An Unlikely Union

“Thank you, Joshua, but no. Perhaps you should return home.”

He nodded and tipped his slouch hat. “I’ll be by at sunset to collect you.”

“Thank you.”

It was only after he had rolled away that Emily realized that in her shock over the sight before her, she’d left her basket and bonnet in the carriage. She would need covering from the sun as the day wore on.

But a few freckles will do me no harm, she thought. I’ll make do. She turned for the docks.

Her heart broke. The cries of suffering rose around her and it was almost impossible to walk without stepping on a wounded man. Swallowing back her emotions, she found a water bucket and went to work. Emily doled out the precious liquid and gently wiped dust-caked faces. While doing so, she glanced down the dock. Trudy, Elizabeth and Rebekah had each arrived. They were doing the same.

Surgeons raced back and forth. Confederates and Federal soldiers alike were begging for their attention. The injured men were in desperate need of pain medication. Although they had been tended to in the field hospitals, many also needed suturing. In some cases the train to Baltimore had caused as much damage as the battlefield.

Help them, Lord.

Before she could even finish the thought, Dr. Mackay came storming toward her. His white collar was soaked with sweat, his shirtsleeves and blue vest already stained.

“Don’t just stand there, Nurse! Put down the bucket and follow me!”

She handed it to a nearby woman and hurried after him.

Deep amidst the wounded men an orderly stood holding three skeins of yarn. Dr. Mackay took them from the man and quickly dismissed him. He then handed the skeins to her, along with a pair of scissors.

“Now, do exactly as I say.”

Do what? she wondered. What good is yarn among thirsty and bleeding men? They need water! That is what we always do first!

“We will take this section here,” he said, waving his big hand over the general area where they stood. “Red for immediate care. Green for those to go to Fort McHenry. Blue for the transport steamers north. Understand?”

Of course she didn’t understand. She glanced about. No one else had yarn. They were armed with buckets and bandages. “Excuse me?”

Frustration filled his face. That vein at the top of his collar was bulging again. “Tie the appropriate color to the man’s left arm, according to what I tell you!”

In her confusion, she said the first thing that came to mind. “What if he has no left arm?”

“Then tie it to the right one! Come!”

He pulled at her sleeve. It was all Emily could do not to recoil from his touch. What is he about to do? Sort the men into lots? Give the Federal soldiers a red ribbon, permission for care, while tossing the wounded Confederates into carts and hauling them off to prison?

Emily shuddered. She wouldn’t put it past him.

Lord, what should I do?

If she continued to allow him to drag her along she may end up sending Confederate soldiers to their deaths, yet if she challenged him, the berating she’d surely receive would consume any time she could spend caring for the men.

Give me wisdom, she prayed, yet none came.

Dr. Mackay let go of her arm when they reached a pallet of wounded Federal soldiers. “Red yarn,” he ordered. “All three of them.”

No surprise here.

She did as commanded. He sprinkled powdered morphine directly into their wounds while she knelt to wipe the blood from the first man’s face with her apron.

“Bless you, miss,” the soldier said.

“No! Follow me!”

Emily was thoroughly confused. “I tie a string to his arm giving permission for care and then I leave him?”

Without any explanation, he went on. She felt she had no choice at that point but to follow.

“These here...red string.”

Dr. Mackay had her tie the same color onto three other soldiers in blue and then, much to her surprise, on two Confederate men. However, she was not allowed to touch any of them further. When they reached the pallet of one shoeless soldier, Dr. Mackay said flatly, “This rebel is dead.”

He didn’t even stop to close the man’s eyes. He left him staring heavenward. Emily’s heart ached. Red string, red string, blue, blue, green...They continued through the maze of broken, mud-crusted bodies.

Though Emily still thought his actions were ridiculous, she was beginning to see a pattern. Those with superficial injuries, Yankees of course, were tagged for transport north. Confederates able to stand were marked for Fort McHenry. She was surprised at the number of wounded prisoners of both sides who the doctor deemed worthy of the red ribbon. She was horrified, however, at the number who received no marker at all, only a little morphine.

One such man happened to be a Federal sergeant with a gaping hole in his chest. When Dr. Mackay turned away from him, Emily could stand it no longer. She grabbed his arm. He looked back at her, obviously annoyed.

“But he’s one of yours! Do something, please! Can’t you hear him? He’s in terrible pain!”

The doctor’s face softened slightly. “The powder will help,” he said.

“But—”

He bent low to her ear. “There isn’t anything to be done. Why the field surgeons sent him here is beyond me.” He freed himself from her grasp. “Come...there are still others.”

Armed with nothing more than the useless string, Emily continued on. When she reached the last man in their section and tied her last marker, Dr. Mackay turned and said, “Now go back to the ones with the red ribbons. Apply clean dressing to those that have been tended to.”

“And when I have finished? What of the ones with no string?”

His jaw twitched. He raked back his hair, which had curled even more in the July humidity. “Aye. Comfort them as best as you are able.” He then pointed to a supply wagon. It was filled with baskets of bandages. “Take that with you.”

He waded back through the mangled mass of humanity from which they had just come. As she watched him go, Emily noticed for the first time what had been happening behind her.

Jeremiah Wainwright and several volunteers from the commission, including Eliza Henry, were already at work. One gave water to all; another washed away mud; still another was removing soiled bandages.

Two other assistant surgeons as well as Dr. Mackay were now tending to wounds. They were doing so not according to which army the men served, but by the rank of the colored yarn.

It may have been unconventional, but Emily now saw the wisdom in his plan. While other sections were scrambling from one wounded soldier to the next, her portion of the dock was running in an orderly progression.

I misjudged him, she thought. Forgive me, Lord.

She snatched the basket of bandages from the wagon and ran after him.

* * *