“I hope it will be over soon.” I did hope for that, though I knew it wasn’t to be. “I think many of these men underestimate the South. Take, for example, Robert E. Lee. He sacrificed his home and property to serve in the Confederacy. If he—and others like him—are willing to sacrifice everything and walk away from life as they know it, then what makes us think they will give up the fight at the first skirmish?”
“I agree,” he said quietly. “Passions have been running high for a long, long time and will not be settled easily. But we must hold on to the hope that God has given us, or we will be unable to bear up under this weight.”
We were soon over the Long Bridge, approaching the newly acquired Arlington plantation. Overnight, an encampmenthad been set up, with the beautiful mansion, built by George Washington’s step-grandson, on the rise of the hill overlooking Washington, DC. It was a necessary gain, though it made me sad for the Lee family and everyone else who would lose so much in this war—though the ultimate gain of freedom for enslaved men, women, and children was worth the sacrifice. Having lived in this path, I knew there was no other way.
Gray drove the wagon to Arlington House, where Captain Gains was expecting us. Countless soldiers milled about the thousand-acre plantation, cutting down trees, pitching tents, tending fires, butchering animals, and moving in supplies. It was a mind-boggling feat.
An officer in a blue uniform stood on the wide portico giving orders when we pulled up to the white Greek Revival mansion. A half-dozen pillars held up the portico roof. It was a magnificent home, one I was sure Mrs. Lee was mourning at that very moment.
“Miss Barton?” asked the officer on the portico.
“I’m Miss—” I almost said Wakefield, but I couldn’t risk my father hearing about my visit here today. “I’m Miss Barton’s friend,” I said instead. “She was called away and could not come.”
“Do you have medical supplies? I have a severely injured man in the house. Could you help?”
Gray had jumped out of the wagon, and he offered me his hand as I stepped down. “I would be happy to,” I told the man, who I assumed was Captain Gains. I knew right where Joseph had put the medical supplies, so I pointed at the crate. “Would you haul this one inside?” I asked Gray, my instincts taking over. I was already on my way into the mansion to assess the situation.
The front hall was impressive, but I hadn’t come to gawk at the home.
“Where is the soldier?” I asked Captain Gains.
“In here.” He motioned to a room to my right. It was a small, comfortable parlor. A soldier lay on an ornate sofa, moaning.
“What happened?” I asked, taking off my gloves and hat. I wore the outfit I’d been donning for this work—a simple, plain blouse and a black skirt with only a few petticoats for propriety’s sake.
“He was chopping firewood,” Captain Gains said. “Missed and put the ax into his foot. I tried finding the surgeon, but no one knows where he is.”
I had seen an ax wound in the ER before and knew how gruesome it could be. Here in 1861, without antibiotics or proper antiseptics, it was likely the soldier would lose his foot.
Though I would try not to let that happen.
Blood was soaking into the cushions of the sofa as I knelt by the soldier’s side. “I’m—” I paused again. “I’m Maggie, and I have some nursing experience and would like to help you, if I may.”
The man moaned, his eyes closed.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Private Federgill,” he said as he winced. “Will I lose my foot?”
“I’ll try hard to ensure you keep it.” I looked up at Gray, who was holding the medical supplies, watching. I motioned for him to set the crate beside me and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Placing it against Private Federgill’s lips, I instructed him to take a long drink, and then I set the bottle down and moved to his foot.
The ax had landed between his first and second toe. Thankfully, it hadn’t gone far, though it had still done some damage. I found shears and cut off his stocking, then held a cloth under his foot while pouring whiskey directly onto the wound.
Private Federgill moaned even louder.
“Can someone please give him morphine?” I asked as I continued to work on his foot. “It’s in the crate.”
Slowly, I poured more whiskey onto his foot, cleaning it off with the cloth as someone did as I asked.
There wasn’t much I could do without a proper operating room, but I made it work. Within thirty minutes, I had the wound stitched and bandaged. Private Federgill had passed out, which was for the best. I hated working on a patient without anesthesia, but there was nothing to be done about it.
I cleaned up the mess and put all the supplies back into the crate, then stood and faced Captain Gains. “He’ll need to stay off his foot for two to four weeks. Have him change the bandage every day, pouring whiskey on the wound three to four times a day for the first week to try to prevent infection. If it starts to look infected or develops a rotten stench, please send for me by contacting Miss Barton, and I’ll come immediately.”
Captain Gains stared at me, slowly nodding at my instructions, a bit of awe and confusion on his face. I smiled at him and took up another cloth. I needed to find some water to clean my hands.
Gray stood near the door, his brow furrowed into a deep V. His gaze was almost accusatory, as if I had done something wrong.
It was the last thing I wanted to see. I didn’t want him to be upset that I was a capable woman—doing something very few other women were doing in 1861.
