The Surgeon: A Civil War Story

by Schwartz, Richard Alan

  She shrugged. “Let’s gather what supplies we can.”

  “Someone sober up Dr. Fellows, please,” Abbey said. “We’ll need him when this battle starts.”

  “Cpl. Silver and I will do that,” Lt. Smith said.

  “Lt. Smith, I’ll give you a note to take to the Connecticut regiment, requesting Laura Grafton. We’ll use her as a surgical assistant.

  He nodded and said, “I’ll send a messenger immediately.”

  I fear this will be a Fourth of July we won’t soon forget,” Abbey said.

  “I was hoping to visit a town close to here,” Lt. Scharf said. “Some cousins live there.”

  “Name of the town?” Dr. Kaplan asked.

  “Gettysburg.”

  * * *

  “At least with all this surgery, my mind doesn’t have time for nightmares,” Dr. Kaplan said to Lt. Scharf, then used her teeth to tear meat off a roasted turkey leg. They’d taken a break from the seemingly endless parade of wounded and sat on the ground with their backs against a tree.

  “You managing any sleep?” Lt. Scharf asked.

  “In this heat and humidity? I’ve managed, at most, a couple hours the last few days. You?”

  “The same. Eat anything?”

  “Just this, beef and barley soup yesterday, pancakes with jelly and bacon, two days ago.”

  “How’s your body holding up?”

  “Knees, back and hips are killing me.” She flexed her hands then spooned lima beans with cubed ham and carrots, out of her mucket. “Was getting cramps in my hands for a while last night. How’s it going assisting Dr. Fellows?”

  “He’s working hard. Covered in sweat and shaking the first day. Dr. Fellows is directing me…actually training me, to do much more surgery than you allow me. The more his hands tremble, the more he instructs me instead of trying to do it himself. Since some time yesterday, I’ve done entire amputations under his direction.”

  “Excellent training.”

  “I notice he regularly asks your advice.”

  “Since roughly a month ago, he treats me as if I’m the chief surgeon.”

  “He should.”

  “Thanks for learning enough to be his assistant.”

  He shrugged then flexed his shoulders forward and back. “You put me on this path.” He ate for a while then asked, “How is your assistant?”

  “After the first few hours, Laura anticipates what I need and has it in her hand, ready to pass it to me. She has enough dexterity to help with ligations and some suturing.” Abbey turned toward the nurse, who sat a number of yards away. She shouted, “Laura Grafton is a medical angel.”

  Laura smiled then turned toward Abbey and mouthed a thank you.

  The doctor closed her eyes for a while, put her head back against the tree then said, “Your and Lt. Smith’s suggestion about cross-training has been a life saver; allowing rotation to give our team a chance to eat and rest.” Abbey yawned then asked, “How long has it been?”

  “Over seventy-hours, I believe.”

  “The cannon and rifle-fire have died down.”

  More mule-drawn-ambulances rumbled into view. Their wheels creaked and thumped along the rutted path from the battlefield.

  They both stood and Abbey stretched.

  “Off we go,” she said. “Not sure how much more of this I can take.”

  After another ten-hours of surgery, Dr. Fellows took Abbey aside.

  “The fact that you’re a woman still disturbs me but I’m no fool. Better than anyone else, I know your surgical and medical capabilities; which surpassed mine months ago. You regularly repair gut-wounds I wouldn’t even attempt…and you’ve been successful over half the time you perform them.”

  Abbey’s eyebrows went up in surprise.

  “Yes. I’ve been keeping track of survival rates. If only a quarter of them survived it would border on the miraculous but half is a God-send. The men in this regiment don’t know how lucky they are. You have my word as an officer, your position is secure as long as you desire it.”

  * * *

  Dr. Kaplan approached the corporal with the tear streaked face who leaned on his crutches. His right lower leg and foot were wrapped in bandages. She’d decided to walk a field which would become known as the location of Pickett’s Charge. The engagement ended a number of days previous. “Are you in pain?”

  “Just a little Ma’am. Thanks for asking.” He slowly shook his head. “We was behind breastworks up Cemetery Ridge yonder,” He nodded to the ridge. “The Confederates came across this field to attack us.” He sighed. “Lost many a good friend on that damn ridge.”

  “You survived the battle.”

  “Wasn’t a fair fight.”

  “Little is fair about war.”

  He eyed the tree line one-hundred-yards behind them. “The Southern soldiers who came out of them trees; they had to know.”

  “Know what?”

  He surveyed the trampled wheat field then the one-hundred-yards up to Cemetery Ridge. “Their officers must have known as well.”

  “Corporal, know what?”

  “A suicide charge, Ma’am.”

  “How so?”

  “They were all experienced soldiers…as were we. They arrived here after an exhausting march. Casting their eyes on this field, having to attack a fortified, uphill position after crossing an open area like this which is totally lacking in cover; they must have known few would survive.” He lowered his eyes and slowly shook his head. He wiped a tear away with his shoulder. “Many of us used rifled muskets and rifled lever-action long-guns. They used smooth-bore muskets.”

  “I’m sorry but I have little familiarity with munitions other than the damage they do plus the Spencer I’ve used in combat.”

  “Rifling a barrel means it’s accurate out to two-hundred- yards. Them Southern boys’ smooth-bores were only accurate to fifty-yards. In other words, they had to wait ‘till they were fifty-yards from us to begin shooting while we could begin picking them off at two-hundred-yards.” He gazed around the field for a bit and sighed. “Disrespectful of me to refer to them as boys. They were men. If they crossed this field and attempted to attack up the hill, they damn sure were men.” He turned and pointed to a nearby stream. “That there water ran red.” The soldier took off his hat, bowed his head and mumbled a prayer. Abbey bowed her head, clasped her hands and recited her own prayer.

  The corporal continued, “Anyway, a number of us used lever-action rifles like your Spencer, which could fire seven-rounds-a-minute as opposed to the one-to two-rounds-a- minute of the muskets. Didn’t have to stand to re-load them either.”

  They walked further into the field.

  “One man with a lever-action could put out as much fire as six or seven men with muskets. Or twenty men with lever- actions equaled one-hundred-forty with muskets.”

  “Terrifying.”

  “The left side of our line would have collapsed but for snipers with repeating rifles. Held off a much larger force from Little Round Top until reinforcements arrived.”

  “Lucky.”

  “Odd thing I remember. The cannon-balls fired in our direction exploded behind us.”

  How are they timed?”

  “With fuses. We talked to a captured Confederate artillery soldier. He said they’d just received a new shipment of fuses right before the battle. Probably didn’t have time to test them.” He paused to view the torn and shredded trees around the battlefield then added, “Let’s get off this area. I feel like I’m trampling on the souls of the men who died here.”

  Abbey nodded. “Couldn’t agree more.” They walked a distance away then turned to look at the battlefield again. She said, “It took numerous days to bury them. The line of those needing surgery seemed endless and quite a number died before we could treat them.”

  “Gettysburg was terrible, maybe the worst in terms of total men lost, but so were other engagements. In the Battle of Shiloh, more Americans died in two days than in the Revolutionary War and
the War of 1812 combined. At Cold Harbor, Virginia, over seven-thousand men died in less than thirty-minutes.”

  “You seem knowledgeable concerning war.”

  “History teacher before this.” He glanced at Abbey’s face. “You all right Ma’am?”

  “I seem to tear up lately.”

  “I heard you’re having trouble sleeping.”

  Furious, Abbey spoke through gritted teeth. “Does the entire fucking camp know?” She turned away from the soldier, kicked at the dirt and folded her arms across her chest.

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “I reckon the entire camp cares, Ma’am.”

  Abbey took a few deep breaths as she regained her composure. Then, after dropping her arms to her side, said, “Thank you, Corporal. Sorry I spoke like that.”

  “Don’t you be upset, Doctor. Lots of death here but you’ve saved many a life. You deserve to be proud of your work here.”

  “Believe me, I’m too emotionally and physically worn to be much of anything let alone proud.”

  * * *

  “Lieutenant Scharf,” Abbey said while sitting at the desk in her tent, the lieutenant was seated at her side peering through her microscope. “It’s been three-months since our move from Gettysburg, I’d like to change your routine. Dr. Fellows…”

  “Has been quizzing me on my book knowledge for hours at a time.”

  She laughed. “We agree you have sufficient experience and book knowledge to help me perform camp medical duty each day. You’ll still be under my direct supervision but we have little doubt you can perform many procedures on your own. In addition, I’ve lined up more texts for you to study.”

  “So much for my drumming.”

  “We’ll make you a doctor yet.”

  “Amazing,” he said while slowly shaking his head. The lieutenant’s smile slowly disappeared. “I appreciate your and Dr. Fellows’ guidance. It gives me the opportunity to do more for the wounded.” He gazed in her eyes for a long time then said, “Are you sleeping?”

  “Adequately. Still have some really bad nights where sleep seems to be impossible or I don’t want to sleep because of the nightmares.”

  “But some days your lack of sleep is written all over your face.”

  “Some days are bad.”

  “Abbey, you will please, tell me if you reach a point where you’re feeling overwhelmed from lack of sleep?”

  She nodded and said, “I promise.” They stared at each other for a while then she smiled and said, “You’re the only person I don’t explode at when you use my first name.”

  “Sorry…come to think about it, we’re both lieutenants so it’s allowed.”

  Abbey giggled. “May I call you Jordan?”

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  “It’s getting late. Camp medical duty at sunup, Lt. Jordan.”

  He stood and saluted, “Yes, Lt. Abbey.”

  She laughed, stood at attention and returned his salute. He turned to leave.

  Abbey grabbed his arm, turned down the oil lamp with her other hand then embraced him. She whispered, “I might sleep better if Lt. Jordan spent the night.”

  * * *

  Two-days later, Cpl. Silver stood at the opened flap of Abbey’s tent.

  “Please come in,” she said.

  He entered, removed his hat and saluted. “I was wondering if you ever heard from Dr. Herzog.”

  She returned his salute. “Margaret?”

  “Yes. We were friends.”

  “I suspected there was someone.” Abbey smiled at the wiry soldier. “I’m glad it was you.”

  “Do you have any idea where she might be?”

  “The Military Investigative Service interviewed me and I told them I had no idea.”

  His shoulders drooped. The corporal’s expression saddened. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

  “Cpl. Silver, I know you enjoy scenery.”

  He evidenced a puzzled expression. “Ma’am?”

  “You might want to visit Vicksburg, Mississippi when the war ends. I believe you’ll find the scenery there is just what you’re looking for.”

  He grinned broadly. “Bless you, Dr. Kaplan.”

  * * *

  At the recovery hospital, she watched an officer as he finished reading a letter to a soldier with bandages covering his eyes. The soldier thanked him and the major moved to another patient. Abbey approached him and offered her hand. “How do you do?” Abbey asked the major. “I’m Dr. Abbey Kaplan.”

  He stood. “Major Benjamin Sokolov. A pleasure to meet the doctor who’s done so much for our troops.”

  “Thank you. What do you do for our regiment?”

  “Not in your regiment. I’m on the general staff. My specialty is maps and battle planning.”

  “Have you been in combat?”

  “Not specifically. On two occasions we were attacked close to where I work. I grabbed a rifle and joined an infantry squad until we could break contact and escape.”

  “Break contact? Why?”

  “The information in my head would be most useful to the Confederate forces. Being captured would be unthinkable.”

  He gazed at the scar on her cheek. “Battle wound?”

  She nodded. “One of a number.”

  “Shall we step outside?”

  They walked to the porch of the old building where they were cooled by a pleasant breeze.

  Abbey regarded him for a bit then said, “You make plans and our boys carry them out.”

  “Yes. A mentally painful task, I assure you.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s easy to move lines on a map and discuss how many casualties we may expect in the abstract. But I regularly visit the recovery hospital to talk to the men. Doing so, reminds me how deadly a mistake can be for the human beings carrying out my plan.”

  “But you don’t have to visit.”

  “True. But visiting and talking to the men…listening to their hopes and dreams…” he looked down for a moment, “as well as destroyed hopes and dreams…forces my mind to plan carefully.”

  “I thought the war might be over after Gettysburg.”

  His voice became tinged with anger. “After that battle, I screamed until my face turned purple and jumped up and down as high as a dining table trying to get people’s attention.”

  Abbey envisioned the rather large major jumping table high. She giggled and said, “Because?”

  “The Confederates were on the run. We could have pursued them and likely destroyed most of Lee’s remaining forces. Our military leaders, and I use the word leaders with reservation, decided otherwise. Rumor is, the White House was shaken to its foundation by Lincoln’s anger after he was informed we didn’t pursue Lee’s Army of Virginia.”

  “I barely ate or slept while performing surgery for multiple days during and after the battle.”

  “The Army of the Potomac has better equipment, more men and better supply channels than the South. The longer this goes on, the more cruel it is. It pains me to say this but…if General Lee led the North, I believe the war would be over. We don’t have the leadership we need.”

  “Where I work, a field hospital, we don’t hear things like this.”

  “Perhaps it’s better I don’t discuss dissention among our leaders.”

  “I can keep my mouth shut.” She regarded him briefly. “Your thoughts give me perspective on the war.”

  He stared at the cobblestone street which fronted the old building which held the recovery hospital. A buckboard clattered by. He sighed, then said, “Consider for a moment, the Northern home-front. While men are dying by the thousands, elite colleges are still having…” he pronounced with contempt…“rowing competitions.”

  Abbey’s eyes went wide. “I had no idea! How absurd!”

  He checked his pocket watch. “I have to report back to headquarters now. I’ve enjoyed our talk. Perhaps we can find time to continue this discussion.”

  “Love to,” Abbey said, “when we can both find time.”<
br />
  The Enemy Gets Close

  Just after lunch, Dr. Kaplan spoke to Lt. Scharf, “I received a note from Dr. Fellows. A recovery hospital a long day’s ride from here is in desperate need of surgical assistance. I’ve been asked to perform a number of surgeries. I’d like you to assist.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  Lt. Smith overheard and said, “You’ll want to get there before dark. Each of you should carry a rifle and ammunition. Southern patrols are rumored to be scouting the roads between here and the recovery hospital. I’ll send Pvt. Theo and Cpl. Wilber from the infantry unit with you. Theo is good with horses and an extra rifleman might be useful.”

  Abbey carried her Spencer carbine, two cartridge boxes strapped over her shoulder; one with cartridges for the Spencer and one filled with bandage material, plus a pack with her surgical instruments. As usual, she strapped her Colt pistol to her hip.

  “Think you’ll need your pistol and belt? Lots of weight there if we have to hike some,” Lt. Scharf said.

  She glanced at her sidearm. “It saved me before.”

  “True enough,” the lieutenant replied.

  With Pvt. Theo at the reins and the horse’s hooves trotting a steady rhythm, Abbey said, “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard the surname, Theo, before.”

  “My full name is Taki Theodoracopulos.”

  “Therefore we call you Theo,” Cpl. Wilbur said with a grin. Abbey’s melodic laughter filled the air while the others grinned.

  “Where is your home Pvt. Theo?” she asked.

  “A dairy farm in central Massachusetts.”

  “Your home, Cpl. Wilbur?”

  “Pittsburgh, Ma’am.”

  “Your family?”

  Cpl. Wilbur replied, “Three generations of coal miners but me.”

  “Why not you?”

  “My daddy said he’d break both my legs before he’d let me work in the mines. Said I’ve got enough brains to get a thinking job.”