Angel of Mercy

The wagons were pulled close to the hospital tents.  The stores of bandages, whiskey, medicines, and medical instruments were stacked along the back wall of the tent.  Noah could hear the cacophony of the scene inside the tent.  Wounded men moaning and groaning in pain.  Surgeons shouting out orders.  Men screaming at the pain inflicted by the treatment offered to them: amputations, surgery without anesthesia, or being left to die of wounds too severe to treat.  Noah paced back and forth behind the tent trying to summon the courage to join the others who had already ventured into the tent and were working as directed by surgeons and assistant surgeons.  Noah just didn't know if he could do it.  He was fine when consoling those who were injured, or those whose death was imminent, sad as it was for he had done those things in his work as a pastor to his church back home.  No, He had not seen or done anything near like he suspected he would see and do inside that tent and he actually felt afraid of what he would see in that tent. 

 Finally Noah moved forward, ready or not, and turned the corner of the tent.  Unfortunately for Noah, three steps around the corner, with his head held high (and not looking where he was going), the preacher stumbled over a pile of stray things in front of him.  As he struggled to get his footing on what was a soft, slimy terrain, he glimpsed below and was horrified at the sight.  Noah had stumbled over a pile of amputated hands, arms, legs and feet and as if not able to walk and gaze upon the sight simultaneously, made his fall complete and landed in the middle of the bloody mess.  Noah scrambled furiously to his feet, dusting off dirt, leaves, and blood from his person and stood appalled and embarrassed at his mishap.   The mere thought of what lay now spread out around and on him caused a quaking feeling in Noah's stomach.  He turned away from the tent and vomited and vomited and vomited.  As his nausea subsided, and he felt some stability come to his feet and head, Noah heard the familiar booming laughter of Zachariah Owens.  “I was wonderin where you might be Mr. Sawyers, but I never thought you'd be playing in such a pile as that.  Those ain't doll parts you know!” And the big man laughed again.  Noah regained his composure and did his best to pass it all off.

  “Well Mr. Owens, I believe I was not looking where I was going and several hands, arms and legs conspired to grab and trip me up.  Dastardly things they are I tell you, truly dastardly.”  As Noah walked toward the front of the tent, Zachariah sensed his embarrassment and took a step toward Noah.  As the two men came face to face, the kind-hearted giant put his arm around Noah and gently said, “My apologies Noah, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.  Sometimes amidst all this misery it helps if we can get a laugh either at others, or our own expense.  I also apologize for forgetting about that weak stomach of yours and for not preparing you for our work today. Noah looked up at him and said, “Zachariah, your apology is accepted and I must admit, even though the wound to my pride grows as I say this, that my falling upon that pile must have truly been a laughable site.  If you will, I do believe I shall need your help going inside that tent and getting settled to the work at hand. 

When Noah seemed ready, Zachariah grabbed the canvas flap that served as a door to the tent and pulled it aside.  Immediately Noah's senses were overwhelmed by the scene in front of him.  The first thing to hit him was the awful stench; a bizarre mixture of odors; ether, gunpowder, blood, and human smells-urine and feces.  It was enough to make him bend over double with sickness again.  As he slowly resumed normal breathing, Noah's eyes scanned the tent.  Men with wounds lying on litters all around him.  Some had already finished having their lacerations and minor wounds sewn up and were waiting to be taken out into the cool night air to recuperate.  Others were in a corner, writhing in pain as attendants and fellow USCC delegates administered dressings to wounds.  Off to one side was a soldier or two whose wounds were too severe for surgery or dressing and there they laid, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the Angel Of Death to come and whisk their souls away, their eyes dazed and lost in the fog of ether or opium or morphine. 

After getting acclimated to the smell and absorbing the sights, the next thing to shake Noah's conscious was the deafening sounds, which seemed to combine into some sort of Devil's Symphony:  moans, groans, screams, prayers, muffled conversations and above them all, the pleading of men to keep their arms or legs, each followed by a gradual silencing of their supplications replaced by the sound of metal teeth gnawing against human bone.  The longer he stood and took it all in, the stronger he sensed he could feel what each individual soldier was feeling at that moment in time and was overcome with empathy, sympathy and pride for soldier, surgeon, delegate and steward.  Zachariah, wise to what one experiences when coming to such a place, waited until he saw Noah relax somewhat and saw a stray tear drop out of a corner of Noah's eye.  “Take it in Preacher, take it in.  When you are ready we'll take up our work, but only when you are ready.”  Noah took one more deep breath, pushed away his disgust at the smell, sights and sounds and