XVI THE STORY OF A ROLLER BANDAGE

The day was very hot, and I was very tired. The flies were buzzing thick around me and it was impossible for me to keep awake over the book which slipped from my fingers and fell on the floor. I stretched myself for one of those delightful noonday naps which, in spite of the heat and the flies, revive the life of the missionary and make him ready for the work of the afternoon, and as I slept, I dreamed a dream.

I was walking up towards the mission hospital, when what should I see coming down the steps but a roller bandage, walking along as happy as could be, and after exchanging the usual Arab greeting of “Salaam,” he told me this story:

“I suppose you have never heard of me before, and I am sure you never will unless I introduce myself and unroll the story of my short but interesting life.

“A little, round, fat body like me may have a long story to tell; for when I lie at full length I measure four yards without stretching the truth one bit.

“It is only six months ago, as far as I remember, that I was part of a fine new piece of white muslin in the store window of a merchant, and had no name or place or mission of my own in this big world. One day the salesman reached out and took the piece of muslin down. It was sent with a lot of other purchases to the home of a lady (I think her name was Phœbe or Dorcas) greatly interested in foreign missions.

“The next thing I knew, the willing hands and deft fingers of a band of little folks tore me from my seven sisters and rolled me up so snug and tight that none would imagine I was only a strip of cloth. And then, when a bright new pin was stuck on my breast, really I began to feel quite important. The following day I was put into a pasteboard box with three dozen other roller bandages, and I remember hearing a short prayer, just as they tied down the cover, that God would bless us on our errand of mercy to dark Arabia.

“Time would fail me to tell of the days we spent in the basement of the building of the Board of Foreign Missions, waiting to be put in our corner of a big box, and of all the interesting things I learned from those who spoke about the heathen and Mohammedans while they were packing supplies for the various mission fields. You know I never knew there were so many doctors and nurses, and so many hospitals and dispensaries—not to speak of schools and other things under the care of our Board.

“Finally, the box that was to be my prison house for two long months was tumbled into a dray and taken to the North River pier. There they lifted us into the dark hold of a ship; the sailors fastened down the hatches; the whistle blew, and we were off for the long voyage.

“Being a roller bandage from my earliest youth, I did not at all mind the motion of the vessel; but some of the dolls and picture cards were all upset.

“When we reached Bombay we were transferred with a great deal of unnecessary noise to another ship bound for the Persian Gulf. I remember that I was curious to know at which port of the Gulf I would disembark. One of the biggest roller bandages said he knew, for he had heard the New York lady tell the children that these bandages were for the Mason Memorial Hospital at Bahrein, Arabia. All were not agreed.

“A many-tailed bandage said he thought we were going to Busrah to help in the dispensary there, but a T bandage, which has three ends to it and is shaped like a big letter T, contradicted him, and there came near being a quarrel. The little bandages, however, with one accord smoothed it over by saying: ‘Wait and you will see.’

“The big roller bandage was right. When the British India steamer entered Bahrein harbour with a large cargo of rice and tea and Manchester goods, the missionary boxes got mixed up with the rest, and were put over the ship’s side into native boats.

“Such a hubbub and shouting! I knew we were among Arabs and in the land of Ishmael, although I could not understand one word of their strange language.

“From the cargo boat we were carried on the back of a donkey through the surf to the custom-house, and thence once again to the hospital. I cannot say I enjoyed the donkey ride. The boy who drove the beast had an awkward way of turning sharp corners in the narrow streets, and then the big packing case would bump hard against a stone wall, and give us an awful shaking.

“It was a relief to hear the voices of our new friends. Soon the box was opened, and we saw daylight once more. The sheets and blankets were put to immediate use in the general ward; the dolls put away for Christmas; while we were taken to the operating-room, and put behind glass doors on a shelf. Even though I was not an eye bandage, I could easily see that we were occupying the best room in the entire hospital, and I distinctly heard one of the ladies say: ‘These bandages are fine.’

“You can imagine that we kept our eyes and ears open after such a welcome. Well, it was rather monotonous, after all. Every day, nearly, the doctor had some sort of eye patient on the table, and consequently the eye bandages put on airs of great importance. We waited impatiently.

“One day a nurse came in suddenly and seized me by my throat and took me without ceremony to the general ward, a big room with twelve beds in it.

“On the stretcher, in the middle of the floor, lay an Arab, looking very untidy and weak, and in great pain. I heard his story. His name was Ahmed bin Haroon, and he was a poor fisherman from the distant village of Zillag. Zillag is one of those little struggling hamlets on the Island of Bahrein to which the missionaries occasionally make zigzag journeys, visiting the people to carry them Gospels or to invite the sick to the hospital. The day before, very early in the morning, while he was mending his nets and collecting his fish, a robber came, stabbed him twice in his abdomen, and taking the fish, ran away.

“The poor man had two nasty cuts, deep and dangerous, and I heard them say while cleaning the wounds that he would probably not live. Though he looked so ignorant and dirty, I really felt sorry for the poor fellow, and wondered if I could be of much help. After the doctor put on the dressings, my turn came. In fact, I had more turns than I have ever had since, all in the space of five minutes. Round and round that Arab they wound me close. But to see the look of gratitude on his face when, in a clean shirt and on a nice spring bed, with me for company, he opened his eyes—well, it was worth the long journey, I can tell you. Over our bed there was a chart with No. 109, and the man’s name on it. There were also curious zigzag lines drawn every morning and evening across the chart. The doctor put these lines there, for I saw him do it, after inserting a fever thermometer in the patient’s mouth. I soon learned to know whether the line would go up or down by counting the heart-beats of my companion. Of course, being so close together, we learned to like each other, and I one day explained to him how the people away off in America had sent me as their little missionary for his comfort. On the opposite side of the ward there is a picture of Christ healing a blind man, which we used to look at.

“They prayed for No. 109 and read a little to him, but I am sure he understood what I told him much better. You see, until he got hurt he was very suspicious of Christians and believed all sorts of foolish things about them. Now he talked with the other patients and watched what was done for him, and felt me near him; it was a new life for him. His condition became more hopeful every day; I knew it by the way he began to enjoy his soup. Not that I was with him all the time myself. No; the other roller bandages had their turn, and I heard the rest of the story from them. Ahmed bin Haroon was discharged nearly cured on the first day of the Moslem fast month. He came back after for a visit, and is going about his work—the same fisherman. Only there is no telling how much he may think of what he saw and heard while he mends his nets at Zillag. And the missionaries are sure of a warm welcome in that village ever hereafter.

“The day I was taken off duty and said good-bye to my patient I met such a lot of bandages down-stairs in the surgery; there seemed no end of them! Of course, most of them were common, from the Bahrein bazaar, and unbleached, but they had good stories to tell, nevertheless. I heard it stated on good authority that over a thousand yards of bandages were used up in one month. And when I saw the number of men, women and children with ulcers and abscesses, sitting on the veranda that day, I did not doubt the fact. Only I wish I could have told it to that salesman in New York and to the kind lady. Then there would have been more of us; for I am sure it is no trouble for the boys and girls to make rollers of us.

“My end was near. In spite of all that I had done for the hospital, the sweeper carried me out in a bucket, and then, without ceremony or apology, the whole pile of us were set on fire, and we went up in a chariot like Elijah.”

He ended his story, and as I looked at him, I was just about to say: “How did you ever get back here out of the bucket and the fire to come and tell me your story?” but when I began to speak, the bandage speedily disappeared, and so did the hospital, and I awoke from my dream. The hospital records, however, show how the story of the bandage is true in every particular.