The
battle must be fought out between Death and the Nurses, minute by
minute and degree by degree. Mrs. Shute almost boxed Dumoise's ears
for what she called his "criminal delay," and went off at once to
look after the poor girl. We had seven cases of typhoid in the
Station that winter and, as the average of death is about one in
every five cases, we felt certain that we should have to lose
somebody. But all did their best. The women sat up nursing the
women, and the men turned to and tended the bachelors who were down,
and we wrestled with those typhoid cases for fifty-six days, and
brought them through the Valley of the Shadow in triumph. But, just
when we thought all was over, and were going to give a dance to
celebrate the victory, little Mrs. Dumoise got a relapse and died in
a week and the Station went to the funeral. Dumoise broke down
utterly at the brink of the grave, and had to be taken away.
After the death, Dumoise crept into his own house and refused to be
comforted. He did his duties perfectly, but we all felt that he
should go on leave, and the other men of his own Service told him
so.
Pages:
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360