Soon the shouts of men drew closer and louder, and we both peeked out from our hiding spot. The sight before us made my blood run cold, even though I had been expecting it.
Hundreds of Union soldiers were clamoring to cross the bridge, heading back toward Washington.
“What’s happening?” Gray asked, bewildered.
“It looks like they’re retreating—quickly.”
Men were discarding their guns, their knapsacks, and in some cases their clothing to get away from the Confederate army in haste.
“Cowards,” yelled Senator Wilson from his spot behind a tree. “Fight! Chase after them! Push them back to Richmond!”
Had I not known how it would all end, I would have truly believed we had lost the war that day. I saw panic and cowardice like I’d never seen—and these were the men who had claimedthe South would give up without a fight when they saw the North’s determination.
“The Confederates will be right behind this line,” Gray said, taking my hand. “We must flee now, or we will never get out of here alive.”
Not needing any more encouragement, I practically pulled him along as we left the protection of the tree. “Papa,” I called, “meet us at the battery.”
“Go,” Papa yelled, and I wondered if he had heard me in the melee. “Get to the carriage.”
Gray and I began to run with the others, though it was difficult to do in my gown. I hiked up my skirts in the most unladylike way imaginable. Confederate soldiers were chasing the Union men, firing shots into the crowd. My heart had never beat so hard in my life as we ran toward the battery and the carriage awaiting us there.
It took us almost thirty minutes, but when we finally arrived at the battery, sweating and out of breath, it was no better than it had been at Stone Bridge. Soldiers were already fleeing their posts, while others had followed us, trying to get back to Washington.
Mrs. Wilson was in her carriage, clutching her son as the driver tried to hold the horses in check. I was so distracted by Mrs. Wilson’s wailing, I collided with a soldier, who stepped aside and stretched out a hand to steady me.
A shot fired in the distance, and the soldier yelled in surprise and pain.
Immediately, blood began to spread over his pant leg, and he fell to his knees and then his back.
He couldn’t be much older than Henry Jr., and the panic and terror in his eyes was heartbreaking. Without thinking, I stopped to see what I could do to help him.
“Come on, Maggie,” Gray said, tugging at my hand. “The Confederates will be here soon. They’re within firing distance.”
“I can’t leave him to die.” I bent in the dirt and blood to see where the soldier was injured. His left pant leg was soaked with blood, and it was pumping out with each beat of his heart.
“I’ve been shot,” the boy said in shock. His face was draining of color as the blood poured out of him.
Without even flinching, I put my fingers into the hole in his pant leg and tore the fabric away. His femoral artery had been hit by the bullet, causing him to hemorrhage. If I did nothing, he would be dead in minutes.
This boy was supposed to die. If I had not come upon him now, knowing what I did about hemorrhaging and how to stop it, he would have died. Iknewhe was supposed to die. Did I allow it to happen as it was supposed to happen? Or did I stop it?
I would be changing history, just as Mama had told me never to do.
It was one thing to make a suggestion to Zechariah to go on an elimination diet. Another to stop a man from bleeding to death right before my eyes.
“We can’t wait,” Gray said to me. “He’s dying, Maggie. There’s nothing you can do to stop it. We must get Mrs. Wilson to safety.”
Even Gray knew this man was destined to die.
But I couldn’t walk away. I just couldn’t. I knew exactly what to do to keep him alive. At least, I knew it in theory, as I had watched a surgeon fix a ruptured artery during rotations.
I pressed my hand against his inner thigh where the artery ran and applied as much pressure as I could. His leg was wet and slippery, but I had found the artery, and the bleeding began to slow.
“Tear off the hem of my gown,” I told Gray. “There are a pair of scissors in my bag. Cut the fabric and tear it.”
He stared at me, shocked.
“Do it!” I said loudly. “He’ll die if we can’t stop the blood flow, and I can’t hold on to his thigh forever.”
