by Charles Todd
There was no sign that he heard or understood me. The next day I asked if we had a German-speaking patient, and Sister Bennett found Julius Herring, whose parents, as it turned out, had been with the Foreign Office in Berlin before the war. He came limping down the row between cots and grinned at me when I rose to meet him.
“I hear you don’t know if one of your patients is German or British. Shall I give it a try?”
“Please do,” I said and gestured to the chair I’d just vacated
He sat down and began to speak, quietly and with assurance. But he got no response at all from 3308.
After a few minutes, Lieutenant Herring shrugged and got to his feet. “Either he doesn’t know what I’m saying or he can’t hear me wherever his mind is. The response I get is blankness.”
“Thank you for trying. We might ask you again in a few days, if you don’t mind. Depending on his progress.”
“No, not at all. I’m supposed to be walking to strengthen this leg. I’ll stop by on my own from time to time.”
It didn’t seem to worry the Lieutenant that 3308 was possibly a German officer. I’d noticed that in spite of all the posters and stories at home about how cruel and inhuman the Germans were, many men in the trenches seemed to see them differently, not as monsters but as soldiers like themselves.
I went about my work, reading to 3308 when I could. And then on a Tuesday evening as I was coming out of surgery, Sister Bennett called to me.
“We’re taking the bandages off 3308 in a few minutes. Would you like to see what he looks like?”
I hadn’t been there when the dressings were changed and so I was glad she had thought to tell me.
I washed my hands and changed my apron, then hurried to the ward. The sky was red with sunset, earlier each day as we moved toward autumn. I stopped to admire it, because as a rule, the sun had gone down before I had finished. By the time I reached 3308’s cot, Sister Bennett had a tray before her on the bed with scissors and salves and fresh bandages as well as a bowl of water and clean cloths.
“Hello there,” I said as I came up behind Sister Bennett. “I’ve come to sit with you while your bandages are removed. Would you like a mirror to see yourself—”
The patient had been lying back against a bank of pillows that Sister Bennett had piled behind his head so that she could work on his face. I had no more than said the word mirror when he erupted into violence, as unexpected as it was fierce.
The tray went flying, water splashing over the bed, bandages and scissors and pots of salve struck Sister Bennett in the face and chest, startling her so much that she cried out in alarm.
I turned to run for an orderly to help hold 3308 down, but he had subsided into his pillows once more, breathing hard. What I could see of his mouth was set in a hard line.
Sister Bennett bent down to retrieve the tray, the basin, and the other things. “I think we should let him rest for a while,” she said calmly, regaining her composure very quickly.
And the two of us walked away.
“How odd. Why is he afraid of a mirror?” she asked me quietly when we were out of hearing. “Does he think he’s been so badly scarred? He really isn’t, you know.”
“I have no idea. Perhaps he’s afraid we’ll discover he’s German and send him to a camp for prisoners.”
“There’s that,” she agreed. “He won’t be pampered and read to there.” She shook her head. “Perhaps he hates himself for letting himself be taken prisoner.”
That made more sense than anything else. I’d treated prisoners, and they often saw their capture as a stain on their honor. A personal failure. I wasn’t sure how British prisoners viewed it.
I went to my quarters for what was left of the half hour between surgeries.
It wasn’t until I was sitting on my cot, wishing I’d stopped for a cup of tea on my way, that I understood what had happened there in Ward Three.
If I’d had that cup of tea in my lap, it would have gone spinning across the floor as I got to my feet and hurried back to the ward.
Chapter Nineteen
I headed down the row. It appeared to me that 3308 was sleeping. He lay with his head turned to one side, his good hand slack on the coverlet. He couldn’t see who I was, and I made a point of walking past his bed before turning to look back at him.
He didn’t move, certain that the Sister who had come toward him had not stopped. I walked back the other way, moving at a steady pace as if I’d just come to be sure the patients were settled for the night. I opened and closed the ward door, and waited.
I could just see his bed.
Several men were already snoring or moaning in a drug-induced sleep. Fifteen minutes passed.
I thought I’d been wrong and was about to turn away and go back to my quarters when I saw 3308 tentatively sit up in his bed. It couldn’t have been easy with his leg half healed and his shoulder still knitting. But he managed it. When no one said anything, he carefully lifted his arm out of its sling and flexed the hand. I couldn’t see his mouth beneath the bandages, but I’d have been willing to wager he was grimacing in pain.
After a time, he swung his good leg over the edge of the bed and slowly brought the other leg after it. He was sitting on the side of the bed now, head down, catching his breath.
I was in the shadows by the door. He couldn’t possibly see me there.
Finally he worked until he had unwound the bandages from his head and face. Again he sat there, waiting until the dizziness of lying in bed for days had passed. Then he got to his feet, holding on to the head of his bed, testing his legs. He nearly fell when he took his first step. Someone had brought crutches in for the patient in the next bed who had a broken foot. He reached out for them and again nearly went headfirst into the chair as he tried to grasp it to steady himself. But in the end he got the crutches and put one under each arm.
I wondered just how far he imagined he was going to get. He made a foray or two, getting the hang of the crutches, although it must have hurt his arm like the very devil while the cast on his leg must have pulled it down like lead.
After several minutes he stepped out into the space between the rows of cots. Slowly, painfully, head down, he came toward me, watching his footing and pausing every three or four steps.
I didn’t move. But I knew he would see me very soon now, and I wondered what he would do.
On he came, a few steps, pause, a few steps. A patient cried out in his sleep, and 3308 froze, head up, looking to see if anyone would come. And still he didn’t notice me there in the shadows of the doorway.
Finally, afraid that if I startled him he would go down, I stepped forward.
“Corporal Caswell,” I said softly, “there’s nowhere you can go. Not in your condition.”
He swung toward me and nearly lost his balance. I sprang forward and caught his good arm, steadying him. “Let me take you back to bed before Matron sees you.”
“I can’t go back to England,” he said tightly. “I won’t. I can make it to a French town and find a way to stay there.”
“Please listen to me. You can hardly walk. An orderly will spot you before you’ve gone ten yards. You have no clothing, no shoes, no money. What you’re planning is impossible. Face it and go back to bed.”
He stood there, stubbornly refusing to listen. “I can do it. I survived this long. It’s only a matter of will.”
“Yes, and if you damage that leg before it has fully healed, you’ll be a beggar for the rest of your life.” It was cruel but true.
I could hear voices outside the ward. I couldn’t tell whether they were coming this way or only walking by. I had no choice now.
“If you leave this ward, I will call the MFP and have you taken into custody under your real name. And you’ll hang.”
“What does it matter? If I return to that bed they’ll still come for me w
hen you tell them who I am.”
“All right,” I said, hurrying because the voices were coming nearer. “A bargain. We made one before, if you remember. If you will go back to your bed and stay there, I promise I won’t tell anyone what I know.”
I thought he was going to refuse even so. And then slowly, with care, he turned. I helped him back to his bed, put the crutches where they belonged, roughly bandaged his head, and covered him with a sheet. When the door opened and Matron came in for her last rounds, I was reading from The Moonstone to Patient 3308.
She nodded to me then, and satisfied that all was well in the ward, turned and walked back the way she’d come. I waited to be sure she wasn’t intending to return with a jug of water or medicines for the restless patients. And then I put the sling back into place and did up the bandages properly. When I had finished and he was settled, he turned to me.
“I don’t understand you. But I’m grateful.”
“Good night, Corporal. I think tomorrow you might let them know who you are, before they take you out and shoot you for a German spy.”
The mouth beneath the bandages fought to conceal a grin. “It might be wise, yes.”
The next morning, Sister Bennett came to inform me during my break that Corporal Caswell’s mind had finally cleared. “He thought he was still a prisoner, that it was all a trick. Especially after Lieutenant Herring kept speaking to him in German.”
“How miraculous,” I said, trying to keep the dryness out of my voice. “I’m happy for him.”
“Yes, I am too. I can’t even imagine what he went through to escape.”
And there it was again, that knack Lieutenant Wade had of making everyone around him believe in him.
I said, “If his bandages are off, he’ll be able to finish that book for himself.”
“Yes, I’m sure he’ll be glad of that. He’s a very attractive man. Too bad he’s not an officer.” And then with a laugh that belied any serious personal interest in Corporal Caswell, she was gone.
I wondered how she would feel if she were told he was wanted for five murders.
I took a deep breath.
Corporal Caswell would be reported to his company as back in British hands, wounded and recovering. That part of his masquerade would still be secure.
Later in the day, Matron told me that there would be a convoy of wounded bound for England very soon. “We need the beds,” she added. “With the increase in influenza cases, we must move those who can safely be transported to clinics in England.”
“Do you have a list of patients?”
“Yes, I’ve started one.”
“Corporal Caswell,” I said, “should go to a clinic in Somerset where I was once assigned. Longleigh House in Medford Longleigh. Dr. Gaines, who is in charge, is a marvel with broken limbs. And Matron does not suffer fools gladly.”
“That’s good to know. Thank you, Sister Crawford. I’d thought that particular clinic was for officers only.”
“I believe exceptions are made. Indeed, Corporal Caswell is probably a gentleman with his own reasons for enlisting in the ranks instead of going for officer training.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed,” she said, amused. “And so have my staff. It’s been amazing how many Sisters have found an excuse to visit Ward Three.”
I laughed. “All the more reason to transfer him to Somerset.”
On my next break I wrote a hasty letter to my parents, asking them to arrange for Corporal Caswell to be accepted at Longleigh House.
I’ll explain later. It’s very important and I hope the transfer can be arranged.
I managed to waylay one of the motorcycle messengers from HQ and bribe him with cigarettes meant for the patients to add my letter to the HQ pouch for London.
“Sister Crawford, I’ll be shot at dawn one of these days and it will be your fault,” he said, slipping my letter inside his glove.
“Look at the direction. Colonel Crawford is happiest when he knows his only daughter is safe.”
The messenger grinned. “And the court-martial will be glad to hear that, I’m sure.”
And he was off with a roar, gunning the motor toward what passed as the road south.
I had no expectation of being asked to accompany the next convoy, but Matron had arranged it. “There are several very difficult cases that will need monitoring,” she told me. “You’ve had the experience to see to them.”
On the morning that we were to set out, we helped lift men from their beds onto stretchers while orderlies guided those who could walk.
In the midst of my duties I heard a frantic shout and turned to see Corporal Caswell calling my name. I finished giving orders to the next stretcher bearer and then went to speak to him. He looked haggard.
“Not to worry, Corporal,” I said pleasantly, for there were too many ears within hearing. “I’ve seen to it that you’ll be all right.”
He frowned, uncertain whether to believe me or not.
“I promised, didn’t I? And I keep my promises,” I added.
There was too much to do to worry about one man. When the last of the ambulances was ready to pull out, I could finally sit down.
Teddy was driving. “I recognized that Corporal in Number Three,” he said as we caught up with the convoy.
“You should,” I said. “You brought him in when he was ill with influenza.”
He shook his head. “I have the feeling I’ve met him before. Before the war, I mean.”
Uneasy, because I didn’t know just when Lieutenant Wade had begun to call himself Caswell, I said, “Well, if you work it out, let me know. Meanwhile, I’m going to close my eyes.” It wouldn’t do for Teddy to remember him by any other name. Not when the Corporal was a patient heading to England. I’d worry about Teddy later.
“Good luck there,” he said as we hit the first of the ruts.
It wasn’t until all my charges were on board ship for the crossing that I could really think about Corporal Caswell. After I’d looked at my serious cases, I found him in one of the wards. He saw me coming and put out a hand to stop me.
“You promised,” he said in a low voice. “Now what the hell is going on?”
“I can’t explain here. But you’ll be safe. I’ve seen to it. You couldn’t stay in France, they need the beds so desperately. What was I to tell them? The truth, that you couldn’t go back to England?”
He cast a quick glance around. “I trusted you.”
“And you must go on trusting me. There’s no one else.” I moved on, stopping to speak to a patient or talk to a Sister. And then I went up on deck, in desperate need of fresh air.
One of the officers was standing by the rail. As I stepped up beside him he said, “You’d better keep an eye on your charges, Sister. We’re being shadowed by a submarine.”
It was dark, cloudy. I couldn’t see a thing but the motion of the Channel water, black and heaving beneath the railing.
A light flashed from one of the portholes and I heard an officer bark, “That man. Keep that curtain closed.”
I couldn’t help but think that if we were torpedoed, most of our patients would die. There would be no time to get them on deck, much less into boats. I found that my hands were gripping the rail so hard my nails were digging into the wood.
It brought back Britannic, and I shivered in spite of the warm night. We’d been so lucky then, so very lucky, that the ship was empty, traveling east to pick up wounded.
The officer began to walk around the deck, staring out at sea. I wanted to go with him, but I knew I’d be in the way.
How to save all these men? The question went round and round in my head and came back with the same answer every time. Most would die.
I went below and spoke quietly to each Sister, telling her that we could expect trouble. They nodded, then they turned to look around their wards. The
y knew as well as I did how many would survive.
Someone handed me a cup of tea, and I took it on deck with me, drinking it as I scanned the seas. It would be nearly impossible to see a torpedo in these conditions. Not until it was almost at the ship. I glanced up at the watch. All of the ship’s officers were on duty tonight, all with field glasses trained on the sea. Ratings were posted around the railings as well, and more than a few of the orderlies on board.
I waited for that familiar judder as something hit the ship and for an instant threw her off her course before exploding down below the waterline. Even after two years, I would know it instantly.
I couldn’t help but think about the many crossings I’d made and the many times a submarine had shadowed us. The ship was clearly marked as a hospital ship, but would that matter? Would the captain of the submarine even notice that in the dark, with the seas so rough?
All a torpedo needed to do was strike the rudder and the screws. It needn’t strike amidships to stop us dead in the water. We’d lose way, and begin to turn in helpless circles. But that would still give us time to get some of the wounded to lifeboats, those who could be moved quickly without regard to their wounds. The more serious cases—it would be impossible. It would almost be more merciful to blow us out of the water and end it quickly.
I went below again, to be sure all was well, and found the Sisters going about their duties. But their gaze went immediately to my face as soon as I appeared. I smiled and shook my head. Nothing so far. And they nodded, their hands still busy.
We were zigzagging and the motion of the ship was already making some men seasick, adding to their misery.
I held buckets for many of them and carried the buckets up the companionways to throw the contents over the rail. The orderlies were needed elsewhere.
And then it was over. I could feel the engines changing speed, the ship losing headway in the water, and when I went on deck again, I could see Dover ahead, the castle a black menacing bulk on the cliffs above us.
I could hear the orderlies nervously chatting as they came down to their places, and my knees were weak from the stress of worrying.