without it, not even for my Betsy’s sake— Who’s this a-comin? Here! help!’
The hooded form of a Catholic Sister of Mercy was beside him, and in a moment she was kneeling on the gory turf and supporting his head in one hand, while with the other she moved him gently into a position adapted for an attempt to check the hemorrhage. But he was too far gone. Her companion had turned off to tend other piteous implorers among the hideous mass of human wreck. We cannot depict the heavenly compassion of these women, which soothed, where it could not stay, the departure of many a sufferer; suffice it to give poor Bill’s last words.
‘Oh, lady, yer be a angel, yer be indeed. I sees a many ladies like yer a-gatherin’ round me, they’re angels too. Yer'll find my Betsy, and comfort her—keep yer sweet ’and on my ’ead, lady—yes, just so—then I be ’appy and not afeard—’
And, under the wing of the Sister, the spirit of poor Bill, ex-bargee, passed into its next state, under the wing of the priestess of nature, the only true priestess, the only true Saviour. The other man next claimed her attention.
‘Couldn’t yer get me away into a ’orspital, ma’am?’ groaned Joe, while the Sister, her garment lying across his brow, occupied herself in setting and binding his fractures.
‘Yes, we will, my man,’ she said soothingly, ‘as soon as the ambulance comes round; but you must lie still and keep yourself quiet. There now, stay just as I have put you; take a drop out of this flask—that’s enough for you just now; now lie still till I come again.’
Subsequently, Joe was removed, with a host of other wounded, to Cork, where he recovered, but, although in the prime of life, never was again the same strong working man that he had been.
We have thus described briefly two cases—and those by
