“If I had that answer, I'd be home already,” David replied.
Dr. Morgan stood up in front of David. He studied his face a moment, then said, “I apologize for doubting you. You in fact must be from the future as you claimed. There can be no other explanation for this, for all of this: the photograph, the surgeries, everything you've told me. Collectively, the evidence cannot be refuted.”
"Wow. Thank you, doctor. It's a terrible thing to have your life torn from you in such a way. It's even worse when nobody believes you. I’m relieved,” David replied emphatically, shocked at the old doctor’s conclusion. “Where do we go from here?”
“We have to get you home. To be torn from your life, your home, must be an awful tragedy for you. You have my word; I'll do my best to help you return," Dr. Morgan said, placing his hand on David's shoulder in assurance. "This clearing is somehow connected to your time. It is unfortunate that we must leave here now, on the brink of this discovery. Hopefully, when we return – and we know we will return...," he said, holding up the picture for effect, "we'll have the answers.” Dr. Morgan said with conviction.
"And if we don't?" David asked.
"One tragedy at a time, David. One tragedy at a time," Dr. Morgan said, shaking his head, deep in thought.
TT: Chapter 5
June 10, 1862
Excited and nervous, David watched as the old doctor saddled up a US government-issued Canadian stallion. Young and powerful, the steed was as impressive as it was beautiful. With a soft tan coat and dark markings around the face and ears, he was the envy of every officer. David stood back and listened closely to Dr. Morgan's instructions in saddling a horse. Trying to concentrate on the old doctor's words, his mind reflected back to the future and how, just the day before, he had driven to work in a newer model BMW. Technologically advanced and superbly comfortable, it was a long way off from this primitive mode of transportation he would now struggle to ride.
"I can't believe you've never ridden a horse before," Dr. Morgan remarked. "I've been riding for over half a century, so it may seem easy, but trust in my words, lad: there are many officers who still fall off their horse. Lucky for you, this steed has straps that secure you in the saddle."
"Really? There are?" David asked with relief and sincerity.
Dr. Morgan stopped what he was doing and stared at David for a moment. A smile slowly grazed his face.
"Son, I was speaking in jest; although, come to think of it, straps would eliminate those difficult episodes when a man is too drunk for the saddle," the old doctor replied, pensively staring off into space for a moment as he considered his statement. He then added, "Not that an officer would ever dishonor his reputation with such a poor display of self-restraint."
David raised his finger into the air and said, "Then I shall pledge to carry out all my drunken falls before getting in the saddle," carrying the humorous sarcasm further.
"A sound plan, lad; sound plan," Dr. Morgan returned with a smile.
Finished saddling, he instructed David on the finer points of mounting and riding. Pretty soon, David had gotten the hang of it and was riding without fear. Using a series of trees and small hills, David sharpened his skills as the old doctor fine-tuned his technique.
Shortly before noon, the two heard a gallop off in the distance. Dr. Morgan craned his head in the direction of the sound and listened intently. Drawing his pocket watch, he popped open the intricately embossed cover and peered at the time. A smile spread across his face as he buried the golden timepiece back deep in his pocket.
Turning to David he said, “You could set your clock to his schedules.”
“Who are you referring to?” David asked.
“General Negley, of course,” Dr. Morgan replied.
David listened to the sound of the gallop, but could not distinguish it from any other horse he’d ever heard.
“I’m amazed at how you can determine a man’s horse by the gallop. They all sound the same to me,” David replied in turn.
“Not every horse is distinctive. Jim’s horse has an off step in its stride that makes it easy to discern from others. Have a listen,” the old man instructed. “Do you hear that? Every third step is different.”
As the horse drew near, Dr. Morgan sounded off as the horse’s hooves contacted the ground: “Click, click, click, clop. Click, click, click, clop. Do you hear it? Right after the third step, you hear that distinctive fourth step – a clop.”
David listened again. In his mind he repeated the doctor’s description of the sound over and over, matching the horse’s rhythm to the words. “Click, click, click, clop,” he said, out loud this time. Suddenly he could hear it. His words did indeed match the horse’s stride.
“Oh yeah. Hey, doc, I hear it” David said, still listening to the sound. “That’s amazing. I never would have picked up on that. How did you learn that trick?”
“No trick to it. I just spent quite a bit of time with an old Indian tracker a while back. He taught me to listen, just as I’m teaching you,” Dr. Morgan replied.
Out beyond a small bluff, the two watched as a cloud of dust grew larger with the volume of the gallop. Pretty soon, Gen. Negley appeared, riding over a small hill. Moments later, he pulled on the reins of his horse, coming to a stop in front of Dr. Morgan.
“Doc,” Gen. Negley said aloud in greeting.
“Jim,” Dr. Morgan responded back in turn. “I calculate this is not a social affair?” he added, getting straight to the point.
“Your arithmetic is impeccable, Jeb. Are you joining us, or were you planning on lollygagging the afternoon away?” Gen. Negley chided.
“And miss the intensely grueling marches under the blazing sun, subsisting on meager rations, repelling ambushes, not to mention working on the wounded into the wee hours when we advance into the heart of the enemy? Sir, I am feeling a bit misrepresented. Is this not every man’s aspiration? Is this not befitting of the generous wage of $115 a month?” Dr. Morgan said, returning the sarcasm.
Gen. Negley turned to David and replied, “Now how am I to wage a debate against that kind of logic?”
David shrugged his shoulders and smiled, staying neutral, as Gen. Negley continued to inform the pair of the orders.
“Well, enough of the jabbering. We’re on the move. How are our supplies?” Gen. Negley asked of the surgical supply wagon.
“We’re a bit low on bandages and distilled alcohol,” Dr. Morgan replied, his tone turning serious.
“Alcohol? Jeb, it’s not for drinking, ’cept in cases of extreme mental duress,” Gen. Negley stated, trying to be diplomatic with his reprimand.
“We haven’t been indulging, Jim. We use it for cleaning wounds and surgical instruments and such. It is essential in our endeavors. I fear if we engage in another conflict before we are resupplied, the wounded will fare much worse in their recovery. The successful numbers we have just observed from this previous exchange were due in part to the effective application of distilled alcohol,” Dr. Morgan replied, pleading his case effectively.
“What is the other part?” asked Gen. Negley.
“The other component of success is my young friend here; Dr. Warner,” Dr. Morgan replied proudly, nodding at David.
“Yes, I see. You have educated me previously on his impressive surgical skills. I’ve never heard of such a thing, but if you two are demonstrating impressive success, who am I to say nay,” Gen. Negley acquiesced. He placed his hand to his chin a moment in thought, then continued, “Yes, I shall send along a courier in advance of our column in acquisition of further supplies, straight away. Have a requisition ready for me as soon as is practicable.”
“Yes sir,” Dr. Morgan replied with respect. He then added, “Maybe you could order a few extra jugs for those moments when you and I are also suffering from mental duress?”
“Quite right, quite right,” Gen. Negley said, holding back a smile through his professional posture.
---- ---- ---- ---- ----
; Under the blazing sun, the heat penetrated through their uncomfortable blue woolen uniforms. As far as the eyes could see, the brigade’s column of men, consisting of five thousand soldiers, wagons, equipment and supplies, marched in the heat of the day by the beat of a drummer whose repetitive score sounded the steady and consistent pattern of alternating footsteps.
With a bandana, borrowed from Dr. Morgan and tied around his nose and mouth, David coughed as the dust particles from the column of men filtered through the cotton fibers and continuously irritated his eyes and lungs.
“Boy, this dust is unbelievable. It’s like a giant blanket of dirt suspended over our heads. Maybe we should ride to the front of the column,” David suggested to Dr. Morgan.
“And where do you think the first casualties will occur during an ambush?” Dr. Morgan replied with a slight smile.
“Ah, I see,” David replied with a cough. “I guess it pays to have rank, although it seems so callous, wouldn’t you say? The poor guys’ lives in front have been determined to be less important than ours.”
“It’s all about the numbers, lad. We – you and I – are limited in number. They aren’t. If they die, others are there to take their place. If you die, who will replace you?” Dr. Morgan theorized.
“Yeah, I guess it makes sense,” David replied.
"It's not all relegated to rank though, son. Where do you think Gen. Negley is right now?" Dr. Morgan asked rhetorically, then answered his own question. "He's at the head of the spear. He's leading our troops at the front of the column."
David looked around the wagon in front of him, squinting through the dust, trying to see the front of the column. It was to be in vain, as he realized the column of soldiers marched miles ahead of them, the start of the procession impossible to see. With a nod of understanding, he acknowledged Dr. Morgan’s message.
They rode in silence for a few minutes, keeping an eye on the wagon in front of them to keep pace. David looked around him and observed the countryside. In its natural state it was exceedingly beautiful, with its green rolling hills, long, uncut grasses, furrowed farmlands, and wildflowers that lined the edges of fields and forests. It was interesting to see the unfettered and pristine land before future industrialization would completely overtake the state like a weed.
A short time later, Dr. Morgan asked a question that had been nagging him since he learned of David’s true existence.
“David, there’s something that’s been gnawing at me for some time now. Would it be presumptuous of me to ask who is going to win this war?” Dr. Morgan said, feeling the pains of impropriety tugging at his conscience.
David looked over at the old doctor, who waited anxiously for an answer. He smiled slightly and replied, “We do.”
Dr. Morgan sloughed back in his saddle, relieved that the effort he could see before him was not all in vain. A moment later, he needed more answers. He inquired further.
“How much longer will this last?” Dr. Morgan asked. “Not long I hope,” he added.
“I’m afraid this next answer is not what you expect. This is not a short war. It will end around the beginning of 1868 – six years from now,” David answered sadly.
“1868!” Dr. Morgan replied in shock, his voice growing louder. “My god, that’s an eternity from now. All the carnage. How will our country survive it all?” he asked rhetorically.
“Oh, it will survive it, alright, but not without the help of France and England,” David replied.
“France and England? I thought they were on the side of the Confederacy? This just doesn’t make any sense,” Dr. Morgan said, shaking his head in confusion.
“France and England were on the side of the confederacy: that is until Lincoln turned world opinion against slavery with his Emancipation Proclamation,” David elaborated.
“Emancipated what?” Dr. Morgan asked, not sure of what he just heard.
“The Emancipation Proclamation is a law that essentially made slavery illegal in this country. It was an ingenious coup by Lincoln to draw world support for the north and against the south. In short, after the Emancipation Proclamation, France and England, both free nations, wouldn’t dare take up arms against another free nation in support of a slave nation. World opinion would not approve of anything so hypocritical,” David explained.
“I always liked ‘honest Abe’,” Dr. Morgan admitted. “So England and France join the war on the side of the north?”
“Uh huh, after Washington falls to the Confederacy,” David said smiling, now enjoying the old doctor’s reactions.
“My god, Washington falls? This is awful; just awful,” Dr. Morgan replied, shaking his head in sadness. “I’m not sure if my old heart can stand anymore of this strain,” he continued, now patting his forehead with an old rag. “Please… what else transpired?” Dr. Morgan asked, now breathing heavy.
“Well, as I said, both France and England sent help, but even with their support, General Stonewall Jackson proved to be quite a wily opponent. Out-staffed and out-gunned, he was still able to rally his troops and hold off the north, France and England for another four more years,” David finished.
“Stonewall, huh? I met him once in Mexico during the war, back in 1848 I believe it was. He grew a handsome beard, I must say," Dr. Morgan recalled, coifing his own long, white beard. "So what happens to him?"
"He becomes president of the United States," David laughed as he considered the irony of it.
"President of the United States? He lost the war. Why in the world would anyone elect him as President?" Dr. Morgan asked, confused.
"Indeed, he was the losing commander of the Confederate army. That is a matter of fact, undisputed. He also was one of the most ingenious commanders in our nation’s history. Volumes of books were written on his military strategies and tactics used in this war, because they were genius and revolutionary. The fact is, he almost beat the north, France and England collectively. They say his ideas are still used as a basis for most military engagements to this day... I mean in 2005. He really was a brilliant leader, and lost solely due to the greater numbers of his opposing force. The further France and England participated, the more troops they sent. Naturally, the numbers were just too great for him to overcome," David explained.
"Huh. It just doesn't seem right. He's fighting against this country in war. That is treasonous behavior in my mind. How can people trust him?" Dr. Morgan asked.
"A few years from now, after the sting of this war recedes, Stonewall’s genius will become recognized. Most people will rationalize that he was merely defending his home state of Virginia and was drawn in by circumstance, not necessarily by choice. Basically, people will forgive and forget, and as a result, he'll be elected president," David explained.
"I am without word or expression. This is truly remarkable," Dr. Morgan stated.
"I wouldn't feel too bad about it. He turned out to be one of the greatest presidents in our nation’s history. His reforms and subsequent policies created a better, more unified nation. The old adage ’to the victors goes the spoils’ didn't set well with the south. There was still a great deal of animosity and unrest toward the north. With Stonewall as president, he became an ambassador to the south, so to speak. He appealed to them not as president, but as their confidante, and urged them to move forward and embrace the future. His efforts and leadership eventually unified the nation, entering the United States into a great era of prosperity. He really was a great president. There are statues and busts of him all over the country now," David said, as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a twenty dollar bill and handed it to Dr. Morgan. "Whose face do you see on this twenty dollar bill?"
Dr. Morgan studied the money, front and back. He lifted his head and stared forward for a moment in a daze.
"I'll be damned. It reads, 'Thomas Jonathan Stonewall Jackson'. The son of a gun is going to be our next president," Dr. Morgan replied, more as a general statement than one directed to David.
"Not the next president. L
incoln gets re-elected, and then there's Grant; then comes Stonewall Jackson. Remember, it takes a few years to overcome the stigma associated with this war," David said.
"Grant? You don't mean Brig. Gen. Ulysses Grant, do you?" Dr. Morgan replied with mild curiosity.
"One and the same. Turns out he's a tenacious fighter, like a bulldog. He gets results when no one else can. Eventually, he's elevated to a four star general, or whatever they call it," David replied.
"Four stars? There's no such thing as a four star general," Dr. Morgan said, confused.
"Lincoln created it and appoints Grant to it. He becomes commander of all northern armies," David replied matter-of-factly.
"Simply amazing. Grant: a four star general, wins the war, and becomes President. If I live to see it, I still won't believe it," Dr. Morgan replied softly as he contemplated everything he just heard.
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