Tear In Time (10 page)

  “Thank
you, Dr. Morgan. It would be brazen of me to expect more.” David smiled
slightly, relieved by the positive outcome.

  Dr.
Morgan returned David’s thanks with a simple nod. He then signaled to the
assisting private for another wounded soldier. As the assistants delivered the
next patient, David and Dr. Morgan once more scrubbed their arms and hands with
soap and hot water in preparation for upcoming surgery.

  With
the patient sterilized with the distilled alcohol, David asked Dr. Morgan for a
scalpel from the pot of boiling water and prepared to operate on a soldier
wounded in the abdomen.

  Taking
the scalpel in hand, David looked at Dr. Morgan and smiled.

  “What
I’m about to show you is a procedure called a laporatomy. Without this
procedure, his prognosis would be grim. I believe even with these crude
instruments I can save his life, barring any complication from post-operative
infection,” David said, then added, “Ready?”

 
“Absolutely,” Dr. Morgan replied, returning a smile.

 
Without the distraction of artillery, David worked quickly, operating without a
moment’s rest, in the heat of the day. Standing in assistance, Dr. Morgan
watched in fascination as each patient’s wound was carefully treated and
bandaged. Patient after patient, he watched David's skill and genius transform
tragedy into optimism. As the hours ticked by, the two worked as an efficient
machine, selflessly ignoring their hunger, thirst and exhaustion. Far into the
evening, working by lantern, they continued to work the wounded until the last
remaining patient had been treated.

  “Is
that it?” David asked in relief, exhaustion clearly detected in the tone of his
voice.

  “Yes,
son, I believe it is. You've done a remarkable job here today. Since you've
started, not one of the wounded has had a limb amputated,” Dr. Morgan replied.

  “I
only wish I had the antibiotics to stave off infection. Without those drugs,
there will be infection to deal with. Hopefully not nearly on the scale you are
used to, though,” David said, downplaying the old doctor's compliments.

  “Well,
even if we had amputated limbs from half the wounded, that's still a success
rate of fifty percent. That's far better than amputating all of them right from
the beginning,” Dr. Morgan rationalized. They both thought about the
alternative, then the old doctor added, “Besides, there were many who were gut
shot and would have died straight off. If any of them live, it will be a
miracle.”

  “I
suspect there will be some that will die of their wounds, unfortunately.
Without the proper tools, I can only do so much,” David replied modestly.

  Dr.
Morgan was about to respond when he heard the distant sound of galloping
horses. He turned toward the valley and squinted a bit to see through the
trees. The moonlight shone down, and as the horses drew closer the old doctor
could just make out the outline of the lead rider.

  “Hmm,
looks like we have visitors. I'm not sure, but I think its Gen. Negley,” Dr.
Morgan stated.

  David
tried to make out the outline of the riders. He looked over to Dr. Morgan and
said, “Doctor, I can barely make them out. How can you tell it's Gen. Negley?”

  “The
hooves, lad. Gen. Negley's horse has a distinctive gallop,” Dr. Morgan replied.

 
Moments later, the horsemen trotted into the open clearing under the guiding
light of the moon. The lead rider looked around as he trotted. Seeing the
roaring fire next to the surgical wagon, he was able to make out the
distinctive white beard of Dr. Morgan. Pulling on the horse’s reins, he steered
his gallant steed toward David and Dr. Morgan. A few strides later, he rode up
next to the two doctors.

 
“Evening, Jeb.” Gen. Negley greeted as he dismounted his horse.

 
“Evening, Jim.” Dr. Morgan replied.

  Having
known each other as friends for many years, the two skipped the formalities of
rank. Extending his hand to Dr. Morgan, Gen. Negley greeted his old friend as
they shook.

  “I
searched the theater for more casualties. I do believe I’ve accounted for all
the wounded. How are you holding up?” Gen. Negley asked.

  “Sir,
you’re the only general I know who searches for his own men after a battle. I
thought command ordered you to cease these patrols?” Dr. Morgan inquired.

  “I
went for an evening ride. Nothing in the regs against that,” Gen. Negley
replied, smirking coyly.

  “Uh
huh. Funny how these rides coincidently occur after every battle,” Dr. Morgan
replied, shaking his head in feigned disgust as Gen. Negley shrugged his
shoulders simply.

 
Getting back to business, Gen. Negley asked, “So, Jeb, how are my men. Faring
well, I pray?”

  “Sir,
we’ve just completed our last surgery. Of the eighty-six men we received, nine
have died outright and thirty-seven required amputation of limbs,” Dr. Morgan
responded.

 
“Thirty-seven amputations? Seems awfully low,” Gen. Negley questioned.

  “Yes,
thankfully it is. I cannot take the glory for this triumph though,” Dr. Morgan
said. He turned to David, who had been standing in the doctor’s shadow for most
of the conversation, and announced, “Sir, this is Dr. David Warner. He is the
man responsible for most of our successes today. He is a remarkable surgeon in
need of employment,” Dr. Morgan finished.

  David
moved forward and extended his hand. The brawny General grasped his hand and
gave it a good pump in greeting as he inspected him from head to toe.

  “In
need of employment you say, Jeb?” Gen. Negley asked rhetorically, then
continued, “David, what school are you from?”

 
“Harvard, sir,” David replied nervously.

  Gen.
Negley looked back to one of his officers and said, “Hire him. Allocate him
what he needs.” Turning back to David and still pumping his hand, Gen. Negley
announced, “Any surgeon of praise by Dr. Jebadiah Morgan is credential enough
for me. Good job, and thank you,” Gen. Negley finished.

  “I’m
at your service,” David replied, nervously fumbling for an appropriate
response.

 
Turning to Dr. Morgan, Gen. Negley then asked, “Jeb, I’m feeling a bit poorly
and of need of some of your medicinal spirits.”

  “Hmm,
funny; I was just considering your condition. I do believe you have a pallor
about you that could be reversed with that very remedy,” Dr. Morgan replied,
holding back his smile.

  Turning
to his officers, Gen. Negley said, “I’m in desperate need of medical care.
Please excuse me. We’ll reconvene in the morning.”

  Gen.
Negley’s loyal officer’s understood the exchange between the two old friends.
With knowing smirks, they turned, mounted their horses, and rode off into the
night to the troops stationed elsewhere. Gen. Negley watched them ride out of
sight, much the way a father watches his children.

  Gen.
Negley turned to Dr. Morgan. “Now, how about that drink?” he asked, this time
without the double meaning.

  Dr.
Morgan motioned to the General toward the back of the wagon. Reaching over a
wooden rail, he pulled out an unopened mason jar filled to the brim with
distilled alcohol. He handed the jar to the general with a knowing smile.

 
“Better take it easy with that. I do believe it’s well seasoned,” Dr. Morgan
warned.

 
Ignoring the doctor’s advice, Gen. Negley took a good-sized slug of the
‘moonshine’. Before he had a chance to enjoy it, he felt the searing sensation
as the white liquid moved down the back of his throat. In reflex, he coughed
several times, as his eyes teared and his nose began to run.

 
Looking over to David, Dr. Morgan said, “Don’t be deceived by this reckless
exhibition. In battle he actually does exercise intelligence and
self-restraint.”

  Still
coughing and clearing his throat, Gen. Negley replied with heavy sarcasm,
“Thank you for that most generous compliment.”

  The
three sat around the well-lit fire, each on a wooden box that had once carried
medical supplies. Gen. Negley and Dr. Morgan slowly sipped the potent clear
alcohol, sending contented warmth throughout their bodies. As the jar was
passed to David, he pretended to take a sip and passed it along, choosing
instead to listen with a clear mind while contemplating his situation.

  The
day's events were intense and continuous, leaving David little time to consider
his own basic needs. Seated by the fire, he began to realize his exhaustion.
With his legs outstretched, he noticed they shook slightly, and his stomach
groaned loudly. David tried to recall the last time he had had anything to eat.
He suddenly realized he hadn't eaten since the night before. Feeling a bit
intimidated by the two high-ranking officers, David tried to ignore his hunger
and exhaustion, hoping the two would end their conference before too long. The
longer the two friends talked, the louder David’s stomach growled. Pretty soon,
both Gen. Negley and Dr. Morgan began to take notice.

  “Dr.
Warner, it appears my old friend here has neglected your needs,” Gen. Negley
said to David. He then turned to Dr. Morgan and said, “Jeb, we both know you're
as tough as a bear’s ass, but this young man may not have your constitution.
Have you fed him yet today?”

  “My,
my, where are my manners? I apologize, David. Can I get you something to eat? I
think I overheard the other lads talking about fresh peaches and some beef.
I'll see if I can rustle up some of their rations. Pardon me a minute,” Dr.
Morgan replied, as he quickly made his way across the open field.

  Gen.
Negley and David sat in silence as they stared at the fire. The seconds ticked
into minutes and an uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Finally, Gen. Negley
took a sip of the jar and passed it along to David. Looking directly into
David's eyes, he finally spoke.

 
“Harvard man, huh?” the general asked, trying to break the nervous tension.

  “Yes
sir,” David replied simply.

 
“Didn't care for West Point?” the general asked, regarding his alma mater.

  “No,
sir. I felt an affinity toward medicine,” David said delicately, hoping not to
insult the general.

  “I
see,” the general replied, then added, “Well, we need good doctors as well as
good military men for our next campaign.”

 
“Campaign, sir?” David inquired, already knowing the answer.

  “Yes.
Tomorrow we march toward Virginia. Command predicts heavy clashes up there.
Johnny Reb has pushed further north over the past few months and it's time to
give them a thorough lashing,” Gen. Negley announced.

  “Will
we be back this way?” David asked, now worried about his return to his future
time period.

  “Hard
to say, honestly. I hope so. The further south we push, the closer we are to
winning,” Gen. Negley answered.

  The two
sat in silence again as David considered his dilemma. Moments later, Dr. Morgan
came around the corner of the wagon with a small pot of boiled beef and a few
peaches. Forgetting his troubles, David smiled in anticipation of satisfying
his ravenous hunger and thirst.

 
“David, I found this pot on one of the fires. Looks like you'll be eating like
a king tonight," Dr. Morgan announced proudly.

 
Placing the pot at David's feet along with a couple of the peaches, he waited
for a positive reaction. Surveying the food, David instinctively viewed it with
disgust. In 1862, the selections might have been considered choice, but
relative to 2005, peaches excluded, unseasoned boiled beef would normally be
reserved for the common household pet. As David stared at the pot of gray,
fatty meat, he quickly sensed eyes of anticipation. Realizing that the doctor
was waiting for a positive reaction, David placed a toothy smile on his face to
cover his true feelings. He then reached into the pot with his fingers and quickly
pulled out a steaming chunk of meat, tossing it from palm to palm while it
cooled. He then placed it in his mouth and bit off a large piece.