The Red Cross Girls with the Russian Army | Page 9

past few weeks the Germans had been driving the Russians farther and farther back beyond the boundaries of Poland and near the heart of Russia. Here at Grovno the Russian army was expected to make a victorious stand. The faith of the Russian people was centered in General Dmitri Alexis.
Unlike most Russian officers, he had always been devoted to the interests of the common people, although a son of one of Russia's noble families. But he was known to be a shy, quiet man with little to say for himself, who had risen to his present rank by sheer ability.
To Mildred's eyes he seemed almost an old man; in fact, he must have been about fifty. His hair was iron gray, but unlike most Russians his eyes were a dark blue. As he wore no beard, the lines about his mouth were so stern as to be almost forbidding.
Mildred knew that he was an intimate personal friend of the Czar and realized just to what extent he must feel the weight of his present responsibilities.
Therefore she was the more surprised at his appearance in the hospital ward.
Except for a courtly inclination of his head the great man paid no attention to the greetings that were offered him by the nurses and doctors. Walking down the center of the room he had eyes only for the wounded men who lined the two walls. Then his sternness relaxed and his smile became a curious compound of pity and regret.
Mildred found herself staring without regard to good manners or breeding. Why should this man create such an atmosphere of trust and respect? She had seen other great generals in the armies of the Allies before today, but never one who had made such an impression.
General Alexis and the priest paused by the bedside of the Russian boy who was Mildred's patient.
There the great man's face softened until it became almost womanish in its sympathy. Slowly and reverently the dying boy attempted to raise his general's hand to his lips.
General Alexis said a few words in Russian which the young soldier understood, but Mildred could not. For he attempted to shake his head, to whisper a denial, then smiling dropped his arms down by his sides.
Mildred made no effort to move forward to assist him, for she did not feel that she had a place in the little group at this moment. She merely watched and waited, trying to see clearly through the mist in her eyes.
The boy's broad chest, strong once as a young giant's, but now with a scarcely beating heart beneath it, quivered with what seemed a final emotion. The same instant General Alexis leaned down and pinned against the white cotton of his rough shirt the iron cross of all the Russias. Afterwards he kissed him as simply as a woman might have done.
That was all! So natural and so quiet it was, Mildred Thornton herself was hardly aware of the significance of the little scene she had just witnessed.
Here in a country where the gulf between the rich and the poor, the humble and the great was well nigh impassable, a single act of courage had bridged it.
What act of valor Peter had performed Mildred never knew. She only knew that it had called from his duties one of the greatest men in Europe, that he might by his presence and with his own hands show homage to the humblest of soldiers.
When the simple ceremony was over the boy lay quite still, scarcely noticing that his general knelt down beside his bed. For his eyes were almost closing.
Neither did Mildred dare move or speak.
Against the walls the other nurses and doctors stood quiet as wooden figures, while the wounded were hushed to unaccustomed silences.
Then the Russian priest began to intone in words which the American girl could not understand, but in a voice the most wonderful she had ever heard. His tones were those of an organ deep and beautiful, of great volume but without noise.
Ceasing, he lifted an ikon before the young soldier's dimming eyes, and pronounced what must have been a benediction.
The next moment the great stillness had entered the hospital chamber and the Russian boy with the iron cross above his heart lay in his final sleep.
All at once Mildred Thornton felt extraordinarily weary. Backward and forward she could see the big room rise and recede as though it had been an immense wave. The dim light was turning to darkness, when instinctively reaching out her hand touched the back of a chair. With this she steadied herself for the moment. Until now she had not known how tired she was from her vigil, nor how she had been moved by the scene she had just witnessed. After a little she would go to her own