One morning a short time afterwards, as the Red Cross ambulance drew
within two miles of the field hospital, the chauffeur stopped.
For a quarter of an hour before, though no one had spoken of it, the
four occupants of the wagon had heard the far-off echo of a tremendous
cannonading. It was not possible to locate the sound.
Now the chauffeur turned to Dr. Milton.
“I don’t know whether we ought to report for duty this morning,” he
volunteered. “I’ve an idea the trouble we hoped was pretty well over in
this neighborhood has broken out again. We will probably get into the
thick of things if we go much nearer.”
Dr. Milton’s lips tightened. “That’s what we are here for, isn’t
it? Oh, I understand what you mean; of course you have no fear for
yourself. Let’s think the situation over.”
The young fellow who had charge of the particular ambulance in which
Nona and Barbara were acting as nurses was a young Englishman who had
volunteered for the service from one of the Manchester automobile
factories. He was a skilled and trained workman and believed that in
guiding a Red Cross ambulance he was doing more for his country than in
actual fighting. But he was as gallant as possible and utterly fearless
for his own safety.
The two men were together on the front seat of the car. Nevertheless,
when they began talking, as long as the ambulance was no longer in
movement, both Barbara and Nona were able to understand the subject of
their conversation.
However, neither girl spoke immediately.
Nona Davis turned to gaze at her companion.
But Barbara seemed to have her entire attention engaged in straining
her ears to the noise of the bombarding. Now and again there was a
faint lull and then the noise broke out with added fury. Sometimes
the sound came from one side of the line and sometimes from the other.
There could be no disputing the fact, fighting had indeed begun again.
Dr. Milton swung around and looked at Nona.
“Miss Davis,” he began. “I know it is a great deal to ask of you and
Miss Meade. We are several miles this side of the hospital and the walk
will be a long one; nevertheless, won’t you both attempt it? Of course,
you have guessed, just as we have, that trouble has broken out afresh
in our neighborhood and if our ambulance goes on much farther we may
at any moment be in the midst of it. We are flying the Red Cross flag,
but that does not always save us, and couldn’t save us in any case from
the bursting of a shell. Yet Martin and I feel we must go on toward the
battlefield, as we are needed now more than any other time. We must not
take you into such danger, so if you will leave us----”
Nona’s golden brown eyes wore almost an exalted look, they were so
free from thought of self.
“But won’t nurses also be more needed?” she asked, although not
requiring an answer to so self-evident a question.
“Dr. Milton, I entirely appreciate your feeling, but honestly I am not
afraid. I don’t exactly know why, but I don’t believe anything will
happen to me. If it does, why of course when one comes here for the Red
Cross work, one expects to take chances.” Again Nona glanced toward
Barbara, who still had not spoken. “Do you think there would be any
danger if Miss Meade should walk back to the hospital alone?” she asked.
Really Nona had not the least idea of the insult her words implied to
the other girl. Not for worlds would she have wounded or offended her!
Neither did she believe Barbara a coward because she felt that the work
ahead of them might be too much for her. This business of nursing is
often a matter of sensibility. The people with the finest nerves and
tenderest hearts are least fitted for the profession. So it had become
almost a matter of course in the past few weeks for the three American
Red Cross girls to regard the fourth of their number in this light.
But Barbara flushed so painfully that tears filled her eyes.
“So that is what you think of me, is it, Nona?” she queried. But she
offered no further reproaches; only turning quietly toward the driver
of the ambulance said, “Drive on, will you, please. I too am unwilling
to go back now. We will, of course, be as careful as possible, since
only in that way can we really help.”
Then nobody said another word for the next half an hour. Perhaps their
hearts were too full for speech or their nerves on too terrible a
tension. Also the noise of the firing as they approached nearer the
line of the British trenches grew more appalling.
But along the way Nona slipped her hand inside Barbara’s and though
her lips were not opened, her apology was made and accepted. Moreover,
in a sub-conscious fashion Barbara appreciated that no distrust had
been intended. For indeed, the two girls were daily becoming closer and
closer friends now that their ambulance work gave them the chance for
spending long hours in each other’s society. Unlike as they were they
appreciated the very differences between them.
But now was not the time for thinking of themselves nor of their
friendship.
The thought of what lay before them called only for brave silences.
With great skill and care the driver of their Red Cross ambulance
moved in the direction of the battle. There could be no doubt in any
mind of what was taking place. Therefore to approach even within the
neighborhood of the little field hospital near the trenches required
infinite caution and judgment.
Once the car stopped short. Thirty yards before them a giant shell
tore through the air and fell, ripping a tunnel in the green earth.
The big ambulance wagon felt the shock of the explosion, but was not
sufficiently near to be endangered, except of course the thought would
force itself: Next time would they escape so easily?
Yet mysteriously Nona and not even Barbara were so frightened as one
might expect. In moments of great peril, as we all know, a courage is
born which one does not have in the lesser moments of life.
Once Barbara thought with a whimsical twisting of her lips no one saw,
that in all probability she was so terrified that she had no ordinary
method of showing it. One could not scream or cry out and certainly
one could not weep like a nervous school girl. Having made up her mind
to go through with whatever lay before them, stoicism was the only
possible way of facing the situation.
Finally the ambulance arrived at the edge of a woods about half a mile
back from the stable which had been transformed into the temporary Red
Cross hospital at the beginning of the fighting at Neuve Chapelle.
For the moment the noise of the cannon and guns from the two lines of
trenches lying so tragically near one another, made speech between the
occupants of the wagon almost impossible. Yet the young Englishman
brought his ambulance to a stand-still behind a clump of trees that so
far had been spared from destruction.
“We must leave the ambulance here,” he directed, “it will be wiser to
bring the soldiers to the car, than run the risk of having it made a
target.”
The ambulance surgeon nodded; there was no time for discussion.
“Will you wait here or come with us nearer the hospital?” he asked,
looking at Nona.
She made no reply, only started to follow the two men across the open
field that lay between the hiding place of the ambulance and the work
before them. Barbara silently kept at her side.
The girls could see the ground shake as if stirred by an earthquake.
Then from the line, where they knew the British trenches to be
concealed, poured a steady stream of low-lying smoke crawling across
the land like innumerable serpents. This was returned in the same
fashion, while overhead thundered the larger field guns, whose smoke
hung like a giant cloud overhead.
None of the guns were being turned upon the open space over which the
two girls and two men were running at a steady pace. Moreover, they
were somewhat protected by the breastworks which had been thrown up
before the little emergency hospital and the fact that the Red Cross
flag flew from a tall flagstaff set in front of it, visible many miles
away.
They were well in sight of the hospital when Barbara’s former terror
reasserted itself. With this first glimpse, things were worse than her
most terrified dreams had pictured.
Running across the meadows whenever a lull came in the firing were
soldiers bearing their stricken comrades. Because few of them dared
cease from their own labor of firing, the men at the work of rescue
were not soldiers but those who had specially volunteered for the
saving of the wounded.
It is not worth while to speak of the scene at the field hospital. If
one’s own imagination cannot picture it, perhaps it is better never to
know of the horrors of a battlefield.
For the next few hours Barbara and Nona worked as never before in
their lives. They became inspired human machines. No longer did they
consciously hear even the noises of the cannonading. Every instant
something had to be done. There were wounds to be cleansed, bandages
put on. The surgeons assisted when an operation could not be delayed.
Often the two American Red Cross girls stood close together without
recognizing each other’s presence.
Once and only once did Barbara Meade wake up.
By chance she was standing by the opening of a great tent that had been
put up near the stable now serving as a temporary relief station after
it had become too crowded for usefulness.
Some special sight or sound must have attracted her attention, although
she was not aware of it at the time. Her hands were busy holding a
basin of water, but her eyes were drawn in another direction. At that
moment Dick Thornton came into the tent bearing a wounded man in his
arms.
Barbara paid no attention to the soldier. She found herself wondering
two things: one of them why she had not thought before of Dick’s peril,
and the other, how had she been able to recognize him so swiftly when
it was scarcely possible to see his face?
Surely the Dick she recalled lounging in the beautiful old New York
library smoking a cigarette, wearing a velvet coat, perfumed and
smiling, had indeed vanished. This fellow’s face was covered with smoke
and blood, his khaki coat had been wrapped about a comrade so that now
he was in his shirt sleeves, but the shirt was torn and crimson.
Was Dick wounded? Barbara had no chance to ask. Her friend did not look
toward her--was apparently not aware of her presence. A surgeon had
come forward to assist him, and finding an empty cot he put his burden
down upon it. The next instant he had gone.
To Barbara’s credit she did not let the basin in her hands tremble for
even the slightest instant, neither did she falter in body or spirit.
She closed her lips tight together, stiffened her body and went on with
her work.
But when her task was finished perhaps she showed the passing of an
unusual strain. Anyhow the doctor whom she had been helping chanced to
glance at her.
“I say, Miss Meade,” he said kindly, “you are overdoing things. Nothing
to be gained by that. Go out in the fresh air, get away from this if
you can and rest ten or fifteen minutes. You should know when you feel
better.”
The girl hesitated.
“Do as I tell you,” the surgeon continued more sternly. “We haven’t
time to have you on our hands, and you look like you might keel over
after a little more of this.”
Then wearily Barbara crept out into the fresh air, feeling all of a
sudden that her knees did not belong to her and that she was nearly
unable to stand.
But once outside and with no duty before her, she managed to walk for
some little distance. In truth she did long to escape for a while from
the sorrow about her. But of course at such a time and in such a place
this was impossible. Between her and the battleground were only a few
meadows and fields. Nevertheless, the girl sank thankfully down upon
the earth, closing her eyes. At least she need _see_ no more terrors of
battle for a little time.
How long she kept her eyes closed Barbara did not know, but when she
opened them she stared ahead of her with nothing definite in her mind,
as she was too fatigued to think.
What she saw, however, was a small field ambulance waving a Red Cross
flag tearing across a space at no great distance away from her. It
traveled so fast that the car shook from its own vibrations, and in
the chauffeur’s seat Barbara had an instantaneous vision of the same
stained face she had recognized a short while before.
It was all plain enough, Dick Thornton was engaged in the work of
rescue. He must have driven his field ambulance back into the danger
line and be again returning with wounded men.
Barbara got quickly on her feet. Some instinct drove her forward, or
was it the inspiration of that careening wagon with its load of human
freight?
Dick must have had a forewarning of danger, for never had he attempted
reaching safety with a more reckless effort at speed. Yet the disaster
came when he had about ceased to look for it. They were nearing the
hospital, there were no guns trained in their direction. Yet possibly a
mistake was made somewhere at this moment. The German gunners may have
thought that they had located a position where British officers were
giving their commands.
Unexpectedly, and of course without warning, Barbara saw a cloud of
smoke surrounding the field ambulance, heard the noise of an exploding
shell and before the car overturned, Dick Thornton, with his arms
outspread, pitch forward and land with his face and half his body
buried in the earth.
Nor did the firing cease in the place where he lay.