An Unlikely Union. Shannon Farrington
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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.
* * *
The sun was now high in the sky and the temperature was rising. Emily’s head burned.
Of all the days to forget my bonnet, she thought.
But the cries of those around her made her forget her own discomfort.
If these poor soldiers can march through fields and furrows without complaint, under the baking sun, then so can I.
She continued through the rows, applying bandages, offering prayers and encouraging words. Dr. Mackay moved just a few paces in front of her. He was back to barking orders.
“Steward, move this man to surgery! Clean up this pallet! Fetch me a fresh bucket of water!”
As she dressed the wounds, Emily watched boys in blue, many younger than she, scramble to do his bidding. She felt sorry for them. It seemed even Unionists were terrified of Dr. Mackay.
Abigail’s verse drifted through her mind. Love your enemies. Bless them that curse you. Knowing that compassion should be shown to surly Yankees as well, Emily set down her basket and went to Eliza Henry.
Going out of my way to show kindness to him might encourage a little on his part. It might ensure better treatment of the wounded men.
“Cup of water for you, dear?” the woman asked when Emily approached her.
“Please.”
She drew out a tin cup from the cloth pouch on her shoulder, then scooped up the water.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, dear.”
Emily marched straight to the blistering Scotsman. The man had just finished ordering a Federal nurse to bring him more thread. She looked as though she was about to cry.
“But there isn’t any more,” she insisted. “We are almost out of iron wire, as well!”
“Then procure some from another section.”
“The other surgeons are almost out.”
“Then go down to one of the shops and purchase some!”
The woman ran off, apparently to do just that. Emily touched his sweat-drenched sleeve. He turned, practically glaring at her.
Kind words for him in short supply, she had to rely on action alone. Emily handed him the cup. Emptying it in one gulp, he rubbed his glistening forehead with the back of his hand and then returned to work.
There was no thank-you.
“I may know of some available thread,” she said.
He pulled a piece of lead as long as her finger from a man’s arm. “Then by all means, fetch it!”
Tucking the cup into her skirt pocket, she hurried for the hospital. She was certain she would find Julia inside at her usual post. Her friend always kept a carpetbag with her full of knitting or sewing projects. If anyone had thread, it would be her.
The West’s Buildings felt like a furnace. Emily scarcely believed inside could be hotter than the outside under the baking sun, but it was. The heat made her a little light-headed, but she climbed the staircase quickly.
As she had hoped, Julia was seated beside Edward’s bed, fanning and reading aloud from the Psalms. He was ignoring her. She turned as Emily approached, then gasped.
“Oh, Em! Your face is as red as a ripe strawberry!”
Emily wasn’t surprised. “I forgot my sunbonnet and we have been treating the new wounded outside all morning.”
“Then by all means, take mine.”
Julia reached for a lovely little green silk bonnet on the table beside her. Emily appreciated her gesture but couldn’t be certain it would survive the day.
“That’s sweet, but what I really need is thread. Have you any?”
“Of