The Red cross girls with the Italian army

Front matter

■ ' 0 o z

•bf.

o'

Contents

CHAPTER page

L The New Day 7

II. The Night 22

CHAPTER I The New Day

TOW strange to be returning to I "T Europe, and so soon, Nona, ^ when I had thought never to cross the ocean again ! ”

One afternoon in late February, a woman and a girl were walking slowly up and down the deck of a ship. Yet if either of them felt the anxiety, which was natural under the conditions of traveling by sea then, neither betrayed the fact. Perchance the day was so wonderful they had caught a measure of its inspiration. For sailing from New York City a little more than two weeks before under a cloud of rain and mist they had now reached the eternal blue of the Mediterranean water and sky.

Ah, but, Sonya, these are days when one never knows from one hour to the next what may be taking place in the world, nor how the changes may affect one’s own life. Still, a year does not seem such a short time to me!”

The older of the two companions laughed

‘^That is because you are so young, Nona. As for me, I am ashamed to confess how quickly a year flies. But never has there been sp glorious a year as this, with Russia — my own country — free at last.”

Sonya Valesky stopped for a moment and, although making no outward movement with her hands, in her heart she registered the ‘‘Sign of the Cross.”

^Some time before she had been exiled from Russia for preaching peace when Russia was in the throes of the most terrible phase of the great war.

Then, with three of the four American Red Cross Girls, who had been nursing the Russian wounded, she had left her own land for England and France, and later the United States. But all her life Sonya’s work and prayers had been devoted toward the creation of a free Russia; and now, within the past few weeks, she, too, had been a witness of the great mystery of good which has been so strangely born out of the evil of this present war. For Russia, in the most wonderful revolution in history, had lately declared herself a republic, so that Sonya’s <lream at last was realized.

‘‘I wish we were returning to Russia, Nona, instead of Italy,” she added, with a wistful inflection in her modulated voice. For, in spite of speaking English perfectly, Sonya had a slight foreign accent. ‘‘I would not preach peace in Russia these days — not until other people are free as we are. I too have learned a lesson. But why, Nona, are we going to Italy? I scarcely know. It seems to me that I have fallen under your influence a great deal recently when, as I am old enough to be your elder sister, the influence ought to be the other way around.”

Before replying, Nona Davis slipped her arm through her friend’s and drew her over to the ship’s railing, where they stood looking out over the tranquil face of the waters.

‘‘We are going to Italy, Sonya, because Italy is - the country where I now most wish to help with Red Cross nursing. In spite of your insisting that you cannot nurse, you will probably be just as useful in some other way. You remember we first met you on shipboard when Eugenia, Barbara, Mildred Thornton and I were crossing the Atlantic to begin our first nursing with the British Army; then later in France and Belgium and in Russia. Well, as Eugenia married her little French captain and is now Madame Castaigne, at present she has charge of one of the largest field hospitals in France, and Mildred Thornton is with her. Poor Mildred has never yet been able to marry General Alexis, and her family is not willing she should, with Russia so far away, until this war is over. But, as Mildred was so restless at home, she crossed over again to join Eugenia and go on with the nursing in France at about the time you and I went south to our old place in Charleston. Since Barbara and Dick Thornton have a very new son, of course Barbara is occupied with another kind of nursing now I am the only one of the original four Red Cross girls left to Mo a bit’ for Italy. Certainly you would not allow me to cross all alone, nor would I leave you to go on dreaming in dear old ‘before the war’ Charleston. These days, Sonya, it is ‘New Dreams for Old,’ to quote that lovely poem:

‘Is there no voice in the world to come crying,

New dreams for old!

New for old

Many have long in my heart been lying

Faded, weary and cold.’ ”

Nona paused. She^'^was a fair, slender girl with a wealth of pale blonde hair which the soft southern winds were now blowing about her face. She was wearing a loose coat of an odd shade of green with a broad collar of tan silk, and a small green hat, which by contrast showed brighter the gold of her hair.

Her friend and companion looked older, since her hair was almost white. The one-time Russian noblewoman had extraordinary deep, dark-blue eyes with dark brows and lashes, skin of a strange Russian pallor, and a beautiful mobile mouth, more able to express emotion than most persons.

At this instant she smiled rather teasingly upon the younger girl.

‘‘Oh, Nona, of course I understand that I must wake up again and find some new work. I suppose I have grown idle; and yet life has been so difficult for me for so many years that I feel glad to have been able to rest. Nevertheless I think I have been pretty well occupied in looking after you in Charleston and trying to prevent your marrying any one of those nice southern boyhood friends of yours. What an extraordinary number of boys you must have known when you were a little girl, Nona. You could not have played with boys exclusively, and besides you always told me you led a remarkably lonely life as a child. Yet each young fellow I met insisted I was to trust you with him, since you had played together as children. That is one of the real reasons why I came away with you; I want to keep you to myself a little while longer, and you know you have promised me not to consider an Italian. I do not wish the American Red Cross girls to make so many international marriages; Eugenia and Mildred are quite enough.”

Nona laughed, nevertheless she flushed slightly.

‘‘I don’t think you should talk in so frivolous a fashion, Sonya, when we are going to Italy on such a serious mission. Besides, it was nonsense to pay any attention to my few old friendships In Charleston. You need not worry over me. You see, I am not so attractive as the other Red Cross girls. It is simply that you don’t understand American society and the freedom to which American girls are accustomed.”

Nona turned so as to face her companion.

‘^I do wish, Sonya, you would not be so difficult about the young Italian fellow on board ship with us — Carlo Navara — hasn’t he a charming name.? He is a very boyish fellow, yet as soon as I begin to talk to him you manage to send word that you wish to see me. I am not used to such

With theTtalian Army a very severe chaperon, Sonya. You see, Eugenia had to divide her attention between three of us. Besides, don^t you think Signor Navara^s story delightfully romantic. I told you he had confided to me that he came to the United States when he was only a tiny boy and used to sing in the streets. Then, one day some one overheard him and began giving him lessons. He hopes to become a great artist some day, if he is not killed in Italy. Yet he felt it his duty to give up his career and return to fight for his country. I don’t understand your prejudice, Sonya; his seems to me a charming story.”

Sonya shrugged her shoulders, which was a frequent gesture with her, and characteristic of her foreign birth.

‘‘Charming, but not original, Nona! Yet, let us not quarrel about your first Italian hero. The young fellow is simply not a gentleman, which means I feel one could not trust him in a critical situation. Otherwise he is agreeable and very good looking. But one can never anticipate the future of a traveling acquaintance; one may not see him again, or he may turn up constantly. Personally I rather hope, when Signor Navara reaches the front, we may be through with him.”

The young girl looked as if she disagreed, but before replying glanced up and down the long deck.

Until then she and Sonya had believed they were alone. But within the last few moments several other passengers had appeared. Among them was the young man whom they had been discussing. He wore a student’s hat and a military cape.

“You are not very democratic, Sonya, in spite of all your views of freedom and democracy,” Nona expostulated. “But I have known a good many other persons who talked one way and behaved another.”

“Just say I am not consistent,” Sonya laughed, “I prefer that charge.”

But they ceased talking. Nona’s new acquaintance had leaned over the side of the ship at no great distance from where she and Sonya were standing.

Unconsciously their gaze must have followed the direction of his.

The water was placid and blue, with tiny flourishes of foam curling along the edges of the waves. The air blew so sweet that their ship must be nearing one of the- Italian islands and have caught the fragrance of blossoming fruits.

Then, at a distance of some hundreds of yards, and in the midst of the blue tranquillity, a strange oily substance — not very large, and yet shimmering in the sunlight — shone on the top of the water. At the same time a little column of foam shot straight up in the air.

The young man turned.

In her life Nona believed she had never seen a face so frightened — never in any of the tragic experiences of her past years of Red Cross nursing. But the young singer did not look at her. He turned to Sonya, and something in her answering glance may have helped him.

At the same instant one of the lookout men on the ship’s bridge must have sighted the same spectacle, for immediately there was a deep roar from one of the ship’s guns and then a second explosion. However,.

the little oily substance and the small upright column of water had disappeared^ so that the guns seemed to be firing only into the blue, far-off space. Before this moment the ship had been going rapidly through the quiet sea, but now her speed increased until she could move no faster, and seemed in danger from her own engines.

Perhaps five minutes passed; probably only two or three; then from beneath the placid surface of the water a long ripple showed. Almost instantly there was a grinding, tearing noise; the great ship lurched forward, and her engines ceased to move.

It all happened so quickly, while Nona and Sonya were arguing over a trifle, and while the greater number of the ship’s passengers were having an afternoon sleep.

^‘We have been struck by a torpedo, haven’t we.^” Nona asked as quietly as if this were an ordinary question.

Sonya nodded.

‘‘Stay here, Nona; I’ll return in an instant.”

Then Nona also heard her murmur to the young Italian, of whom she had been so scornful a short time before.

‘‘Hold on to your courage; there is no great danger.’’

Sonya disappeared among the passengers and crew who quickly crowded the deck. Almost by magic the officers and men stood in their appointed places while orders were given for the lowering of the life boats.

Sonya was right in saying there was no great danger because the day was calm and the sea quiet.

Moreover, there were not many passengers, for people were not traveling except for urgent reasons. Besides Nona Davis there were three other Red Cross nurses; perhaps a dozen young Italians going home to join the colors; Nona’s acquaintance; several doctors and a number of business men.

There was one Italian woman with a little girl of three or four crossing to join her husband, who had gone to Italy before the beginning of the submarine danger.

It really seemed to Nona Davis that she was almost too interested in what was tak-

Ing place to feel especially frightened; besides, it was all so brief.

One of her American friends aboard came up to her.

‘‘Don’t be frightened; I’ll look after you and Madame Valesky when the right moment comes. Remember Admiral Farragut’s ‘damn the torpedo.’”

And Nona positively had courage to smile!

Dr. Latham was another one of her acquaintances concerning whom Sonya was not enthusiastic. But there was no possible criticism of Dr. Robert Latham except that she did not like his brusque manners. For Dr. Latham was a distinguished surgeon accustomed to giving orders and to being obeyed, and on leaving New York Nona had been placed under his especial care. But in spite of her democratic principles, although entirely unaware of the fact herself, Sonya had also been accustomed to rule. There had been no difficulty between her and Dr. Latham beyond the fact that they did not seem to like each other, and Sonya had avoided him whenever it was possible.

She came back now with the three other Red Cross nurses who were crossing to nurse under the Italian flag.

^‘Dr. Latham, will you look after the young soldier?’^ she asked. ‘‘We can take care of ourselves, and he seems almost in a state of collapse. ”

Again Nona looked toward the young man whom she had been defending, but whom she had since forgotten, while Sonya remembered.

He was leaning over the ship’s rail — just as he had when he first came on deck — with his face deathly pale and his large dark eyes fixed on the same faraway place on the water.

“I shall do nothing of the kind,” Dr. Latham answered abruptly. “The young man can look after himself. This is a case of artistic temperament, fine material for a soldier. I’ll see every woman aboard in the first lifeboat.”

“I shall go last,” Sonya answered.

But that instant an order was given by some officer and, before she had time to protest, Sonya found herself following the other women into the first lifeboat, and being assisted down the ladder by Dr. Latham.

The next instant the young Italian was also with them, he being the first man, by Dr. Latham’s aid, to leave the ship.

When the command came to pull away it may have been curious, but neither Nona nor Sonya were alarmed. The sea was so calm and blue; it was still early afternoon and the coast of Italy could not lie very far away.

Chapter II

“I will die cheering, if I needs must die;

So shall my last breath write upon my lips Viva Italia! when my spirit slips Down the great darkness from the mountain sky; And those who shall behold me where I lie Shall murmur — ‘Look you! how his spirit dips From glory into glory! The eclipse Of death is vanquished! Lo, his victory cry.’ ”

IT seemed strange to hear this new song of victory ring out over the waters of the Mediterranean Sea at the darkest hour of the night, and yet every human being aboard the lifeboat listened and was helped by it.

It was Sonya who had persuaded the young Italian to sing, and his voice was very clear and very beautiful.

Nona found herself listening with eyes half closed, as she was worn out with anxiety and fatigue. For, at last, all the (22)

other voices of fear, bitterness and repining were stilled.

If, without any particular sensation of fear, Nona had found herself aboard a small boat being rowed by sailors after the torpedoing of their vessel the afternoon before, she had just been passing through what she believed was the longest and hardest night of her life. And yet she remembered the night when she had gone with the Russian army in their retreat across ruined villages and frozen fields.

For the Mediterranean, which had been so blue and friendly at the hour of their accident, about sundown had changed, as it frequently does.

Suddenly the sky and sea had both darkened until they were no longer blue but black; the sun had quickly vanished and afterwards a cold mist arose.

But until this occurred the passengers in the lifeboat with Nona and Sonya had made every effort to remain cheerful.

Nona had suggested that. In ancient days men and women often crossed the seas in galleys rowed by strong oarsmen, so why not pretend they were captives being brought to Rome under a guard of sailors? Actually she and Mollie Drew — one of the other Red Cross nurses — and one with a real Irish ancestry — argued the question as to which of them was the ‘‘Captive Princess.’^

It was not that the two girls intended being frivolous, or that they failed to appreciate the gravity of the situation, but that they wished to show good courage. For a little later, when they had moved a safe distance from their ship, but were still near enough to watch her go down, Mollie collapsed and with true Irish suddenness hid her face In the folds of Sonya’s coat.

However, the torpedoed ship did not sink as soon as her officers had expected. When she did, each man and woman who saw her would like to have followed Mollle’s example, although most of them simply remained silent.

There is no more beautiful or perhaps tragic sight than the sinking of a great ship. Even at a considerable distance she could be seen to plunge, struggle and then right herself as if she were human. Then, just before the water closed above her, it seemed as if she uttered a forsaken cry.

^‘Another misfortune ofwar,’^ Dr. Latham exclaimed to Nona, but in an unsteady voice.

Nona made no effort to reply.

At the last moment Dr. Latham had come aboard their lifeboat. There was one more seat to be filled and it was well to have a few men aboard beside the sailors.

Nevertheless it was not Dr. Latham who took command, but in an unconscious fashion it was Sonya.

In the past year, living with her Russian friend, Nona Davis had made the discovery that Sonya was now and then apt to be* difficult when things were going smoothly, but showed her real courage and sweetness in misfortune.

You see, she had led so strange a life. When she was a little Russian girl, with a family of wealth and distinction, she had been feted and adored. The little Sonya was a great beauty and would one day inherit great wealth. Then she had gone away to school, where secretly she had come in contact with principles of life wholly new to her — the belief that there should be no Czar; that Russia should be free, and that all men were brothers. Then Sonya had read Tolstoy’s writings and had begun to study his principles of universal peace. She had traveled in many lands, still preaching her doctrine, and had returned to Russia during the war, only to be exiled to Siberia. But when her reprieve came through an unexpected influence, and Sonya returned to the United States with the three Red Cross girls, she seemed suddenly to have grown tired of all the sorrows and arduous work of her past life. After she and Nona had settled down in the exquisite, peaceful old southern city of Charleston, Sonya appeared to care only to rest and to read. She had money enough to make herself and Nona both comfortable in a quiet fashion.

As a matter of fact, she had not wished to return to any part of the European war zone. Sonya was weary of tragedy and felt she had earned the right to a more placid existence. It was only Nona Davis’ determination to continue her Red Cross nursing in Italy which had finally influenced her friend. But, even then, Sonya had insisted she would do nothing but take a small villa in Italy, where she would be near enough to Nona to be of service to her, if necessary.

Nevertheless, on board the lifeboat it was Sonya who was doing more than any one else to encourage her fellow travelers.

From the first Nona’s friend — the young Italian, Carlo Navara, whom Sonya had disliked — had depended upon her in an almost absurd fashion.

Dr. Latham had been right. If the young artist was going home to be a soldier, he made a poor showing in his first contact with danger.

The women — except Sonya — as well as the men, made no effort to hide their scorn of him, because the moment he took his place along with the others he covered his face with his hands, shaking as though he were physically ill. And when the boat lurched he would take his hands down to cry out in terror.

He had such an unfortunate effect on the others who were trying to be brave that he might have been roughly treated if Sonya had not been present.

Several times Dr. Latham shouted at him, kindly at first.

“See here, young fellow, don’t you know we are pretty fortunate.^ What’s the trouble with you.^ Aren’t we all in lifeboats without the loss of a life? And isn’t the sea calm? This isn’t the Atlantic Ocean, where there might be oreason for alarm.”

But this was not the kind of conversation that ever comforts anyone, although there are people who believe one is happier in remembering that some one else is more wretched. Yet it seems a poor consolation always.

At any rate. Carlo paid no attention to the doctor’s brusque efforts, and had it not been for Sonya would probably have gone to pieces altogether.

Several times Nona felt sorry that she had ever made friends or championed the young Italian. But she was really almost asleep, with her head resting against the big doctor’s great shaggy coat, when Carlo began to sing.

It must have been about two or three o’clock in the morning. For six or eight hours the small boat had been tossed by the choppy waves which had followed the sinking of the sun. There was food and water aboard, nevertheless by this time Nona and most of the other women felt too ill to think of touching food. Sonya and Dr. Latham, working together, had forced all of them to have a little food at midnight as well as at the dinner hour the night before.

It was Sonya, also, who asked Mollie Drew to take care of the one child aboard, so the mother could sleep. Thus Mollie was kept from thinking too much about herself.

Then, when everybody’s courage was going — and when the sailors were too weary to do more than keep the lifeboat afloat — Sonya had commanded the young Italian musician to see if a song would be of service.

He had insisted that it would be useless, but Sonya had been determined and, as he had yielded to her influence before, he must do so again.

Then, as he sang, his self-respect came back to him.

It was a wonderful experience Nona felt — even in the midst of her discomfort and suffering. For she was stiff and aching from so many long hours in a cramped position. She was also cold and wet through her heavy coat and was beginning to believe they would never be rescued.

“Live, thou, upon my lips, Italia mine.

The sacred death-cry of my frozen clay!

Let thy dear light upon my body shine And to the passerby this message say:

Ecco! though heaven has made my skies divine, My deep love sanctifies my soul for aye.”

More beautiful than before was the voice which rang out over the waters, with a triumphant note closing this last verse. |

When the song ceased Nona must have fallen into a real sleep.

For, when she awoke It was almost dawn.

and it seemed to her the sea was growing quieter. Except for the sailors, who were on watch, everybody in the lifeboat appeared to be either wholly asleep or in a stupor.

Nona could hear the big doctor, who sat beside her, making strange noises.

Only Sonya, sitting alone and at some distance off, Nona found to be still awake.

She must have been very tired, and yet it seemed to Nona that she had never seen her friend more beautiful.

Sonya wore a long, severely plain blue coat, and the heavy veil which had been bound about her head had become unloosened and was now floating backward in the morning mist. Out of the pallor of her face, her blue eyes showed with extraordinary depth of beauty and color, while her mouth wore an expression of infinite wistfulness and sympathy.

Yet it was Sonya and one of the sailors who almost at the same instant sighted a little Italian fishing boat.

It had come forth early from Naples, risking the dangers in order to be first at the fishing. For food was dear in Italy, as elsewhere, and fish one of the things upon which the poor depended.

The first pink hue had begun to show very faintly in the pearl of the sky, yet the sails of the small fishing boats were of a deep rose color.

Certainly they looked rose color, indeed, when the little smack, hearing the signal of distress before she caught sight of the lifeboat, came into view of the shipwrecked men and women with all her little sails bravely flying.

Some hours later Nona Davis had her first vision of Italy, and felt almost as if it repaid her for what she had just passed through.

The water of the bay of Naples was blue once more; the city a glory of color shining by this time in the midday sun, and beyond lay Mount Vesuvius forming a kind of amethyst, brooding cloud above the city.

Nona was standing by the tall doctor, who seemed in a measure to have adopted her in the last twelve hours, when their sail boat rode into the bay with its unexpectedly large number of passengers. But, somehow, the news had preceded the boat, as the shore was lined with friendly, sympathetic Italian faces, with a waving of Italian and one or two American flags.

Sonya had been with some other people, but came up at this instant to join Nona and the doctor.

‘‘Remember what Goethe says, Nona dear, whatever befalls us, ‘He who can remember Naples can never more be quite unhappy.”^

Chapter III

The next afternoon at four o’clock Sonya and Nona and the three new Red Cross nurses were having tea on the broad terrace of the Bertolini, which overhangs Naples. Below them lay the city and the bay, and in front, wrapped in her usual amethyst cloud, stood Vesuvius.

Although it was only late February, spring was soon coming to southern Italy. Already the quiver of her arrows had been felt in the gardens and woods, as the shrubs and the branches of the trees were green; the almond and cherry buds were beginning to open; and their fragrance filled the air with a wonderful perfume.

The manner in which the girls were drinking tea and eating strange Italian sweets would have suggested to no one the peril through which they had just passed. But then there was no sign of gloom or of war among the Italian visitors at the garden. There were a few soldiers wearing uniforms, but this would have been true in times of peace in Italy.

I declare it is worth everything we have suffered to spend just this one afternoon in such an enchanted place!” Mollie Drew exclaimed with true Irish abandon to the emotion of the moment. “I never dreamed Italy was so lovely. In coming over here to nurse, one feels as if Italy would do more for us than we can ever do for her.”

‘‘Open my heart and you will see graved inside of it, ‘Italy’,” Nona responded, holding her tea cup in her hand and gazing at the wonderful panorama about them.

Not far off, down the slope of the terrace, stood a beautiful Cedar of Lebanon, its green branches spreading forth like a canopy with the deeper green tone beneath, while half-way up its trunk a cluster of young cherry trees were covered with white mists of blossoms.

Sonya Valesky had not been paying much attention to the conversation of the four girls, but she now glanced toward Nona Davis and smiled.

‘‘Nona, do I have to hear you quote poetry from the time we start for Italy until we return home? Because it seems to me you break into rhyme with almost every other sentence. I trust you will try Italian poetry upon the Italian soldiers when you are nursing. I wonder if you girls know more of the language than Nona and I do? We have been studying for the past few months, and long ago I thought I knew a little Italian.”