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

"That I will," she replied, "and right gladly. Sit down, please."

He took no notice of this request.

"There is a rumour in the camp," he said, "that relief is not far off. There is also a rumour that the short rations are coming to an end. Both rumours may be wrong. You must know, however, Miss Hunt, that every one in Ladysmith holds his life in his hands. Our quietus may come to us at any moment."

"That, after a fashion, is true in all walks of life," she answered.

"Yes, but not to the same degree," he replied. "But at least, Miss Hunt," he continued, "while we live I hope we, who are soldiers of the Queen" – he bowed to Katherine as though to include her in the compliment – "will live with honour. Something happened to-day which affects my honour. I must tell you."

"Yes?" she said; "what is it?"

The door between the bedroom and the sitting-room creaked a tiny bit wider; but the two in the sitting-room were too absorbed with each other to notice it.

Katherine looked up into Keith's face. Her own was brave and strong. It had aged since she came to Ladysmith, but the lines of endurance seemed to bring out her true character. She had always in her the makings of a noble woman; now she was a noble woman. In this fact lay the difference between her old life and her present. She had been brought into a moral forcing-house, and the development of her courageous nature was enormous.

"Yes," she said again, "tell me."

Keith looked full at her.

"Things have happened," he said, "which in great measure have undermined my manhood. Things have been said for which I personally am not responsible. Rumours have been circulated with regard to me which make me in the eyes of my fellow-men not only a scoundrel wanting in honour, but a man on whom the hand of the law is heavily placed. According to my fellow-men in Ladysmith, I can be arrested at this instant for the blackest of all crimes. And yet, Miss Hunt, there is no man on God's earth more innocent of the crime to which I allude than I am."

"Then why do you fear?" said Katherine.

"Because circumstantial evidence is black against me, and because I am in the hands of one without honour and without conscience."

The little listener on the other side of the door gave a groan. It was a wonder Keith did not hear it.

"Miss Hunt, in connection with what I have just told you, I have heard a most terrible piece of news. This news is so terrible to me that my own unhappiness sinks quite out of sight by comparison. If it is true, before God steps must be taken. She shall not marry him in the dark."

"She! Whom do you talk of?" said Katherine.

Kitty clasped her hands together. The colour mounted in big spots on her cheeks; her dark eyes shone. Yes, Kitty knew to whom Gavon alluded. The next moment he had spoken the words she expected to hear.

"I have just seen Strause," said Keith. "He was on his way – that is, if he could get there – to Intombi. He tells me that he is all but engaged to Kitty's sister. He says she will marry him. And oh, he was going to kiss her! You can understand, I hope, Miss Hunt, that – "

Keith leaned suddenly against the wall; he raised his hand and wiped some drops from his forehead.

"You can understand," he continued, "that I – well, that I cannot permit this."

"I hope so," replied Katherine.

She felt glad that Kitty was not in the room.

"Even if I had never known Sister Mollie, I should be dismayed," he continued; "but as it is – I have no right to say anything more. She is Kitty's sister; let that be my excuse. Miss Hunt, it is hateful to speak against a brother officer; but the man is a scoundrel – he is worse!"

"What can you mean?" said Katherine.

"Things are so grave that I must speak. He has cast a shadow over me which in reality reflects on himself. Miss Hunt, the man is a – "

"What? I can't hear you," said Katherine.

The next words were spoken in the lowest whisper. Katherine gave a cry. Her cry was echoed in the next room. A sharp note of terror fell on both speakers' ears.

"What is that?" said Katherine. "Kitty! Kitty!"

She rushed across the room, she burst open the door, and there was Kitty, lying half fainting on the floor.

Gavon Keith and Katherine laid her on the bed.

"I must speak to you, Gavon," said the girl. "No, I am not quite fainting. I must speak to you. – Stay if you like, Katheriue, stay if you like, but I must speak to him."

"I will go into the other room," said Katherine.

She went away at once, leaving the door between the two rooms slightly ajar.

"Sit there, Gavon," said Kitty. "Oh, you may be just as shocked as ever you like, but I listened. Is it true what you said in so low a whisper?"

"All I said is true, Kitty."

"And Major Strause is – "

Kitty could not form the next word. Keith was silent for a moment.

"I will tell you about Major Strause," he said then.

He bent towards her, and in a few words gave his own history – the history of himself and Aylmer. He unfolded to her the black plot, and the cruel shadow which was made to rest upon his own head.

"I met him just now, Kitty," he said in conclusion, "and he told me that he was about to put the thing right. I don't know how he could do it without implicating himself; but that part scarcely matters. He would not say anything, I know, to put my life in peril, but he does not mind killing my reputation. He said something else, though, which cannot be permitted. Kitty, he said he was going to marry Mollie. If Mollie marries him, she does it to save me; and, Kitty, she must not do it. I would rather go under for ever."

Keith had scarcely uttered these words before there was a commotion on the stairs and a knock at the room door. He went to open it.

An orderly stood without. Captain Keith was wanted at headquarters immediately.

The two girls were left alone. Kitty raised herself from her pillow with a perfectly blanched face. After a long time Katherine went up and spoke to her.

"You must be brave," said Katherine. "There is great excitement – strange news every where. I believe there is a great battle imminent; and yet here are you and I and two men in this small camp absorbed in our own personal affairs. It seems monstrous."

"Personal affairs must come first," said Kitty, in a gasping voice. "I won't stand this – I can't; I see myself as I am. Katherine, Mollie would not do this but for me."

"But for you, Kitty!"

"I urged her to do it – I implored her to do it. I told her it was the only thing. O Katherine, she must not marry Major Strause. What am I to do – what am I to do?"

"I will come to you presently," said Katheriue. "I must go downstairs now. There are things to be done, and I must find out what is the matter. Listen to the shells bursting. You have had no dinner; I must see what I can find for you."

Katherine went out of the room. She did not like Kitty's face. There was a wildness in her eyes which alarmed her.

The moment she was alone, Kitty slipped across the bedroom into the sitting-room. She went straight to the window. To her surprise, she saw Katherine walking down the street. She wondered where she was going. Shells were dropping all over the place, bursting as they fell. Katherine passed within a few feet of one which burst with a tremendous roar. Kitty looked calmly on. The time had come when the bursting of shells mattered nothing to her. She went back to her bedroom.

"I will do it," she said to herself. "I don't care. I am desperate. I see everything now. She shall not sacrifice herself."

Kitty hastily put on her shoes; she laced them on her little feet. She pinned on her hat, went to a drawer where she kept her purse – now, alas! very light – slipped it into her pocket, and, just as she was, ran downstairs. Some men were talking in little knots. A woman now and then appeared at the end of a passage, looked anxiously at the men, and disappeared again. No one looked at Kitty as she went downstairs. The time had come when the intense general interest was so profound that small minor interests were of no account whatever. It mattered nothing to any one in the Royal Hotel that the slender girl who had for a long time been an invalid was going out with shells falling around her. Kitty left the hotel. She walked down the street. Her steps were very feeble. She met a woman, one of the townspeople. She went up to her.

"Can you and will you help me?" she said. Her voice was very shaky.

"Who are you?" said the woman.

"I want to go to Intombi. Can I go?"

"The train with the sick and wounded has just left," said the woman. "No one will be taken to Intombi until this time to-morrow. You are in danger here," she continued: "a shell might burst any moment."

"I must not die," said Kitty; "I have something to do before I die."

"Is it anything of great importance?"

"It is of tremendous importance – tremendous – and must be done. Will you help me? I will pay you."

"Poor child!" said the woman. "I don't want the money. But you ought to get into shelter. Where are you staying?"

"At the hotel – the Royal Hotel."

"It is not safe there. They are always firing at the hotel. They think to kill Sir George White or some other important officer. But I could take you to a place of safety. I rushed home to get a toy and some food for a child. We spend the day in the caves by the river-side. Come with me; we are quite safe there."

"Oh, will you – will you really take me in?"

"I will truly take you in. Come; please God, we will get back to the caves in safety."

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE CAVES

Kitty was just starting with the woman when an idea struck her.

"Wait one moment, only one moment," she said.

Before the woman could reply she rushed away from her. She ran wildly back to the hotel; she dashed up to her own room. There she opened a drawer, took certain things from it, folded them in a bit of paper, and came back again to the woman. She was panting and out of breath, but there was a new light in her eyes, and she did not look anything like so weak as she had done an hour ago, when she lay feeble and exhausted on her bed.

"You are a plucky one," said the woman.

That any one should call Kitty that caused her to smile very faintly, but it also sent a certain stimulus round her heart.

"I plucky! that is all you know," she said.

Then the woman gave the girl her hand. She herself had been an inhabitant of Ladysmith for years. She was an Englishwoman, and she wanted to see the old country again before she died. She was the mother of stalwart boys, and the wife of a good, sensible, matter-of-fact tradesman. She had no daughters, and this girl, slim and small and pretty, appealed to her.

"I will look after you, you poor little thing," she said. "Whether you were plucky or not in the past, you are plucky now. Come; you will be safe in the caves with me and my family."

A few moments later the woman and the girl had found shelter in one of the caves by the river-side. These caves had been excavated in order to afford bomb-proof shelter during the great siege. The woman had a little part of one of the caves portioned off for herself and her family. It was fairly comfortable; there was even a little furniture here. Kitty was offered the best chair the place afforded. They could hear the firing; but no shells burst anywhere near them. There was very little to eat; but Kitty was not hungry. The one thing which absorbed all her faculties and all her powers was how she was to get to Intombi. She, a poor, defenceless little girl, could not run the gauntlet of the enemy's firing. But she had an idea which might possibly be successful, and which she dared not tell to any one.

Presently the daylight passed, and the night came on. As usual, the firing ceased, and the cave dwellers prepared to return to their homes. The woman who had befriended Kitty packed up her things with right good will.

"You are our guest now, so you will come home with us to-night," she said to Kitty.

But the girl did not move.

"I am going to stay here," she said; "I am not going back. I want to stay here, please."

"Oh, that is nonsense," said the woman. "You cannot stay alone in these awful, lonesome caves. There will be no one with you. You can't do it, my dear. A pretty young thing like you! it's impossible."

"You may go or not, just as you like," said Kitty, "but I am going to stay."

The woman's husband, a man of the name of Burke, now came up and expostulated with the girl.

"We're right glad to give you shelter, miss," he said, "if only you can prove yourself an Englishwoman; but to stay here all night – it can't be done, miss. Come, march!"

He went up roughly to the girl, and raised her to her feet. But Kitty could be obstinate.

"I am not going," she said; "I shall stay here. No one will know I am here; and I promise to be very, very quiet. Please let me stay."

"Come, husband," said the woman. "If she chooses to make a fool of herself, I don't suppose any harm will come to her. No one wants to come near these caves during the night – horrid, damp, gloomy places. We have too much of them in the daytime. – I'll leave you a chunk of bread, miss, and a little water; that's the most I can do for you."

"Thank you," said Kitty.

Presently the Burke family went back to the town. Other families were seen wending their way in the same direction. The gloom swallowed them up. Just now in Ladysmith darkness was welcome as no light could ever be. The people disappeared one after the other, and the caves, which had rung with sound and movement, became absolutely still. Only the water-rats were heard, and the sigh of the wind as it rippled over the water. Distant sounds, however, floated over the breeze – the constant booming of guns, which were fired, even though it was night, in order to make sure that all was well. Distant lights in the enemy's camps were also seen, and now and then a searchlight made a vivid path of whiteness in the direction of the town. Kitty fancied she saw a silent party moving quietly like grey ghosts in the distance. They passed the caves. She wondered what they were doing, but she was not greatly interested in them. Her thought of thoughts was, how was she, a lonely, defenceless little girl, to find her way through the enemy's lines to Intombi? Nevertheless, whatever the danger, she had made up her mind to go.

"I have drawn Mollie into this dreadful thing, and I alone must save her," she thought.

Presently she unfastened the little parcel which she had all this time kept by her side. She took from it a nurse's apron and the cap which the nurses of the Red Cross wear. She pinned the badge of the Red Cross on her arm, crept away from the caves, and began to go slowly, and with many qualms in her heart, in the direction of the town. Each sound made her start. She had the greatest difficulty in keeping herself from screaming; nevertheless a new courage filled her heart.

Presently she saw a soldier standing as if at attention about twenty yards distant. She wondered if he were a sentry on duty. Beyond doubt he saw her, and was interested in her. She also stood still, and the man wheeled round and looked full in her direction. It was so dark that he could only see the shadow of a woman. Presently his voice rang out, "Who goes there?" Kitty knew she could not escape him; was he going to be friend or foe? She felt for her purse. Holding it in her hand, she approached the soldier.

"Who are you?" he said, gazing at her in astonishment. "Have you lost your way? Go straight on, and you will get back to Ladysmith, but you must be quick. What are you doing wandering outside the town?"

"I am a Red Cross nurse," said Kitty, "and I have lost my way. I wanted to return to Intombi to-night, but I lost my way. Has the ambulance train gone yet?"

"It went not long ago, but they are making up a second."

"Please take me to it, I am so afraid to be alone. Please take me to the train. I am due at Intombi; they want me very badly." Here she held the apron and cap out to him. "See," she said. She pointed to the Red Cross badge on her arm.

The soldier whistled, and looked at her significantly.

"I was in hospital," he said, "at Ladysmith, and a rough enough time it wor. If it weren't for Sister Mollie – "

"I know Sister Mollie," said Kitty. She hesitated as to whether or not she should say she was Mollie's sister. "I know her well, very well," she continued. "I have nursed under her. She is expecting me back. I lost my way."

"I don't know how you could," said the man.

"But I did. Oh, don't question me any further. Get me to the ambulance train, please. You are not a sentry, are you?"

"No, I am not a sentry."

"Then you can take me. And see, you shall have all the money I possess."

As she spoke, she opened her little purse and emptied it into the soldier's palm. It contained three or four shillings and a couple of pence. He looked at the money as it lay in his hand. It would buy a dainty for his supper; and even with full rations, dainties in Ladysmith were not to be despised. Nevertheless he was an honest British soldier, and nothing would induce him to take her last shillings from a Red Cross nurse.

"Take back your money," he said; "I don't want it. If you come with me quick, you may catch the train, but you were a great fool to lose it."

In a very few moments they found themselves at the station. A moment or two longer and Kitty had taken her place in the train – no questions asked, her uniform and the badge on her arm being sufficient. She could scarcely believe in her own luck.

"Safe so far; success so far," thought the girl.

In process of time the train, with its sad load of wounded and dying, reached the great hospital at the base. Kitty got out with the others. Her excitement now knew no bounds. She did not wait to assist any of the wounded men. The nurses – there were none too many of them – came out, the orderlies did what they could, and the sick and wounded were brought one by one into the tents. The damp of the place was fearful. The flies were a torture. The red dust lay in patches everywhere. There were few comforts of any sort. How different from the Town Hall hospital, which, poor as it was, was at least the soul of order!

But Kitty noticed none of these things. She wanted Mollie. If she could save Mollie, the wounded and dying mattered nothing at all. Presently she saw her. She was in the forefront, as usual. She held a lamp in her hand. She was giving directions. Kitty ran up and touched her.

"I have come," she said, "to help you."

Mollie turned and glanced at her. She saw a light in the wild brown eyes, a smile round the lips, and she noticed a queer, new, and very foreign expression on the small face. But all she did was to clasp Kitty's hand for one instant.

"Nothing personal now," said Sister Mollie – "presently, presently."

Kitty fell back, stunned and ashamed. After a few minutes, however, Mollie showed that she had not forgotten her sister. She turned and said, —

"All hands are wanted. If you are useful, I am glad you have come. Go and help the other nurses. I will speak to you presently."

With something between a sob and a cry of joy Kitty turned and went. With the little cap and the big white apron, and the red cross on her arm, she felt herself truly a sister of the Red Cross. The thought ennobled and raised her. There was a sense of rest all over her. Her wild expedient had succeeded.

Kitty, to the longest day she lived, never forgot that night – that night when she was completely and absolutely carried out of herself; when weakness and hunger were forgotten, and when, until the dawn broke, she ministered to the sick, the wounded, and the dying. There was no time at the Intombi camp to wait for trained nurses. Any woman's hand was sustaining; any woman could at least give a glance of sympathy and a word of comfort.

While Sister Mollie and the surgeons attended to the more serious cases, Kitty fulfilled her full quota of work. It was not until the morning broke that she had an instant alone with her sister. The dreadful firing had recommenced. It sounded far louder at Intombi than it did at Ladysmith. In the pause between the firing of one shell and another, Kitty, who was leaning up against the post of one of the tents, having just ministered to the dying needs of a gallant young dragoon officer, felt a light hand on her shoulder. She turned her white face, and encountered the eyes of her sister. Mollie's clear, steadfast brown eyes looked full into hers.

"Well, little brave girl," said Mollie, "and now why have you come? You were of great use last night. But what is it, Kitty, what is it?"

Kitty put her hand to her forehead.

"I forget," she said.

"You must come and have something. I can give you a cup of tea – such an inestimable boon! You shall have it; you deserve it. Come with me now."

She took the girl's hand and led her across to one of the marquees in the centre of the hospital. Here she gave her some tea, and made her sit down while she drank it. Kitty swallowed the tea, and then looked full at her sister with big, frightened eyes.

"I know now," she said. "Have you done it?"

"Done what, dear?"

"Then you haven't done it! I am in time, and you haven't done it!"

"Done what, Kitty, what?"

Kitty again looked wildly round her.

"I have come," she said. "I told a lie to come. I said I was a Red Cross sister. I was not."

"In one sense you were. You have been plucky of the plucky last night. But why have you come, Kitty? and where is Katherine?"

"I know nothing about her. I had to come to – save you. Is Major Strause here?"

"Major Strause!" said Molly. A faint colour came into her tired face. "No," she said; "he would not be here unless he were wounded."

"Thank God! thank God! Then you are not engaged to him."

Kitty burst into tears. Mollie knelt by her.

"What do you mean, child?" she said. "Not engaged to him! But I thought you wished it."

"Not now. I have repented. I have heard something. Mollie, you must never, under any circumstances, marry him – never, never!"

"Thank God," was Mollie's answer.

She took the little slight figure in her arms. Presently she lifted the girl up and carried her into the hospital. There was an empty bed, from which a dead soldier had been removed for burial. She put a clean sheet on it and laid Kitty down.

"Sleep, little heroine," she said. "And did you really come straight through the enemy's lines to tell me this?"

But Kitty was too tired to reply; already she was sound asleep.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE GREAT EXCITEMENT

Major Strause had meant to go straight to Mollie from Observation Hill. He trusted to his luck to bring him safely through the enemy's lines to Intombi; but that luck was altogether against him. He soon saw that it would have been at the sacrifice of his life had he attempted to reach the girl he hoped to make his bride on that day. Sulky and miserable, therefore, he was obliged to return to Ladysmith.

There he found the whole place in a turmoil of excitement. The news that full rations had been ordered, joined to the hope of possible relief, and the fact beyond all doubt that the Boers were already making treks for safer quarters, filled every mouth. The women of the town came out in their best dresses and made holiday. The men talked and laughed, and stood about in groups. The women did their shopping just as if no shells were bombarding the place. The soldiers shouted hearty congratulations the one to the other.

"Have you heard the news? Full rations to-day – no horse-flesh."

Cheers in each case followed this announcement. The soldiers would, many of them, have gladly given five years of their lives for a full meal. For the time being the thought of the full meals seemed even more important than the relief of Ladysmith. The major heard them talking, and more than one officer came up and expressed satisfaction at the new hope which was filling every breast. But the major scarcely replied. His whole soul was centred on one desire – he must win Mollie's consent to be his wife. More than ever was it necessary if the siege was likely to be raised. He must see Mollie, whatever happened. How was he to get to Intombi camp?