Edith Van Dyne - Aunt Jane\'s Nieces in the Red Cross
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Edith Van Dyne >> Aunt Jane\'s Nieces in the Red Cross
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10 AUNT JANE'S NIECES IN THE RED CROSS
by
EDITH VAN DYNE
Author of "Aunt Jane's Nieces Series,"
"Flying Girl Series," etc.
The Reilly & Britton Co.
Chicago
1915
[Illustration]
FOREWORD
This is the story of how three brave American girls sacrificed the
comforts and luxuries of home to go abroad and nurse the wounded
soldiers of a foreign war.
I wish I might have depicted more gently the scenes in hospital and on
battlefield, but it is well that my girl readers should realize
something of the horrors of war, that they may unite with heart and soul
in earnest appeal for universal, lasting Peace and the future abolition
of all deadly strife.
Except to locate the scenes of my heroines' labors, no attempt has been
made to describe technically or historically any phase of the great
European war.
The character of Doctor Gys is not greatly exaggerated but had its
counterpart in real life. As for the little Belgian who had no room for
scruples in his active brain, his story was related to me by an American
war correspondent who vouched for its truth. The other persona in the
story are known to those who have followed their adventures in other
books of the "Aunt Jane's Nieces" series.
EDITH VAN DYNE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE ARRIVAL OF THE BOY 9
II THE ARRIVAL OF THE GIRL 25
III THE DECISION OF DOCTOR GYS 37
IV THE HOSPITAL SHIP 48
V NEARING THE FRAY 58
VI LITTLE MAURIE 75
VII ON THE FIRING LINE 86
VIII THE COWARD 96
IX COURAGE, OR PHILOSOPHY? 108
X THE WAR'S VICTIMS 121
XI PATSY IS DEFIANT 135
XII THE OTHER SIDE 146
XIII TARDY JUSTICE 160
XIV FOUND AT LAST 182
XV DR. GYS SURPRISES HIMSELF 189
XVI CLARETTE 197
XVII PERPLEXING PROBLEMS 204
XVIII A QUESTION OF LOYALTY 217
XIX THE CAPTURE 225
XX THE DUNES 244
CHAPTER I
THE ARRIVAL OF THE BOY
"What's the news, Uncle?" asked Miss Patricia Doyle, as she entered the
cosy breakfast room of a suite of apartments in Willing Square. Even as
she spoke she pecked a little kiss on the forehead of the chubby man
addressed as "Uncle"--none other, if you please, than the famous and
eccentric multi-millionaire known in Wall Street as John Merrick--and
sat down to pour the coffee.
There was energy in her method of doing this simple duty, an indication
of suppressed vitality that conveyed the idea that here was a girl
accustomed to action. And she fitted well into the homely scene: short
and somewhat "squatty" of form, red-haired, freckle-faced and
pug-nosed. Wholesome rather than beautiful was Patsy Doyle, but if you
caught a glimpse of her dancing blue eyes you straightway forgot her
lesser charms.
Quite different was the girl who entered the room a few minutes later.
Hers was a dark olive complexion, face of exquisite contour, great brown
eyes with a wealth of hair to match them and the flush of a rose in her
rounded cheeks. The poise of her girlish figure was gracious and
dignified as the bearing of a queen.
"Morning, Cousin Beth," said Patsy cheerily.
"Good morning, my dear," and then, with a trace of anxiety in her tone:
"What is the news, Uncle John?"
The little man had ignored Patsy's first question, but now he answered
absently, his eyes still fixed upon the newspaper:
"Why, they're going to build another huge skyscraper on Broadway, at
Eleventh, and I see the political pot is beginning to bubble all through
the Bronx, although--"
"Stuff and nonsense, Uncle!" exclaimed Patsy. "Beth asked for news, not
for gossip."
"The news of the war, Uncle John," added Beth, buttering her toast.
"Oh; the war, of course," he said, turning over the page of the morning
paper. "It ought to be the Allies' day, for the Germans won yesterday.
No--by cracky, Beth--the Germans triumph again; they've captured
Maubeuge. What do you think of that?"
Patsy gave a little laugh.
"Not knowing where Maubeuge is," she remarked, "my only thought is that
something is wrong with the London press bureau. Perhaps the cables got
crossed--or short circuited or something. They don't usually allow the
Germans to win two days in succession."
"Don't interrupt, please," said Beth, earnestly. "This is too important
a matter to be treated lightly. Read us the article, Uncle. I was afraid
Maubeuge would be taken."
Patsy accepted her cousin's rebuke with her accustomed good nature.
Indeed, she listened as intently as Beth to the thrilling account of the
destruction of Maubeuge, and her blue eyes became quite as serious as
the brown ones of her cousin when the tale of dead and wounded was
recounted.
"Isn't it dreadful!" cried Beth, clasping her hands together
impulsively.
"Yes," nodded her uncle, "the horror of it destroys the interest we
naturally feel in any manly struggle for supremacy."
"This great war is no manly struggle," observed Patsy with a toss of her
head. "It is merely wholesale murder by a band of selfish diplomats."
"Tut-tut!" warned Mr. Merrick; "we Americans are supposed to be neutral,
my dear. We must not criticize."
"That does not prevent our sympathizing with the innocent sufferers,
however," said Beth quietly. "My heart goes out, Uncle, to those poor
victims of the war's cruelty, the wounded and dying. I wish I could do
something to help them!"
Uncle John moved uneasily in his chair. Then he laid down his paper and
applied himself to his breakfast. But his usual merry expression had
faded into one of thoughtfulness.
"The wounded haunt me by day and night," went on Beth. "There are
thousands upon thousands of them, left to suffer terrible pain--perhaps
to die--on the spot where they fell, and each one is dear to some poor
woman who is ignorant of her loved one's fate and can do nothing but
moan and pray at home."
"That's the hard part of it," said Patsy, her cousin. "I think the
mothers and wives and sweethearts are as much to be pitied as the fallen
soldiers. The men _know_ what has happened, but the women don't. It
isn't so bad when they're killed outright; the family gets a medal to
indicate that their hero has died for his country. But the wounded are
lost sight of and must suffer in silence, with no loving hands to soothe
their agony."
"My dears!" pleaded Uncle John, plaintively, "why do you insist upon
flavoring our breakfast with these horrors? I--I--there! take it away; I
can't eat."
The conversation halted abruptly. The girls were likewise unnerved by
the mental pictures evolved by their remarks and it was now too late to
restore cheerfulness to the morning meal. They sat in pensive silence
for a while and were glad when Mr. Merrick pushed back his chair and
rose from the table.
As Beth and Patsy followed their uncle into the cosy library where he
was accustomed to smoke his morning cigar, the little man remarked:
"Let's see; this is the seventh of September."
"Quite right, Uncle," said Patsy.
"Isn't this the day Maud Stanton is due to arrive?"
"No," replied Beth; "she will come to-morrow morning. It's a good four
days' trip from California to New York, you know."
"I wonder why she is coming here at this time of year," said Patsy
reflectively, "and I wonder if her Aunt Jane or her sister Flo are with
her."
"She did not mention them in her telegram," answered Beth. "All she said
was to expect her Wednesday morning. It seems quite mysterious, that
telegram, for I had no idea Maud thought of coming East."
"Well, we will know all about it when she arrives," observed Uncle John.
"I will be glad to see Maud again, for she is one of my especial
favorites."
"She's a very dear girl!" exclaimed Patsy, with emphasis. "It will be
simply glorious to--"
The doorbell rang sharply. There was a moment's questioning pause, for
it was too early for visitors. The pattering feet of the little maid,
Mary, approached the door and next moment a boyish voice demanded:
"Is Mr. Merrick at home, or the young ladies, or--"
"Why, it's Ajo!" shouted Patsy, springing to her feet and making a dive
for the hallway.
"Jones?" said Mr. Merrick, looking incredulous.
"It must be," declared Beth, for now Patsy's voice was blended with that
of the boy in a rapid interchange of question and answer. Then in she
came, dragging him joyously by the arm.
"This is certainly a surprise!" said Mr. Merrick, shaking the tall,
slender youth by the hand with evident pleasure.
"When did you get to town?" asked Beth, greeting the boy cordially.
"And why didn't you let us know you were on the way from far-off Los
Angeles?"
"Well," said Jones, seating himself facing them and softly rubbing his
lean hands together to indicate his satisfaction at this warm reception,
"it's a long, long story and I may as well tell it methodically or
you'll never appreciate the adventurous spirit that led me again to New
York--the one place I heartily detest."
"Oh, Ajo!" protested Patsy. "Is this the way to retain the friendship of
New Yorkers?"
"Isn't honesty appreciated here?" he wanted to know.
"Go ahead with your story," said Uncle John. "We left you some months
ago at the harbor of Los Angeles, wondering what you were going to do
with that big ship of yours that lay anchored in the Pacific. If I
remember aright, you were considering whether you dared board it to
return to that mysterious island home of yours at--at--"
"Sangoa," said Patsy.
"Thank you for giving me a starting-point," returned the boy, with a
smile. "You may remember that when I landed in your country from Sangoa
I was a miserable invalid. The voyage had ruined my stomach and wrecked
my constitution. I crossed the continent to New York and consulted the
best specialists--and they nearly put an end to me. I returned to the
Pacific coast to die as near home as possible, and--and there I met
you."
"And Patsy saved your life," added Beth.
"She did. First, however, Maud Stanton saved me from drowning. Then
Patsy Doyle doctored me and made me well and strong. And now--"
"And now you look like a modern Hercules," asserted Patsy, gazing with
some pride at the bronzed cheeks and clear eyes of the former invalid
and ignoring his slight proportions. "Whatever have you been doing with
yourself since then?"
"Taking a sea voyage," he affirmed.
"Really?"
"An absolute fact. For months I dared not board the _Arabella_, my sea
yacht, for fear of a return of my old malady; but after you deserted me
and came to this--this artificial, dreary, bewildering--"
"Never mind insulting my birthplace, sir!"
"Oh! were you born here, Patsy? Then I'll give the town credit. So,
after you deserted me at Los Angeles--"
"You still had Mrs. Montrose and her nieces, Maud and Flo Stanton."
"I know, and I love them all. But they became so tremendously busy that
I scarcely saw them, and finally I began to feel lonely. Those Stanton
girls are chock full of business energy and they hadn't the time to
devote to me that you people did. So I stood on the shore and looked at
the _Arabella_ until I mustered up courage to go aboard. Surviving that,
I made Captain Carg steam slowly along the coast for a few miles.
Nothing dreadful happened. So I made a day's voyage, and still ate my
three squares a day. That was encouraging."
"I knew all the time it wasn't the voyage that wrecked your stomach,"
said Patsy confidently.
"What was it, then?"
"Ptomaine poisoning, or something like that."
"Well, anyhow, I found I could stand ocean travel again, so I determined
on a voyage. The Panama Canal was just opened and I passed through it,
came up the Atlantic coast, and--the _Arabella_ is at this moment safely
anchored in the North River!"
"And how do you feel?" inquired Uncle John.
"Glorious--magnificent! The trip has sealed my recovery for good."
"But why didn't you go home, to your Island of Sangoa?" asked Beth.
He looked at her reproachfully.
"_You_ were not there, Beth; nor was Patsy, or Uncle John. On the other
hand, there is no one in Sangoa who cares a rap whether I come home or
not. I'm the last of the Joneses of Sangoa, and while it is still my
island and the entire population is in my employ, the life there flows
on just as smoothly without me as if I were present."
"But don't they need the ship--the _Arabella_?" questioned Beth.
"Not now. I sent a cargo of supplies by Captain Carg when he made his
last voyage to the island, and there will not be enough pearls found in
the fisheries for four or five months to come to warrant my shipping
them to market. Even then, they would keep. So I'm a free lance at
present and I had an idea that if I once managed to get the boat around
here you folks might find a use for it."
"In what way?" inquired Patsy, with interest.
"We might all make a trip to Barbadoes, Bermuda and Cuba. Brazil is said
to be an interesting country. I'd prefer Europe, were it not for the
war."
"Oh, Ajo, isn't this war terrible?"
"No other word expresses it. Yet it all seems like a fairy tale to me,
for I've never been in any other country than the United States since I
made my first voyage here from Sangoa--the island where my eyes first
opened to the world."
"It isn't a fairy tale," said Beth with a shudder. "It's more like a
horrible nightmare."
"I can't bear to read about it any more," he returned, musingly. "In
fact, I've only been able to catch rumors of the progress of the war in
the various ports at which I've touched, and I came right here from my
ship. But I've no sympathy with either side. The whole thing annoys me,
somehow--the utter uselessness and folly of it all."
"Maubeuge has fallen," said Beth, and went on to give him the latest
tidings. Finding that the war was the absorbing topic in this little
household, the boy developed new interest in it and the morning passed
quickly away.
Jones stayed to lunch and then Mr. Merrick's automobile took them all to
the river to visit the beautiful yacht _Arabella_, which was already,
they found, attracting a good deal of attention in the harbor, where
beautiful yachts are no rarity.
The _Arabella_ was intended by her builders for deep sea transit and as
Patsy admiringly declared, "looked like a baby liner." While she was
yacht-built in all her lines and fittings, she was far from being merely
a pleasure craft, but had been designed by the elder Jones, the boy's
father, to afford communication between the Island of Sangoa, in the
lower South Seas, and the continent of America.
Sangoa is noted for its remarkable pearl fisheries, which were now owned
and controlled entirely by this youth; but his father, an experienced
man of affairs, had so thoroughly established the business of production
and sale that little remained for his only son and heir to do, more than
to invest the profits that steadily accrued and to care for the great
fortune left him. Whether he was doing this wisely or not no one--not
even his closest friends--could tell. But he was frank and friendly
about everything else.
They went aboard the _Arabella_ and were received by that grim and
grizzled old salt, Captain Carg, with the same wooden indifference he
always exhibited. But Patsy detected a slight twinkle in the shrewd gray
eyes that made her feel they were welcome. Carg, a seaman of vast
experience, was wholly devoted to his young master. Indeed, the girls
suspected that young Jones was a veritable autocrat in his island, as
well as aboard his ship. Everyone of the Sangoans seemed to accept his
dictation, however imperative it might be, as a matter of course, and
the gray old captain--who had seen much of the world--was not the least
subservient to his young master.
On the other hand, Jones was a gentle and considerate autocrat,
unconsciously imitating his lately deceased father in his kindly
interest in the welfare of all his dependents. These had formerly been
free-born Americans, for when the Island of Sangoa was purchased it had
no inhabitants.
This fortunate--or perhaps unfortunate--youth had never been blessed
with a given name, more than the simple initial "A." The failure of his
mother and father to agree upon a baptismal name for their only child
had resulted in a deadlock; and, as the family claimed a direct descent
from the famous John Paul Jones, the proud father declared that to be "a
Jones" was sufficient honor for any boy; hence he should be known merely
as "A. Jones." The mother called her child by the usual endearing pet
names until her death, after which the islanders dubbed the master's
son--then toddling around in his first trousers--"Ajo," and the name had
stuck to him ever since for want of a better one.
With the Bohemian indifference to household routine so characteristic of
New Yorkers, the party decided to dine at a down-town restaurant before
returning to Willing Square, and it was during this entertainment that
young Jones first learned of the expected arrival of Maud Stanton on the
following morning. But he was no wiser than the others as to what
mission could have brought the girl to New York so suddenly that a
telegram was required to announce her coming.
"You see, I left Los Angeles weeks ago," the boy explained, "and at that
time Mrs. Montrose and her nieces were busy as bees and much too
occupied to pay attention to a drone like me. There was no hint then of
their coming East, but of course many things may have happened in the
meantime."
The young fellow was so congenial a companion and the girls were so well
aware of his loneliness, through lack of acquaintances, that they
carried him home with them to spend the evening. When he finally left
them, at a late hour, it was with the promise to be at the station next
morning to meet Maud Stanton on her arrival.
CHAPTER II
THE ARRIVAL OF THE GIRL
A sweet-faced girl, very attractive but with a sad and anxious
expression, descended from the Pullman and brightened as she found her
friends standing with outstretched arms to greet her.
"Oh, Maud!" cried Patsy, usurping the first hug, "how glad I am to see
you again!"
Beth looked in Maud Stanton's face and forbore to speak as she embraced
her friend. Then Jones shook both hands of the new arrival and Uncle
John kissed her with the same tenderness he showed his own nieces.
This reception seemed to cheer Maud Stanton immensely. She even smiled
during the drive to Willing Square--a winning, gracious smile that would
have caused her to be instantly recognized in almost any community of
our vast country; for this beautiful young girl was a famous motion
picture actress, possessing qualities that had endeared her to every
patron of the better class photo-dramas.
At first she had been forced to adopt this occupation by the stern
necessity of earning a livelihood, and under the careful guidance of her
aunt--Mrs. Jane Montrose, a widow who had at one time been a favorite in
New York social circles--Maud and her sister Florence had applied
themselves so intelligently to their art that their compensation had
become liberal enough to enable them to save a modest competence.
One cause of surprise at Maud's sudden journey east was the fact that
her services were in eager demand by the managers of the best producing
companies on the Pacific Coast, where nearly all the American pictures
are now made. Another cause for surprise was that she came alone,
leaving her Aunt Jane and her sister Flo--usually her inseparable
companion--in Los Angeles.
But they did not question her until the cosy home at Willing Square was
reached, luncheon served and Maud installed in the "Guest Room." Then
the three girls had "a good, long talk" and presently came trooping
into the library to enlighten Uncle John and Ajo.
"Oh, Uncle! What do you think?" cried Patsy. "Maud is going to the war!"
"The war!" echoed Mr. Merrick in a bewildered voice. "What on earth
can--"
"She is going to be a nurse," explained Beth, a soft glow of enthusiasm
mantling her pretty face. "Isn't it splendid, Uncle!"
"H-m," said Uncle John, regarding the girl with wonder. "It is certainly
a--a--surprising venture."
"But--see here, Maud--it's mighty dangerous," protested young Jones.
"It's a tremendous undertaking, and--what can one girl do in the midst
of all those horrors?"
Maud seated herself quietly between them. Her face was grave and
thoughtful.
"I have had to answer many such arguments before now, as you may
suspect," she began in even tones, "but the fact that I am here, well on
my journey, is proof that I have convinced my aunt, my sister and all my
western friends that I am at least determined on my mission, whether it
be wise or foolish. I do not think I shall incur danger by caring for
the wounded; the Red Cross is highly respected everywhere, these days."
"The Red Cross?" quoth Uncle John.
"Yes; I shall wear the Red Cross," she continued. "You know that I am a
trained nurse; it was part of my education before--before--"
"I had not known that until now," said Mr. Merrick, "but I am glad you
have had that training. Beth began a course at the school here, but I
took her away to Europe before she graduated. However, I wish more girls
could be trained for nursing, as it is a more useful and admirable
accomplishment than most of them now acquire."
"Fox-Trots and Bunny-Hugs, for instance," said Patricia with fine
disdain.
"Patsy is a splendid nurse," declared Ajo, with a grateful look toward
that chubby miss.
"But untrained," she answered laughingly. "It was just common sense that
enabled me to cure your malady, Ajo. I couldn't bandage a cut or a
bullet wound to save me."
"Fortunately," said Maud, "I have a diploma which will gain for me the
endorsement of the American Red Cross Society. I am counting on that to
enable me to get an appointment at the seat of war, where I can be of
most use."
"Where will you go?" asked the boy. "To Germany, Austria, Russia,
Belgium, or--"
"I shall go to France," she replied. "I speak French, but understand
little of German, although once I studied the language."
"Are you fully resolved upon this course, Maud?" asked Mr. Merrick in a
tone of regret.
"Fully decided, sir. I am going to Washington to-morrow, to get my
credentials, and then I shall take the first steamer to Europe."
There was no use arguing with Maud Stanton when she assumed that tone.
It was neither obstinate nor defiant, yet it conveyed a quiet resolve
that was unanswerable.
For a time they sat in silence, musing on the many phases of this
curious project; then Beth came to Mr. Merrick's side and asked
pleadingly:
"May I go with her, Uncle?"
"Great Scott!" he exclaimed, with a nervous jump. "_You_, Beth?"
"Yes, Uncle. I so long to be of help to those poor fellows who are
being so cruelly sacrificed; and I know I can soothe much suffering, if
I have the opportunity."
He stared at her, not knowing what to reply. This quaint little man was
so erratic himself, in his sudden resolves and eccentric actions, that
he could scarcely quarrel with his niece for imitating an example he had
frequently set. Still, he was shrewd enough to comprehend the reckless
daring of the proposition.
"Two unprotected girls in the midst of war and carnage, surrounded by
foreigners, inspired to noble sacrifice through ignorance and
inexperience, and hardly old enough to travel alone from Hoboken to
Brooklyn! Why, the thing's absurd," he said.
"Quite impractical," added Ajo, nodding wisely. "You're both too pretty,
my dears, to undertake such an adventure. Why, the wounded men would all
fall in love with their nurses and follow you back to America in a
flock; and that might put a stop to the war for lack of men to fight
it."
"Don't be silly, Ajo," said Patsy, severely. "I've decided to go with
Maud and Beth, and you know very well that the sight of my freckled face
would certainly chill any romance that might arise."
"That's nonsense, Patsy!"
"Then you consider me beautiful, Uncle John?"
"I mean it's nonsense about your going with Maud and Beth. I won't allow
it."
"Oh, Uncle! You know I can twine you around my little finger, if I
choose. So don't, for goodness' sake, start a rumpus by trying to set
your will against mine."
"Then side with me, dear. I'm quite right, I assure you."
"You're always right, Nunkie, dear," she cried, giving him a resounding
smack of a kiss on his chubby cheek as she sat on the arm of his chair,
"but I'm going with the girls, just the same, and you may as well make
up your mind to it."
Uncle John coughed. He left his chair and trotted up and down the room a
moment. Then he carefully adjusted his spectacles, took a long look at
Patsy's face, and heaved a deep sigh of resignation.
"Thank goodness, that's settled," said Patsy cheerfully.
Uncle John turned to the boy, saying dismally:
"I've done everything in my power for these girls, and now they defy me.
They've declared a thousand times they love me, and yet they'd trot off
to bandage a lot of unknown foreigners and leave me alone to worry my
heart out."
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