Beneath Red Tail Wings Rescue

Rescue

Birds were singing. He must be lying in the four poster with the balcony doors open to catch an errant breeze. Matthew’s heart reveled in gratitude. For some reason he was especially glad to hear those chirping ditties that used to drive him mad when he wanted to lie in on school mornings. He was safe now. Somehow all was forgiven and he was home. He waited for his mother to come to him with a cool glass of spring water. Where was she? He was so thirsty.

Father Arturo shook his head in great dismay. Brother Finley worked at his side through the night washing away the filth and cleaning infected wounds across the young man’s back and sides. Finley worked with tears in his own eyes until sent away to sleep. In four hours they would trade places beside the cot in the ongoing effort to save this poor soul found in an filthy alley just off the waterfront.

When conscious, the man struggled against the bindings that kept him on his stomach. His back was exposed to the air, the flesh extremely raw from the lancing of the wounds and the harsh carbolic acid wash. The priest hoped he would not be reduced to begging honey or vinegar to keep the wounds clean of further infection.

He was grateful a recent graduate of Tolands Medical College had dared to set up practice nearby. The young English doctor was brimming with enthusiasm and new ideas, but had a razor sharp tongue. That was evident when they were all flayed for washing the wounds out with the carbolic, which was supposed to be used to clean the room! Father Arturo feared the realities of life the seamen endured would crush the young man’s idealism and fervor.

There was certainly little money to support a practice. The doctor would probably leave for a more prosperous part of town and perhaps do charitable work out of St. Mary’s. For now Father Arturo would be grateful to God for His mercy and timely intervention that this life may be saved.

Collapsing onto the stool, Arturo’s prayers gave way to the meditative stanzas of the Rosary through which he asked the Blessed Mother to pray for the boy’s deliverance. Jesus would surely see to it he roused if the poor soul took a turn for the worse. The exhausted man ignored the racket from the street. The humid air was not very good for a sick soul, heavy with foul odors as it was. But leaving the boy to breath air thick with sick and blood could not be good either. So they left the shutters ajar.

Shouting men carried on with the labor of the day.  Harness jangled, horses and mules whinnied and brayed. The high pitched voices of children piped up hawking the home grown vegetables for their mothers. The meager goods were spread out on blankets in the street. The less fortunate children handed out advertising bills from more nefarious employers. Occasionally the sounds would escalate, fueled by arguments and the crack of whips. When the day began to wane, hysterical laughter and screams would add to the chaotic music from the saloons and cribs several blocks away. These dens of iniquity enticed the day laborers to throw away their pitiful earnings on drink and fornication. They were a small part of the overwhelming number that infested the city like fleas.

The priest’s efforts to turn men from this folly had not been fruitful. Father Arturo labored against a rising tide of sin from the clapboard structure his group moved into. After driving out the rats and roaches, they offered reasonably clean cots and what medicine they had available from donations. Sometimes medicine was what they stirred up in the kitchen. There were a few men who turned up for confession, weeping over their inability to fight the addiction to liquor and opium. Prayers were said, comfort given and the cycle would begin again. By the Grace of God he escaped many promised beatings from the owner of the local establishments. The sailors and freight drivers threatened to burn the saloon down if hands were laid on a priest or the lay brothers who offered them succor. Sometimes that care was only reasonably clean water and rags to wash away blood, before these men waded back into the cesspit that was their daily life.

Father Arturo dipped the chair back against the gray wall to rest his aching head. Brother Finley woke him up at dawn. The lay brother was upset about resting all night while the priest remained on watch. Arturo listened, mildly amused, to the tirade as he checked on their sleeping patient once more.