Chapter XX: A Mission of Mercy

To some of the boys the day seemed unusually long. Their restless spirits chaffed under the strain of doing nothing save looking after the fire, lying around talking, roaming through the woods at that end of the island, reading, and at noon eating the meal that had been prepared.

Possibly except for the restraining influence of Mr. Holwell and Mr. Bartlett and the knowledge that they would forfeit certain privileges if they broke the posted rules of the camp, Eddie Grant and the two other mill boys, perhaps Nat Silmore and his chums also, might have gone off in one of the boats to fish.

But to Dick and some of the others that was a day long to be remembered. Mr. Holwell talked more about his early struggles and difficulties than they had ever heard him do before. They learned that he had had a most adventurous career up to the time he decided to follow the ministry for a calling.

It was about three in the afternoon, and some of the boys were sighing over the fact that the day still had several more hours to run, when there came a sudden interruption of the Sunday quiet that enveloped the camp.

“Listen!” exclaimed Dan Fenwick, jumping up. “Some one’s coming through the brush back yonder. Lickety-split, too!”

All could hear the noise made by the hurried passage of some body; and more than one boyish face lost much of its usual color as the lads exchanged uneasy glances.

“What if it’s the wild man?” ventured Andy Hale, thus voicing the alarm that had begun to hammer at every heart.

“Wow! get your clubs, everybody, and stand ready to repel boarders!” snapped Peg, immediately pouncing on the handy camp hatchet.

“Hold on, fellows,” Dick called out. “It’s a man, you can see, and he looks to me as though he might be more frightened than we are. See, he’s waving his hands.”

“Why, seems as if I ought to know that man!” exclaimed Fred Bonnicastle just then. “Yes, sure as you live, it’s the farmer we got the butter and eggs from.”

“Say, I bet you he’s run across the monster that gave us the scare the other day!” ventured Nat Silmore. “Now, mebbe you’ll believe what we told you.”

The farmer soon reached the camp. He was breathing hard, but tried, as best he could, to talk. It was to Mr. Holwell he addressed himself, for he saw that the minister was older than any of the rest and looked as though he might be in charge.

“I thought you were camping on the other site,” he stammered; “so I landed at the wrong place. Oh! I want somebody to go back with me and try to stop the bleeding, or I’m afraid the poor lad will not last long, and I never could get to town, for my horse is sick.”

“What does this mean, my friend?” asked Mr. Holwell, laying a kindly hand on the agitated farmer’s arm, to calm him, for he was very much excited.

“My little boy managed to cut his foot frightfully with the axe,” explained the man, drawing a deep breath; “and I’m a poor hand at anything like binding up a bleeding artery. My wife has done the best she knew how, but in spite of the rags she tied around his leg it keeps on bleeding. Say you’ll come back with me, please, and do something for my poor little Josh!”

“To be sure we will!” cried the minister. “It’s Sunday, but the better the day the better the deed. One whom we love and worship went about doing good on the seventh day of the week. I’ll be ready in a minute, my friend. Dick, I’d like you--yes, and Leslie also, to accompany me. Perhaps Mr. Rowland will come with us, if you, Harry, can get along here with both of your assistants gone.”

“To be sure, Mr. Holwell. We are all under your direction and at your disposal, you know.”

Some of the other boys would have been glad to go along, but evidently Mr. Holwell thought he had enough helpers.

“We’ll use one of our boats,” he said as they gathered, ready to depart on their mission of mercy. “We’ll save considerable time by not pushing through the woods to where you landed, sir. Later on you can recover your skiff.”

Accordingly, they started. Dick rowed across to the mainland, and as the lake chanced to be very still he found little difficulty in making fast time. Leslie was fairly itching to take a turn, but Dick laughingly declared he could do his rowing on the way back.

Upon landing they pulled the boat up on the shore, and then, with the farmer acting as pilot, the expedition of relief set forth. Their pilot knew every foot of ground in that neighborhood, and followed a trail that the boys, thanks to his advice, had used in coming back from their visit to his farm in search of provisions.

Now and then the worried father would turn to Mr. Holwell, and the piteous look on his face always brought forth words of hope and cheer from the kind-hearted minister, who knew full well how the man was suffering.

After a short time the party reached the farm. The man hurried them across by way of a short-cut, meanwhile shouting to his wife that he had brought help.

She met them at the door, a pleasant, motherly looking woman, though just then white of face, and evidently suffering greatly.

“Is he still alive, Mother?” gasped the farmer.

“Yes, but the wound still bleeds in spite of everything I can do to stop it!” she told him. Then her eyes fastened on the minister, whose calling she could guess from his white cravat and clerical clothes, donned because of the day. “And oh! sir, I do hope you can do something to help save our boy, even as the Master whom you preach went about doing good for those in trouble,” she pleaded.

“We will do everything possible,” said Mr. Holwell, quietly. “I know very little about surgery myself, but Mr. Rowland, here, has some surgical knowledge, and I’ve heard it said that one of these boys has done things that have won him warm praise from Doctor Bowen in Cliffwood. Please take us to the lad, Madam.”

They found Josh in a bad way, and looking ghastly white, for he had indeed lost a large amount of blood. It was Leslie Capes of whom the minister had spoken so highly as they entered the house. Mr. Rowland had before this discovered Leslie’s dexterity and ability, and motioned to him to go ahead with the work, standing back ready to give instant help if necessary. Without a second’s delay Leslie undid the rude bandages with which the anxious parents had swathed the limb, and exposed the gash.

It was indeed a serious wound, and if no help had come, within another hour or so the boy would probably have died from loss of blood. Dick himself could see that neither of the parents knew the first thing about anatomy, or where to place the knot when they tried to form a tourniquet that could be twisted, and by pressure on the artery cause the bleeding to cease.

The two boys set to work with a vim that pleased Mr. Holwell and Mr. Rowland exceedingly, and it was pitiful to see how the distracted father and mother followed every little move the amateur surgeons made.

First of all Leslie constructed a new tourniquet, and managed to stop the loss of precious life fluid. Then he had the mistress of the house fetch him warm water and a basin, and washed the boy’s foot and leg, after which he bound the limb up.

“You must hurry over to your nearest neighbor, Mr. Jones,” he told the farmer, “and borrow a horse, so as to go to town for a doctor. That artery will have to be sewed, and I’m not quite able to tackle such a job yet, though I hope to do it in time. This tourniquet will prevent the blood from coming, though it isn’t good to keep it on for more than a few hours.”

“Then you think he’ll pull through all right, do you, Doctor?” asked the mother, so filled with gratitude that she gave Leslie a title that he was proud of ever afterwards.

“Not any doubt about it,” he told her, so warmly that the man and his wife turned and looked into each other’s eyes, and then cried for sheer joy as they embraced each other.

Mr. Holwell saw to it that the farmer hurried off to the neighbor’s house, which lay a mile or so further on. He could get a horse there, and reach the nearest town.

Of course none of the party felt like returning to the camp until it was known that the doctor had been reached; so they spent the rest of that never-to-be-forgotten Sunday afternoon on the farm. The good woman of the house bustled about from time to time when she dared leave her boy, and saw to it that the visitors were well looked after, pressing fresh buttermilk upon them, apples and cake and everything that she thought the heart of a genuine boy could wish for.

Finally, when it was getting along toward sunset they heard an automobile coming, and upon sighting it discovered that the farmer, as well as a fat little man with a professional air, occupied the seat of the runabout.

When the physician looked at Leslie’s work he smiled and patted the boy patronizingly on the head.

“Keep on doing this sort of thing, son,” he observed, “and some of these days you are bound to be a good surgeon. I never saw a finer bit of work done, and I’ve been an army surgeon in my time, too, during the Spanish-American war.”

Mr. Holwell said that since they were no longer needed it would be wise for his party to take its departure, especially since the trail led through the dark woods, and they had some two miles to cover before arriving at the lake. So, overwhelmed by the gratitude of Josh’s parents, they presently started forth.

In the gloaming they covered the last half mile of their journey, and the thoughts of the kind-hearted minister were very pleasant ones as he considered that he had been given a gracious opportunity to follow in the footsteps of Him who delighted in going about, Sunday or week-day, doing good to all who were in distress.

“There, you can see the light of our campfire over the water!” said Leslie, presently. “And we’ll soon be in the boat pulling across. My turn to row, remember, Dick, if you please.”