1840 Indian Rebirth

Chapter 112 [No one understands the plague better than me]

The soldier wanted to persuade again: "Many old people have become seriously ill or even died of illness."

"You are questioning one of the most outstanding shamans!" Mo Gu said angrily, and then emphasized again, "No one understands the plague better than me. My father is a survivor of the plague. I have studied it for 53 years. Medicine."

He picked up the mask and stuffed it into the hands of the soldier: put away your rudeness, young man, and this so-called mask! "

"...Failing to follow my advice would be the tribe's biggest mistake. You will inevitably pay a heavier price before you can understand the shaman wisdom inherited from ancient times."

As he spoke, Mo Gu let out a long sigh, with a melancholy and complicated expression.It was obvious that he really believed what he said.

The soldier finally had no choice but to turn around and leave the room without saying anything.

Not long after, most of the people in Sleeping Bear City, including the prisoners, put on masks.

Only a few people insisted on not wearing them, and they all believed in a similar idea-masks that covered the face would make the plague more terrible.

Traditionally, Indians generally like to smear various paints on their faces to express meanings such as victory, funeral, and prayer.

The reason why Indians were once considered red races was because they often smeared red paint on their bodies, which led to being mistaken by whites for natural red skin.

Since it is a pattern painted on the face, of course it must be made known to the public.

Wearing a mask to cover the pattern is tantamount to invalidating the pattern.Therefore, these people insist on refusing to wear masks in order to maintain the patterns on their faces, and at the same time to express some kind of resistance or maverick.

What happened next was not unexpected. Stricter isolation and disinfection, as well as the popularity of masks, made the spread of the plague even weaker, and the number of new infections dropped rapidly.

And those who insist on not wearing masks have become relatively vulnerable to infection.

Most of the new infections later came from these people who did not wear masks.

"Zhanchao, what is the current output of pistols?" Ma Shuo asked while sitting at the chief's hall, writing at his desk.

"It has been basically unaffected by the plague." Zhanbohui reported, "Now we can produce [-] revolvers every month, and before March, we will definitely be able to produce [-] to complete Santa Fe's order. "

"Good job." Horse Whistle nodded.

The Apache Arsenal has basically escaped the impact of the plague, not because the epidemic has passed, but mainly due to the characteristics of the distributed assembly line.

Refer to the distributed assembly line of the military production model of the East Asian island countries in later generations. It is originally composed of scattered components and does not need to concentrate a large number of personnel. It can still be produced even in the state of isolation.

The only trouble is finding replacements for the infected workers, which is not difficult to solve. There are a total of more than [-] infected workers, and it is not a difficult job, so it is easy to find someone to replace them.

Ma Shao had always thought that the distributed assembly line was just a temporary solution, but now that it has performed well in the epidemic, he can't help but re-examine the significance of this production model.

In some areas, this model may survive for a long time, at least as a supplement to the centralized pipeline.

Zhan Cheng asked: "Chief, after the production of [-] pistols is completed, will the arsenal continue to maintain production?"

"Of course." Horse Whistle replied, "With the performance and price of Browning 1845, we can sell at least [-] units in the next two years."

"Thirty-four thousand are also possible if the war turns out to be more intense than I expected."

After a pause, he continued: "Even if we don't raise the price, we will sell it at 25 dollars, and the profit will be 15 dollars per piece. If we sell 45 pieces, we will have a net income of [-] dollars, and if we sell [-] pieces, we will have a net profit of [-] dollars. "

"So we have to not only maintain production, but also increase production. This is also training workers and getting more Apaches into industrial production."

At this time, the shaman Huishi came to the chief's hall——Huishi was the first person to recover, with antibodies, and a shaman doctor, so he is now the main person in charge of the epidemic prevention work.

"Great chief, he's infected." Huishi said.

Ma Whistle was startled, then raised his head and asked, "When did it happen?"

Huishi's expression was both sympathetic and ironic: "He was infected at least three days ago, but he delayed coming to the hospital until today for the sake of saving face, and now he is almost dying."

Zhan Bo said contemptuously: "Is this old moth finally going to die? I remember the last time I saw him, he was still advocating that no one knows the plague better than him!"

Huishi nodded: "I'm afraid it is. I'm nearly sixty years old, and I smoke and drink again. I'm seriously ill this time, and I probably won't be able to make it through."

Ma Shao thought for a while, got up and said, "I'll go and see him."

Then he followed Huishi to the ward, and saw Mogu lying on the bed, coughing and panting in pain.

"Cough—cough cough cough!" At this moment, Mo Gu was coughing and trembling all over, his forehead was dripping with sweat, his eyes were slack, and his gray hair seemed to be blown out with dryness.

"Bone grinding." The horse whistle took a few steps closer.

Mo Gu tried his best to calm down his cough and panting, his eyes regained some focus, and he looked at the horse whistle: "Big... big chief... I..."

When he spoke, his tone fluctuated, his eyes were earnest, and his trembling voice sounded like weeping.

When a person is about to die, his words are also good.At this moment, Ma Shuo felt a bit of sympathy for the senior moth.

However, Mo Gu's next words made his sympathy vanish in an instant.

Mo Gu said with difficulty: "I... I contracted the plague not because of inexperienced medical skills, but because of God's will. Yes, it's because good people don't live long!"

Horse Whistle: "..."

"I advise you...repent as soon as possible, and don't let Apache fall down again." The bone-grinding body twitched, exerting all its strength.

The horse whistle still didn't speak.

Mo Gu was in a trance, looking up at the roof: "The great spirit is calling me, I'm going to heaven. I have one more request, the great chief... don't cremate my body... but bury it On a mountain with three peaks in the south, I dreamed that it was my home."

"I see." Ma Shao replied flatly.

Hearing these words, a bit of relief appeared on Mo Gu's face, he gradually lay down flat, closed his eyes, and accepted the call of the Great Spirit.

After a while, he was silent again.

Ma sentry asked: "Is he dead?"

Huishi stepped forward to check and nodded: "Dead, there is no heartbeat or breathing."

As he spoke, he hesitated: "Chief, are we really going to bury the bones in the south?"

"Of course, it was cremated directly like all the corpses in the plague." Horse Whistle had long been promoting cremation, let alone the current epidemic.

In fact, what he most wants to implement is the default donation system. Unless the deceased or family members expressly object, the remains will be donated, similar to the organ donation system implemented in Spain in later generations.

However, there is no organ transplantation technology yet, and the Indians are not able to conduct anatomical research, so cremation can only be implemented for the time being.

"Remember to burn it clean." Ma Whistle said again.

(End of this chapter)