Tear In Time (25 page)

  With a
straight face and even tone, Dr. Morgan replied, “I hear tell he could clean
out a tavern faster than rats on a sinking ship. Not the sort of thing becoming
of such royalty, I admit, but I suppose every man fights his own demons.”

  “And
unrepentant no less.” David added.

  At that,
both men joined in, each other’s laughter propelling the other to newer
heights. David was bent over his knees. Tears dripped from his eyes and pooled
on the dirt below him. The old doctor wasn't faring much better, as he
struggled to stay atop his horse as his body writhed in the saddle.

  As the
laughter died down a bit, Dr. Morgan extended his hand to David, offering him a
lift up on top of the horse. Still chuckling, David step forward, placed his
foot in the stirrup and hauled himself up behind the old doctor.

  Still
laughing, Dr. Morgan reiterated once more, “Yep, foul and unrepentant.”

  “I
suppose being father of your country affords you certain liberties,” David
replied, still chuckling.

  “I
suppose,” Dr. Morgan added.

  With a
snap of the reins he sent his horse off on a trot, and the two settled in for
the short ride back to camp, their spirits now somewhat renewed.

TT:
Chapter 7

August
12th 1862

  The
cool evening air carried with it the varied scents from across the valley. With
each inhalation, the essence of wildflowers, dried grasses, corn fields, as
well as rich fertile soil went mostly undetected. Sitting by their campfires,
the Union soldiers stared into the burning embers and allowed the cool, crisp
air to heal their tortured minds. As the warm, gentle touch from the flames
brushed against the soldiers’ skin, it quieted their minds and cleansed them of
their ill memories, clearing the way for reparation and reconciliation. The
absence of the customary clamor signaled the catharsis occurring within.

  Nearly
three days after the harried retreat from Cedar Mountain, David, Dr. Morgan and
the other doctors finally completed the last of their surgeries. On the edge of
complete physical collapse, David sat by the fire’s edge and leaned again a
small boulder.  The hardships and tragedies of the previous day’s events
flashed repeatedly through his mind, and David, like others, used the healing
powers of the fire to help him make peace with the violent and disturbing
images.

  “We
did well, David,” Dr. Morgan said as he sipped his coffee from across the fire.

  “I
can't believe we worked for nearly forty-eight hours with nothing more than a
catnap. I think I did more surgeries in the past two days than the whole of my
entire medical career, and that includes pulling the wings off flies as a kid,”
David replied, still able to joke through his exhaustion.

  “Hmm,
an auspicious start to be sure,” Dr. Morgan replied, slightly disturbed by
David's revelation.

  “Doc,
I'm kidding! It was just a little joke. I never pulled the wings off flies as a
child,” David retorted at the sight of Doc's change in demeanor. David paused a
moment for effect, then added, “It wasn't until medical school that I learned
to do that surgically.”

  “My
God, man. You mean to tell me that the study of medicine now includes the
dissection of fly wings? Amazing, simply amazing. What will they think of
next?” Dr. Morgan returned energetically, paused a moment in thought, then
continued, “Although I'm not sure I see the connection between the human
anatomy and the common insect.”

  “Doc,
there isn't one. I was joking again,” David said, now chuckling at how far the
joke had gone.

  Dr.
Morgan stared at David for a moment. All expression was gone from his face as
he processed the previous exchange. Finally, as David laughed, he too
understood the humor and joined in.

  “I owe
you one,” Dr. Morgan replied smiling, using the 20th Century saying he
remembered David using.

  David smirked
at Doc's keen memory and proper usage as he converted the term from literal to
sarcasm.

 
Suddenly, a flaming ember expanded and released its stored gases, creating a
loud ‘pop’ from deep within the fire. With a jolt, David ducked as if evading incoming
fire.

  “Wow,
I must be more tired than I thought. For a minute there, I thought that was
rifle fire,” David said, now straightening himself up.

  “It's
not exhaustion, David. It's instinct. Interesting that after such a short time,
yours is sharpened so keenly,” Dr. Morgan remarked.

  “Hmm,”
David replied simply.

 
Quickly his mind fast-forwarded through the images of the previous day’s
events: the cannon fire, the artillery and rifle fire, but most of all, the
wounded. David had lost count of the hundreds of men they had treated over the
previous couple of days, and wondered about their recoveries.

  “Doc,
what kind of treatment do you think the wounded will receive at the hospitals?”
David asked.

  “Hard
to say,” Dr. Morgan replied as he thought about the question. “There were quite
a lot of them that received no benefit of sterilization.”

  “I
know; that's my worry. We ran out of supplies about halfway through. We now
have to rely on the hospitals for aggressive care. They're going to have to
change and cleanse the wounds several times a day just to stay ahead of
advanced infection,” David said, the concern obvious in his tone.

  “I've
been to the regimental hospitals, David, and I can assure you that the best we
can hope for is substandard care. It's just a function of the number of wounded
to the staff, I'm afraid,” Dr. Morgan said.

  “I
lost count of the numbers. Any idea of how many we worked on?” David asked.

  “I'd
say around a couple thousand men. I can give you an exact figure tomorrow if
you'd like, after I submit my report to command,” Dr. Morgan offered.

 
“Thanks, that'd be great,” David replied, “Boy, two thousand men in just a
couple of days. That has got to be some kind of record....”

  Just
then, David stopped in mid-thought. Off in the distance, both men heard the
familiar gallop from General Jim Negley's horse. David glanced across the fire
and tried to read the expression on Dr. Morgan's face. By the light of the
campfire, he could see an anxious look on the old doctor’s face, just as he had
seen before the battle of Cedar Mountain.

  “Doc,
what is it? Are we in trouble again?” David asked anxiously.

  “I
don't know, son. He's pushing his horse pretty hard and at this late hour. Hmm,
can't be good,” Dr. Morgan replied without taking his eyes from the direction
of the sound.

  “Crap,
now what?” David exclaimed in frustration. “We haven't even rested from the
last crisis.”

  “War
has no timetable, David. We must move when opportunity presents itself;
although I must say that before we are able to perform another stitch, we both
will need some rest,” Dr. Morgan said, trying to ease David's mind.

  “Man,
he looks like he's riding hard,” David said, focusing more on Gen. Negley than
on Dr. Morgan's previous comment. “What could be so important?” he finished
rhetorically.

  As
Gen. Negley neared their campfire, he hauled back on the reins and began to
slow his horse to a trot. David could see the intensity of the general's face,
which only heightened his own anxiety. Dr. Morgan stood now and prepared to
greet his old friend. He dusted off his pants and jacket, and as Gen. Negley
came to a stop, the two old friends tipped their hats to each other.

 
“Evening, Jim,” Dr. Morgan called out. “What brings you out on this fine
evening? Don't you have some paperwork to finish? I hadn't figured you for a
loafer,” he finished with friendly sarcasm.

  “Jeb,
let me at least dismount before you take the saber to me,” Gen. Negley replied
as he stepped down off his horse. “Anyhow, I ain’t here for lallygagging.”
Suddenly, the general stopped in his tracks and stared at the campfire. A
strange gleam beamed from his eyes. “Say, Jeb, you wouldn't be able to spare an
old friend a taste of that coffee, would you?”

  “Help
yourself,” Dr. Morgan replied. Now sitting, he continued, “So, Jim, are you
bearing bad news again?”

  Gen.
Negley closed his eyes and took a few long sips of his coffee. Satisfied by the
flavor, he turned to his old friend and asked, “Jeb, you wouldn’t happen to
have an extra cigar just lying around here, would you?”

 
Smiling now, and drawing a hand-rolled cigar from inside his coat, Dr. Morgan
replied, “Jim, with all those resources at your disposal, you come to me for
coffee and cigars?”

 
“You’re one of my resources,” Gen. Negley replied back quickly, then snatched
the cigar from Dr. Morgan’s hand irreverently.

  “Hmm,
maybe it is I who should be coming to you for resources,” Dr. Morgan joked.

  “I’m just
the general. I don’t have anything; only knowledge. You’d have to go consult my
other resources for anything tangible,” he replied, now pretending to really
enjoy his newly obtained articles.

 
“Spoken like a true politician,” Dr. Morgan said, ending the playful banter.
“Now, Jim, you rode here like your britches were on fire. What exactly are your
intentions? Certainly not that you’re running for public office.”

  Gen.
Negley carefully lit his cigar with an ember he dragged from the fire, took a deep
puff and exhaled. Turning to Dr. Morgan he replied, “We’re moving out at
daybreak.”

  “I
figured as much. Where to?” Dr. Morgan said, now visibly irritated, then added,
“You do realize the lad and I have been working nearly two days straight
without rest.”

  “I
could send a dispatch to the enemy, asking them to refrain from any further
hostilities until you’ve had your beauty sleep. How’d that be?” Gen. Negley
asked, deep sarcasm in his voice.

  Using
his index finger, he pretended to write on the palm of his hand.

  “Let
me think. Oh yes, I know exactly what I shall write:
Dear General Stonewall
Jackson. As you have delivered unto us a terrible thrashing at Cedar Mountain,
my surgeons had to work extra hard and are now a bit sleepy. If it would not be
too inconvenient, I would be indebted to you if you could see fit to hold your
aggressions until further notice.”

  Gen.
Negley paused for a moment then continued with an afterthought:

 
“And,
oh yes, please do not move your troops with the intent to gain advantage while
my boys are sleeping. It would be most unfair, as well as creating undue noise
that would disturb their sleep. Yours very truly, General James Negley.”

 
Turning to Dr. Morgan, Gen. Negley finished his joke, “I’ll get this off right
quick. You just concentrate on your rest.”

  “Why
thank you, Jim, for that thoughtful consideration. And one more thing. Do you
think you could have fresh cut flowers laid at our feet while we sleep?” Dr.
Morgan asked in a delicate voice.

 
"Daisies or lilacs? I'm especially fond of lilacs,” Gen. Negley shot back
instantly. “Right then: I’m moving the troops in the morning. I don’t expect
we’ll be seeing any action for a little while - catch up when you're fit.”

  Having
been granted to liberty of rest, the two old friends nodded to each other in
acknowledgment and respect, then sat back and enjoyed the warmth of the fire in
silence.

 
Inhaling the general's aroma from his cigar, Dr. Morgan reached into his coat
and pulled out a cigar of his own. Bringing it to his nose, he rolled it
slightly and breathed in the rich scent of unlit tobacco. Pulling a twig from
the fire, he sat back and lit his cigar, both men now sharing in a common
interest.