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

"Well answered," he replied, and he laughed. He brought one or two of his brother officers and introduced them to Katherine. "I believe," he said then, "that the common-sense will be in the ascendant, and that you will be useful to us. But how did you get here, and when did you arrive?"

A young lieutenant rushed into an adjoining room and brought out a camp stool.

"Sit down," he said. "We all honour you for coming here. We are very glad to see you, and if you are fresh from home, perhaps you can give us some news."

They all looked eagerly at her. A cloud of the horrible red dust entered at the open door. Katherine coughed, and took out her handkerchief to wipe the dust from her face.

"You will find it as beastly as we all do," said the young fellow who had brought the camp stool: "but in time you will get accustomed to it. One does get accustomed to everything, particularly in Ladysmith. We breathe and eat that dust, and we wash our faces in it. In some ways it is capable of doing more mischief even than Long Tom."

He laughed as he spoke, and the words had scarcely passed his lips before a loud report, followed by a screaming noise, filled the air. There was an explosion not far off, but still out of sight. Katherine, unprepared, started to her feet.

"That comes from Long Tom's ugly muzzle," said the young officer; "I call it one of his kisses. He has been very affectionate for the last few hours. But our battery is turned on him now, and will pour deadly shrapnel on him hour after hour. He shall have kiss for kiss."

They chatted a little longer on different matters. The young men were very cheerful, and although it was all too plain to every one that Ladysmith was practically besieged, they did not think that the siege would last long.

By-and-by the other officers went out, and Katharine found herself alone with Major Strause. Strause was looking thinner than when last she saw him, and his face wore a worried expression. Leaning against the nearest wall, he gave her a sentimental glance.

"Well," he said, "it is strange that we should meet here. When last we saw each other, was it not at Lady Marsden's ball?"

"It was," replied Katherine.

"Had you any idea then of flinging yourself into the heart of this war?"

"Not the remotest idea; why should I?"

"Then why have you come? What does Hunt think about it?"

"My father is a brave Englishman, and after the first disappointment he is not sorry that his only child should do her little best for her country. But, Major Strause, you must treat me with respect. I am here as one of the special war correspondents. Without that delightful occupation I doubt if my friend and I could have got here."

"Oh, you have not come alone?"

"No; I have come with a girl, a friend of mine."

Strause looked his curiosity. Katherine had no idea of gratifying it at the present moment. After a time she spoke.

"I am glad to see an old friend," she said, and her big brown eyes had never looked more kindly than they did as they rested on Strause's face at that moment. "I am glad to see an old friend, and when I write to my father, which I mean to do immediately, I shall tell him you are here."

"Do," said Strause, a look of gratification causing his face to look almost good-natured for the time being. "And tell him also that as far as Major Strause can, he will try to make things endurable for you. And now, pray let me know if there is anything I can do at the present moment? You have of course, secured rooms for yourself and your friend here?"

"I have. We are accommodated with the best bedroom in the house, and a very tolerable sitting-room."

"I am glad of that, and this hotel is as comfortable as any. But we are in for an exciting time, Miss Hunt. There is no doubt whatever of that. Our enemy is not to be despised; he has pluck and perseverance, and he is about the best marksman in the world. How long we shall have to stay in this horrid place Heaven only knows. I do declare I think the red dust is our greatest trial."

"Are there many cases of illness here at present, and is the nursing staff well supplied?" Katherine next asked.

"I don't know anything about that. I fancy there are a few nurses, but probably nothing like as many as will soon be required. Many of our men are suffering from the change of life and food, and Ladysmith has an evil reputation besides. Last year there was a good deal of enteric, and there is fever now, and dysentery even, among the regulars. Of course wounded soldiers are being brought in every day, and the central hospital has a good many cases already."

"Have you Red Cross nurses here?"

"One or two. I only know one personally – the finest woman I ever met in my life."

"Her name, please?" said Katherine.

"Hepworth. She is a sister of the pretty little girl whom I always associate with Gavon Keith. By-the-way, we are expecting him with his company any day. Well, this nurse is sister to the little girl Keith is engaged to."

"May I trust you with a secret, Major Strause?" said Katherine suddenly. "That girl is here."

"What!"

"Yes, Kitty Hepworth is here. She has come out with me. She is devoted to Captain Keith; and as she could not come with him, it being against the rules of warfare, she has followed him. Now, I should like to see her sister, and just at first I don't want to say anything to her about Kitty's arrival. Do you think you can help me?"

"Bless me, this is news indeed!" said Strause. "I don't know whether I am glad or sorry."

He paused, and a peculiar expression flitted across his face. He was wondering how he could use Katherine's somewhat startling information for his own benefit. It seemed to him that he saw daylight.

"On the whole, I am thoroughly pleased," he said. "And you want to see Miss Hepworth – Sister Mollie, as we call her? That is a very easy matter. There is no infectious illness at the hospital. If you like to come with me now, I will walk across to it with you and introduce you to her."

Katherine jumped up with alacrity.

"I shall be greatly obliged to you," she said.

She and Major Strause went down the long, irregular street, and entered the hastily put up military hospital. There was at that early stage of the siege a special ward for the enteric cases; surgical cases were attended to in a ward by themselves. The stores and ammunition, and the different comforts for the sick, had arrived, and the nurses were flitting noiselessly about, attending to one case after another.

Katherine entered the long ward, where about a dozen poor fellows were lying in different stages of enteric fever. A girl in a nurse's uniform, carrying a basin of gruel in her hand, was coming down the ward towards her. The girl had Kitty's face, and Katherine recognized her at once. Kitty's face, but with a difference. All the beauty was there, and none of the weakness. The full, dark eyes, the curving sweet lips, the delicate contour of the finely-marked brows, the chiselled and delicate features, were all present. But on Mollie's brow and in Mollie's eyes might have been seen that perfect and absolute self-abnegation which always brings out the noblest qualities of a true woman. She was deeply interested in her cases, and scarcely saw Katherine as she stood in the entrance of the long ward.

Major Strause went softly down the ward, and said a word to the nurse. Katherine saw her give a slight start of surprise; then she handed to the major the basin of gruel which she was carrying. He carried it across the ward, and seating himself on a low stool, began to feed, spoonful by spoonful, a young subaltern who, alas, would never live to see his twentieth year! Mollie came eagerly forward to where Katherine was standing.

"You are Mollie Hepworth; how do you do?" said Katherine Hunt.

"And you are a brave Englishwoman who has come over here to share our ill fortunes and our good," replied Mollie.

She looked Katherine all over. She noted the strength of Katherine's face, and the girl's upright, bold carriage.

"You will be invaluable," said Sister Mollie. "Welcome to Ladysmith. We are sure to have a tough time, but I think in the end we shall be victorious. Anyhow, there is that in us which will never say die. If it were not for these poor fellows – my boys I call them – I think I could bear anything. I am in charge of this ward, but, of course, I have nurses to work under me. I shall claim your services, Miss Hunt."

"And most gladly will I give them," replied Katherine. "I can come to you almost at any time. When shall it be?"

"The sooner the better. But Major Strause tells me that you have not come here alone – that there is another lady."

"So there is."

"Will she help us also?"

"I don't know. Perhaps. I will tell you about her presently."

CHAPTER XVI.

WELCOME HER, WON'T YOU?

Ladysmith was hemmed in. Sir George White sent a message to Joubert, asking leave for the non-combatants, women, and children, to go to Maritzburg. Joubert refused. The wounded, women, and children, and other non-combatants, might be collected in a place about four miles from the town, but would not be allowed to go further. All those who remained would be treated as combatants. Sir George White advised the town to accept the proposal, but his advice was indignantly rejected. Everybody's life was in danger, therefore, for the Queen. The proposal to leave the town was flung back with defiance. There was no more going out. Until help came, the inhabitants of Ladysmith were besieged by the enemy.

Meanwhile, day after day, Long Tom did his deadly work. Shell after shell entered Ladysmith and exploded, carrying consternation and death with it. Then people became quiet and submissive. Even to danger one can get accustomed. The excitement had subsided to something not exactly like despair, and not resembling indifference, but to a state of mind midway between the two. The inhabitants of Ladysmith tried to go about their usual occupations. The women still kept their houses tidy, and their children washed and well fed; and every one hoped that relief would come any day or any hour. And the soldiers fought as only English soldiers can fight; and the Boers were brave as enemy could be, and more and more closely surrounded the town. Even the Naval Brigade, splendid fellows all of them, could not deliver Ladysmith, although beyond doubt they kept the enemy in check.

Meanwhile Kitty remained in her rooms. She became a sort of mystery to the other people in the hotel. Mollie Hepworth had not the slightest idea that her sister was close to her. Gavon Keith, with a contingent of his men, had arrived. Kitty longed to see him; but the strangest nervousness was over her. What with the dust and the heat, and all her fears, and the dangers through which she had travelled, the girl was suddenly prostrated with a kind of malarial fever. There was a time when Katherine feared that it would turn to enteric; but watching Mollie Hepworth's patients, she soon saw that she had nothing to apprehend on that score, and resolved to nurse Kitty herself.

She could not understand the wayward girl, so plucky, so determined to join her lover while in England, and yet now so overcome with nervous terrors that she dreaded him to know of her arrival. Whenever a shell exploded in Ladysmith, Kitty screamed, covered her face with her hands, sat up in bed trembling all over, and asked Katherine, who seldom left her, if the hotel were still intact.

Katherine had much ado to put up with Kitty's fears, and quite longed for the time when the girl would be well enough to leave her enforced imprisonment and take what small pleasure lay before her in the beleaguered city.

There had come a day of general attack. Early in the morning Long Tom had spoken, and Lady Anne and all the other Naval Brigade guns replied at once. The firing went on for hours, and finally the enemy were repulsed. But it was a day of horror to all in the brave little town; and when night came, Katherine, who had been busy helping Mollie with the sick and wounded, and doing all that woman, could to lighten the strained situation, came into Kitty's room. She had left Kitty much better – had given her all that was absolutely necessary for her comfort; had cheered her up as best she could; had offered her a yellow-backed novel to read, and left her, hoping that she would drop asleep. She came back to find the frightened girl partly dressed, half fainting, and leaning against the wall of the room.

"Now, Kitty, what is it?" said Katherine, in a tone of expostulation. "You know you are not fit to get up. What is the matter?"

"I had an awful dream," said Kitty. "After you went I fell asleep as you meant me to do, and I dreamed a long, terrible dream all about Gavon. I thought he was killed. Is he killed? Is it true? I believe it is. Oh, I was so terrified! Is it true?"

"It is not true," replied Katherine.

"But I am so frightened; and there is something in your face which makes me think you are hiding something. He has been wounded!"

"Kitty, sit down," said Katherine. "Sit down and stay quiet. You had no right to try to get up; you are too weak."

"I am a miserable, good-for-nothing girl, but I will be good if only you will tell me that he is safe."

"You ought to have seen him long ago. Now that you are here, I cannot understand your attitude. Your illness has made you nervous."

"I will be good if only you will tell me the truth. Is he – is he wounded?"

"I will tell you the truth," said Katherine, in a brave voice. She looked at the trembling, weak, terrified creature with eyes large with compassion. "Here, drink this," she said. She poured out a restorative which had always a soothing effect on Kitty, and brought it to her. "Drink it, my dear; you will want your courage. But things are by no means so very bad. Captain Keith has had a slight wound – nothing at all dangerous. He is in hospital. He must remain there for a few days, and – "

"And Mollie is nursing him?"

"Thank God, your brave sister is there, doing all she can for every one."

"Don't look at me as if you meant to despise me, Katherine. I sometimes see that look in your eyes, and it makes me so sick."

"I don't understand you, Kitty. I admired you in London, for I thought that, whatever happened, yours was a true and a great love, and I always respect sincerity in anybody or in anything. But since you came here – "

"It is all my nerves," said the poor girl. "It is the bursting of the horrible shells, and the terror that one will come through the roof."

"Well, and if it does come through the roof?"

"Katherine! Why, we should all be killed."

"What of that? we can but die once. Oh, you must lose your fear of death if you are to be any good at all in Ladysmith. And look here, Kitty, I mean you to be good – I mean you to be of use. What is a woman, strong and in her youth, doing in a place of this sort if she is not of use? We are going to have a very terrible time; I don't pretend to deny it. We are hemmed in closer every day. The enemy are coming up in greater and greater numbers. The Boers are no fools, let me tell you. They know how to fight, and they know how to endure. They have the courage, some of them, of ten men, and they are fighting for their country. And they mean – yes, Kitty, they mean to take Ladysmith if they can. Of course they won't take it, for we will never, never give in. But if there were many of us like you in this place, why, we'd be indeed a poor lot!"

Kitty turned white. Her handkerchief was lying near; she took it up and wiped the moisture off her brow.

"I wish I was not so – shaky," she said, in a tremulous voice.

"You poor little thing! I am sorry I spoke harshly, but I have been seeing so very much of real life all day. Those poor fellows – not a murmur out of them! And oh, the agony some of them have endured! And then I come here, and I see you with a whole skin, in a comfortable room with food and water within reach, crying because you have a fit of the nerves. But I know people who get these nervous attacks are to be pitied. And I do pity you, poor little Kitty; only I want to stimulate you to courage."

"I will be good," said Kitty faintly. "Help me to dress."

Katherine hesitated for a moment. It was between nine and ten at night; the heat of the day was mitigated. Long Tom had ceased firing; until morning there would be comparative peace. She took Kitty's wrist between her finger and thumb, and felt her pulse.

"Your fever has gone," she said; "you are only weak, I have got some bovril here. I will make you a cup, and then – "

"Yes, what?"

"Then I am going to take you to the hospital."

"O Katherine!"

"Yes; to see Captain Keith and your sister Mollie. I hope you will be helping Mollie this time to-morrow night."

Kitty was so excited at Katherine's daring proposal that the colour mounted at once into her pale cheeks.

"I wonder if I dare," she said.

"Dare or not, you have got to come – and to-night. Here's your bovril." Katherine brought her a cup. She had heated the water with her spirit-lamp. "Drink it. That is a good girl."

"Things are so horrid!" Kitty moaned; "I have no appetite for the coarse food here."

"O Kitty, you are very lucky to have any food. The supplies are by no means unlimited, although at present we have not felt the stint. Now, then, I will help you to dress."

She went to one of the trunks of crushed cane and brought out a white skirt and white blouse. She helped Kitty to put them on, and she herself brushed out the girl's dark, pretty hair, and arranged it becomingly around her head.

"There, now," she said. "Have you got a blue sash anywhere? A girl in white with a blue sash will be a sort of angel in the wards to-night. The moment you enter one of the wards, if you are worth anything at all, Kitty Hepworth, you will forget yourself."

"And you are quite, quite certain that none of the awful shells will come into Ladysmith to-night?"

"Quite certain; we have some hours of peace and safety."

Kitty looked fragile and lovely when Katherine had dressed her. She herself also put on a neat and becoming dress, but she took care that Kitty's beauty should be the chief focus of attraction. She then took the girl's hand and led her downstairs. The mystery about the sick English girl had come almost to fever height amongst the officers and nurses, who principally inhabited the hotel. Many people glanced now at Katherine, whose face was quite familiar, and at Kitty, whose face was unknown, as they went slowly by. Major Strause suddenly burst out of the smoking-room.

"I say!" he exclaimed. "Miss Hepworth, you here!"

He pretended that he had not until now known of Kitty's arrival in Ladysmith.

She gave him her hand indifferently, raised her pretty eyes to his face, and then dropped them.

"I am going to Gavon," she said. "He is wounded, and I must go to him."

"Only a flesh wound – nothing of any importance. He must lie up for a day or two. – Shall I go across to the hospital with you, Miss Hunt?"

"No, thank you," replied Katherine; "Kitty and I can manage nicely alone. – Now, Kitty," she said, as the girls went down the street, "you must remember that Sister Mollie knows nothing of your arrival here. She will be very much astonished when you walk into the ward, and perhaps a little hurt with you for keeping things dark from her."

"I shall like to see her," replied Kitty; "and if she is nursing Gavon, I of course will help her. It is my place to nurse him, is it not, Katherine?"

"I should say yes. I am glad you feel it in that way."

Katherine could not help a note of sarcasm coming into her voice.

She and Kitty entered the hospital. A moment later they found themselves in the long ward. Kitty's face turned white. Had she thought of herself, she might have fainted; but just then her eyes were arrested by seeing a girl bending over a sick man, holding a stimulant to his lips, and speaking cheering words. The girl was her sister; the man she was bending over was Captain Keith.

With a cry – a curious mingling of delight, and suffering, and absolute self-forgetfulness – Kitty, in her white dress and blue sash, looking something like a fashionable London girl and also something like an angel, ran down the long ward and approached the side of the sick man.

"Gavon," she said, "Gavon, I am here! I have come. – Mollie, I have come – Kitty has come."

Mollie Hepworth had often said that nothing could ever take her by surprise – that she was, owing to her education, and perhaps also to her temperament, prepared for any emergency – but she was sorely tested at the present moment. Her first wild thought was that Kitty was dead, and that this was her wraith come to visit the sick ward in the beleaguered town of Ladysmith; but one glance at Kitty showed her that it was a very living girl with whom she had to deal. She stifled the inclination to cry out; she showed no surprise, and putting her finger to her lips, gave a warning glance at the excited girl.

"He is very weak from loss of blood," she said; "don't startle him."

Gavon Keith had been looking full up at Mollie while she was ministering to him. Her touch brought him comfort, the look in her eyes brought him strength. The next instant he encountered eyes like hers, a face like hers, but without the strength, without the power to give comfort. He had a sick feeling all over him that in his heart of hearts he had no welcome for Kitty; and then, weak as he was, he struggled to subdue it. His eyes lit up with a faint smile; but the effort was too much – he fainted away.

"Sit down quietly," said Mollie – "there, in that corner, where he can't see you when he comes to. Of course you shall be with him. But I have no time to ask any questions now. – Miss Hunt, give me the brandy, please, and that bottle of smelling-salts."

Katherine Hunt brought the necessary restoratives, and Mollie bent over the wounded man just as if Kitty did not exist. The faint was a bad one, but after a time he recovered consciousness. Mollie held his hand and stroked it gently.

"Did I dream anything? Was it all a mistake?" he said, in a low whisper.

She bent over him.

"It is no dream," she said. "Your little Kitty, whom you are engaged to marry, is here. She has come out all the way from England for love of you. She has encountered grave danger and difficulty and the possibility either of death or imprisonment all for love of you. She will stay by you part of to-night. Welcome her, won't you?"

"Kitty!" said the wounded man; and then Kitty bent forward, and he smiled at her, this time without fainting.

After this incident Kitty Hepworth was established as one of the extra nurses in the central hospital. Mollie secured her this post, and on the whole it did her good. There was no time in Ladysmith for fainting or hysterics. The minor ills of life had to be put out of sight, for the men and women in that town were face to face with a great tragedy.

CHAPTER XVII.

MAJOR STRAUSE

Just about this time there was a curious change observable in Major Strause. Hitherto his character had been all that was contemptible. He was deep in debt; he was met at every turn by money difficulties. He was also a confirmed gambler. In order to keep himself in any degree straight, he had stooped to the lowest of crimes, and was in every sense of the word a most selfish man. Nevertheless, at the present moment no one could consider Major Strause selfish. When he was not absolutely engaged in his military duties, he spent his time in the hospital. He turned out to be not only a clever but also a tender nurse. He did exactly what Sister Mollie told him; he even sat with her worst cases at night; and was, she could not help expressing it, invaluable.

The fact was, two things had happened to Major Strause. In the first place, at Ladysmith his most pressing creditors could not trouble him; therefore, for the time being at any rate, he was not up to his ears in money difficulties. The second thing was this: he had fallen in love, passionately in love, with Sister Mollie. He was not a particularly young man – in fact, his years were very little short of forty – but until he met Mollie he had never honestly and truly, and as he thought unselfishly, cared for any one. He was not a marrying man, and if he thought of matrimony at all, he certainly thought of it as an aid to a fortune. If he met a rich, very rich girl who would have him, why, then, his money troubles might cease to exist. He certainly would not, under any circumstances, marry a poor one.