Beth went with the ambulance the first day, worked in the hollows of the dunes, and returned to the ship at night completely worn out by the demands upon her services. It was Patsy’s turn next, and she took with her the second day one of the French girls as assistant.
When the ambulance reached the edge of the dunes, where it was driven by Ajo, the battle was raging with even more vigor than the previous day. The Germans were dropping shells promiscuously into the various hollows, hoping to locate the hidden Belgian infantry, while the Belgian artillery strove to destroy the German gunners. Both succeeded at times, and both sides were equally persistent.
As it was impossible to take the ambulance into the dunes, it was left in the rear in charge of Jones, while the others threaded their way in and out the devious passages toward the front. They had covered fully a mile in this laborious fashion before they came upon a detachment of Belgian infantry which was lying in wait for a call to action. Beyond this trench the doctors and nurses were forbidden to go, and the officer in command warned the Americans to beware of stray shells.
Under these circumstances they contented themselves by occupying some of the rear hollows, to which the wounded would retreat to secure their services. Dr. Kelsey and Nanette, the French girl, established themselves in one hollow at the right, while Dr. Gys and Patsy took their position in another hollow further to the left. There they opened their cases of lint, plaster and bandages, spreading them out upon the sand, and were soon engaged in administering aid to an occasional victim of the battle.
One man who came to Patsy with a slight wound on his shoulder told her that a shell had exploded in a forward hollow and killed outright fifteen of his comrades. His own escape from death was miraculous and the poor fellow was so unnerved that he cried like a baby.
They directed him to the rear, where he would find the ambulance, and awaited the appearance of more patients. Gys crawled up the mound of sand in front of them and cautiously raised his head above the ridge. Next instant he ducked to escape a rain of bullets that scattered the sand about them like a mist.
“That was foolish,” said Patsy reprovingly. “You might have been killed.”
“No such luck,” he muttered in reply, but the girl could see that he trembled slightly with nervousness. Neither realized at the time the fatal folly of the act, for they were unaware that the Germans were seeking just such a clew to direct them where to drop their shells.
“It’s getting rather lonely here, and there are a couple of vacant hollows in front of us,” remarked the doctor. “Suppose we move over to one of those, a little nearer the soldiers?”
Patsy approved the proposition, so they gathered up their supplies and moved along the hollow to where a passage had been cut through. They had gone barely a hundred yards when a screech, like a buzz-saw when it strikes a nail, sounded overhead. Looking up they saw a black disk hurtling through the air, to drop almost where they had been standing a moment before. There was a terrific explosion that sent debris to their very feet.
“After this we’ll be careful how we expose ourselves,” said the doctor gravely. “They have got our range in a hurry. Here comes another; we’d better get away quickly.”
They progressed perhaps half a mile, without coming upon any soldiers, when at the brow of a hill slightly higher than the rest, they became aware of unwonted activity. A trench had been dug along the ridge, with great pits here and there to serve as bomb-proof shelters. Every time a head projected above the ridge, a storm of bullets showed that the enemy was well within rifle range. In fact, it was to dislodge the Germans that the present intrenchments were being made; machine guns would be mounted as soon as positions had been prepared.
The German bullets had already taken their toll. In the little valley a poor Belgian pressed his hand against a bad wound in his side, while another was nursing an arm roughly bandaged by his fellows in the trenches. First aid made the two comfortable for the time being at least and the men were directed toward the ambulance. As they left, the man with the wounded arm pointed down the narrow valley to where a deep ravine cut through. “We were driven from there,” he said. “The big guns dropped shells on us and killed many; there are many wounded beyond — but you cannot cross the ravine. We lost ten in doing it.”
Nevertheless, the doctor and Patsy strode off. Just within the shelter of the ridge they found another Belgian, desperately wounded, and the doctor stopped to ease his pain with the hypodermic needle. Patsy looked across the narrow defile; it was a bare fifty feet, and seemed safe enough. Her Red Cross uniform would protect her, she reasoned, and boldly enough she stepped out into the open. A cry from a wounded soldier ahead hastened her footsteps. Without heeding the warning shout of Doctor Gys she calmly stooped over the man who had called to her.
And then there was a sudden rending, blinding, terrifying crash that sent the world into a thousand shrieking echoes. A huge shell had fallen not fifty feet away, plowing its way through the earthworks above. Its explosion sent timbers, abandoned gun-carriages, everything, flying through the air. And one great piece of wood caught Patsy a glancing blow on the back of her head as she crouched over the wounded Belgian. With a weak cry she toppled over, not unconscious, but unable to raise herself.
Another shell crashed down a hundred yards away, and then one closer that sent the sand spouting high in a blinding cloud. She raised herself slowly and glanced back toward Doctor Gys. He stood, his face ashen with fear, hiding behind the shelter of the other hill. He looked up as she stirred; a cry of relief came to his lips.
“Wait!” he called, bracing up suddenly. “Wait and I will get you.”
Bending his head low he sprang across the unprotected space. He stopped with a sudden jerk and then came on.
“You were hit!” cried Patsy as he bent over her.
“It is nothing,” he answered brusquely. “Hold tight around my neck.” “Now — ” another shell scattered sand over them — ”we must get away from here.”
Breathing thickly, he staggered across the open, dropping her with a great groan behind the protection of the ridge.
“The man you were helping,” he gasped. “I must bring him in.”
“But you are wounded — ” Patsy cried.
He straightened up — his hand clutched his side — there came across his disfigured features a queer twisted smile — he sighed softly and slowly sank in a crumpled heap. A clean little puncture in the breast of his coat told the whole story. Patsy felt herself slipping.... All grew dark.
It was Ajo who found her and carried her back to the ambulance, where Dr. Kelsey and Nanette were presently able to restore her to consciousness. Then they returned to the Arabella, grave and silent, and Patsy was put to bed. Before morning Beth and Maud were anxiously nursing her, for she had developed a high fever and was delirious.
The days that succeed were anxious ones, for Patsy’s nerves had given away completely. It was many weeks later that the rest of them met on deck.
“It’s the first of February,” said Uncle John. “Don’t you suppose Patsy could start for home pretty soon?”
“Perhaps so,” answered Maud. “She is sitting up to-day, and seems brighter and more like herself. Have we decided, then, to return to America?”
“I believe so,” was the reply. “We can’t keep Ajo’s ship forever, you know, and without Doctor Gys we could never make it useful as a hospital ship again.”
“That is true,” said the girl, thoughtfully. “Now that Andrew Denton, with his wife and the countess, have gone to Charleroi, our ship seems quite lonely.”
“You see,” said Ajo, taking part in the discussion, “we’ve never been able to overcome the suspicious coldness of these Frenchmen, caused by Elbl’s unfortunate escape. We are not trusted fully, and never will be again, so I’m convinced our career of usefulness here is ended.”
“Aside from that,” returned Uncle John, “you three girls have endured a long period of hard work and nervous strain, and
you need a rest. I’m awfully proud of you all; proud of your noble determination and courage as well as the ability you have demonstrated as nurses. You have unselfishly devoted your lives for three strenuous months to the injured soldiers of a foreign war, and I hope you’re satisfied that you’ve done your full duty.”
“Well,” returned Maud with a smile, “I wouldn’t think of retreating if I felt that our services were really needed, but there are so many women coming here for Red Cross work — English, French, Swiss, Dutch and Italian — that they seem able to cover the field thoroughly.”
“True,” said Beth, joining the group. “Let’s go home, Uncle. The voyage will put our Patsy in fine shape again. When can we start, Ajo?”
“Ask Uncle John.”
“Ask Captain Carg.”
“If you really mean it,” said the captain, “I’ll hoist anchor to-morrow morning.”
THE FLYING GIRL
Reilly & Britton published The Flying Girl, the first of two related Baum novels in 1911, under the pseudonym, Edith Van Dyne, illustrated by Joseph Pierre Nuyttens, who also did the artwork for the author’s Annabel and Phoebe Daring. Perhaps influenced by his mother-in-law, prominent feminist and suffragette, Matilda Joslyn Gage, Baum created an adventure story about Orissa Kane, a young girl who becomes a pilot after her inventor brother’s accident prevents him from proving the worth of his “flying machine.”
A first edition copy of ‘The Flying Girl’
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER I
ORISSA
“May I go now, Mr. Burthon?” asked Orissa.
He looked up from his desk, stared a moment and nodded. It is doubtful if he saw the girl, for his eyes had an introspective expression.
Orissa went to a cabinet wardrobe and took down her coat and hat. Turning around to put them on she moved a chair, which squeaked on the polished floor. The sound made Mr. Burthon shudder, and aroused him as her speech had not done.
“Why, Miss Kane!” he exclaimed, regarding her with surprise, “it is only four o’clock.”
“I know, sir,” said Orissa uneasily, “but the mail is ready and all the deeds and transfers have been made out for you to sign. I — I wanted an extra hour, to-night, so I worked during lunch time.”
“Oh; very well,” he said, stiffly. “But I do not approve this irregularity, Miss Kane, and you may as well understand it. I engage your services by the week, and expect you to keep regular hours.”
“I won’t go, then,” she replied, turning to hang up her coat.
“Yes, you will. For this afternoon I excuse you,” he said, turning again to his papers.
Orissa did not wish to offend her employer. Indeed, she could not afford to. This was her first position, and because she was young and girlish in appearance she had found it difficult to secure a place. Perhaps it was because she had applied to Mr. Burthon during one of his fits of abstraction that she obtained the position at all; but she was competent to do her work and performed it so much better than any “secretary” the real estate agent had before had that he would have been as loth to lose her as she was to be dismissed. But Orissa did not know that, and hesitated what to do.
“Run along, Miss Kane,” said her employer, impatiently; “I insist upon it — for to-night.”
So, being very anxious to get home early, the girl accepted the permission and left the office, feeling however a little guilty for having abridged her time there.
She had a long ride before her. Leaving the office at four o’clock meant reaching home forty minutes later; so she hurried across the street and boarded a car marked “Beverly.” Los Angeles is a big city, because it is spread from the Pacific Ocean to the mountains — an extreme distance of more than thirty miles. Yet it is of larger extent than that would indicate, as country villages for many miles in every direction are really suburbs of the metropolis of Southern California and the inhabitants ride daily into the city for business or shopping.
It was toward one of these outlying districts that Orissa Kane was now bound. They have rapid transit in the Southwest, and the car, headed toward the north but ultimately destined to reach the sea by way of several villages, fairly flew along the tracks. It was August and a glaring sun held possession of a cloudless sky; but the ocean breeze, which always arrives punctually the middle of the afternoon, rendered the air balmy and invigorating.
It was seldom that this young girl appeared anywhere in public without attracting the attention of any who chanced to glance into her sweet face. Its contour was almost perfect and the coloring exquisite. In addition she had a slender form which she carried with exceeding grace and a modest, winning demeanor that was more demure and unconscious than shy.
Such a charming personality should have been clothed in handsome raiment; but, alas, poor Orissa’s gown was the simplest of cheap lawns, and of the ready-made variety the department stores sell in their basements. It was not unbecoming, nor was the coarse straw hat with its yard of cotton-back ribbon; yet the case was stated to-day very succinctly by a middle-aged gentleman who sat with his wife in the car seat just behind Orissa:
“If that girl was our daughter,” said he, “I’d dress her nicely if it took half my income to do it.
Great Caesar! hasn’t she anyone to love her, or care for her? She seems to me like a beautiful piece of bric-a-brac; something to set on a pedestal and deck with jewels and laces, for all to admire.”
“Pshaw!” returned the lady; “a girl like that will be admired, whatever she wears.”
Orissa had plenty of love, bestowed by those nearest and dearest to her, but circumstances had reduced the family fortunes to a minimum and the girl was herself to blame for a share of the poverty the Kanes now endured.
The car let her off at a wayside station between two villages. It was in a depression that might properly be termed a valley, though of small extent, and as the car rushed on and left her standing beside a group of tall palms it at first appeared there were no houses at all in the neighborhood.
But that was not so; a well defined path led into a thicket of evergreens and then wound through a large orange orchard. Beyond this was a vine covered bungalow of the type so universal in California; artistic to view but quite inexpensive in construction.
High hedges of privet surrounded the place, but above this, in the space back of the house, rose the canvas covered top of a huge shed — something so unusual and inappropriate in a place of this character that it would have caused a stranger to pause and gape with astonishment.
Orissa, however, merely glanced at the tent-like structure as she hurried along the path. She turned in at the open door of the bungalow, tossed hat and jacket into a chair and then went to where a sweet-faced woman sat in a morris chair knitting. In a moment you would guess she was Orissa’s mother, for although the features were worn and thin there was a striking resemblance between them and those of the fresh young girl stooping to kiss her. Mrs. Kane’s eyes were the same turquoise blue as her daughter’s; but, although bright and wide open they lacked any expression, for they saw nothing at all in our big, beautiful world.
“Aren’t you early, dear?” she asked.
“A whole hour,” said Orissa. “But I promised Steve I’d try to get home at this time, for he wants me to
help him. Can I do anything for you first, mamma?”
“No,” was the reply; “I am quite comfortable. Run along, if Steve wants you.” Then she added, in a playful tone: “Will there be any supper to-night?”
“Oh, yes, indeed! I’ll break away in good season, never fear. Last night I got into the crush of the ‘rush hour,’ and the car was detained, so both Steve and I forgot all about supper. I’ll run and change my dress now.”
“I’m afraid the boy is working too hard,” said Mrs. Kane, sighing. “The days are not half long enough for him, and he keeps in his workshop, or hangar, or whatever you call it, half the night.”
“True,” returned Orissa, with a laugh; “but it is not work for Steve, you know; it’s play. He’s like a child with a new toy.”
“I hope it will not prove a toy, in the end,” remarked Mrs. Kane, gravely. “So much depends upon his success.”
“Don’t worry, dear,” said the girl, brightly. “Steve is making our fortune, I’m sure.”
But as she discarded the lawn for a dark gingham in her little chamber, Orissa’s face was more serious than her words and she wondered — as she had wondered hundreds of times — whether her brother’s great venture would bring them ruin or fortune.
CHAPTER II
A DISCIPLE OF AVIATION
The Kanes had come to California some three years previous because of Mr. Kane’s impaired health. He had been the manager of an important manufacturing company in the East, on a large salary for many years, and his family had lived royally and his children been given the best education that money could procure. Orissa attended a famous girls’ school and Stephen went to college. But suddenly the father’s health broke and his physicians offered no hope for his life unless he at once migrated to a sunny clime where he might be always in the open air. He came to California and invested all his savings — not a great deal — in the orange ranch. Three months later he died, leaving his blind wife and two children without any financial resources except what might be gleaned from the ranch. Fortunately the boy, Stephen, had just finished his engineering course at Cornell and was equipped — theoretically, at least — to begin a career with one of the best paying professions known to modern times. Mechanical to his finger tips, Stephen Kane had eagerly absorbed every bit of information placed before him and had been graduated so well that a fine position was offered him in New York, with opportunity for rapid advancement.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 534
