The Brookings register. [volume] (Brookings, Brookings County, S.D.) 1903-1971, 1918-05-16
YOUR RED CROSS AT WORK
Continued from Page One)

T may DS ptIlOI Illtut anu NHtTe, OlIbl,
there are 1900 beds. Miles back Of
these, in a safety n are estab-
lished the big base hospitals, where
long cases" are cared for until the
patients are ht TO be sent to seaside
conyalescents' camps. On such a pro-
gress my helpless trenchmate was
10Y launched.
We paused in a roomy dugout, where
a surgeon was examining, by the
light of a carefully shaded lantern,
one stretcher's burden after another.
Antitetanus serum was administered,
a splint was applied to Bills broken
arm and some sort of temporary dress.
ing to the torn abdomen.
Field hospital" ordered the sur
geon.
l saluted him. Bill. l said, was my
friend. Might L
GO along with him. 1t will save us
an orderly"
The field hospital was a blaze Of
light, through which, attended by
nurses and orderlies. another surgeon
made his way between rows of the
wounded. Cleaning knives cut blood.
stiffening uniforms; rapid examine
tons were made; each patient was
tagged with a card ordering what
should be done with him.
"Hypodermic.' said the new sur.
econ. when he came to Bill. MAKE
a fist"
Bill must have been conscious, after
all silently, he clenched his right
hand. The nurse rolled up his sleeve
and tied a thong tightly around his up,
per arm; as the veins swelled in its
crook, she dabbed the skin about them
with cotton soaked in iodine.
Careful not to so clear through the
yein," warned the surgeon. Nov,
them"
The orderly plunged the curved
needle point of the syringe into the
arm. The nurse loosened the thong.
Until the well of the syringe was emp
~. the orderly's index finger showed
forward the piston. Then the nurse
applied the iodine again. In five min
utes a sleeping Bill. tagged for Base
Hospital No. IS, was being lifted into
an ambulance.
a dim lantern, suspended from the
ceiling of that ambulance, showed its
interior. The drivers seat was cut off
from it by a partition, canvas hung
along the walls, the rear was pen.
Suspended parallel to the sides were
two hunks: a third ran down the cen
ter. There the silent Bill was placed,
between two other silent forms, band
aged out of all human recognition
and the bandages already stained with
blood.
The chauffeur gave men hurried in
structions for a sort of rough-and-
ready care of this battered cargo. He
cheerfully told me that he hadn't slept
for the past two nights-and he looked
it. However, he was happy over the
promise of six hours abed On the fol
lowing night.
so long" he said. I'll see you
again at the rest station"
l heard him swearing softly as he
cranked the reluctant motor. The
ambulance trembled and lurched. |
chung to the edge of the rear, and we
numbered into the dark.
For awhile occasional shells burst
in the mined fields beside US, or
howled overhead like leaping leopards,
and ono we drew up, lot al instant
too soon, before a freshly made crater
in the road. Then, slowly, we passed
out of the danger zone and were alone
in the cruel cold and the tangible
night with no other noises than the
c%latter of the motor, the Tapping of
the canvas and the roar of the wind.
1t was almost as cold here as it had
been in the trench. The motion of
the ambulance was the ~nauseating mo-
ton of a channel steamer. Bill lay
still, but one of his companions bah
bled of home and tore at his b~andages,
and the other one was sick. Pitching
from side to side of the vehicle, |
cleaned away the mess and did my
best to replace the disordered lint and
linen.
l crouched again at the rear. A
puff of cold air e~xtinguished the lamp.
Cropping to relight it, my fingers touch
ed something wet and sticky-the face
of the nan who had been delirious,
but who was now silent and still. By
the flicker of the ~relighted lamp, | saw
that this man was dead.
We reached the rest camp. Red
Cross nurses came out with hot SOUP
and coffee. We gulped them, the