David could see a slight change in the old doctor’s demeanor. His arms were no longer folded. His facial expression was softer and more sympathetic. David sensed that he was making a convincing argument and decided to add a final plea.
“Doctor, I understand how you must feel. The idea of meeting time travelers is reserved for the institutionally insane locked away in padded roams. I have no way of proving my authenticity other than my surgical skills, but as I've already stated, not even the finest medical schools in the world have even thought of the level and depth of what I have shown you here already today. If you cannot help me, I will understand. I can only hope that my argument is compelling enough to persuade you. Honestly, my life is in your hands,” David said, bowing his head humbly.
Dr. Morgan stared into David’s eyes as he replied to his plea for help.
“Son, of all the things I’ve seen and heard in life, this is by far the most irrational. I won’t lie to you. I feel you must have an imbalance. On the other hand, you make a convincing argument of low risk. You are correct that I have nothing to lose and everything to gain, because although I have not been educated in over thirty-five years, I have not been uninformed either. I cannot deny that what I’ve seen here today is beyond my profession’s comprehension. How you came of these skills is indeed a great mystery. Are you a time traveler as you profess, or just a gifted surgeon? I do not have the answer to that profound question at this moment, and it would seem senseless to make a rash decision to part ways. I will let fate and destiny pilot our course. Is this satisfactory to you?”
“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 excha
nge 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.
"Wow, that is so good," David exclaimed out loud as he struggled to feign pleasure with the flavor. "This was well worth the wait."
The old doctor coiffed his long white beard as he beamed with pride.
Gen. Negley, having been too busy to eat during his search for the wounded, eyed the floating ration of meat with envy. Placing proper manners and etiquette above rank, he politely asked, "Pardon me, Jeb. In your search, did you happen to find any extra rations?"
"My apologies, Jim. I assumed you had already dined. I'm afraid I ate the remaining ration on my way over," Dr. Morgan replied, embarrassed by his insensitivity.
"Please, general, sir, there's more than enough for the two of us. Help yourself," David offered, pushing the pot closer to the general's reach.
"I am indebted to you, lad," Gen. Negley replied, immediately reaching into the pot and pulling out a large piece for himself.
David reached down and tossed a peach to the general as he chewed. Gen. Negley's eyes widened and twinkled by the fire's light as he caught the fruit with his greasy hands. With his mouth filled with food, good manners prevented him from giving verbal thanks. Instead he nodded and winked his appreciation. David smiled back as he caught a look of approval from Dr. Morgan. For the next few minutes, the two shared their meal and listened to the sound of the crackling fire as the heat drove off the slight chill in the air.
Soon, Dr. Morgan and Gen. Negley engaged in conversation about the particulars of the day's battle. Staring through the fire, David reflected on the day's events and the reality of life he would now have to embrace. All the memories of the previous day were still painfully fresh and clear in his mind. He thought of the pizza he ate and took for granted, the warm private shower in his comfortably furnished town home, a simple phone call to his parents across the country. He even thought of the annoying TV commercials he had to sit through to watch his favorite programs. His mind scanned through an endless list of modern conveniences he would have to do without. The harshness of his reality seemed like cruel punishment given to one who had been caught breaking the law. Sitting there on his hard, wooden crate, in his mind he subconsciously repeated the same phrase over and over: 'This can't be happening, this can't be happening.'
"David, you look tired. I took the liberty of having a couple of the boys set up some provisions for you," Dr. Morgan said.
"I could sleep for a hundred years," David replied, not realizing the pun.
Glancing nervously over at Gen. Negley, Dr. Morgan caught the unintentional pun and pretended ignorance. He then signaled to one of the passerby privates to show David to his tent. Standing slowly and stretching his legs, he bid all a good night and walked toward the surgical wagon. Reaching around the buckboard, he retrieved the picture he had carried with him from the elevator. With the private leading the way, they walked across the dew-covered grass to his tent.
"Seems like
a fine young lad, Jeb. Strangely dressed though. I don't recall ever seeing that kind of medical attire before. Is that a new uniform for doctors?” Gen. Negley asked almost rhetorically, as he took another sip of the jar.
"Hmm, I suppose it is," Dr. Morgan replied, now considering once again the possibility of David's claim of time travel.
Receiving the jar from the general, he shrugged off any further thought on the matter, stating under his breath, "Nonsense."
Tear In Time Page 7
