in and put him along the wall somewhere. He’ll have to take his turn.”
“But he’s got to be operated on. He’s got a bullet in him!”
“So do all these men. Why do you think they’re here?” the man snapped.
Tom wanted to say more but knew it was hopeless. He went back outside and said, “Bring him on in, fellas.”
“All right, Sergeant.”
Tom noted that his father was now unconscious. “Put him there beside the wall.” When he saw the colonel placed gently down, he said, “Thanks to you both. You fellas go on back and bring in the others. And I know there’s plenty more that’ll need to come here.”
The ambulance driver looked doubtful. “Don’t see that there’s any room for ’em. Looks pretty bad, don’t it, Sergeant?”
“Sure does.”
Tom sat on the floor beside his father. From time to time he would go to the desk and urge the man in charge to get the colonel in to a surgeon. Each time he would be told that the operating room had a line waiting.
Finally Tom grew desperate. He left the waiting area and walked down the hall, his mind reeling, not knowing what to do. He saw a surgeon moving from one room to another, and he took a deep breath. “Sir,” he said, “may I speak with you?”
The surgeon was a tall man with weary eyes. He appeared not to have slept in twenty-four hours. He had blood on his apron and looked tired enough to fall over.
“I’ve got my father outside—Colonel Nelson Majors. He’s got a bullet in his side. Sir, if it doesn’t come out, he’ll die.”
The surgeon stared at him hard. “Your father, you say?”
“That’s right, I’m Tom Majors.”
“You his aide?”
“Well, that’s all I can do now.” Tom tapped his wooden leg. “I lost this leg at Gettysburg, so I just have to do what I can for the cause.”
The surgeon hesitated. “I guess I can help you some. Have them bring him into this room right here. I’ll take the bullet out.”
An hour later, when the bullet had been removed and Tom was sitting beside his father, the surgeon said wearily, “The wound wasn’t too bad. But the trouble with these wounds is that sometimes the bullets carry parts of clothing or metal inside the body—or we don’t get all the bullet. Then it festers, and blood poisoning sets in. That’s what you have to watch out for.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll take care of him.”
“You’ll have to, son. It looks like all the nurses and doctors around here have got all they can do.”
The next twelve hours were a nightmare. Tom did the best he could for his father, but by the endof that time he saw that the colonel’s fever was rising. When daylight came, he went again to try to get help. He found the surgeon in charge to be a surly, fat man named Washington.
“Dr. Washington,” Tom said, “my father’s got a high fever.”
“I can’t be bothered with that! I’ve got bullets to take out of men … legs to cut off …”
“But he’s going to die!”
“A lot of these men are going to die,” Dr. Washington said. “You’ll just have to do the best you can.” He hustled off, leaving Tom staring after him, anger in his eyes.
He waited in line at the well for an hour. Then he returned to his father and mopped the colonel’s face with water. The colonel’s fever had risen further, and he was mumbling under his breath.
Tom was frantic. “I’ve got to do something! He’ll die if he doesn’t get better care than this.”
God
, he prayed silently,
show me what to do
.
He sat studying his father’s face, and then suddenly a thought came to him. His lips tightened, and he said, “I’m going to try it, Pa!”
He stood up and grabbed a passing attendant by the arm. Tom was a strong man, and the attendant was small. He winced as Tom held onto him, increasing his grip. “That’s my father, and he’s Colonel Nelson Majors. You take care of him until I get back, or I’ll turn you wrong side out. You hear me?”
The attendant, a mousy-looking
“But he’s got to be operated on. He’s got a bullet in him!”
“So do all these men. Why do you think they’re here?” the man snapped.
Tom wanted to say more but knew it was hopeless. He went back outside and said, “Bring him on in, fellas.”
“All right, Sergeant.”
Tom noted that his father was now unconscious. “Put him there beside the wall.” When he saw the colonel placed gently down, he said, “Thanks to you both. You fellas go on back and bring in the others. And I know there’s plenty more that’ll need to come here.”
The ambulance driver looked doubtful. “Don’t see that there’s any room for ’em. Looks pretty bad, don’t it, Sergeant?”
“Sure does.”
Tom sat on the floor beside his father. From time to time he would go to the desk and urge the man in charge to get the colonel in to a surgeon. Each time he would be told that the operating room had a line waiting.
Finally Tom grew desperate. He left the waiting area and walked down the hall, his mind reeling, not knowing what to do. He saw a surgeon moving from one room to another, and he took a deep breath. “Sir,” he said, “may I speak with you?”
The surgeon was a tall man with weary eyes. He appeared not to have slept in twenty-four hours. He had blood on his apron and looked tired enough to fall over.
“I’ve got my father outside—Colonel Nelson Majors. He’s got a bullet in his side. Sir, if it doesn’t come out, he’ll die.”
The surgeon stared at him hard. “Your father, you say?”
“That’s right, I’m Tom Majors.”
“You his aide?”
“Well, that’s all I can do now.” Tom tapped his wooden leg. “I lost this leg at Gettysburg, so I just have to do what I can for the cause.”
The surgeon hesitated. “I guess I can help you some. Have them bring him into this room right here. I’ll take the bullet out.”
An hour later, when the bullet had been removed and Tom was sitting beside his father, the surgeon said wearily, “The wound wasn’t too bad. But the trouble with these wounds is that sometimes the bullets carry parts of clothing or metal inside the body—or we don’t get all the bullet. Then it festers, and blood poisoning sets in. That’s what you have to watch out for.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll take care of him.”
“You’ll have to, son. It looks like all the nurses and doctors around here have got all they can do.”
The next twelve hours were a nightmare. Tom did the best he could for his father, but by the endof that time he saw that the colonel’s fever was rising. When daylight came, he went again to try to get help. He found the surgeon in charge to be a surly, fat man named Washington.
“Dr. Washington,” Tom said, “my father’s got a high fever.”
“I can’t be bothered with that! I’ve got bullets to take out of men … legs to cut off …”
“But he’s going to die!”
“A lot of these men are going to die,” Dr. Washington said. “You’ll just have to do the best you can.” He hustled off, leaving Tom staring after him, anger in his eyes.
He waited in line at the well for an hour. Then he returned to his father and mopped the colonel’s face with water. The colonel’s fever had risen further, and he was mumbling under his breath.
Tom was frantic. “I’ve got to do something! He’ll die if he doesn’t get better care than this.”
God
, he prayed silently,
show me what to do
.
He sat studying his father’s face, and then suddenly a thought came to him. His lips tightened, and he said, “I’m going to try it, Pa!”
He stood up and grabbed a passing attendant by the arm. Tom was a strong man, and the attendant was small. He winced as Tom held onto him, increasing his grip. “That’s my father, and he’s Colonel Nelson Majors. You take care of him until I get back, or I’ll turn you wrong side out. You hear me?”
The attendant, a mousy-looking
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