The Black Watch Part 13

I hadn't thought of looking at my ticket, but now I noted that I was destined for "Chelsea, London, S. W." So he outlined a scheme to which I readily agreed. We exchanged tickets.

I adopted his name "Bill Mortimer" of the Rifle Brigade and soon I was making for "th' bloomink end o' Scotland," while he was en route for Chelsea under his a.s.sumed name.

When I arrived in an Aberdeen Hospital, they were a good few days trying to account for me, as my papers had naturally gone to Chelsea. Ultimately they came to the conclusion that there must have been an error at Southampton; and sure enough, my record was finally located at the London hospital.

It was one of the best errors that could have happened, for very soon I found myself in the "Craigleith Military Hospital" within commuting distance of my relatives and friends. I never heard any more of my friend "Bill Mortimer," but I have no doubt the "error" proved a good one to him also.

Two medical officers looked me over very carefully the first day. The next day they came back accompanied by the chief medical officer, Colonel Cottrill. After the latter examined me carefully he said that "an immediate amputation would be the wisest plan." He asked me whether other examining physicians had told me the same thing.

I said: "Yes; but I think it will be all right. See, I can wiggle my toes." And I pointed out that this was a sure sign of hope for a recovery without amputation.

Then commenced a daily routine of bandaging which stretched into months; every conceivable treatment for my betterment was given me; a plaster-of-Paris cast was put on my knee, and after it was on a week or two, the effect was simply wonderful.

By this time, my hand could be used a little, but I found myself minus a finger and with two others broken. They, however, healed to normal.

Every week, during our long stay in the hospital, entertainments were given for us by professional actors and actresses. Visitors were permitted to call Wednesdays and Sundays from 1 to 4 P.M.; on other days from 1 to 3 P.M. I cannot describe the generosity and kindness of the people of Edinburgh.

Every day came armfuls of flowers--the most soothing offering a convalescent Tommy can receive, outside of the occasional kiss some dear wee la.s.s would imprint on his cheek. Both are wonderful in their ability to cheer a lonesome Tommy, who, perhaps, finds himself far from his home folk! Every day the ladies and young girls of the town came to sit by our cots and read to us or write our letters. It was an enormous hospital, having often as many as 1100 patients and every man in it, even those who were strangers in Scotland, had daily visitors in plenty. English and Welsh soldiers, too far from home to receive the attention of their own people, were given even more favours than the Scots. Every day, a flock of big motor cars drew up and carried away those who were far enough toward recovery for a ride. We had many delightful hours rolling swiftly through the picturesque city of Edinburgh, along the banks of the Forth and up through the beautiful Pentland Hills.

Our lockers were well filled, and we never wanted for such dainties as chocolates and fancy biscuits, and we had magazines, and--above all--cigarettes.

A party of our lady visitors brought us wool and volunteered to teach us the art of knitting to while away our idle time. Most of the boys took kindly enough to it, but I wanted to learn embroidery. It caused no end of merriment that a man should want to sew. However, I persuaded them to try me, and one of them offered to do so.

In India I had done quite a little at sketching, and my teacher found me an apt pupil in this allied art. Very soon I had mastered the art of making long and short st.i.tches, French knots, border and b.u.t.tonhole st.i.tches, etc. I was so highly commended that I received many requests from these ladies for cus.h.i.+on covers, doilies, etc. They brought the materials and I plied the needle. It was such enticing work that very soon two other fellows "joined in."

We had many other ways of pa.s.sing the time. Visitors would ask us to write or sketch something in their autograph books, which we did with much pleasure, and I can tell you that some very, very funny local sketches and poetry--composed on the spur of the moment, with fellow mates, nurses, and doctors as the subjects--were carried away from that hospital. They were highly prized by the recipients. We had also a monthly _Gazette_ recording the events of the daily life of the hospital in a breezy and interesting way.

I saw many a bad case brought in, get well, and sent home, but still I remained, and so Corporal Charles Palmer, who had been there the longest, promoted himself to be "Commander-in-Chief" and took me as second in command, I being next to him in length of time there. One of his legs had been blown off six inches above the knee and the pain he suffered at times was excruciating. Another lad, a German, sixteen years of age, had had both legs blown off below the knees by one of the Germans' own sh.e.l.ls just as he was about to give himself up to the British. He spoke very good English and was surprisingly cheery. The fair s.e.x found him very attractive and he always got an ample share of the dainties they brought.

I was still in the hospital when the awful "Gretna Green" disaster happened. Perhaps you remember it. A regiment of the Royal Scots was on its way to the front. Their train collided with another at Gretna Green near the Carlisle Junction, resulting in the loss of more than one hundred lives. Some of those that required medical attention were sent to Craigleith, and among the few that found themselves in our ward was a very broad-spoken Scot. He was on seven days' leave, but being "full of happiness," somehow or another got mixed in at Edinburgh station with the lads of the wreck. He spied an empty cot which he immediately made for and fell asleep upon it. Soon afterward, Colonel Sir Joseph Farrer, Commandant of the hospital, came along to see the Gretna lads. When he came to this cot he slowly uncovered the face of the presumed patient and asked: "How are you?" The Scot, so rudely aroused, sat up, exclaiming: "Fine, mon; hoo's yersel'?" The colonel was nonplussed for the moment, but hastily recovered himself however, and shook the extended hand of the erstwhile patient, much to the amus.e.m.e.nt of the rest of us.

Among the "padres" to visit the hospital was a Major Chaplain of the Church of England. He seemed particularly interested in our ward (G ward) and made as many as three visits a week.

Thursdays, after tea, was prayer meeting for us, as well as for a few of the other wards. Of course, it was impossible for all the wards to have the meeting on the same evening, owing to the large number of them and the scarcity of clergymen, so many of whom were with the boys in France. On one Thursday evening in particular, the Church of England chaplain I have just mentioned was about to commence the service when the absence of the organ (which was a little portable one, such as is used by the Salvation Army) was discovered.

A couple of men who could walk volunteered to go in search of the organ, but they couldn't find it. Then Sister Brian, a most accommodating nurse, whose c.o.c.kney accent was an unmistakable mark of her early upbringing, went out to locate the missing organ. After a few minutes she returned and startled the ward by announcing, from the doorway: "You men 'ad hall better go to 'h.e.l.l' (meaning _L_ ward). Th' horgan's in 'h.e.l.l,' an' th'

services habout to begin."

There was a general roar of laughter and the reverend gentleman strenuously refused the invitation.

When the patients were well on the road to recovery, they would be sent to one of the many mansions opened by the owners as homes for convalescents.

Here they would remain for a few weeks, perhaps a month, before being sent to their homes. This stay will be among the pleasantest memories of those who experienced it. The beautifully-laid-out and s.p.a.cious grounds and the auto rides! How it all helped to hasten recovery!

I cannot conclude without trying to express the praise which most certainly belongs to the medical officers of "Craigleith." At the outbreak of the war, Colonel Cottrill had been retired ten years, but he was found ready when the first note of the nation's rally sounded, and there he remained when I left, serving his king and country in relieving, by his expert skill, the sufferings of those who come under his care. He was over seventy years of age, but he most truly was seventy years young.

Of the nurses and sisters I could not say enough. Sister Lauder, for instance; I have seen her do thirty-six hours' duty at one stretch, without the slightest rest, at a time when streams of wounded were pouring in day and night. Once she collapsed in the middle of the ward. Such devotion, such wonderful spirit these women exhibited!

I was discharged on August 5th, 1915, being "no longer physically fit for war service." (Para. 392, XVI, K.R.)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

On a day in February, 1916--a week prior to the sailing of the S.S.

_Tuscania_, on which I had taken pa.s.sage to the United States--I had left the office of the Anchor Line and was proceeding up the High Street, of Cowdenbeath (across the river from Edinburgh), bent on an errand pertaining to the preparations for my departure, when I noticed across the way something familiar in the appearance of a tall man in khaki. Twice or thrice I gazed at him, with a sense of dim recollection, and then I went walking--or, rather, limping--on my way. There were uniforms everywhere and one, even though it seemed in some way distinctive, could not hold my attention. I started to cross the street but when I was in the car track, in the middle, a sound arrested me.

"Reuter! Reuter!" called a voice which was strangely familiar.

Who, thought I, is this, calling me by my nickname? I turned and saw the tall soldier whom I had noticed, limping toward me at the best gait his lameness permitted. I perceived that he wore a Black Watch forage cap. As I stood, awaiting his approach, I suddenly recognized him as my chum, Ned MacD----; the same Ned whom I had left in a hollow, in a wood, in France, grievously wounded, and who had mysteriously disappeared when I found opportunity to return in search of him.

I had long believed him dead, for his name had appeared in our casualty lists among those of the killed. I was so overcome at seeing him that I stood as one struck dumb. In a moment, however, we were clasped in each other's arms like a couple of bairns, the tears trickling down our faces.

There we stood, speaking to each other as Scots will, in excitement, in the broad Scotch of our childhood days, until a sharp clang awakened us.

It was from a tramcar bell. We were standing in the middle of the single line, and completely blocking traffic. Linking our arms together we made for the pavement.

"I'm mighty glad I met ye, Joe," was his first comment. "I've been trying to find out your whereabouts. To think that Fate should have been kind enough to put you in my way, like that; man, it's just grand!"

I told him of my mission in Cowdenbeath.

"Weel, I'm glad I've caught ye in time, ye bounder, cause I dinna think I could have followed ye to the States to make a visit on ye," he said.

By this time I had fully recovered myself and scrutinized him carefully.

"You've got the same smile, Ned, but my how you've grown! You look at least two inches taller than when I saw you last."

"And that I might," he replied; "come on and I'll tell ye all about it."

So we limped into Cook's tea rooms, secured a table in a quiet corner, and he told me his story. He spoke in a halting manner, for it brought back many of his sufferings, but to me it is so striking that I felt, in finis.h.i.+ng the tale of my war experience, you would like to know about a war romance--for romance it surely was--with as happy an ending as any novelist might conceive. I will tell to you, as nearly as possible in his own words, the remarkable story he unfolded to me.

"Do ye mind when ye left me in the nook after bandaging my wounds?" he asked. "Weel, I lay there thinking and wondering. Ye ken, Reuter, what I was wondering about--about ye're coming back; or maybe someone else might find me and take me back to the lines. But no help came. Then I got to thinking of the la.s.s, and I managed to take her letters, as well as a few f.a.gs, from my haversack. I smoked the f.a.gs one after the other, and read her dear kind words over and over again. My mind kept dwelling on what was to have been our marriage day. Reuter, remember I told ye about it. It was to have been on the 7th of August, and then on account of the war, we put it off until after I should come back.

"And now, I thought to myself, maybe I'll never get back. All sorts of possibilities pa.s.sed through my mind, and between this and the awful pain that throbbed all over me, I felt like as if I'd go mad.

"It began to get dark and my patience got exhausted. Then the idea came into my head that I could maybe drag myself along with my hands a wee bit nearer our lines. I thought of your promise, Reuter, but I couldn't stay.

A few of the lads around me pegged out one after the other, and it made me feel fair frenzied.

"Do ye remember Stanley Stenning, an English fellow of C company? Weel, he crawled out a wee while before me. I've heard since that he was home, but minus a leg, but I haven't heard so far of any of the other wounded fellows that were in the nook with me.

"Weel, to get back to my own experience. It was awful--the pain--it racked me through and through, as I tried to move ahead by the aid of my hands. I would take a grip on anything I could get hold of and drag myself on a wee bit at a time. I had managed to do about a hundred yards, when I seemed to sense that I had taken the wrong direction, and oh! how weak I was about that time--it's past telling. I just simply had to lie there--I couldn't drag myself another inch.

"I remember seeing a few bushes about fifteen yards ahead--it seemed so far!--and at first I wished I could manage to get to them, thinking I might get out of the way of the enemy, should any of them come along. But after a few minutes I decided it was perhaps as well that I was exhausted, because if I got there and should lose consciousness, ye might not find me, and that it was just as weel I was in the open. So I tried to content myself, but it was maddening.

"In dragging myself to this spot I pa.s.sed here and there one of our lads--then again I would make out one of the Camerons--and Reuter, they were so--still! But I crawled on, and as the vision of the la.s.s came to me, I felt braver, and made up my mind to hold out as long as I possibly could.

"By this time it was night--the time seemed to drag so! Then I remember hearing the sound of some one moving about, and I was just in the act of calling for help when the thought flashed through my brain that maybe they were Germans; so I kept still. The sound soon died away. My! how often, since then, I've wished I _had_ called out.

"I lay there wis.h.i.+ng and hoping that I might be found before morning, but the hours dragged on. I was growing fainter and fainter, and more feverish.