserted. She ran hurriedly across
to the North Gate, afraid of the ghostly shadows and unnatural sights.
At the gate a splendid sight met her eyes.
From the convent she had only seen the Austrians, the wall had cut off
her view of the west. But now she commanded a view of the whole field,
and to her joy the Italians were advancing as steadily from the west as
the Austrians from the east. They would meet at the river, and at the
memory of the bridge Lucia threw back her head and laughed. It was not
a merry laugh, but a grim triumphant one, and it held all the relief
that she felt.
But, splendid as the sight before her was, she did not stay long to
look at it. Below, somewhere in the valley, the Italian soldier of the
shining white teeth and the pennies was lying wounded, or dead, and
nothing could make Lucia stop until she found him.
The heavy artillery fire had let up a little, and the shells were not
quite so many.
Lucia started to run. She had made up her mind earlier in the day that
if she moved fast enough she would escape being hurt. She
unconsciously blamed the slowness of the Italian soldier for his
injury. She passed her cottage half-way down the hill. It was still
standing, but a shell had dropped on the little goat-shed and blown it
to pieces. One of the uprights and the door, which was made of stout
branches lashed together with cord, still stood. The door flapped
drearily and added to the desolation of the scene.
Lucia did not stop to investigate the damage, but hurried ahead. She
was afraid the light would fade before she reached the wounded soldier.
At the end of the road in the bottom of the valley she was just between
both sides, the shells dropped all about her and she stood still,
bewildered and frightened.
The high mountains on either side made sounding boards for the noise,
and the roar of the guns seemed to double in volume.
"Lie down!"
A voice almost under her foot made her jump, and she saw the Italian
soldier. She did as he commanded, and he pulled her towards him.
He was very weak, and when he moved one leg dragged behind him. He
tried to crawl with Lucia into the shell hole close by. She saw what
he was doing and did her best to help. When they finally rolled down
into the shell hole, the man groaned.
Lucia could feel that his forehead was wet with great drops of
perspiration. She found his water bottle and gave him a drink.
"What's happened?" he asked, speaking close to her ear.
Lucia told him as much as she knew.
"Then the bridge has gone?" There was hope in his voice.
"Gone for good. They can never cross it, and our men are just over
there."
"How can I get you back?" she asked. "The convent is so far away."
The soldier shook his head. "You can't. We are caught here between
the two fires, it would be certain death to move. What made you come
back?"
"To find you," Lucia replied. "I could not come sooner, there was so
much to do. I even forgot you, but when I remembered, I ran all the
way and now I am helpless."
"Don't give up," the Italian replied. "You must have courage for both
of us, for I am useless. My leg has been badly injured by a piece of
shell, and I cannot even crawl."
"Then there is nothing to do but wait for the light," Lucia was
trembling all over. "Oh, what a long day it has been!"
"But the dawn will come soon," the soldier tried to cheer her, "and
then perhaps the stretcher-bearers will find us. If they do not--"
"If they do not, I will find a way to take you to the convent," Lucia
replied with sudden spirit, and with the same determination that had
resulted in her blowing up the bridge, she added to herself:
"He shall not die!"