Tear In Time

by Petersen, Christopher David

Passing through Maryland, the soldiers returned through the same war-torn landscape they had previously traveled several months before. The climate now was much improved from the months before, and the speed of the march had increased from twelve to fifteen miles a day. Pneumonia, typhoid and other illnesses seemed to have vanished, and the death rate of the men had fallen to zero.

  Crossing over the Potomac River, the columns of men marched to their final destination: Washington D.C. As David sat atop his horse, he witnessed sights strangely unfamiliar. The congestion of a large, bustling city he had visited in the year 2002, now in 1863 was comparatively nothing more than a small town, quiet and unfettered by throngs of people and machinery. Aside from the monuments to a nation's independence – Washington monument, the Capital building, as well as others – the town appeared as any other town: nondescript and inconspicuous, with dirt roads, farms and small mercantile businesses that supported the area.

  The camp just outside Washington D.C.'s city limits was like any other camp he had stayed in. The tents were set up in long rows, as were the campfires. Tiny paths were worn between the rows of tents as the men visited each other prior to nightly ‘taps’. The peaceful atmosphere within the camp betrayed the harsh realities that existed beyond its borders. Aside from the occasional sick soldier to treat, life for David seemed slow and comfortable. The only excitement a solder could see was from the weekly paper's description of the nearby battles that were beginning to happen with regularity now that spring had taken hold.

  David sat by the fire and stretched out his legs. He sipped his coffee, nibbled on a hardtack cracker and reminisced about the life he had left. An occasional smile swept his face as he recalled some of the better memories. At times, he grimaced as he struggled to remember the faces of his mom and dad. With his eyes closed, he forced their images back to the forefront of his mind.

  Opening his eyes, he looked around at the men at work, the sergeants and lieutenants barking orders of the day. Off in a great field, David watched as columns of soldiers were drilled in the nuances of formation fighting, and still others could be heard instructed in marksmanship as the loud roar of rifles echoed off the distant trees.

  This was not home for David, but somehow he had begun to feel more comfortable with his surroundings. Sitting by the fire, with the warmth of the flames, the warmth of the sun's rays, and the balmy breezes that blew off the open fields, David felt a sense of contentment and security. For the first time since his sudden arrival, David began to think about the possibility of staying in this time period. Life was hard, to be sure, but there were qualities about this life that the future could not offer, intangible qualities that could not be measured. He smiled to himself as he realized that life had offered him this unexpected choice.

  Suddenly, David heard his named being frantically called in the distance. Turning around, he saw the old doctor running toward him at a very fast pace, his face contorted with worry. Immediately, David stood up and ran to meet Dr. Morgan.

  “David, David,” Dr. Morgan yelled as he ran, “come quick.”

  “What is it, doc?” David answered in quick reply, still running to meet him.

  The two stopped several feet apart and took a moment to catch their breath.

  “David, something awful has happened,” Dr. Morgan tried to say as he breathed heavily.

  “Doc, slow down. Take a moment to catch your breath,” David replied, also slightly winded.

  “No time, son. Something very serious has taken place,” Dr. Morgan said, now looking around for people close by. He grabbed David by the arm and firmly pulled him away from earshot of passer-byes. Looking into David's eyes, David could see serious concern in his old friend.

  “Doc, you're scaring me. What's going on? What happened?” David questioned, now with deep anxiety.

  Dr. Morgan took a deep breath and started, “Lad, remember you told me about the future and how Stonewall Jackson became a national hero? How he eventually became president of the United States? Remember how you showed me the money with his face on it and that in your time, every place you looked there were busts and effigies of the man everywhere?” Dr. Morgan said, his tone nearly hysterical.

  David watched as the man who normally exuded self-control and composure was now nearly out of control. David knew this was no ordinary event. He placed his hand on the old doctor's shoulder and said, “Doc, whatever it is, we'll work through the problem.”

  The old doctor took another deep breath, exhaled and composed himself for the moment. He looked around once more, keeping their conversation a secret, then spoke.

  “David, Stonewall Jackson is dead,” Dr. Morgan said, exhaling as if a large weight was lifted from his shoulders.

  David stumbled back, never taking his eyes off the old doctor. His mind began to process what he just heard. Looking back at Dr. Morgan, he replied, “Stonewall's dead? Doc, this can't be. You must have your story wrong. He can't be dead. How do you know this?”

  Dr. Morgan reached into his coat and pulled out a folded newspaper. He quickly unfolded it with shaking hands and held the paper out for David to read the headline: “Stonewall Jackson: Dead”. The headline was simple and profound.

  “Holy shit!” David exclaimed, fear now spreading from his face and throughout his body. “No... no.. no, no, no. This... this can't be. He's supposed to live and become a great man. How could this happen?” David asked rhetorically.

  Dr. Morgan continued to hold the paper out. He pointed to a name in the body of the article, showing David his answer.

  David read the name and replied incredulously, “John Starnes? No, no, this can't be. He's not supposed to be able to do anything with a hole in his stomach, let alone fight. This just can't be. Doc, you saw him: he could barely walk.”

  “David, he wasn't walking, and he wasn't fighting either,” Dr. Morgan replied. “He was guarding.”

  David stood with a confused look on his face. None of this was making sense to him.

  “David, Stonewall and Starnes are both Confederates. They're on the same side. John Starnes wasn't fighting. He was guarding their camp. Doesn't take much effort to sit and guard a camp,” Dr. Morgan explained. “Apparently, Stonewall was out scouting the region at night after last week’s successful battle at Chancellorsville. When he returned, the boy must have overreacted and shot Stonewall. He died a few days later.”

  “Stonewall is dead. This can't be happening,” David said, still unwilling to accept reality.

  David sat down on the grass where they stood, his knees giving out as his senses became overloaded.

  “I'm afraid it has happened, Lad,” Dr. Morgan replied, now sitting down across from him.

  “This changes the whole future of this country,” David blurted out, still in shock.

  “This world, lad. This probably changes the world. Stonewall's policies won't be felt because he won't be there to effect them.” Dr. Morgan replied.

  “My God. What have I done?” David said out loud, to no one in particular. “John Starnes was supposed to die of his stomach wound, and I saved him.”

  “What have WE done?” Dr. Morgan shot back instantly. “David, you are not alone in this. I attended to his needs daily. I hid him from the others until he was well. We both are responsible for this event, lad.”

  “I should have let him die. That's what he was supposed to do. I didn't have to work on him. I butted my nose into business where it didn't belong. I'm such an idiot,” David said, again to no one in particular.

  “Lad, I know this is difficult to accept – that we have changed the future - but you should NOT have let him die. You acted with good conscience and morals. You should never abandon your values due to situation or circumstance. If our principles and morals cause the future to change, then so be it. We just cannot live our lives contemplating every act and how it impacts the future. You have acted honorably and without consideration to your own person. You should be proud of your actions. If they have impacted the futu
re, we must accept the consequences. Whatever the outcome, mankind will endeavor to persevere. ”

  David sat quietly for a few moments as he digested Dr. Morgan's statement. He knew the wise old doctor's words to be true, but still felt the guilt of a future lost at his hands. With reluctance, he accepted the truth of the advice and of the future, choosing to move ahead rather than lament over the past.

  David took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to release the stress and anxiety of the moment. “Where do we go from here?” he asked, more as nervous chatter than as a direct question.

  “Gettysburg Pennsylvania,” Dr. Morgan replied. “Jim has ordered us to move out in the morning.”

  David stared at the old doctor in shock, his eyes widening with surprise.

  “By your reaction, David, I'm guessing there is some significance with Gettysburg?” Dr. Morgan guessed.

  For a moment, David fell speechless.

  “David? What will happen at Gettysburg? Is there going to be another big battle there?” Dr. Morgan said, second guessing his friend.

  “Yes, doctor. A big one. One of the biggest of the war. Stonewall was to emerge victorious. It was his brilliant leadership alone that enabled the Confederates to quickly outsmart and outmaneuver the Union command. It was from this victory that he became a national legend,” David said ominously. He paused a moment in thought, then continued, “Heaven only knows what the outcome will look like now that he's dead.”

  “Whatever the outcome, David, mankind will overcome and survive,” Dr. Morgan replied thoughtfully.

  TT: Chapter 9

  Gettysburg, July 1st 1863

  Lt. Marcellus Jones sat high in his saddle on an elevated bluff and took inventory of his men. With their rifles loaded and bayonets affixed, they lay on their stomachs and squinted down their blue steel barrels, aligning their sights with the imagined enemy one hundred yards away.

  McPherson Ridge was just one of three ridges that sat nearly three miles to the west of Gettysburg. Slightly higher than its southern neighbors, Herr and Seminary Ridge, McPherson Ridge's protection came at a cost. Seated prominently in front of the Union front lines, any attacks by the enemy would be initiated through them first.

  Lt. Jones sensed the somber quiet that telegraphed impending doom. Every man stared far ahead and contemplated their death. Their limited force would be no match for the Confederate’s legions of men, who would soon be arriving, and all who stood watch, pondering if they would still be alive when the order came to retreat.

  Gettysburg sat at the epicenter of the battlefield. Circular in shape, the battlefield was nearly six miles in diameter. In addition to the three ridges to the west, Barlow's Knoll protected the city to the north. To the south lay a series of hills, each one located further south from Gettysburg: Cemetery Hill, Culp’s Hill, Cemetery Ridge, the Peach Orchard, Rose Woods, Wheatfield, Devil’s Den, Little Round Top and Round Top.

  The Union army was staged in a semi-circle that started from the western ridges and swept up and around through the north-east in a two mile radius from Gettysburg. As the battle unfolded, the Confederate army attacked from a three mile radius just beyond the Union front line, driving the bulk of the fighting south of town.

  At 7:30am, the sun's rays bore down on the Union front lines. The temperatures were already in the high eighties, and Lt. Jones removed his hat to wipe his brow. Wiping the sweat from his forehead onto his sleeve, he replaced his hat and returned his gaze to the road ahead of them. Far in the distance, he noticed the haze that rose from the ground and diffused the land to their front. At times he struggled to make sense of the shadows, momentarily mistaking the darker images for the enemy.

  As the warm, balmy morning breezes blew toward him, Lt. Jones watched the grayish looking bushes sway back and forth several hundred feet down the road. Once again he strained his eyes to discern the bushes from the enemy. He turned away to clear his vision, then returned his gaze once more to the distant bushes. The bushes kicked up tiny clouds of dust, which spun into dirt devils that floated across the road.

  Intrigued by the atmospheric anomaly, he amused himself with their display. As the wind blew, so came larger clouds of dust, and with them more dirt devils. The dusty, hazy cloud in the distance all but covered the road and Lt. Jones squinted his eyes once more.

  Barely able to see the gray bushes through the dusty cloud, he struggled to make out the bottom branches as they moved side to side. Over and over in uniform fashion, the branches moved with repetition. Lt. Jones squinted his eyes until they hurt. He shook his head to clear his blurred vision, then retrained his eyes on the gray, moving branches.

  As if in slow animation, Lt. Jones watched in horror as the repetitive moving branches slowly transformed into legs - gray pant legs. Mesmerized by the strange trick his mind had played, he watched as hundreds of men suddenly materialized before his eyes, their shoes kicking up clouds of dust as they marched.

  Lt. Jones felt paralyzed as he watched in disbelief as the column of men poured over the distant hilltop and continued their march along the dirt road. Slowly, he reached down for his 1861 Navy Colt revolver. With his hand quivering, he undid the snap and pulled the sidearm from his flap holster. Drawing a bead on the men far out in front, he tried to squeeze the trigger, but his muscles failed him. With his heart pounding and the adrenaline flowing, he quickly shook out both hands, then took careful aim once more.

  Lt. Jones heard the loud crack of a firearm. In what amounted to a split second, he looked around and realized it was he who fired the first shot. At that moment, like a hive of angry bees, the Confederates came alive.

  “FIRE!” Lt. Jones yelled at the top of his lungs.

  In an instant, the wrath and fury of Union rifles was unleashed. Far out on the dusty road, dozens of Rebel men fell to the ground, dying in agonizing pain. Instinctively, the Confederates drew their weapons, fired, then ran for cover, only to feel the next volley of lead hit its mark with random success. As the mini-balls hurled through the air and missed their intended mark, they found an equally satisfactory mark in the next. Before the Confederates could find meaningful protection, nearly a hundred men fell to their death, the victims of surprise and confusion.

  The opening volley sounded the start to the battle. Elsewhere, as the sound of rifle fire could be heard echoing through the valleys, Confederates instinctively surged forward, attacking the Union lines along the western and northern sides of town. As the two great armies collided, the carnage grew in ever increasing proportions.

  Each side launched attacks, followed by counter-attacks from the opposition. Back and forth the fighting raged as the Union lines held their ground.

  At midday, the Union lines were weakening. A misunderstood order caused a brigade of Union troops to advance, creating a gap in the Union line north of town at Barlow's Knoll. Confederate command quickly saw the weakness and exploited it with direct and flanking assaults. As the lines collapsed in the north and west, the whole of the Union army was ordered to retreat to the south of town and take up position around Cemetery Hill. With a stronger defensive position and darkness falling, the Confederates were forced to abandon their next attack until the following day.

  July 2nd 1863

  David had worked through the night, desperately trying to save as many lives as he could, as quickly as he could. He had remembered the death toll of the battle from his history class in school, and knew he had no time to waste. With his trained staff of surgeons, he was able to stay nearly on top of the wounded as they arrived from battle. Unfortunately, David knew the numbers of wounded were going to be far too great for intricate surgery. He would have to perform amputations in all but the easiest of cases if he were to keep the majority of them alive.

  As David sliced through the leg tissues below the private’s knee, he felt a slight jolt of resistance from his patient.

  “My God, this man's not fully anesthetized,” David called out. “Doctor, hand me the chloroform and that cone, q
uickly,” David said as he pointed to the supplies on a table next to him.

  “Yes sir. Do you need any help, sir?” asked the young doctor, handing David a bottle and cone.

  “I'm ok; just keep an eye on your technique,” David responded.

  “Yes sir,” the young doctor replied.

  David partially filled a paper cone with the chloroform and held it above the wounded private’s mouth and nose, allowing the fumes and tiny droplets to be ingested. Moments later, David put down the cone and continued with his surgery.

  Having cut the muscle to the bone, David then took a long ribbon of cloth and ripped it down the middle, leaving a small section at the end that left the two strips still connected. Placing the two strips on each side of the bone, he held the leg suspended in the air by the cloth, then pulled the muscle tissue back as far as he could without ripping through the fabric. David called over an assistant to hold the cloth as he began to saw through the now fully-exposed bone. In seconds, he sawed through the leg and discarded the damaged limb into a heaping basket of body parts, sending flies scurrying for cover.