The Boy Scouts of the Field Hospital

CHAPTER XIII.

HARD AT WORK. Nor would he let Hugh even “spell” him at the poles when the other offered to do so; it was one of Bud Morgan’s oddities that he never wanted to give anything up on which he had started, no matter how unpleasant a task it may have turned out to be. “I’m going along with you this time, you know,” ventured Hugh after he had helped them raise their burden, which seemed to be the hardest part of the job; “so far as I can see there’s no more wounded lying around here. Perhaps we haven’t run on all of them yet; others may have fled in different directions, and we can look for them to show up from time to time, some of them perhaps with wounds that need attention.” Bud and Alec exchanged glances. “Why, Hugh, that’s just what has happened already,” said the latter, quickly. “Do you mean there have been more wounded strikers come into the camp since I left it?” the scout master demanded. “Three of the same,” Bud answered, “and I tell you Arthur has got his hands more than full with all the bandaging and such things. But he’s doing it in great shape, though when I see the regular old field hospital we’ve got over there I feel that help from the city can’t get around any too soon.” “I wonder if the news of the battle has been wired or carried in any way?” Alec remarked, as he trudged along, holding to one of the poles with each hand. “I’m going to make sure it is,” replied Hugh, “by sending a scout to the nearest telegraph station as soon as I get to the camp. Some of these poor people are in a serious way, and for one I don’t propose to take any more responsibility on my shoulders than I can help.” “Goodness knows we’ve done enough as it is,” said Alec, though that notion would never have prevented Alec from exerting himself right along to continue the good work indefinitely. As they finally arrived at the settlement, a crowd came out to meet them. Many swarthy faces glowed with half-hidden fires, and Hugh could see that there was only a spark needed to start the slumbering passions into some desperate deed of retaliation. He hoped that when the news of the riot reached the authorities, they would send the militia to take charge, and place all those guards under arrest until it could be ascertained whether they had acted within their rights in shooting as they had done. One woman acted as though on the verge of going crazy. She must have been the wife of the man they were now bearing in. Indeed, only for Hugh preventing it, she would have thrown herself upon the form of the badly injured striker. When she fought like a wildcat to break past Hugh, the latter appealed to the padrone, who had come bustling up. “Keep her away, unless you want the man to die right here!” Hugh told him. “Don’t you see he’s so badly hurt that he mustn’t be touched?” The padrone grasped the situation, and closing a hand on the woman’s arm he led her away, at the same time speaking to her sternly. After that she no longer tried to brush any of the scouts aside, for she had evidently been told that they were the best friends the strikers had, and were trying everything in their power to save lives and stop pain. When Hugh looked around, he was really appalled at what he saw. There were some five who lay there on the ground, all of them groaning, and carrying on as ignorant people nearly always do when in great pain of body and distress of mind. Besides these there were a number sitting on the ground, surrounded by clusters of their people, all of them injured more or less severely. The clatter of tongues was dreadful. It reminded Hugh of a certain windmill he had once seen in action, one of the real old-styled Dutch type, with the sails stretching nearly to the ground, and which made the most dolorous sounds when the mill was working rapidly in the freshening breeze. Hugh had not forgotten what he had said to the two stretcher-bearers while on the way over with the last load. “Ralph, step here a minute, will you?” he asked, and the other immediately complied, with a look of wonder on his face, for he could not imagine what was about to be sprung on him now. Hugh was hastily writing something on a piece of paper torn from an old letter he had in his pocket. “I am bothered about some of these wounded people, to tell you the truth, Ralph,” the scout master told him. “I’m going to pack you off to the nearest station on the railroad to send a message for me.” “To the authorities, asking for help?” Ralph Kenyon queried. “No, because that isn’t right in our line. The governor will learn all about it sooner or later, and do what he thinks best. What we need now most of all is a regular surgeon and a nurse or two. These poor people haven’t anything to help out in taking care of the sick or injured. And while on the way back I suddenly thought of something that might turn out to be of advantage. It’s in connection with the Red Cross.” “Oh, Hugh, I think I know what you mean!” cried Ralph, in some excitement. “You were telling me that there was some sort of a state convention of those interested in Red Cross work being held in Farmingdale, which is only a few miles away from here, isn’t it, Hugh?” “Just what it is, Ralph, and I understand that at the convention there was to be a regular field hospital equipment of an up-to-date motor ambulance with its surgeon and quota of Red Cross nurses. Now, if they could only rush that ambulance out here and carry some of the wounded strikers to the regular hospital, it would be a big thing, and take a terrible load off my mind.” “Give me the message, Hugh; I’ve got plenty of money in my pocket, and will see it’s rushed through. What are you saying in it?” demanded the now eager Ralph. “I’ve addressed it to the Red Cross at Farmingdale, and it’s sure to get to the right parties,” explained the scout master, as he handed the piece of paper over to the messenger. “What I said was simply this: ‘Terrible riot at cement works; many strikers shot down. Caring for them the best we can. Need help. Send surgeon, nurses and an ambulance. Hurry. Boy Scouts of Oakvale.’ Now get on the move, Ralph, and see how quick you can deliver the goods!” CHAPTER XIII. HARD AT WORK. “I noticed where the station on the railroad was at this place,” Ralph called back over his shoulder, with a ring of triumph in his voice; for as a true scout it was his duty to take note of all such things, in case the knowledge became an important factor through the course of events. Hugh saw him start on the run and felt satisfied the errand would be properly carried out—that is, if the operator at the station had not been given orders to refuse messages, which was hardly likely. The old padrone had seen these wonderful boys doing so much for his people, and no doubt he considered that their impromptu field hospital would stand as a credit to their scout training. He hovered around all the time Arthur and Hugh worked, adding some finishing touches to what had already been done. Finally, when he could no longer restrain the feeling that was in his heart, the padrone seized upon their hands and pressed them vigorously, while in his broken English he tried to tell them how grateful he was for their coming. Surely those boys, and the others as well standing near by, must have felt that they were amply repaid for any trouble they had taken thus far, when they saw how this tough-looking old foreigner actually had tears in his eyes as he tried to tell them that their noble work was appreciated. “Everything seems to be going on decently but one case,” Hugh was saying to Arthur, “and I’m afraid that poor fellow is in a bad way.” “It all depends on what course the bullet took after it started in,” said the other scout, seriously. “It would be next door to a miracle if it skipped striking any vital part. But that can only be determined after probing, and it may require an examination with the X-rays to locate the bullet, which, you know, didn’t pass out again.” There was little time for talking, however. Their patients required so much attention that it kept them on the move almost constantly. Of course, the other scouts were only too willing to assist to the extent of their ability; but lacking the practical experience of Hugh and Arthur, their powers were limited at the best. What made it hard was the inability of the foreigners to understand what was needed, and to supply these wants after they did comprehend. Their miserable shacks seemed to contain next to nothing, and when Hugh had made the padrone realize that more cotton or muslin was required, it was only the merest luck in the world that one woman happened to have a few yards fresh from the store laid by, which she ungrudgingly brought forth. About this time Ralph made his appearance again. Hugh could see from the satisfied look on his face that he had succeeded in his errand. “Got it off all right, did you, Ralph?” he asked. “Yes. The operator didn’t like the idea of sending it at first. I think the people at the works must have telegraphed a tame account of the fight, so as to have the news broken gradually. But I told him he would be held accountable if any of the wounded died, and might end his days in prison; so he finally agreed.” “I hope he wasn’t saying that just to get rid of you?” ventured Hugh. “Oh, I was smart enough for that,” chuckled Ralph, nodding his head, sagely. “I just waited around after telling him that I was a telegrapher, too, and I heard him send her O. K. Depend on it, Hugh, your message is being delivered in Farmingdale right at this minute, I make a guess.” “Then it shouldn’t take them more than an hour at the most to get over here,” remarked the tired scout master. “Granting that they mean to come, which I certainly hope turns out to be so.” “Well, we’ve sure done our duty all right, Hugh,” asserted Ralph, who was breathing hard, as though he had actually run both ways. “And that’s all any scout can do, I should say,” added Billy Worth, who had hurried over to hear what Ralph had to report, for the others knew the nature of the errand on which he had been dispatched. “Yes, no one can blame us for anything that happens now,” Hugh declared. “All the same, I’ll be glad to see that Red Cross ambulance turning up here.” “You’re worrying about that poor fellow who’s been shot through the body, Hugh?” suggested Billy. “The padrone put a guard around him to keep his wife away. She wants to just throw herself on him, and shriek. My stars! but they’re a queer lot, ain’t they? But they’ve got feelings as much as any of the rest of us. Listen! wasn’t that a motor horn blowing then?” “Sounded more to me like a cow mooing, Billy,” said Ralph. “There’s the identical animal right now over in that yard yonder, tied to a tree.” Billy looked in the direction in which Ralph pointed, and then laughed. “Guess that’s one on me, Hugh,” he remarked, “but then I’m not to blame for feeling nervous over things, with all this responsibility shoved onto our poor shoulders.” “No one’s blaming you a bit, Billy,” he was told; “in fact, we’re all doing our duty in a way that couldn’t be beaten. Some day later on we’ll look back at this happening and wonder how we ever managed to survive the ordeal.” Billy was looking around as though he wanted to make sure the coast was clear before he said something he had on his mind. “Hugh,” he said, lowering his voice unconsciously as he spoke, “I happened to glimpse something while I was nosing around the settlement here that gave me a bad feeling, because it means serious trouble ahead for these ignorant strikers if they push it any further.” His mysterious words, of course, aroused the natural curiosity of the other. “Come, what are you hinting at now, Billy? No one’s going to hear what you say, so out with it,” he told the stout chum. Nevertheless Billy had to take another look around before he would consent to explain. “You know, Hugh,” he began, “I’m rather fond of studying human nature, and this chance was too good to be wasted, so while some of you kept shop and treated those of the wounded who’d allow it, I just prowled and snooped and saw how these wretched foreigners make a job of half living, for that’s all it amounts to, say what you will.” “Less talk, Billy, and get down to facts,” the scout master advised, knowing how the other loved to hear himself chatter. Billy laughed good-naturedly and then proceeded without the least sign of being in the least put out by the rebuke. “Well, I only wanted to explain how it came I was poking around that way. Most of the people are clustered about where the wounded strikers are lying in your emergency hospital, so I wasn’t interfered with even when I looked inside some of the awful shacks. Gee! but they’re bare of the commonest comforts of life, as we know them.” “I could have told you that without looking, Billy; but you discovered something, you are trying to tell me; what was it?” “In one shack I had the nerve to enter, so as to say I’d done the thing up brown, there was what seemed to be a carpenter’s bench, and a few tools lying on the same. But, Hugh,” and here Billy twisted his head around again to look right and left, “it wasn’t any ordinary work somebody had been doing there at the time the shooting started in.” “Move along, Billy!” implored the other, as though he feared the other might be about to start off on another long-winded explanation. “There were some things besides tools on that bench, Hugh, things that looked like foot sections of gaspipe!” “Well, what of that?” demanded Hugh, though the color partly left his face; “how do you know but what one of the strikers was a machinist employed by the owner of the works and that he chose to do some of his work at home?” “I’ll tell you, Hugh,” continued Billy, his voice sinking to almost a whisper, “I had the curiosity to pick up one of those sections of iron gaspipe, and I want to say right now when I saw a fuse sticking out from the end of the same I put it back again in a hurry!” “What’s that?” exclaimed Hugh. “Hugh, they’ve been making some sort of bombs or infernal machines there, meaning to blow up the cement works, with the strike-breakers and guards in the same!” When Billy said this he and the scout master stood there exchanging horrified looks, and for the moment incapable of giving further utterance to the thoughts in their minds. CHAPTER XIV. THE WELCOME SIGHT—CONCLUSION. Hugh shut his teeth together with a snap, as though his mind had been suddenly made up. Billy knew that there would be no shirking, for when the leader of the Wolf Patrol saw his duty clear before him he never allowed anything to stand between himself and its accomplishment. “Come, you must show me that identical shack, Billy,” he announced. “But hold on, Hugh,” hoarsely whispered the other, “if some of those men saw us go in there they’d believe we were connected with the detective squad, and trying to get them sent to prison. Why, they’d be furious enough to murder us.” Hugh realized that there was indeed need of caution. These ignorant and explosive foreigners could not be reasoned with by one who was unacquainted with their language. There may be times when signs will not answer to cool the heated blood of men driven to extremes by what they feel to be a gross injustice. “Billy, you’re right, and we must first of all get the old padrone to accompany us. If, as you seem to fear, those things turn out to be real bombs, then his are the hands that must put them in water so as to forever destroy their destructive properties. Come along with me, Billy.” It was not difficult to find the padrone, for he was hovering near where the men were groaning, with Arthur and an assistant doing all they could to ease their sufferings. Hugh managed to explain, partly through signs, that he wanted the padrone to go with him. After that Billy led the way straight to the rude shack he had by accident entered, and in which he had found such suspicious things being made. As soon as Hugh set his eyes on the three-foot sections of old gaspipe he knew Billy had sensed the truth. One of the bombs was apparently ready for use. It had a short fuse at one end, and looked terribly suggestive. “You see what some of your men have been thinking of doing,” Hugh said to the old padrone, as he held up this iron bomb. The other showed all the signs of being both astonished and angry. Billy wondered if such an enterprise could have been going on all this time in the settlement and one so wise as the padrone not know it. “It is bad biz!” the padrone said in a husky voice, as he, too, picked up one of the metal tubes and examined it; “some of my men they be near crazy with mad. When they see the children cry for be hungry they no care what they do to get what you call even. It is the strike-breaker they hate, you understan’.” “But this will never do, padrone,” said the scout master. “Once they start to using bombs and they lose the sympathy of the community. You understand what that means. If your men even hope to win this strike they must be held in and kept from violence. So far it has all been on the other side, and that is going to gain you many friends. The owner of the works will find that he has to call it off and give you living wages. Do you understand that?” The padrone nodded his head violently. “Whatever you tell me that will I do, for I know you scouts ver’ good friend to the workingman,” he hastened to say. “All right,” Hugh told him promptly, “then first of all get a bucket of water, and soak every one of these things in it so as to render them harmless.” “Here’s just what you want, right in this corner,” remarked Billy, pointing to a half barrel used as a tub, and which was more than two-thirds full of suspicious looking water, but which could be made useful to “pull the teeth” of the dangerous bombs. The padrone not only dumped the gaspipe infernal machines in the tub but followed with every article connected with their manufacture that he could lay hands on. “Now, tell what you want me do next?” he asked Hugh, as though he meant to leave no stone unturned in order to follow out the orders of this energetic young Boy Scout whose coming with his comrades had meant so much for the people under his care. “You know who the men are who have been doing this black work, padrone?” Hugh asserted, looking the old man straight in the eye. For a few seconds the old man wavered, and then unconditionally surrendered. “Si, young sigñor, I know,” he admitted. “All right, padrone,” said Hugh, sternly; “I want you to go and find them, and make them swear that there shall be no more of this sort of black work. Everything depends on how you manage to control your people through this crisis. You will win, if you get them to behave.” “I will promise it shall be so,” said the old man, hurrying away. Hugh and Billy returned to where they had been standing at the time the latter made his astonishing disclosure that had resulted in their action; and they could see the padrone talking earnestly to some of the men. Just then Arthur called to Hugh to come and give him his advice about something he was doing in connection with one of the men, who had finally consented to have his injured shoulder treated. Up to that time he had stubbornly held out, and seemed to be suspicious of these boys, as though he feared that they would not do the right thing. The extreme pain, however, had finally brought him around, or else the wise old padrone had told him he was taking many more chances by waiting than he would in having his wound dressed, even by amateur surgeons. From one thing they went to another, so that they were kept constantly busy. In the midst of it all, Billy discovered a woman carrying a sick child straight to where Hugh and Arthur were engaged. “There’s a compliment for you fellows, and a feather in your caps,” he told the others. “At first they were afraid you didn’t know the first principles of surgery, and they’ve been watching you like hawks. Now the women are running to fetch any sick kids they may happen to have at home, for the wonderful doctors to examine and prescribe for. Look solemn now when you make your diagnosis, fellows; you’re making reputations that are bound to go ringing down the ages. Doctor Blake and Doctor Cameron of the Boy Scouts of Oakvale to the front. Here she is. Now, listen to the poor mother chatter like a poll-parrot, would you?” Even if they could not understand one word she said, there was no difficulty whatever in knowing what the woman wanted. She held out the sick child, and there was a beseeching look on her face. Hugh hardly knew what to do, but he had common-sense in plenty, and urged on by the confident Billy, he proceeded to take a professional look at the youngster. Then he nodded toward Arthur, as though he fancied that two heads would be better than one in a case like this. “I’d be on the safe side in saying that it’s eaten something that doesn’t agree with it,” ventured Doctor Blake, solemnly. “Just my idea to a fraction,” added the second amateur physician. Upon that Hugh opened his little medicine kit, and taking out a phial proceeded to fix up a remedy which he knew was excellent for cramps and indigestion. It would do no harm, that he knew for a fact, and there was a fair chance of its taking effect. It certainly pleased the anxious mother, and she went away with a satisfied look on her swarthy face. “If that ambulance does come along,” said Hugh, with a whimsical look at his fellow-worker, “we’ll get the doctor to take a look at the child so as to make a sure thing of it.” “No need,” sang out Billy, blithely; “it began getting better right away after its maw got it to take that remedy. Why, you fellows must be wizards, that’s what. Whenever I get sick again, I’m going to insist on having you attend me. And that’s praise not many doctors ever get, let me tell you.” An hour had gone by since Ralph returned with the news that he had heard the telegraph operator at the station send the message to Farmingdale. Still there was no sign of anything happening, nor for that matter had the authorities of the county taken a hand in the matter. The guards still walked the platform back of the heavy stockade, and the sunlight glinted from the polished barrels of their guns as they moved to and fro. In the foreign settlement there were more or less ominous gatherings, and the scouts began to grow a little uneasy when they saw how furious the men were becoming under the lash of the tongues of the women. “There’ll be more trouble around here before long unless the right kind of officers are sent to keep order,” said Billy to Hugh, as they hurried from one patient to another, so as to keep up the good work. “What makes you say that, Billy?” demanded the other, uneasily. “Well, they’ve got some old shotguns and the like, and they’re talking things over now in little bunches!” Billy declared. “Whenever the old padrone comes around they hide these things, and let on that they’re not plotting mischief; but before night gets here they’ll make an attack on that stockade, unless the officers come up before, or something else happens.” “The trouble is they keep seeing all these injured people,” complained Arthur. “There is a whole lot in that,” admitted Hugh. “If only we could get them away somewhere, it might be easier to handle the mob.” “Hugh, as sure as you live there’s a cloud of dust up the road there!” exclaimed Ralph Kenyon, joyously. Every eye was instantly turned in that direction, for all of the scouts realized that it meant a great deal, not only to them but for the future peace of the community that something occurred to make these ignorant foreigners understand they were not objects of indifference in the eyes of the authorities, who would permit them to be shot down like dogs and never interpose a hand to prevent the deed or punish the aggressors. Ten seconds later a cheer broke forth from the six khaki-clad boys as they saw a motor ambulance bearing the magical red cross on its side, swinging around the bend of the road that led toward distant Farmingdale. On the front seat with the chauffeur was a man dressed in white clothes, who had a badge around his arm, doubtless bearing the insignia of his calling; and further back in the commodious up-to-date ambulance could be seen a couple of nurses also garbed in the snowy dress that characterized their profession. No wonder the weary scouts felt like throwing up their hats and shouting with an excess of joy; for their long vigil was about to be ended, since they could hand over all their patients to the care of these experienced workers in the Army of Mercy. Even the ignorant foreigners seemed to understand that the coming of the ambulance with its Red Cross, known throughout the whole world, meant a new chance of life and hope for the sufferers. There was no cheering on their part, for their hearts were heavy with the dismal outlook confronting them; but some of the black looks began to give way to a feeling of confidence that the worst was over. It was the coming of Hugh and his fellow scouts on the scene, as the wise old padrone knew very well, that had started the scales to moving in their favor. If you have been interested in following the adventures of Hugh and his comrades as detailed in these pages, and would know more about their further activities, it is easily possible to do so by purchasing the next volume of this series, now on sale everywhere, under the title of “The Boy Scouts and the Red Cross.” THE END. Transcriber’s Notes Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public domain in the country of publication. Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged. In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.) *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOY SCOUTS OF THE FIELD HOSPITAL *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. 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