It was a dark, moonless night, the scene was illuminated only by three or four lamps on the pillars. Exhausted and thirsting for sleep, almost for the sleep of death, I sank on the unoccupied corner of a bench and put my luggage on the ground in front of me.
At first I had not the courage to look about me and see whether amongst the number of men who were busy passing to and fro here one might be Dr. Bresser. I was almost persuaded that I should not meet him. It was at least ten chances to one that he would be prevented from coming, or that he would get here at another hour than the one fixed, for there was no longer any regularity in the service, my train had certainly arrived much later than was fixed by the railway regulations. Regulations—another civilised conception, and so it was now set aside along with the rest.
My undertaking seemed to me now a perfect lunacy. This fancied call from Frederick—could I then believe in mystical things of that sort? It certainly had no foundation whatever. Who knows? Frederick was perhaps on his way home, perhaps he was dead; why was I seeking for him here? Another voice began now to call upon me, other arms were stretched out to meet me. Rudolf, my son, how he would have been asking for “mamma” and not been able to get to sleep without his mother’s kiss when he bade “good night.” Whither should I turn here if I did not find Bresser? And the hope of finding him had of a sudden become as small as the hope of the lucky number among 100,000 lots. Luckily I had my bag of money—the possession of bank notes affords always a means of getting out of difficulties. Mechanically I felt the place where the bag should have been hanging. Good God! the strap by which it had been fastened had been torn off, and the bag was gone—was lost! What a blow! And yet I had not recourse to any complaint against my destiny. I could not lament: “How hard fortune is hitting me!” for, at a time when misfortune was falling in floods on all sides, to complain about a little misfortune of one’s own would have made one blush for one’s own selfishness. And besides, for me there was only one possibility which could alarm me—Frederick’s death; all the rest was nothing.
I began to look at all the people present. No Dr. Bresser. What to do now? To whom to address myself? I stopped one of the men passing—
“Where can I find the stationmaster?”
“You mean the director of the Sick Depot—Staff-surgeon S⸺. He is standing there.”
He was not the person I meant, but perhaps he would be able to give me information about Dr. Bresser. I approached the place he pointed out. The staff-surgeon was speaking to a gentleman standing near him.
“It is a pity,” I heard him say. “Here and at Turnau depots have been founded for all the hospitals of the theatre of war. Gifts are flowing in in masses—linen, food, bandages as much as you can wish, but what is to be done with them? How are they to be unpacked? how sorted? how sent out? We have no hands. We could occupy a hundred active officers.”
I was just going to speak to the staff-surgeon when I saw a man hurrying towards him in whom—O joy!—I recognised Dr. Bresser. In my excitement I fell on the neck of my old family friend.
“You! you! Baroness Tilling! Whatever are you doing here?”
“I am come to help—to nurse. Is not Frederick in one of your hospitals?”
“I have seen nothing of him.”
Was this a disappointment or a relief? I do not know. He was not there, and therefore either dead or unhurt … besides, Bresser could not possibly know all the wounded in the neighbourhood. I must search through all the hospitals myself.
“And Frau Simon?” I asked next.
“She has been here now some hours. A splendid woman! quick in decision, prudent. Just now she is busied in getting the wounded who are lying here carried into empty railway trucks. She has discovered that in a village near, at Horonewos, the need is the greatest. She is going there, and I am to accompany her.”
“And I also, Dr. Bresser, let me go with you.”
“Baroness Martha, where are you thinking of going? You, so delicate and unaccustomed to such hard, bitterly hard work as this?”
“What else have I got to do here?” I said, interrupting him. “If you are my friend, doctor, help me to carry out my purpose. I will really do anything, perform any service. Introduce me to Frau Simon as a volunteer nurse; but take me with you—for mercy’s sake take me with you.”
“Very well; your will shall be done. The brave lady is there. Come.”
When Dr. Bresser brought me to Frau Simon and introduced me to her as a sick nurse she nodded, but turned away at once to give some order. I was not able to see her features in the dubious light.
Five minutes later we were on our journey to Horonewos. A
