I'll take your place here, but I can't stand that
any longer," said one of her aids, coming in heart-sick and
exhausted by the ghastly sights and terrible confusion of the day.
"I'll go: keep scrabbling while the eggs last, then knock out the
head of that barrel and make gruel till I pass the word to stop."
Forgetting her bonnet, and tying the ends of her shawl behind her,
Christie caught up a bottle of brandy and a canteen of water, and
ran on deck. There a sight to daunt most any woman, met her eyes;
for all about her, so thick that she could hardly step without
treading on them, lay the sad wrecks of men: some moaning for help;
some silent, with set, white faces turned up to the gray sky; all
shelterless from the cold wind that blew, and the fog rising from
the river. Surgeons and nurses were doing their best; but the boat
was loaded, and greater suffering reigned below.
"Heaven help us all!" sighed Christie, and then she fell to work.
Bottle and canteen were both nearly empty by the time she came to
the end of the long line, where lay a silent figure with a hidden
face. "Poor fellow, is he dead?" she said, kneeling down to lift a
corner of the blanket lent by a neighbor.
Pages:
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453