Hedwig’S Secret: War on War

By Sid J. Truscott

It is August 1929 and for weeks, there has been no rain in Athebasca Landing. Jack Bishop is a militarist who enjoys his lively discussions about the Great War with his pacifist friend, Dr. Blackwood. But when duty calls, Colonel Bishop quickly steps into his role as a fire-ranger assigned to protect the forests along the Pembina River. As a fire rages, Bishop falls ill. Now his life lies in the hands of Dr. Blackwood and a devoted German nurse, Ms. Nobil, also known as Hedwig.

After Nurse Hedwig prepares Bishops wife for the worst, he makes a miraculous recovery and must give his nurse credit for her vigilant care, despite Bishops hatred of Germans. As he continues to recover and immerses himself in his work and politics, he knows he will be forever indebted to Hedwig for keeping him alive. But when Hedwig is kidnapped by Rodnunskya blood-sucking octopus from ChicagoGeislinger is sent on a dangerous mission to America to find the nurse and hopefully rescue her from her abductor.

In this historical story, two distinct worlds collide in 1929 when a German nurse is kidnapped and life comes full circle as her fate rests with an unlikely hero.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491751961

Sid J. Truscott

Sidney James Truscott was born in Ontario, in 1874. He worked as a teacher, delivery man for a local store, as a doctor’s assistant, and as a volunteer for youth and his church. In his later years, Sidney and his wife lived in West Vancouver, British Columbia. He died in 1965.

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Chapter I

The Bishop Homestead

It was towards the close of hot, sultry day in August 1929. For four weeks there had been no rain. The grass had assumed a dusty-green hue and the leaves of the poplar, birch and Manitoba maples hung languidly from the branches of the trees at Athabasca Landing. Jack Bishop had finished his day’s work on the farm and had walked into town to get the mail. From the post-office he quite naturally gravitated to that of, the friend of all, whether young or old, Dr. Blackwood.

Jack was the only son of Col. Bishop V. C. who had won his decoration when a private serving in the Boer War, and who had received merited but unsought promotion from the ranks during the War to end war 1914 - 1918. While his father was fighting in France, the son was heart and soul in training as a cadet, while attending Victoria High School, in Edmonton.

To tell the truth, if Hollywood wishing to film the Canadian Mounted Police in their proper setting, had come to Athabasca Landing for material, they would have chosen the son rather than his father, for their hero. If Marshall Foch had wished an officer to lead a suicide-squad against a nest of machine guns, he would have selected one impetuous such as Jack rather than Col. Bishop V. C.

Before we visit the Bishop homestead, let us go to Dr. Blackwood’s office and listen to the start of the conversation which is about to take place there.

There are few who have not seen the inside of an up-to-date doctor’s office. Possibly since there was no hospital in this frontier town, and since this office must serve as dispensary and also as an operating room, it was a little larger and the cupboards were a little more crowded with drugs and fearsome instruments of torture, than those with which you are familiar.

The family physician sat at his desk and was evidently deeply engrossed in some knotty problem. He had just returned from visiting a patient in a new Canadian home, if home it could be called, and was wondering how some of the roughness could be taken out of immigrant life. A shadow appeared in his doorway, and he looked up to see the familiar face of his young friend Jack Bishop. A smile of welcome, beginning in his eyes, removing the lines of worry from his forehead, altering the very shape or his mouth and even his chin, suffused his entire face and gave the lie to his words of greeting.

Hello you young breeder of trouble, said the doctor, extending his hand to grasp Jack’s. Have you been sowing some more seeds of future wars in the innocent minds of your young cadets?

Hardly, replied Jack, but we will not discuss the merits of cadet training to-day. I have another matter to bring to your attention."

Doctor, you have always inferred that rich men are dishonest and are a menace to society. You have held up such men as Grenfell and Livingstone as the only ones that have been of real service to mankind and have challenged me to produce a rich man who lives for the good that he can do.

"I have not had your experience but have at last found a wealthy man whose life will bear comparison with those of your great men. He could travel and enjoy life to the full but he prefers to live and work inconspicuously for the well-being of his fellow man.

This man came to the Landing to spot out the ground for a proposed moose-hunting trip this coming Winter. His chauffeur stopped on the road opposite to where I was working in the field today, and beckoned for me to come to the car.

Mr. Rodnunsky of the firm Of Goldsmith & Rodnunsky, sat in the back seat and I had a very pleasant chat with him. His company has done a lot of prospecting for minerals and oil in the country further to the North and they are now going to open up the salt deposits at Fort McMurray.

Can you not see what that will mean to us? Our young men will find profitable employment and we will all benefit through the development of our great resources. It needed but a great man like Rodnunsky to make this possible. He supplies the money and we get our country on the map."

Benefitted be damned exploded the doctor. Our resources are to be exploited.

That is just the hell of it Jack. It makes my blood fairly boil when I see a man like Rodnunsky, who under his false cloak of philanthropy, which he tries to make believe is his pass-port to Heaven, hides a soul which is rotten to the core. I have no fear that he will be able to deceive St. Peter, but he does delude innocent young men like yourself.

Although Jack and the doctor are bosom pals, every time they meet you may be sure there will be a fight. One is a militarist and the other a pacifist but they are both good clean fighters and can both give and take and if you attempted to take sides with either you would have to fight both. It makes little difference on what subject the argument starts, by channels either direct or devious, it is bound to end up in the question of war. The question of exploitation is easily connected with that of war, so while they are fighting the matter out, we will visit the bishop homestead.

A short distance to the West of the town limits, Mrs. Bishop sat by the open window darning socks. Outside, mosquitoes and other insects buzzed about trying to find an opening in the screen. There was, at times, a noisy clanging of the cow-bells as the animals moved through the smoke of the smudges that were smouldering in the corrals. The farm dog added his notes to the evening sounds. Possibly his keen sense of smell had given him notice that there was a slinking coyote somewhere in the neighbourhood and the guardian of the farm was warning the marauder to be off about his business.

Doubtless on some former reconnoitring expedition this sly denizen of the prairie had seen that a foolish hen had, as she thought, hidden her nest in a clump of willows at some distance from the Chicken-house, and was hoping to steal a march on the egg gatherer, and to raise her family there. On that occasion he would gladly have persuaded the hen to accompany him to his den farther up the river where his wife and his fine litter of pups would have received her with open mouths, but that confounded dog had registered very decided objections to any such arrangement. The coyote, rather than have a row with the farm sentinel, had retired to a safe distance where he sat down on his haunches to give the matter due consideration. Although the water dripped from his mouth in anticipation of some future meeting with the amiable hen, he finally decided to await a more opportune moment.

On this particular evening the cunning animal felt drawn towards the hen but the evening breeze had carried his scent to the nostrils of the watch dog. The latter’s hair bristled up on his shoulders until they seemed like needles and he dashed in the direction of the coyote, barking furiously. The native animal made an orderly retreat; but this time he became really mad. He did not intend to be again balked.

The coyote is a born ventriloquist and is probably Nature’s greatest show-man. For the benefit of the dog he now put on an act. From far and near and on every side came the staccato yapping of innumerable coyotes in tones varying from indignation to dire threats of complete annihilation. They told the poor lone dog as plainly as could be, We will tear you to pieces, and then voices came from the distance, Wait for us fellows. We want to be in at the finish.

The dog retired towards the willow bush where he again issued his challenge and decided to make his last stand. But help was at hand. The barking of the dog and the yapping of the coyote had awakened the neighbours’ dogs and now the numbers seemed more equal.

The coyote realized that his first act had become a flop and he melted away from the foot-lights and soon the theatre was in darkness and comparative quietness.

In the bright moonlight we see standing in a grove of spruce trees, about a stone’s throw from the Peace River highway, an attractive house of peeled logs. Back of the house and a little lower on down are the stables and other farm buildings which have been arranged with considerable thought. The buildings were all situated on the bank of a ravine leading into the Athabasca river.

One glance at the big fields, the well-kept fences and buildings would satisfy the most casual observer that Colonel Bishop must be a man of some consequence in the district.

Before we were drawn away by the din of the heroic though bloodless skirmish of the watch-dog and the coyote, we left Mrs. Bishop, learning only that she was thrifty and industrious. She placed implicit confidence in her faithful watch-dog and was not deeply affected by the scene of near tragedy which was being enacted outside her door.

Let us now return to learn more about the lady of the house.

The mother anxiously scans the Western horizon. The sky is filled with great clouds of smoke and the sun seems like a great ball of fire, or perhaps like an enormous seal to signify the end of another day with all its unfinished tasks and its record of good and evil deeds. The good woman is not now thinking of this however. To her the red sun and the clouds indicate smoke and she knows that smoke comes from fire. This fire may be burning valuable timber or it may even be destroying all the earthly possessions of immigrants who are struggling manfully to earn a living. But where is Colonel Bishop?

On his return to Canada from Flander’s Fields, Colonel Bishop was appointed to the position of fire-ranger whose duty it was to protect the forests along the Pembina River. This timber was essential to the well-being of the settlers and the danger of fires whether caused by lightning, careless homesteaders, trappers, hunters or lumbermen, was always imminent. It was the guardian’s business to prevent the start of conflagrations or to secure fighters to extinguish incipient blazes.

A better man could not have been found for the job. His rugged constitution, good common sense, experience of pioneer life and knowledge of the country, all served in good stead. He was too, a born leader of men and always got the best that they could give.

Chapter II

Forest Fire On The Pembina River

While Jack Bishop and the Athabasca doctor were pleasantly engaged in their little discussion, a messenger arrived with the news that their presence was requested at the town hall. A rider had arrived in town on a horse covered with foam. Colonel Bishop needed help to fight a forest fire on the Pembina River. These frontier men of action wasted no words and in a few minutes a launch was chartered for the next morning to take fire fighters to the scene of action. It would pick up Jack on its way up-stream.

Jack hurried home to arrange for his departure and at sun-rise the next morning he and his mother were down at the river.

In a few minutes the launch came putt-putting around the bend. There was no time to waste so Jack kissed his mother good-bye and was soon on his way up-stream.

The valley of the Athabasca was dense with smoke. At times the steersman could scarcely see the banks, and on several occasions, they ran aground on gravel bars in the river bed. This did not delay them long for each time the men stepped out in the shallow water and pushed the launch back into deeper water.

Almost blinded with smoke and well nigh choked they arrived at the mouth of the Pembina and left the Athabasca to proceed up the tributary stream. From this on they had to go very slowly indeed. Not only was the channel much narrower but the smoke was much thicker. Almost by accident they saw a cabin on the river flat and pulled in to investigate.

This shack belonged to a half-breed trapper named Abe De Lorme. Mrs. De Lorme, his wife, was a full-blooded Indian and her three small children, one of which was just able to crawl about, stood with their grimy faces ha1f hidden in the folds of their mother’s flowing skirt. They reminded one of three still rabbits looking shyly from the protection of a clump of willows.

Mrs. De Lorme had the Indian stoicism. She did not appear to appreciate her danger. Though no doubt inconvenienced by the smoke, she did not show it. If the fire burned her cabin, the river was near. She must have known that the fire would drive the game from the country or destroy it. Oh we11, Abe could move to another part where there was game to trap and fish to eat. It might be alright for a pale-face to worry, but an Indian would not be so foolish.

Mrs. De Lorme told the party in a mixture of Cree and English, but largely by signs, that a man answering the description of Colonel Bishop, had made a fireguard around her cabin and had then taken Abe away with him. She was not anxious about her husband for he could take care of himself. No, she did not need any food. If she could not catch any fresh fish, there were some smoked ones hanging from the rafters in the shack and she had some tea in a can. She was alright.

The launch again proceeded slowly through the smoke, up the river. The auxiliary fire fighters must first locate the fire guardian and place themselves under his orders. He would know the extent of the fire and the strategic places at which to attack the enemy. They could not hope to do much more than merely watch the conflagration during the day while it blazed fiercely, but would have to make herculean efforts during the night when the wind would go down and the dew somewhat retard the flames. The fire was evidently started on the west side of the river and must have burned over a comparatively small area as yet.

The bed of the river would be some one hundred and, fifty feet below the level of the surrounding country. During the ages, the water from the melting snow in the Rocky Mountains had been gradually wearing its way, deeper and deeper through the alluvial soil. Its course at first very crooked, as the water wandered here and there to find a low spot through which it might escape to its home in the sea, was getting more and more crooked as age after age passed. The current was always strongest next the cut bank. This obstruction deflected the water to one a little lower downstream on the opposite shore, which in turn again started the current across, to tear away the other side and to form another cut bank. The valley thus consisted of a cut bank with a flat directly opposite, and the lower end of this flat ended in a cut bank with a flat on the other shore. Following along either side cut banks and river flats alternated.

The flats might be heavily wooded or covered with a luxuriant growth of grass, interspersed with clumps of willows. In either case the dead grass of years, or fallen trees lay on the ground, crossed and criss-crossed with plenty of dried grass and leaves amongst their branches, thus providing fuel for both a quick and lasting fire. Even where the timbers were standing green, there were dead leaves and fallen trees of many years rotting at their base.

The launch had gone about a mile up the Pembina, when it was met by three men in a punt. Colonel Bishop was on a trip of inspection to make sure the fire had not crossed to the right or east bank of the river, and to locate the places of more imminent danger. The breeze blew from the west-north-west, and the fire was probably eating its way slowly west against the wind, but was spreading more rapidly in the direction of the river. If he could prevent it from getting across, it would soon burn itself out on the more dangerous side. He could then attack it from the rear with more assured hope of success. In places the flames had already reached the water, and opposite these danger spots he had stationed men to put out any incipient fires which might be started by burning cinders eddying high into the air and carried across the river by the wind.

Friends would have looked twice ere they recognized the Colonel. Hands, arms, face and bosom were black with soot and streaked from perspiration. Holes had been burned through both shirt and overalls and snags had entered these to complete the work of destruction until a snap-shot of the highly respectable officer would have made a first class ‘ad’ for a coloured rag-man.

Colonel Bishop was glad to get reinforcements. He needed the men and the launch would be very useful to carry them more quickly where they were most needed. He welcomed the report Jack gave him, that farther down the river everything was safe as yet. There were some strategic places farther up-stream which he had recognized on his way down. Tying the punt to the launch, it was towed against the current.

They had gone but a little way when they came to a flat on the west bank which the fire had just reached. Fierce sheets of lurid flame shot high into the air and great belching clouds of dense smoke curled and rolled upward as if hurrying to escape from an inferno below. There had been no fire on this flat for years and there was a great accumulation of fallen trees, dry as tinder, through which a second growth of spruce, poplar, birch and alder had attained to considerable size.

The flat on the opposite side just a little lower downstream, was not wooded but had a very rank growth of grass with clumps of willows scattered here and there. The dead accumulation of previous years rested thickly upon the ground. Should a glowing ember eddy across the river in the numerous whirlwinds caused by the fire and light in this dead grass, it would spring into flame. Then as if by magic the whole flat would be one mass of fire. Scouts of flames would advance from the main army and in the intense heat, pick their way up the less grassy hillside, reach the dead grass on top and spread over the whole country-side. This was the dread of the fire-fighters.

Jack volunteered to take charge at this point of danger. He was assigned three men, and the launch left them and threaded its way up the river.

It was not the first time Jack Bishop had fought prairie or bush fires, and he fully realized the danger. The wind was blowing stronger and the fire was greedily eating its way through the timber on the opposite flat. Great burn-embers were carried high in the whirlpools of air and fell hissing into the river. No time must be lost. He must start at the lower end of the flat and at the bottom of the slope and back-fire where the grass was not so rank. Here perhaps they could control the flames and make a guard. Then it would be safe to let the flat burn back against the wind to the river. He would ignite the grass and thus rob the enemy of his supplies.

The air was sultry, the smoke dense and bitter. Their eyes were inflamed, they were choking and at times had to bury their faces in the grass to escape the denser clouds of acrid smoke that rolled past. When for brief moments they could see the sun through the opaque clouds, he appeared to be a great ball of red fire. But there was work to do and it must be done at once. The Colonel had warned Jack that if the worst should happen, he was to leave the fire and go take to the water. Jack had made up his mind he would do that when his work was finished and not before.

The flat was about three-quarters of a mile in length and in the middle about, one quarter of a mile deep. It terminated at either end in a cut-bank, the foot of which extended to the water. There was little or no grass there and not sufficient fuel to carry a fire.

Starting at the lower end of the flat, the fighters first dipped their handkerchiefs in water and tied them in a single fold over their nostrils to offer some protection against smoke and cinders. One man was kept busy carrying pails of water from the river, while two men had gunny-sacks which they constantly wet to beat out the fires which Jack was frantically carrying along the hillside to make a guard. When he came to clumps of willows these gave him much