20. The Invalids of the Wilderness

1864 JUNE 4, FRIDAY

20

Grief followed me to St. Albans. I did not know if there would be word. My hope soared for a moment, seeing Seth meet me at the station. But he sadly shook his head when he read the question on my lips. The sweet reunion with Katie and the Mathis family was overshadowed by the grief of losing Mother, the surmounting casualties, and John missing. Needing nurses, Mrs. Mathis and Nora went to tend the wounded at the hospital, and I chose to help the Chisholms. The hospitals were overflowing. Having the room, they volunteered their home to care for Brett and three others.

When I arrived, Clara's cheeks were flushed, and her curled, auburn hair was falling from its hairnet. Her bright-blue eyes were intense with urgency, and her red lips were pursed with determination.

"Oh, thank God you've come, Ella!" Clara exclaimed, taking my arm and guiding me into the upstairs room.

The scent of raw flesh, blood, iodine, and rubbing alcohol mingled with the stench of urine and bodily waste caused by the merciless dysentery. Gettysburg came crashing back to me, and with Mother's death still fresh, I was hesitant to enter. I pulled a perfume-scented handkerchief from my pocket and held it to my nose.

The room was dim but for the five lamps lit on side tables and dressers. A full-size bed stood at one end of the room, and two single beds were close together against the wall facing balcony doors.

Two men groaned in the full-size bed. Both had dark hair and dirty beards surrounding their parched, blistered lips. A thin sheet and a single quilt lay over them. One was deep in sleep, while the other twitched as if pestered with ticks, a hand touching his face as if to check that his eyes were still in his head.

In one of the twin beds, a pale, curly-haired boy—who did not look much older than Seth, if not for a fleece of whiskers—lay prostrate. His mouth hung open, shallow breathing escaping from his thin lips. He would have looked tranquil in sleep beneath the quilt layers if it weren't for his sallow skin. I had seen it so many times in Gettysburg, in Robert, and knew he was not long for this world.

Clara pulled me close to the other bed where her mother washed a soldier's face. He had light-brown hair, the lamplight bringing out hints of auburn. His face was pale beneath his tan and well-trimmed beard. The boy's eyes were shut and looked as still as the dead, deep in sleep. Mrs. Chisholm turned the boy's face as she washed it, revealing a handsome face marred with a grewsome wound. Stitches crisscrossed the raised, red, jagged cut from his temple to a half inch away from his symmetrical, pointed nose.

"He's sleeping now, but when he wakes, you must meet my dear brother." Clara touched his still hand.

"We'll see, darling," Mrs. Chisholm said. "I fear we should've never moved him from Fredericksburg. He's feverish now."

Clara ignored her mother's remark, instead guiding me to the blond boy to the left of her brother. "A doctor is supposed to come look at him before midnight. We fear he may not live through the night. He hasn't made a noise or lifted an eyelid since he arrived here earlier this afternoon. His name, I'm told, is Private Will Baker. More of a boy by the looks of him."

"What about the other two?" I asked, looking over at the two in the full-size bed.

I followed her over to their bedside. Clara vainly tried to straighten the sheet and quilt over the gentlemen who kept twitching.

"This is Captain Jacob Reynolds. His other arm was amputated yesterday, and we'll have to change his bandages soon. The other is Sergeant Matthew Downs. He has a bad puncture wound on his right side and is missing two digits, but it appears he is healing nicely. Sergeant Downs might even be up and around earlier than all the others, unless he contracts pneumonia or blood poisoning, for which we are keeping a strict eye on all of them. He was awake earlier to take his medicine and drink a little chicken broth, but he went back to sleep before he could finish."

Hours upon hours we sat vigil, alternating our positions at the bedsides. Their conditions neither improved nor worsened. The only change that occurred were the facial expressions as laudanum, which allowed them to sleep painlessly, wore off. All were unconscious as they lay motionless—except in Captain Reynold's case—upon their soiled bedding. I eventually became accustomed to the stench of the room, but I could not shake the fear I would erupt at any moment. Too reminiscent of the soldiers at Gettysburg. The night wore on, and coffee cups were replenished.

By midnight, an unfamiliar physician arrived. He checked each man's wounds. I noticed then where Clara's brother, Brett, was injured. A bandage was wrapped around his torso where a blood stain the size of a grapefruit spread. It reminded me of where Robert was hit, but I did not dare utter my fear to the Chisholms.

"Thank goodness the surgeons in Fredericksburg extracted the bullet in his side, Mrs. Chisholm," the doctor said. "But I fear it was not wise to move him from the hospital there."

Mrs. Chisholm clutched her collar. "I fear the worst … that you are right, sir."

"The hemorrhaging has slowed, but keep a strict eye on him. We do not want an infection to set in. Be sure to change the bandages in the morning, and keep the wound as clean as possible. That is all you really can do for him, besides giving him laudanum to allow him to sleep."

Clara put an arm around her mother's waist in comfort.

"Now," the doctor said, moving over to Private Baker. He sighed as he peeled back the private's eyelid. Then sighed even heavier as he pressed two fingers to his pulse. "I fear he won't be with us much longer."

"We have already prepared a letter to his family," Clara informed.

"Very good, very good. I'll have someone check on him again at six this morning. If he expires before, send someone to the hospital immediately. We can have a final check of his vitals and prepare him for burial."

With expediency and efficiency, he checked the two in the full-size bed, declaring both must be monitored for symptoms of pneumonia or infection and stating Sergeant Downs was on the mend.

Private Will Baker did not survive the night.