Part 32 (1/2)
Some of the forms on stretchers had peaceful faces in unconsciousness of their condition. Others had a look of wonder, of pain, of apprehension in their consciousness that death might be near. The single word ”Shrapnel!” by a hospital-corps corporal told the story of crushed or lacerated features, in explanation of a white cloth covering a head with body uninjured.
Feller, strolling out into the garden under the spell of watching sh.e.l.l bursts, saw what Marta was doing. With the same feeling of relief at opportunity for action that she had felt, he hastened to a.s.sist her, bringing flowers by the basketful and pausing to watch her distribute them--watching her rather than the wounded and enjoying incidental thrills at examples of the efficiency of artillery fire.
”The guns--the guns are going to play a great part!” he thought. ”These rapid-firers will recover all the artillery's prestige of Napoleon's time!”
Many of the wounded themselves looked at Marta even more than at the flowers. It was good to see the face of a woman, her eyes limpid with sympathy, and it was not what she said but the way she spoke that brought smiles in response to hers. For she was no solemn ministering angel, but high-spirited, cheery, of the sort that the major surgeon would have chosen to distribute flowers to the men. Every remark of the victims of war made its distinct and indelible impression on the gelatine of her mind.
”I like my blue aster better than that yellow weed of yours, Tom!”
”You didn't know Ed Schmidt got it? Yes, he was right next me in the line.”
”Say, did you notice Dellarme's smile? It was wonderful.”
”And old Bert Stransky! I heard him whistling the wedding march as he fired.”
”Miss, I'll keep this flower forever!”
”They say Billy Lister will live--his cheek was shot away!”
”Once we got going I didn't mind. It seemed as if I'd been fighting for years!”
”Hole no bigger than a lead-pencil. I'll be back in a week!”
”Yes; don't these little bullets make neat little holes?”
”We certainly gave them a surprise when they came up the hill! I wonder if we missed the fellow that jumped into the sh.e.l.l crater!”
”Our company got it worst!”
”Not any worse than ours, I'll wager!”
”Oh--oh--can't you go easier? Oh-h-h--” the groan ending in a clenching of the teeth.
”h.e.l.lo, Jake! You here, too, and going in my automobile? And we've both got lower berths!”
”Sh-h! That poor chap's dying!”
Worst of all to Marta was the case of a shrapnel fracture of the cranium, with the resulting delirium, in which the sufferer's incoherence included memories of childhood scenes, moments on the firing-line, calls for his mother, and prayers to be put out of misery.
A prod of the hypodermic from the major surgeon, and ”On the operating-table in fifteen minutes” was the answer to Marta's question if the poor fellow would live.
Until dark, in groups, at intervals, and again singly, the wounded were coming in from a brigade front in the region where the rifles were crackling and the shrapnel clouds were hanging prettily over the hills; and stretchers were being slipped into place in the ambulances, while Marta kept at her post.
”We shan't have much more to do at this station,” said the major surgeon when a plodding section of infantry in retreat arrived.
XXIII
STRANSKY FIGHTS ALONE
Every unit engrossed in his own work! Every man taught how a weak link may break a chain and realizing himself as a link and only a link! The captain of engineers forgot Marta's existence as an error of his subordinates caught his eye, and he went to caution the axemen to cut closer to the ground, as stumps gave cover for riflemen. For the time being he had no more interest in the knoll than in the wreckage of dirigibles which were down and out of the fight.