A Sister of the Red Cross: A Tale of the South African War

"That little hysterical girl! we don't want her here," thought Nurse Eugenia.

"She's too pretty to be useful," thought Nurse Helen. "But, all the same, the men, poor fellows, like to look at her. I wouldn't trust her out of my sight for a moment. But she's pretty, and even that's something."

Kitty did look very pretty. There was a pink flush on her cheeks, and her eyes were very bright. She had scarcely slept all the night before. Long Tom was sending shells at intervals into Ladysmith, and the noise of a great explosion fell upon Kitty's ears now as Katherine took her up to her sister.

"This is the Kitten, and she's going to do more than a kitten's work to-day," said Katherine.

"Ah, Kitty!" said Mollie, "I am glad to see you. But are you strong enough, darling?"

"Of course I am," said Kitty – "quite strong enough. I want to do something. Give me some work please, Mollie. I mean to stay in the hospital."

"There's a poor young man who has been badly hurt in his leg. He is discontented and nervous. Sit down by him and talk to him," said Mollie. "Here, bed number five."

She took Kitty's hand, and they crossed the ward. The young man was a private in one of the infantry regiments. His ankle bone was badly shattered. He had gone through great agonies, but was feeling comparatively easy now.

"This is my sister, Lawson," said Mollie. "She will sit with you for a little. She would like to read you your home letters, and she can write a letter at your dictation if you wish it. Anyhow, she will try to amuse you."

Kitty sat down very shyly. She had her mission full in view. She was not forgetting herself for a single instant, but, all the same, the cases in the surgical ward made her nervous. She hoped no fresh wounded men would be brought in while she was present, and that no operations would take place anywhere within earshot. She felt that her own courage was of the poorest quality, and that if Long Tom sent any kisses in her direction she might shrink.

"But I must not," she said, "for if I do they would turn me out; and it is my only chance to stay here, and – and use my eyes."

"Shall I read you anything?" she said, raising her pretty eyes, as the thought came to her, to Lawson's face.

"If you would, miss," he answered. "I'd like to hear all the home letters read over one by one. Here they are, miss."

He indicated a pile of letters which were pushed under his pillow. Kitty took them out. They were tied with a bit of red ribbon.

"They are from my mother, miss, and my – the young woman I keep company with."

"Oh!" answered Kitty. She looked with interest at Lawson. His mother was nothing to her; but his sweetheart! A fellow-feeling made her kind. "Is she very fond of you?" she asked suddenly.

"Is Annie fond of me, miss?" he replied. "I should think she is just; and I – oh, I adore her, miss! She wanted us to marry afore I come out; but I said best not – best wait till I get back with my V.C. I won't never get that now, miss; and they say I'll limp all the rest of my days."

"I don't suppose she will mind that," answered Kitty.

"Indeed and she won't, miss. Annie wouldn't mind nothing if only she had me with her. Bless her, she's as fine a girl as ever walked. I'm fair hungering to hear from her. It's such a long time since we had any letters. Sometimes I think that's about the worst of anything in the siege. I wouldn't mind having a bullet in my other ankle and starving half my time, if only I had a long, long letter from mother and my brother and Annie. But we don't get letters, nor news of any sort. That's the hardest part of the siege."

"I suppose it is," answered Kitty.

It was not the hardest to her, for those she cared for most were with her in Ladysmith. Nevertheless she appreciated some of the hunger she saw shining out of Lawson's keen grey eyes.

"You'd like me to show you Annie's picture, perhaps, miss?"

"I would like to see it very much," answered Kitty.

Lawson was too ill to move, but he directed Kitty where to slip her hand, and where to find, under his bolster, a photograph-case. She opened it under his orders, and saw a full-faced girl of a common type, with frowsy hair and a showily-made dress.

"Ain't she a beauty?" said the young man. "And she's mine, too – mine. I think a lot of her when I lie awake at night. She'll make me a right good wife. She'll take in washing – Annie's grand at the laundry."

Kitty drew him on to talk. He forgot his pain when he talked of his sweetheart. Kitty did not care to hear him speak of his mother, whom he also loved very much; she thought this kind of conversation dull. All the time, while she listened, her restless eyes darted here and there. She felt certain that she would get very white if Captain Keith came into the ward.

But Keith was not coming into the ward that day. He was fighting for dear life and country outside Ladysmith against the Boers. Had Kitty known this, even the small measure of tranquillity which was hers would have deserted her.

Long Tom continued to send in shells, and Puffing Billy helped him. But Lady Anne answered back, and managed, after a time, to silence Long Tom. With each explosion Kitty gave a start.

"Be you afeard of the firing, miss?" asked Lawson.

"Yes," she answered, with a shudder; "but please don't tell any one."

"I won't, miss; but you ain't no cause to be frightened while you are here. 'Tain't likely they'll send a shell right over the orspital. They know the orspital by the Red Cross flag. No one would be mean enough for that."

"I think they are mean enough for anything," replied Kitty.

"Not so mean as that," answered Lawson, and he shook his head as one who knew.

The firing went on, and presently Kitty, in her alarm, found herself clasping the hand of Private Lawson. He held her little hand tightly in his. He was fond of saying during the next day that the feel of that little warm hand had supported him during the extreme of his pain; for his ankle became dreadfully inflamed, and the agony was intense. After that interview he took a great interest in Kitty. She was the pretty little lady, who was no nurse, bless her, but who was so very human, so very like what he pictured his own girl in his dreams to be. Only his own girl would not have been afraid of the shells, and would have turned to, there and then, to do a lot of laundry work for the sick soldiers. There was no one in the world less like Kitty than this girl, who was brusque, and determined, and strong in character, and faithful and unselfish to her backbone. But Kitty had her uses that day in the hospital, all the same. She supported Jim Lawson through his darkest hour, and just because she was nervous and frightened, for her sake he must keep brave and calm; and God only knew what a hero the little girl made of him for the time being.

CHAPTER XX.

PRIVATE LAWSON

Kitty was praised by Mollie that night for her endurance during the trying day. Kitty replied with what affection she could, and Mollie said she would come and see her that evening if possible; and tired, excited, but on the whole happier than she had been the day before, the little girl went back to her rooms at the hotel. She slept well, and early the next day returned to the hospital.

The first person she saw there was Gavon Keith. He smiled when he saw her. He was seated on a stool near one of the entrances; his leg was stretched out, and Mollie was bathing it with Condy and water.

"So you are wounded!" said Kitty, white as a sheet. "Is it dangerous?"

"Dangerous," said the young man, smiling, "when I can sit up! My dear Kit, what are you made of? It is a mere scratch, – isn't it, Nurse Mollie?"

"Nothing more," she answered; "but you ought to keep the leg up until to-morrow at any rate."

"I cannot do that; we are safe to have another skirmish with the Boers in the course of the day. They are getting desperate. I am glad they are moving. Anything is better than the terrible quiet of the last few weeks. If we can only induce them to come out of their shelter and fight us in the open, I believe we could force them to retreat. There is that in every mother's son of us which can't be beaten; that's my belief."

Keith smiled as he spoke, and his dark eyes looked away from Kitty across the long ward. Every mother's son of the men looked back at him. Were they not giving up their very lives? On every face was that indomitable look which the British soldier will wear in his time of need – the look which says to the foe, "Come on; I am waiting for you. I am ready; I am not going to cave in. Come on; do your worst." And Keith, whose spirit was boiling within him, forgot Kitty at that supreme moment. But though he forgot Kitty, he did not forget the soothing, very soothing touch of Mollie's light fingers as she bathed the ugly scratch on his leg. She bathed and bathed, and Keith lay back contented. He was very tired and very dusty; and it was delicious to have his wound attended to, and by her. As to Kitty, she was, of course, his betrothed wife; but – he could not help it – she was not in touch with him at that moment.

As to Kitty herself, the curious mingling of emotions which filled her little frame made her almost incapable of speech. Mollie certainly made the very sweetest nurse. She was never untidy; she never looked flushed, or hurried, or discomposed. Her face was as calm when she was breathing comfort to the last moments of a dying soldier as it was at this instant when she was making a brave young officer more comfortable. Nothing ever seemed to disturb Mollie's calm. Kitty sat and watched her. Just at that instant Major Strause strolled through the ward; he was going into the enteric ward. He had leisure, and meant to spend a good morning helping brave Mollie in her work. As he passed through, his eyes lighted on the little group. First at Keith he looked, then with a lingering gaze of awakening passion at Mollie, then with an expression of great meaning at Kitty. Kitty could not bear to feel that there was an understanding between herself and the major. She turned away, but nevertheless his glance had done its poisoned work.

"I wish," she said, trembling a little – "I wish, Mollie – "

"Yes?" said Mollie, looking up. She had just changed the Condy and water for a fresh supply, and the warm, comforting application was causing Keith delicious ease.

"I wish you would let me do that. I could, you know. It seems as if it was my – right."

She said the last words in a whisper. Mollie looked up, startled at her tone. Keith also glanced at her. He seemed to awake to the true position. He shook himself and sat up.

"I forgot things, Kitty," he said. "Yes, of course you shall bathe my leg if you like."

Mollie rose immediately.

"Here is a fresh jug of water," she said; "and you must throw that Condy and water away in a few minutes, and apply a little more. – Then you had better have a cold compress over the wound, Captain Keith; otherwise some of the red dust may get in, and it may get really inflamed."

"All right," said Keith. "I leave myself in your hands. – Now then, Kitty, bathe away."

Mollie looked at her sister in some wonder. Kitty had put a white linen apron over her dainty dress. She stooped down, looking at Mollie as if she wished her to go. Mollie read the expression on Kitty's face aright. She turned aside and went to attend to a young soldier who was lying in great discomfort in a bed opposite.

Kitty began to bathe. Her white fingers were loaded with rings; she had a gold chain bracelet on her wrist. The bracelet dipped into the lotion, the rings became wet, the little fingers were slightly stained. Keith watched her with a growing sense of amusement. What a baby she was! How pretty! how ignorant! How dared she play with matters of life and death? Nevertheless it interested him that she should do so.

"What has brought you back to the hospital again, Kit?" he said. "Are you better?"

"Oh, much better," she answered.

"And you seriously mean to help the nurses?"

"Yes, seriously. Isn't the lotion rather cold?"

"No; it does very nicely. Please don't dab the sponge quite so hard against my leg. Ah! that is better. You would make quite a good nurse if you practised, Kitty."

"I mean to try," answered Kitty, encouraged and cheered by his words of praise.

"But you ought not to wear rings or bracelets."

"Don't you like me to wear my rings?" she said, her lips quivering as she raised a perfectly childish face to his.

"Anything you fancy, little girl."

"I am sure this is too cold now," she said.

He did not reply. She threw the used-up lotion away, and made a fresh one. She was very ignorant, and he was as much so. Instead of two or three drops, she put in a liberal supply of Condy. The water also was hot – too hot for the inflamed leg. She filled the sponge, and put it on. Keith, in spite of himself, uttered a cry. Then he bit his lip and turned very white.

"I don't think, somehow, that is quite right," he said, and he had scarcely uttered the words before he fainted away. Kitty's lotion had burned his wound badly.

Mollie heard his cry, and rushed towards him. She applied restoratives quickly, and spoke to Kitty in a voice rendered sharp with annoyance.

"You did not make the lotion right," she said. "How much Condy did you put in?"

Kitty lifted the bottle.

"Oh, how it discolours my hand!" she said. "It is horrid stuff; why do you use it?"

"It is the right thing to use. Go away, please Kitty; I will see to this."

"No, I won't go away," answered Kitty.

She stood sullenly by. Keith opened his eyes. He could not suppress a groan of pain. Mollie had made a fresh lotion; she applied it, cool and tender and refreshing, to the inflamed leg.

"After all, Kitty's measures were a little stringent," she said; "but perhaps they will do you good in the long run, only you must bear an hour or so of pain. Now, I will get an orderly to help me, and we will put you on one of the empty beds, and by the afternoon your leg ought to be much better."

"I can help, can't I?" said Kitty.

"I think not; you are not strong enough,"

"O don't, Kit," remarked Keith, with a laugh; "your ministrations are just a trifle too violent."

She frowned with annoyance. Her jealous heart was becoming very sore. Keith was considerably hurt by the powerful lotion, and he lay for some time indifferent to Kitty's presence. Once she went up to him and asked if she might do something.

"You do something!" he replied. "No, thank you; send your sister to me."

"It is true," thought Kitty to herself. "He hates me, and he loves her. Why should he turn me away just because I made a tiny mistake?"

She choked down a sob in her throat, and went to fetch Mollie. Mollie returned instantly. Keith smiled when he saw her.

"Your very presence gives me strength," he said; and Kitty, silly, foolish Kitty, heard the words.

Her mind was made up now; surely she had seen for herself.

"But I won't give him up," she thought. "Mollie shall not have him. She aims at being so high, and yet she does the very lowest, meanest things. She tries to take my Gavon from me, but she shan't have him."

Kitty went across the ward. Lawson called out to her.

"Have you anything special to do, miss?"

"Yes, I have a great deal to do," said Kitty, in a cross voice. "But do you want anything?" she added.

"I thought maybe, miss, I might dictate a letter to my young woman, so be as you'd write it for me. I don't mind saying out my mind afore you, miss."

Kitty hesitated.

"I will write it for you after dinner," she said.

"I may not be so well then, miss. I ain't been the thing to-day, My mind keeps wandering, and I shouldn't be surprised if I had a touch of enteric. I feel like it, somehow."

"Oh, you are getting on very well," said Kitty. "You are just nervous. – Isn't Lawson just nervous, Sister Eugenia?"

Sister Eugenia came up to Lawson's bed and looked at him.

"You don't seem quite comfortable," she said. "What do you complain of? Ankle very painful?"

"Yes, rather," said the poor fellow.

"I am afraid, Lawson, you must submit to amputation," said Sister Eugenia. "It is sharp and short, and puts things right."

"Couldn't stand it; it would kill me. I couldn't go back home with only a stump instead of a leg. I couldn't do it, and I won't."

"Well, we'll see what the doctor says," replied Sister Eugenia.

"If I were you," she said in a low voice to Kitty, "I would do what he asks. I don't at all like his look. He has been suffering a lot of pain, poor fellow, and he is very bad now."

Kitty hesitated; her heart was on fire with her own imaginary wrongs. Why should she worry about a man like Lawson? True, he was a nice fellow – very nice – and she sympathized with him about his girl. But that girl was happier than she, for Lawson loved her well, and saw no blemish in her. For him she was surrounded by a halo; he looked at her through blue glasses, and her coarse and common nature was refined and rendered beautiful. She was his dream, and he had no room in his heart for any other woman. If only Keith might be as true, thought the girl.

"May I dictate a bit of a letter to you, miss?" said Lawson again.

"After dinner. I'll come back after dinner," replied Kitty.

She went away, and returned to her own room. She dined with some of the officers and nurses at the hotel. All during dinner the talk was of the short rations which must in future be the portion of the beleaguered city. The strongest pity was expressed for the horses, which were not half fed. There was to be a consultation that very day as to whether the cavalry horses were to be destroyed or not. Kitty was too full of herself really to sympathize with the woes of Ladysmith; but she heard the conversation, and it depressed her more than ever. After dinner she yawned feebly, went slowly up to her own room, and stood looking out of the window.

"Oh, it is all so miserable," she thought. "I suppose I must do what Major Strause wants," and just as the thought came to her she saw his broad figure crossing the street.

He entered the hotel, and the next instant was tapping at her door. Kitty said, "Come in," and he entered.

"Well?" he said, the moment he saw her face. "I haven't a minute to stay. Was I right, or was I wrong?"

"You were right," said Kitty. "And I," she added, "am nearly mad."

"No wonder, poor little girl. You will adopt my suggestion?"

"I certainly will. I mean to talk to Mollie to-night."

"By-the-way, I believe you are wanted at the hospital; your sister told me to ask you to go back as soon as possible. A private of the name of Lawson is very bad. The doctors are with him. He wants you to do something. Sister Mollie offered to do it, but he seems to have taken a fancy to you."

"Oh, I will go presently," said Kitty. "It is nothing much."

"Nothing much! but the poor chap is in danger."

"It really isn't much," said Kitty. "He only wants me to write a letter to the girl he is engaged to. But I will go; any time to-day will do, I suppose."

"I would be quick if I were you. I didn't like the account I got of him. I can't stay now. Any time you want me you have only to send for me; my hut is just round the corner. Good-bye for the present."

The major went away, and Kitty sank on to a sofa. Should she go to see Lawson? She was tired, and the afternoon was hot. She dreaded walking down the street, fearing one of Long Tom's kisses. In the hotel she felt comparatively safe; in the Town Hall she was quite certain she was safe, but the way to the Town Hall was a way of danger. She did not wish to die now. When she was Keith's wife nothing else would matter; but until she was his wife she would not leave him, if only to show him that she was determined to claim her rights. She forgot about Lawson: she sank on the sofa, rested her head against a pillow, and dropped off asleep.

When she awoke it was past five o'clock. She started up with an uneasy, guilty sense that she had neglected something. Suddenly she remembered Lawson. She would go to him now. She would write his letter now if he wanted it. She felt much better for her sleep – much calmer; she would not be frightened now to go down the street. Long Tom would not kiss her this time. Taking her broad linen apron with her, she quickly reached her destination. Mollie was standing by the door. Kitty ran up to her.

"I am sorry I am a little late," she said, "but I can do what Lawson wants now."

"Why didn't you come when you were asked?" replied Mollie.

"I didn't know it was important."

"I would have sent for you, but I had no one to send. Major Strause said he would tell you."

"He did, only – somehow I was drowsy, and I went to sleep. What is the matter, Mollie? Why do you look at me with that strange expression? I tell you I will do what Lawson wants now. His bed is number five. Don't keep me."

She was pushing past Mollie, but Mollie held out a hand to detain her.

"You are too late," she said.

"Too late!" cried Kitty. "What do you mean?"

"He is past your help. Mortification set in in the wounded leg. The foot and ankle were amputated not an hour ago, but he is sinking fast. He won't see the night out."

"Oh," said Kitty – "oh! and he wanted the letter written! I'm sure it can't be too late."

"Why didn't you come after dinner? Even then he might have said what he wanted to say. He kept calling for you."

"Don't keep me," said Kitty. "I don't – I won't – believe it is too late."

She pushed her sister aside, and went to bed number five. They had put a screen round the bed; but Kitty pushed the screen open and went in. Sister Eugenia was standing by the bedside. She turned when she saw Kitty, and the dislike she felt for her shone in her calm blue eyes.

"If you were coming, why didn't you come before?" she said. "You can do no good now. You had better go away."

"I won't go away," answered Kitty; "and you have no right to speak to me in those tones."

Then her eyes fell upon Private Lawson, and she became silent. Her face turned the colour of chalk. Her lips trembled. Lawson was breathing rapidly in a shallow way. Kitty went to him; she bent down over him.

"Lawson," she said, "Lawson, I have come at last. I have come to write the letter."

He did not hear her. He breathed on rapidly, and the pallor on his face was terrible to see.

"I have come, Lawson," said Kitty, in a louder tone, "and I will write the letter to the girl you love faithfully."

Then he did open his eyes. Something in her words had arrested him. He looked full up at the white face of the girl. He looked straight into her eyes, so full of self-reproach.

"The girl I love faithfully," he murmured.

"Yes, I'll write a letter for you to the girl you love."

"Ay, will you?" he asked. "She's a beauty. There ain't no one like her. And she'll – take in laundry work, and she – won't – mind whether – I've got – one or – two – feet; no – she – won't. God bless – her."

"You want to write to her," said Kitty, bending over him. "Tell me now, tell me what to say; I'll write it for you now."

"Ay, ay, you write. Tell – her – tell – her – "

But what Private Lawson had to tell his sweetheart was never known on this side eternity!

CHAPTER XXI.

KITTY'S REQUEST

Kitty was terribly upset when Lawson breathed his last. She made a painful scene by the deathbed. Her nerve gave way, and she went off into violent hysterics. The angry nurses made short work with her; two of them carried her right out of the hospital. Sister Eugenia said she would see her home.

"I will walk with you," she said, "as far as the hotel. A girl like you is worse than useless in Ladysmith."

The stinging words recalled Kitty to herself.

"Why won't you have any pity for me?" she gasped.

"No one has pity for moral weakness in Ladysmith," replied the sister. "You are worse than a coward; you are selfish. If you had come into the ward when you were asked for, you might have done some good, and the poor fellow would have died happy. But nothing can be done now. All the tears in the world won't alter things. And to make a fuss when there are soldiers dying, soldiers of the Queen – oh, I could shake you!"

Sister Eugenia's words were so full of passion that Kitty was aroused to be ashamed of herself. She turned when they were half-way up the street.