Beyond All Price

by Carolyn Poling Schriber

  “Have you ever seen a gunshot wound?”

  “Y-y-yes. My Uncle Henry shot himself in the foot one time with his hunting rifle, and Granny Merrill had to dig out the shots.”

  “I’m talking cannonballs, not buckshot! How will you manage on a battlefield?”

  “I don’t really know yet. When I served with the Twelfth Regiment, the men saw no action, but I hope. . . .”

  “Hope! We’ll need more than hope when the rebels are firing at us. And what about diseases? We’ll have plenty of those to deal with.”

  “I helped nurse some soldiers who were seriously ill last spring, and I know how my grandmother cared for the members of our family.”

  “She didn’t have to do that in a tent, I presume. And how many of those people she cared for with her home-brewed medicines actually survived?”

  “Some did and some didn’t.”

  “None did, I’ll wager, if they had anything beyond a common fever or chills. Wait ‘til you have to deal with smallpox or diphtheria.”

  “Granny once sucked the white membrane right out of the throat of a child with diphtheria, and the child survived,” Nellie protested.

  “Well, don’t try that in my hospital! The men will think you are a forward hussy, and if you succeed, you’ll only manage to catch the disease yourself. And then what good will you be to us? Can you cook?” he asked.

  “Of course I can. I know what to feed invalids, and I can manage the supplies for your hospital, too. I’m not claiming to be an expert on medical care, but I sincerely want to help.”

  “Well, if I’m stuck with you, try to stay out of my way. If I think of something I need, I’ll let you know. Until then, don’t bother me. I have enough trouble without being saddled with an ignorant and silly woman.” Nellie was mortified by his distain.

  Her apprehension increased dramatically shortly after that exchange. As she and the private picked their way from one company to another, a scream from the area of Company F drew them toward the scene. A boy, scarcely old enough to be classified as a soldier, stood with eyes squeezed shut and mouth wide open in a shriek of agony. His companion, paralyzed with shock, was staring at the boy’s hand, where it lay on an improvised chopping block next to a small hatchet. He had chopped off part of his left index finger as he held the board he had been cutting. The amputated finger had fallen to the ground. Its stump poured a spreading puddle of blood over the log.

  As Nellie stared at the scene, it seemed to her time itself had screeched to a stop. No one moved. Automatically, she grasped the boy’s arm and raised it above his head. Ignoring the blood that now ran down her arm as well, she turned to the onlookers. “Give me a clean kerchief,” she demanded. When someone complied, she wadded it up to put direct pressure on the wound. Then she looked frantically around for help. “Someone go for Doctor Gross,” she said.

  While they waited, she spoke softly to the young man. “Don’t fret. I know it hurts now, but the doctor will have some quinine to give you for the pain, and it’s a clean cut. You’re right-handed, aren’t you?”

  The boy snuffled and nodded.

  “Then you’ll hardly miss that finger. Be brave now. Here’s the doctor coming. He’ll have you stitched together in no time. And I’ll stay with you as long as you need me.”

  He nodded again and seemed to relax a bit. Doctor Gross shoved his way through the crowd of onlookers to take charge. “What has happened here?” he asked, but the scene needed little explanation. Only belatedly did he seem to notice Nellie was the one holding the injured arm. “Ah, thank you, Mrs. Leath. I’ll take him now.”

  As the doctor led the victim to a seat and worked at stretching the remaining skin over the stump of a finger, Nellie stayed at the fringe of the crowd. Now the crisis was over, she found she was shaking badly, something she did not want the boy to see. She glanced at her blood-covered hand and clenched it into a fist beneath the folds of her dress. How will I ever get used to this sort of thing? she wondered.

  Now, as the sun began to set on her first day as a Roundhead nurse, Nellie found it even harder to swallow her fears. She had never liked evenings. That quiet hour when everything seemed touched with navy blue was a lonely time. She ought to be going home to someone, or something, but nothing awaited her. The fading light meant only another day was over, and chances were that somewhere in that day, she had failed to accomplish her goals. It was a time of regret, of disappointment, and now, of overwhelming fear. She hesitated by the doorway to her tent, reluctant to shut out the fading sounds of camp life, reluctant to lose the light from surrounding campfires.

  “Mrs. Leath? Do you have a moment?” The voice out of the growing darkness startled her. Then the shadowy figure moved into the glow of firelight, and she recognized Doctor Gross.

  “Oh! Yes, of course. Is something wrong? Is it the boy with the severed finger? Is he worse?” She realized her voice was rising in pitch and she was sounding more and more breathless, but she could not control her panic.

  “No, no, nothing’s wrong, and I didn’t mean to frighten you.” The doctor’s eyes shifted in discomfort. “I felt I needed to stop by and apologize for my brusque behavior earlier today. I . . . I’m not used to this whole idea of female nurses.”

  “I understand, really. You don’t need to apologize. I’m not used to the idea myself.” Nellie grinned a bit despite her pounding heart. “And I seem to frighten easily tonight,” she admitted. “How is the boy?”

  “He’s fine,” Gross assured her. “He’s feisty, too. Colonel Leasure offered him a free ride home, but he’s refusing to leave. Says he’s proud to be the first recruit wounded in the regiment. I’ve given him a warm drink mixed with quinine, and he’s sleeping comfortably.”

  “I’m relieved.”

  “That’s the other thing I came to tell you. You did a fine job this afternoon. Holding that wound above his heart saved him the loss of a great deal of blood.”

  “He can still be a soldier, then?”

  “Yes, of course. As you seem to have reminded him, an injury to his left hand will not hinder him overmuch. All we’ll have to do is guard against infection. Unfortunately, I don’t have much at hand to accomplish that.”

  “Honey?”

  “What? I beg your pardon!” The doctor stared at her, recoiling in astonishment and distaste.

  “No, no. Oh, dear, I didn’t mean—surely you didn’t think—oh, my!” Nellie was struggling to keep her laughter contained. “I wasn’t trying to be forward, Sir. I only meant a thin coat of honey spread over the wound often helps to seal it and keep infection at bay. At least that’s what Granny used to tell me.” She cocked an eyebrow at him, wondering if he would recognize her small attempt at sarcasm.

  “Really? I’ll look into that. Probably couldn’t hurt.”

  “I’ve seen it work, Sir. And a couple of the men found a beehive yesterday. They could get a supply for you.”

  “Well, then, if we have come to some sort of rapprochement, I had better be getting back to my quarters. There’s a lot to be done before we head out tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? So soon?” Nellie gasped. “No one told me. What do I need to do?”

  “The word just came in by messenger. Colonel Leasure will announce it in the morning. We are to head for Washington, at the express orders of the Secretary of War. The train will be here tomorrow afternoon.”

  Nellie sat down abruptly. “No more chance to change my mind, then.”

  “I hope you weren’t considering that.” Doctor Gross frowned at her.

  She sat for a moment, not even breathing. “I’m afraid.” Her voice came out as a whisper.

  The words, once spoken, seemed to reverberate around the tent. There was nothing further to be said. The fear was out there now—palpable and irretrievable. Nellie sat unmoving, staring at the floor. If I keep looking at the straw, nothing bad will happen, she told herself. Doctor Gross, too, seemed to be holding his breath as the minutes stretched between them.
r />   “So am I, Mrs. Leath. So am I.”

  “You, Sir?”

  “We are all afraid, Nellie,” the doctor answered gently, not even aware he had slipped into a more informal form of address. “This is going to be a terrible war, and I wanted no part of it. If anyone other than Daniel Leasure had tried to recruit me, I would have refused. But I owe him a debt from my own days as a medical student. So here I am, ready to do my duty. But make no mistake, we face years of hardship. Many of the boys you see out there tonight will never come home. And there’s no good outcome to be expected from a war within a family.”

  “A family?”

  “Yes, that’s what we are. you know, in this young country. Think of it. Less than one hundred years ago, we were united against a common enemy. We were claiming our share of the land from the native Indian tribes, and we were establishing our independence from the tyranny of the English king. And now, when we have gained all we sought, we are determined to take what we have built together and split it in half. The fabric from which this country was made is being torn asunder, and there’s no way to undo that split. Oh, we may stitch it back together in time, but the seam will always show.” Doctor Gross stopped pacing, and shook his head. “Forgive me for leaping onto my soapbox. I’m sure you don’t need more of a lecture tonight.”

  “Are you saying we shouldn’t be going off to war?”

  “No, I’m not saying that. The war is here, whether we like it or not, and we need to see it through. All I really meant to say is you are right to be frightened. We all should be. And we are. But bravery consists, not in the absence of fear, but in doing what you must despite your fears. You’re going to make a fine nurse. I saw that kind of bravery in you this afternoon.”

  Doctor Gross started to leave and then turned back at the doorway. “I was wondering, Mrs. Leath. Do you keep a journal?”

  “What? You mean, like a diary?”

  “Something like that. There’s a trick we picked up in medical studies. You fix up a little notebook that you can carry with you. Then when you come face to face with a new disease or treatment, you jot it down on the spot. It’s a great little memory aid. It also provides a place where you can face your fears head-on.”

  “Does the sutler have something I could use, do you think?”

  “I can suggest a better idea. When I get back to my quarters, I’ll send an orderly back with a notebook you can use. “My wife gave me a journal when I left to enlist. So did my mother, and an aunt, and a dear little neighbor lady. Each one wanted to make sure I’d write down my experiences. But I’m not much of a writer any more, and I definitely don’t need four of them.”

  “Oh, Sir. Thank you. I’ll use it carefully and well.”

  Nellie watched as the doctor walked toward to the medical tent. “Thank you,” she whispered again to his retreating back. Then she drew a deep breath and looked around her tent with a new sense of belonging. In a few minutes, someone cleared his throat outside her tent, and Nellie turned to find an orderly bearing a cloth-wrapped package.

  “Doctor Gross said this was for you,” he said, thrusting it at her and hurrying away.

  “Thank you!” she called after him and then eagerly returned to the makeshift table to unwrap her gift. She found a handsome leather-bound volume of lined pages and a small bundle of sharpened pencils. She caught her breath in surprise. I wasn’t expecting anything so elegant, she thought. I will have to choose my words carefully to make them worthy of such a volume. Nellie pulled up her camp chair and settled herself at the table. Slowly and thoughtfully she entered the day’s date. and began to write. Almost without realizing it, she filled the first page. Then she blew out her flickering candle, and lay down, surrendering to a deep and untroubled sleep.

  ggg

  3

  Send Them Forth

  Monday was such a chaotic day that Nellie found she could remember it only in scraps and snippets. She had been in the Officers’ Mess, hunting for morning coffee when Colonel Leasure entered.

  “Settled in, Mrs. Leath?” he asked.

  “I think so. At least I’m catching on to how the camp is organized.”

  “Well, mustn’t get too used to it. We break camp in a matter of hours. Has someone notified you?”

  “Doctor Gross mentioned we were headed for Washington, but I don’t know the particulars.”

  “I’ll send Private Stevenson to stencil your name on your belongings and see to it your things get stowed. You’ll need to pack everything you won’t need on the train into your wooden trunk, and make sure your haversack is well-stocked.”

  “My what? I’m sorry, Sir, but I’m awfully new at this. I don’t think I even have a hav . . . haver . . .whatever it is.”

  Leasure shook his head in evident impatience. “Private Stevenson will straighten you out. I haven’t time right now.” And he walked off in what appeared to Nellie to be high dander. She had wanted to ask about when they were leaving and how they would travel, but common sense told her this was not the time.

  Sometime later, the earnest young private appeared, paint bucket and brush in hand, and began labeling everything in her tent. “After Geordy went to all that trouble to find you nice furnishings, can’t have them disappearing on you,” he explained.

  “Please, Private, can you tell me what’s happening? I know everyone in camp is bustling around moving things, but I haven’t the faintest idea of what I should be doing.”

  “Sorry, M’am. We do sometimes forget we need to make special accommodations for you.”

  “I don’t want to be treated as special, Private. I want to be clear about my own responsibilities.”

  “Why don’t you start by calling me John,” he said. “I’m not used to this military formality myself.”

  “All right, John. Now, when exactly do we leave, how are we traveling, and what do I need to take with me? Colonel Leasure mentioned something about a well-stocked sack of some sort, but I have no idea what he was talking about.”

  John crouched comfortably into a seated pose that Nellie associated in her mind with Indians around a fire. He began to tick off items on his fingers. “The Roundhead Regiment has received orders direct from Secretary Stanton, sending us to Washington. We will march out this afternoon to the railroad station, where they are preparing special cars to carry us to Harrisburg. We depart whenever we can get all our men—begging your pardon, M’am—and woman, onto the train, and all our baggage loaded into the supply cars. The trip will take a day or two, depending on the condition of the track and the vagaries of fate.”

  “Is it dangerous, then?” she asked.

  “No more than trains ever are. Have you ridden one before?”

  “Oh, no. I’ve usually traveled by wagon or on foot, with an occasional stage coach ride. I can’t even imagine a train.”

  “Well, visualize a large stage coach, with rows of wooden seats instead of two facing benches. The car has windows, but if you open them, the air fills with smoke and soot from the steam engine. There are lamps, and a small stove for winter heating, and a water barrel, although it’s best to carry your own water. The stuff in the barrel usually has a film over it—black if it’s nothing but coal dust, green if it’s been there a while.

  “We’ll stop several times, to restock the engine with coal and water, for privy breaks, and maybe, if we’re lucky, for a meal or two. We have to change trains in Harrisburg, and then again in Baltimore, because not all railroad tracks are the same width. It’s a noisy, dirty, and jostling way to travel, but it’ll get us there as fast as humanly possible. There’s no need to worry. You’ll not be the only one with no experience. Some of these boys had their first ride on a train coming from New Castle to Pittsburgh. You should have seen some of their faces! You’d have thought they were afraid the lines might break, the horses run off, or some other awful strange thing happen to the big wagon with little wheels.