The Moving Picture Girls in War Plays
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Laura Lee Hope >> The Moving Picture Girls in War Plays
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The rehearsal went on and finally the director announced that he was
satisfied. Then the scenes were enacted over again, but with more
tenseness and with a knowledge that every motion was being filmed with
startling exactness.
"Now, Ruth, you come on!" called Mr. Pertell. "We've made a little
change from the original scenario. You're to relieve Miss Dixon, who has
been on this case. He's one of the Northern officers, you remember, and
he has with him papers that the Confederacy would do much to get.
"They are under the officer's pillow, you know. He is afraid to let them
out of his possession. You must humor him, though you know that the
papers will soon have to be taken away as he is to be operated on. It is
here that Alice, as the spy, gets her chance. She pretends to be one of
the nurses of this hospital, dons the uniform, and comes in here to get
the papers. Are you ready?"
"Yes," answered Ruth.
Then the big hospital scene began.
Ruth, in her garb of a nurse, took her place at the side of the injured
officer's cot. She felt his pulse, took his temperature and administered
some medicine. Then the injured man, who was Mr. DeVere himself, sank
back on his pillows. His hand went under the mass of feathers and
brought out a packet of papers. At this point a close-up view was taken,
showing on the screen the papers in magnified shape, so that the
audience could note that they were Civil War documents. It was these
that the officer was afraid would fall into the hands of the
Confederates, so he kept them ever near him.
Ruth made as if to remove them when he had placed them under the pillow
again, but he awoke with a start and prevented her. This was to show
that it was necessary for some one to take them while the operation was
being performed.
Then the scene changed to show Alice preparing for her work as a spy.
The camera was taken to another part of the hospital, Ruth and her
father having a respite, though they maintained their positions.
"Did I do all right, Daddy?" asked Ruth.
"Very well, indeed. You are getting to be a good actress. I wish you
were on the speaking stage."
"I like this ever so much better. I never could speak before a whole
crowd."
Alice was shown making her way into the hospital, a previous scene
having depicted her as promising the Confederate officer in whose employ
as a spy she was, that she would get the papers. She entered the
hospital, pretending to be in search of a missing relative. Then,
watching her chance, she prepared a sleeping powder for a tired and
half-sleeping nurse off duty and prepared to take her uniform.
Alice played her part well. The sleeping nurse aroused, took the drugged
drink, and went more soundly to sleep than ever. Then Alice was shown in
the act of taking off the uniform. Another scene showed her walking
boldly into the ward room to relieve Ruth.
There was a little scene between the two sisters, and Ruth registered
that Alice must be very careful not to alarm or shock the wounded man
who was soon to undergo the operation.
Alice acquiesced, and then sat down beside the cot. Slowly and
carefully, like some pickpocket, she inserted her fingers under the
pillow. Amid a tenseness that affected even the actors working with her,
Alice took out the papers, inch by inch, and began to move away with
them.
It was at this point that she was to be discovered by Paul, in the next
bed. He had, in a previous scene, supposed to have taken place several
months before, saved Alice's life, and they had fallen in love, Alice
promising to wed him after the war. He supposed her to be a true
Northern girl, and now he discovered that she was a Southern spy.
There was a strong scene here. Paul leaped from his bed, and tried to
get the papers away from Alice. She, horror-stricken at being discovered
as a spy by her lover, is torn between affection for him and duty to the
South. She throws him from her, as he is weakened by illness, and is
about to escape with the papers, when she fears Paul is dying and she is
stricken with remorse. She decides to give up her task for the sake of
her lover.
Slowly and softly, without awakening the old officer, she puts the
papers back under his pillow and then, stooping over Paul, who has
fainted from loss of blood, she kisses his forehead and goes out in a
"fadeaway."
"Good! Great! Couldn't be better!" cried Mr. Pertell, as Alice came out
of range of the camera. "That was better than I dared to hope. This will
make a big hit!"
CHAPTER XXIII
A BAD FALL
"Have you made up your mind yet, Estelle?"
"No, Ruth! I haven't. I don't know what to do."
The two girls were in Estelle's room. Miss Brown was putting some
protective padding under her outer garments, for in a little while she
was to take part in a desperate ride--one of the last scenes in the big
war play--a ride that had a part in a cavalry charge that was to be made
by the desperate Confederates on the hosts of Unionists, who were
closing in on their enemies. It was to be the last battle--a final stand
of the Southern States, and they were to lose.
But Estelle was to make a desperate ride to try to save the day. This
time she was to pose as a daughter of the South. The ride would
necessarily be a reckless one, and Estelle felt that she might fall; so
she was preparing for it.
"I don't know what to do," she went on to Ruth, who was helping her.
"Sometimes I feel like doing as you and your sister suggest, and let
your father into the secret--and Mr. Pertell too--and have them try what
they can do to discover who I am.
"Then again, as I think it over, I'm afraid. Suppose I should turn out
to be some one altogether horrid?"
"You couldn't, my dear, not if you tried. But if you don't want my
father to know, and would rather work out this mystery yourself, why, I
won't say another word."
"I want to think about it a little more," Estelle said.
They had been talking about her strange case, and the possible outcome
of it. Alice had suggested that a motion picture story be written around
it.
"It could be called 'Who is Estelle Brown?'" Alice said, "and it could
be a serial. You could pose in it, Estelle, and make a lot of money.
And, not only that, but you'd find out who your relatives were, I'm
sure."
"Oh, I couldn't do it!" Estelle had cried. "I'd like the money, of
course. I never was so happy as when I found I had a purse full when I
was on that Cleveland boat! But I could not capitalize my misfortune
that way."
"No, I was only joking," said Alice. And so the matter had gone on. Now
Ruth had broached the subject again, and Estelle was still undecided.
"Wait until after this big ride of mine," she said. "Then I'll make up
my mind. I really do want to know who I am, and I think, after this
engagement, if I don't find out before, I'll go to Boston again. I'm
sure my people are from that vicinity."
So it was left.
From outside came the stirring notes of a bugle. At the sound of it Ruth
and Estelle started.
"That's the signal," said the latter. "I must hurry."
"I'll help you," offered Ruth, and she assisted in the tying of the last
strings, and the snapping of the final fastenings of the suit of
protective padding the rider wore.
"You don't take part in the actual charge, do you?" asked Alice, who
came in at this point.
"Well, I have to ride ahead of the Union forces for a way," Estelle
answered. "But I'm not afraid. Petro will carry me safely, as he has
done before."
The girls went down and out into the yard. Off on the distant meadow of
Oak Farm, which had been turned into a battlefield for the time being,
were two hostile armies. The two regiments of cavalry were to meet in a
final clash that was to end the war. There was to be the firing of many
rifles and cannon. There were to be charges and countercharges. Men
would fall from their horses shot dead. Certain horses, trained for the
work, would stumble and fall, going down with those who rode them, the
men having learned how to roll out of the way without getting a broken
arm or leg. In spite of their training and practice, nearly all expected
to be scratched and bruised. However, it was all part of the game and in
the day's work.
"All ready now!" called Mr. Pertell. "We're going to have the first
skirmish, and, after that, Miss Brown, you are to do your ride. Are you
ready?"
"Yes," Estelle told the director.
The signal was given through the field telephone and then, with his
ever-present megaphone, the director began to issue his orders.
The rifles cracked, the big guns rumbled and roared, smoke blew across
the battlefield and horses snorted and pawed at the ground impatient to
be off and in the charge. To them it was real, even though their masters
knew it was only for the movies.
Bugles tooted their inspiring calls, and the officers, who knew the
significance of the cadence of notes, issued their orders accordingly.
"Deploy to the left!" came the command to a squad of Union cavalry, and
the men trotted off, to try a flank movement. Then came the firing of a
Confederate battery in a desperate attempt to scatter the Union forces.
All the camera men in the employ of the Comet Film Company were engaged
this day, and Russ was at his wits' end to keep each machine loaded with
film, and to see that his own was working properly.
Pop Snooks had never before been called on to provide so many "props" as
he was for this occasion, but he thoroughly enjoyed the work, and when,
at the last minute, he had to make a rustic bridge whereon two lovers
had a farewell before the soldier rode off to battle, the veteran
property man improvised one out of bean poles and fence rails that made
a most artistic picture.
"They'll have to get up the day before breakfast to beat Pop Snooks!"
exclaimed Russ, admiringly.
All was now ready for the big cavalry charge.
"All ready!" came the order from Mr. Pertell. "Cameras!"
And the cranks began to work, reeling off the sensitive film.
The two bodies of cavalry rushed toward one another, hoofs thundering,
carbines cracking, sabres flashing in the sun, white puffs of smoke
showing where the cannon were firing.
"Now Miss Brown!" yelled the director, above the riot of noise. "This is
where you make the ride of your life!"
"All right!" answered the brave girl, and, giving rein to her horse, she
dashed off ahead of a detachment of cavalry that was to try to intercept
her.
On and on rode Estelle. Ruth and Alice, who had finished their part in
this scene, stood on a little hill, watching her.
On and on dashed Estelle, doing her part well, and foot after foot of
the film registered her action. She was almost at the end now. She
reached the Confederate ranks, gave over the message she had carried
through such danger, and then, turning her horse, dashed away.
How it happened no one could tell. But suddenly Petro stumbled, and
though Estelle tried to keep him on his feet she could not.
"Oh--oh!" gasped Ruth. "Look!" and then she turned her head away so as
not to see.
Alice had a flash of Estelle flying over the head of her falling horse,
and then, unable to stop, the rushing soldiers on their horses rode over
the very place where Estelle had fallen.
CHAPTER XXIV
A DENIAL OF IDENTITY
Confused shouts, cries, and orders echoed over the field, Mr. Pertell,
dropping his megaphone, rushed toward the scene of the accident, calling
on Russ to follow and yelling back an order to have the stretcher men
and the doctor follow him.
Dr. Wherry was even then waiting in readiness, for it had been feared
that this big scene might result painfully, if not dangerously, for more
than one. Some men had also been detailed as stretcher bearers and were
in waiting.
"Shall we film this?" asked one of Russ's helpers, as the former dashed
past on his way to help Estelle.
"No. Don't take that accident. It won't fit in with the rest of the
film. It's all right up to that point, though. We can make a retake of
the last few feet if we have to."
Even in this time of danger and suspense it was necessary to think of
the play. That must go on, no matter what happened to the players.
"Go on with the cavalry charge--farther over!" directed Mr. Pertell,
when he arrived on the scene and found a group of men about the fallen
girl. "You can't do any good here. We'll look after her. I can't delay
any longer on this scene. Go on with the charge, and carry out the
program as it was outlined to you. Russ, you look after the camera men."
"What about Estelle?"
"Dr. Wherry and I will see to her."
The girl's golden hair was tumbled about her head, having come loose and
fallen from under her hat in her fall. She lay in a senseless heap at
one side of her horse. The animal had not gotten up, and at first it was
thought he had been killed. But it developed that Estelle had trained
him to play "dead" after a fall of this kind, and the intelligent
creature must have thought this was one of those occasions.
"Easy with her, boys," cautioned the director, as the stretcher men
tenderly picked up the limp form. "She may have some broken bones."
They placed her carefully on the stretcher and bore her to the hospital.
Mrs. Maguire was ready to assist the trained nurse, who was kept ready
for just such emergencies.
"The poor little dear!" exclaimed the motherly Irish woman. "Poor little
dear!"
Meanwhile, the cavalry charge went on. Estelle had done her part in
this. Was it the last part she was to play?
Ruth and Alice asked themselves this as they hurried toward the
hospital.
"Oh, if she should be killed!" gasped Ruth.
"Wouldn't it be dreadful? And no one to tell who she really is," added
Alice. "We must go to her."
"Yes, as soon as they will let us see her," agreed Ruth.
Dr. Wherry and the trained nurse were busy over the injured girl. A
quick examination disclosed no broken bones, but it could not yet be
told whether or not there were internal injuries. They could only wait
for her to recover consciousness and hope for the best. All that could
be done was done.
"Plucky little girl!" murmured Mr. Pertell, when told that Estelle was
resting easily, but was still insensible. "She must have seen that she
was going to have a bad fall, but she kept on and saved the film for us.
We won't have to retake her scene at all--merely cut out the accident.
Do your best for her, Dr. Wherry."
"I will, you may be sure."
Ruth and Alice were told that they could see Estelle as soon as she
recovered consciousness, and it was safe for visitors to be admitted.
And several hours after the accident the nurse, Miss Lyon, came to
summon them from their room, where they were waiting.
"She has opened her eyes," Miss Lyon said.
"Did she ask for us?" Alice asked.
"I can't say that she did. She seems dazed yet. Sometimes in falls like
this, where the head is injured, it is days before the patient realizes
what has happened."
"Is her head injured?" Ruth inquired.
"Yes, she seems to have received a hard blow on it. Whether there is a
fracture or a concussion Dr. Wherry had not yet determined. It will take
a little time to decide. Meanwhile, you may see her, just for a moment."
Alice and Ruth softly entered the room where Estelle lay on a white bed.
Her face was pale, but her eyes were bright. There was a subtle odor of
disinfectants, of opiates and of other drugs in the room--a veritable
hospital atmosphere.
"Don't startle her," cautioned the nurse, motioning for silence.
"We'll be careful," promised Alice, in a whisper.
The two sisters approached the bed. Estelle looked at them but, strange
to say, there was no look of recognition in her eyes. Ruth and Alice
might have been two strangers for all the notice Estelle took of them.
"She--she doesn't know us," whispered Ruth.
"She will, as soon as you speak," said Miss Lyon. "Just talk to her in a
low voice, but naturally. She'll know you then, I'm sure."
"How--how are you feeling?" asked Ruth, in a whisper.
There was no response--no light of recognition in the eyes.
"A little louder and call her by name," suggested the nurse.
"You try, Alice," Ruth whispered.
Her sister stepped to the bedside.
"Estelle, don't you know me?" Alice asked.
The eyes turned in the direction of the voice.
"Were you speaking to me?" came the question, and both Ruth and Alice
started at the changed tones of their friend.
"Yes, to you," Alice answered.
"I--I _don't_ know you," was the gentle response.
"Don't you know me--Alice DeVere? And this is my sister, Ruth. Don't you
know us, Estelle?"
"Is your name Estelle?" came the query.
"No, that is _your_ name," and Alice smiled, though a cold hand seemed
to be clutching at her heart. "That is your name--you are Estelle. Don't
you remember?"
"Estelle what? Who is Estelle?"
"You are. You are Estelle Brown! Don't you know your own name?"
The golden head on the white pillow was slowly moved from side to side.
The bright eyes showed no sign of recognition. Then came the gentle
voice:
"I am not Estelle Brown. I don't know her. What do you mean? I don't
know any of you. Why am I here? What has happened? I wish you would take
me home at once. I live at the Palace."
"What--what does she mean?" gasped Ruth, looking in alarm at the nurse.
"I don't know. Perhaps she is delirious and imagines she is playing in
the moving pictures. Was there a palace scene?"
"Not since she joined the company. But why does she deny her identity?"
"I can not say. Sometimes after an injury like this happens, people say
queer things. We had better not disturb her further. I'll call Dr.
Wherry."
Alice made one more effort to bring recollection to Estelle.
"Don't you know me, dear?" she asked softly. "I am Alice--your friend
Alice. This is Ruth, and you are Estelle Brown, from Boston, you know."
"Boston? I was never in Boston. And I am not Estelle Brown. You must be
mistaken."
Her eyes roved around the hospital room, and a look of pain and fright
dimmed them. Then, seeming to fear that she had been unkind, she said
gently to Alice:
"I am sorry I do not know you, for you are trying to help me, I am sure.
But I never heard the name Estelle Brown. I am not she--that is certain.
If you would only take me home! My people will be worried. We live at
the Palace and----"
She tried to raise herself up in bed. A look of pain came over her face,
and she fell back with closed eyes.
"She has fainted!" cried Miss Lyon. "I must get Dr. Wherry at once!
Don't disturb her!"
She hastened off, while Ruth and Alice, not knowing what to think, went
softly from the room.
CHAPTER XXV
REUNION
"Nothing but a passing fancy," said Dr. Wherry, later in the day, when
Ruth and Alice questioned him about Estelle. "When a person has received
a hard blow on the head, as Estelle has, the memory is often confused.
She will be all right in a day or so. Rest and quiet are what she
needs."
"Then she is in no immediate danger?" asked Mr. Pertell.
"None whatever, physically. She came out of that fall very well, indeed.
The blow on her head stunned her, but the effects of that will pass
away. She has no internal injuries that I can discover."
The last scenes of the war play were taken. The Confederates, after
their final desperate stand were driven back, surrounded and captured.
The "war" ended.
The regiments of cavalry took their departure. The extra players were
paid off and left. A few simple scenes were yet to be taken about Oak
Farm, but the big work was over, and every one was glad, for the task
had been no easy one.
"Does Estelle yet admit her identity?" asked Ruth of Dr. Wherry, two
days after the accident.
The physician scratched his head in perplexity.
"No, I am sorry to say she doesn't," he answered. "She does not seem to
recognize that name. I wish you and your sister would come in and speak
to her again. It may be she will recognize you this time. A little shock
may bring her to herself. I have seen it happen in cases like this."
Ruth and Alice again went to the hospital. Estelle was still in bed, but
she seemed to be better. But, as before, there was no sign of
recognition in the bright eyes that gazed at the two moving picture
girls.
"Don't you know me--us?" asked Alice, gently.
"Yes. You were here before, soon after I was brought here," was the
answer.
"Oh, Estelle! don't you know us!" cried Ruth, in horror.
"Whom are you calling Estelle?"
"Why, you. That is your name."
"I am not she. You must be mistaken! Oh, I wish they would take me home.
I want father--mother--I want Auntie Amma. Oh, why don't they come to
me?"
Ruth and Alice looked at one another. What did it mean? This babbling of
strange names? Was it possible that they were on the track of
discovering the identity of the girl who now denied the name she had
given?
"Who is your father?" asked Ruth.
"And who is Auntie Amma?" inquired Alice.
"Why, don't you know? They live with me at the Palace. And my doll. Why
don't you bring my doll?"
"She is delirious again," whispered the nurse. "You had better go.
Evidently, she thinks she is a child again. Her doll!"
"I want my doll! Why don't you bring me my doll?" persisted the stricken
girl.
"What doll do you want?" asked Alice.
"My own doll," was the reply. "My dear doll that I always have in bed
with me when I am ill; my doll Estelle Brown!"
"Estelle Brown!" cried Ruth, in sudden excitement. "Is that the name of
your doll?"
"Yes! Yes! Bring her to me, please!"
"Who gave you that doll?" asked Ruth, and she waited anxiously for the
answer.
"My doll--my doll Estelle Brown. Why, my daddy gave her to me, of
course. My father!"
"And what was your father's name?" asked Ruth in a tense voice.
She and Alice and the nurse leaned forward in eager expectation. They
all recognized that a crisis was at hand. Would the stricken girl give
an answer that would be a clue to her identity--the identity she had
denied? Or would her words trail off into the meaningless babble of the
afflicted?
"What is your father's name?" Ruth repeated.
The girl in the bed raised herself to a sitting position. She looked at
the DeVere sisters--at the trained nurse. In her eyes now there was not
so much brightness as there was weariness and pain.
And also there was more of the light of understanding. She looked from
one to the other. Her lips moved, but no sound came from them. It was a
tense moment. Would she be able to answer? Would the obviously injured
brain be able to sift out the right reply from the mass of words that
hitherto had been meaningless?
"What is your father's name?" repeated Ruth in calm, even tones. "Your
father who gave you the doll, Estelle Brown? Who is he?"
Like a flash of lightning from the clear sky came the answer.
"Why, he is Daddy Passamore, of course!"
"Passamore!" gasped Alice. "Passamore?"
"Is your name Passamore?" whispered Ruth.
"Yes, I am Mildred Passamore. My father is Jared Passamore of San
Francisco. I don't know why I am here, except that I was hurt in the
railroad accident. If you will telegraph to my father, at the Palace
Hotel, San Francisco, he will come and get me. And please tell him to
bring my doll, Estelle Brown.
"I know it seems silly for a big girl like me to have a doll," went on
the injured one. "But ever since I was a child I have had Estelle with
me when I was ill. I am ill now, but I feel better than I did. So
telegraph to Daddy Passamore to bring Estelle Brown with him when he
comes for me. And tell him I was not badly hurt in the wreck."
And with that, before the wondering eyes of the nurse, of Alice and of
Ruth, Estelle Brown--no--Mildred Passamore, turned over and calmly went
to sleep!
For an instant those in the hospital room neither moved nor spoke. Then
Alice cried:
"That solves it! That ends the mystery! I'll go and get the paper."
"What paper?" asked Ruth.
"Don't you remember? The old paper that I wrapped my scout shoes in when
we were packing to come to Oak Farm. The one that father saved because
it had a theatrical notice of him in it.
"It was that four-year-old paper which contained an account of the
strange disappearance of the wealthy San Francisco girl, Mildred
Passamore. Don't you remember? There was a reward of ten thousand
dollars offered for her discovery."
"Oh, I do remember!" gasped Ruth. "And this is she!"
"Must be!" declared Alice. "She says that's her name. And from what she
told us she can, as Estelle Brown, think back only about four years. She
must have received some injury that took away her memory. Now she is
herself again.
"Ruth, I believe we have found the missing Mildred Passamore! We must
tell daddy at once, and Mr. Pertell. Then we must telegraph Mr.
Passamore. I'll get his address from the old paper. But the Palace
Hotel, San Francisco, will reach him, I presume. Oh, isn't it all
wonderful!"
"It certainly is," agreed Ruth.
They gave one glance at the sleeping girl--Mildred or Estelle--and then
went out, while Miss Lyon summoned Dr. Wherry to acquaint him with the
strange turn of the case.
"Mildred Passamore found! How wonderful!" exclaimed Mr. DeVere, when his
daughters told him what had happened. "But we must make sure. It would
be a sad affair if we sent word to the father, and it turned out that
this girl was not his daughter. We must make sure."
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