The battlefield was a clearing near a small stream called Bull Run, north of Manassas Junction. Will?s hometown of Centreville, Virginia was southeast of the clearing.1 He had marched to the battlefield from Centreville when General Beauregard had ordered his regiment to move.2 Centreville was not far enough away to warrant a train trip, so they had just walked.3 Plus the army didn?t have enough money to pay for trains because the Confederate currency was worth almost nothing.4
?AAAAARGH!? a nearby voice screamed in agonized terror. Will glanced around wildly and saw a soldier on the ground waving a bloody stump. He ran towards the soldier.
?I?ll have to amputate part of your arm, or you might get an infection,5? Will explained quickly.
?NO! NOT MY ARM!!!? the soldier shouted. ?Please??
?I have to. You?ll bleed to death!?
? ?N?No?? the soldier whispered weakly.
Will pulled out his small bayonet, muttering under his breath.
?Why couldn?t they give me a big Bowie knife, or a cavalry sword? Or a nice bonesaw? How am I supposed to amputate with this little knife? This isn?t a safe operation?He might still die because this knife may have bacteria and he?ll get infected??
Will gave the soldier a shot of strong brandy. Then he made two deep incisions, one on each side of the arm. He made sure to leave a flap of skin on one side. For each incision, he cut through all the skin until he hit the bone. Then he began to cut the bone. It took a while; all he had to work with was his small bayonet. He had left his bonesaw at home; mistakenly thinking the army would give him one. When the bone was finally severed, he tossed it off to the side. Will tied off the blood gushing arteries with horsehair, then pulled the flap of skin across the wound and sewed it closed with horsehair. He covered the stump with plaster and bandaged it.6 Then he dragged the soldier off the battlefield and leaned him against a tree. He saw another man go down, so he dashed off to the soldier?s aid.
A nearby Confederate soldier called out to Will.
?Isn?t this great??
?It?s a bit?bloody??
The soldier was no longer listening to Will.
?Die damn Yankees! Go straight to hell!? He screamed in the Yankees? direction.
Will edged away from the soldier. He did not understand how people could be so violent and warmongering. Then again, perhaps it was because he was a peaceful doctor, maybe all soldiers were like this. He noticed a nearby Confederate flying Beauregard?s battle flag. The flag was a red square with blue bars that formed an ?X? across the middle. There were silver stars on the bars, and the words ?Manassas,? ?Gaines Farm,? ?Malvern Hill,? and ?Seven Pines? were sewn along the outside.7
Will thought back to April 21st, the day he had enlisted. That was just about three months ago, and two days after Lincoln announced his proclamation of blockade against southern ports.8 The current date was July 21, 1861.9 He had joined the Confederate army as a medic when he first heard that the Confederates had taken Fort Sumter.10 He had read about it in the local newspaper11 and thought, I?m going to help my fellow Confederates break away from the oppressive Union! This will be great fun! What?s not to like!? He had never seen a battle before, but he had heard a lot about them, how they were entertaining and great, but never about how vehemently destructive they could be. Will did not anticipate all the blood and death, for from what he had been told, casualties in battles were few and far between.
Joining the army had seemed like a good idea at the time, fighting to gain independence from the Federals, to help the Confederacy break away and become its own country. He thought. He knew little about how war really was, with all its death and pain and loss. He didn?t know how bloody battles really were, or how many lives were lost. All he had ever heard was how honorable and noble it was to fight for one?s country. Will remembered how dapper he had felt wearing his new uniform and imagining what the fighting would be like. His uniform was a long gray coat with matching gray trousers. The arms of the coat had golden trim, and his trousers had black stripes on the side.12 Most of the other soldiers just wore normal clothing with scarves tied around their hats. As they were marching to Manassas Junction, many of the other soldiers were jubilantly singing songs such as ?Roll, Alabama Roll,? ?Lorena,? and ?Dixie.?13 Will also remembered how excited he had been when General Beauregard had ordered them to attack. General Beauregard was widely considered the most flamboyant of the Confederate generals. A different Confederate general might have suggested a different course of action that would not involve fighting at Bull Run, but P.G.T. Beauregard was not that kind of man. 14 The real thing is far from what I imagined. Much more blood, and death. However, I think it will all be over soon because our brilliant Confederate officers are far better at planning battles than the egregious Federal generals.
Will leaned back against a tree, resting. He determined that if the Confederates had some sort of automatic weapon that did not require reloading after every shot, they would be able to kill more Yankees faster. The Confederates had two basic types of handheld weapons: muskets and rifles. Most of their muskets were the inaccurate, misfiring flintlock type. When the trigger was pulled and the flint hit the steel, it did not always make a big enough spark to ignite the gunpowder.15 Though there were some percussion rifles which fired using caps coated with potassium chlorate to make the spark, these were not much more accurate.16 He had once met a man named Gatling who was working on an automatic weapon,17 but at the time he didn?t think anyone would benefit from such a destructive machine. He saw an entire group of soldiers go down, so he ran to the place they were standing. He realized that they had been hit with a shell from one of the Union cannons set up nearby. The cannon was lightweight and on a rugged carriage with large wheels.18 As another group of soldiers ran forward to attack the guns, Will assessed the injuries.
?Four with minor cuts and bruises, one missing an arm, and one with a hole in the stomach.? He counted to himself.
?Hey?saw?bones?here?
Will looked over and saw the soldier who had shouted to him. He had a deep cut on his head and blood was gushing out onto the ground. Upon closer inspection, he realized that the soldier had a piece of metal sticking out of his forehead, most likely from the cannonball. The soldier?s uniform was covered in blood, and his face was completely red with it. He ran over and pulled the metal out, then quickly covered the wound with a cloth. Will knew the soldier would probably die, but he bandaged the wound anyway19, and then ran back over to the other men who had been wounded by the cannonball.
Will noticed the aggressive soldier again. According to his uniform, his name was Private James Scott. Private Scott continued to cuss at the Yankees. He whooped with delight whenever a Yankee fell down with blood pouring from a wound. He kept asking his commanding officer if they could charge, because he wanted to ?maim a few of them Yanks.?20
Will started to walk away. He did not want to be around such a sadist.
Suddenly, shots rang out from the left side of the army. Will saw several bullet holes in the ground just a few feet away from where he was sitting. More shots were fired; this time hitting the ground just inches away. He looked wildly around, searching for the shooter, but he couldn?t see anyone aiming at him. Then, he looked up to the trees and thought he saw a blue dot, which looked like a soldier.21
?SNIPER IN THE TREES! RUN!? Will shouted. Everyone in the area dove for cover, and bullets hit the ground where they had been just seconds before. Will winced as the realization set in that the sharpshooter was aiming for him. He ran away from the wounded soldiers.
?Hey! Don?t leave us! Stop! Come back, coward!? the soldiers cried, but Will didn?t stop. He kept running until he was certain he was out of range of the sharpshooter in the trees. When he turned around, all the soldiers in the clearing where he?d just been standing were dead, hit by the sniper. Blood was oozing out of their wounds, and Will felt if he looked at them any longer he would throw up, so he peered around the battlefield again, searching for injured soldiers. The search took a while, because all the smoke from cannon-fire made visibility poor. 22 Finally, he noticed a man lying on the ground, motionless. He ran to the man, but when he turned him over, he saw that there was a large hole in his right shoulder. Blood was streaming from the wound, and the ground around the soldier was red. The soldier seemed to have lost more than half of his blood, and he was certainly going to die in a matter of minutes, if not sooner. Another patient I can?t save. Will got up and scanned the field again. The smoke was beginning to sting his eyes, and he ran blindly around searching for more hurt soldiers. He tripped over the mangled, deformed body of a soldier who looked as if he?d been directly hit with a cannonball. All around shots were flying through the air. There were a lot of the dreaded minie balls. Minie balls were large, round metal balls that ripped holes through whatever they hit, and they seemed to kill more people than the regular bullets.23
Just ahead of him, a soldier was hit in the chest with a minie ball. Blood spurted from the wound and the soldier fell onto the ground clutching his chest.
?Aaaaag!? The soldier screamed in pain. Will rushed to him, but he immediately saw that the soldier had a deep wound. He pulled out his bloody scalpel and tried to remove the bullet.24 It was difficult because the ball had imbedded itself in his skin, but he eventually got it out. The wound was now inundated with blood. He cleaned the wound with a sponge and bandaged it. He knew the soldier had about a 50/50 chance of survival, but he wanted to be optimistic.
?You?ll be fine in a few days,? he said.
?Are you su?? The soldier was interrupted by the noise of shots, coming from above. Oh no, not the sharpshooter again. Why?s he so intent on killing me? Will shuddered. He took off again, but the sharpshooter had a long-range rifle, and Will had to run for what seemed like hours before he escaped the shooting noises. 25
He was all the way over by the left flank of the army, where there was little action. Since there were no injuries over here, Will had time to get a drink from his canteen. The smoke was beginning to clear, and he could see the right flank of the army. The army had suffered many casualties on that side, or at least it seemed that way because the field was littered with bodies. Good men, with families and jobs waiting for them. Will began to realize how terrible war really was. Some of the soldiers are just young boys. They had had a full life ahead of them.
Two hours later, the Union soldiers swarmed over the ridge and attacked in mass. Will saw the artillerymen in their blue shell jackets with gold trim and their matching blue trousers. Some of the infantrymen wore long frock coats that came down to their knees, while others just had short sack coats.26 They outnumbered the surprised Confederates, who were being shot down at an alarming rate. Will sprung into action, tending men with bullet wounds and moving dead bodies off to the side to be buried. A soldier who was shot in the foot hobbled towards him. He went to bandage and plaster the foot, but found he could not remove the soldier?s boot. He signaled for another doctor to come over and help, and one was over in a flash. Will considered himself lucky; usually it took a while to get another doctor over to help, because there were so few messengers, and messengers were the only way to communicate.27
?Let?s amputate!? Said the other doctor.
?It?s not necessary,? replied Will, ?it?s not a deep wound.?
He must just be one of those barbers that enlisted in the army. There are hardly any qualified doctors, mostly due to lack of colleges.28
?Fine. We have to get this boot off.?
?That?s what I can?t do!?
?We?ll cut it off then,? said the other doctor, who pulled out a short knife. Like most of the other doctors, he was ill equipped for his job.29 But the knife got the job done. With the two doctors working together, it didn?t take long to bandage the soldier.
?Thank you,? the soldier gasped.
?Just doing my job,? replied the second doctor. Then the second doctor got up and ran off looking for other soldiers in need. Will followed suit, only to discover that the sharpshooter had apparently moved. He headed in the direction the shots appeared to be coming from, hoping he could get someone to shoot him. It?s that damned sniper again! If I?m not more careful, he?ll have killed me by day?s end. He walked to the nearest soldier, which happened to be Private Scott. Again.
?There?s a Yankee sniper in that tree,? He pointed to the tree, ?Could you shoot him, it seems like I?m his main target.?
?I?d be glad to. DIE YANKEE!!!!?
The soldier took aim and fired several shots. The sniper?s body flopped out of the tree and thudded on the ground. The soldier turned and ran off to attack more Union soldiers.
The outnumbered Confederates were doing surprisingly well in the battle. They pushed the Yankees back a few hundred yards. It was obvious when Will looked at the field that the Yanks had suffered many more casualties than the Confederates.30 Suddenly, the Yankees turned and ran. They charged back towards Washington like scared little sheep. Many of the Confederates, especially Private Scott, wanted to pursue, but they were too disorganized to make a real attempt. All the Confederates started cheering.31 At first Will joined in, but as the smoke cleared and he was able to fully see the battlefield, he felt only sorrow and sadness. Hundreds of bodies littered the ground.
Private Scott walked over to a Union soldier on the ground that was gasping for water. He pulled out his rifle and shot him four times. As he was reloading his rifle to shoot again, Will shouted to him.
?STOP!?
?I have enough ammunition, it?s okay.?
?No! That soldier?s already dead. No need to shoot him more.?
?I can shoot him as much as I please. He?s a Yankee, and they all deserve to die. I want to go to the North and kill everyone there. They all deserve to DIE??
Will grabbed a gun that was on the ground near him that happened to be loaded. He shot Private Scott between the eyes. Scott fell to the ground, still clutching his rifle. Will felt sick to his stomach, but he knew he had done the right thing.
The Virginia soil was stained with the blood of Union and Confederate soldiers alike. Men from all walks of life had died here. Northerners and Southerners, teachers and farmers, tailors and artists, bakers and plantation owners. Fathers, sons, brothers, and husbands had all died, 32 never to see their families again. The sight of all the bodies was grotesque, but also depressing. I never want to see so much death again. Union or Confederate, it doesn?t matter. They?re all Americans, and they?re all dead just the same. Will wanted to run, far from this melancholy sight, away from war altogether. He wished he were back in his nice house in Centreville, far from the suffering and torture of the battlefield. He wished he had never joined the army, never entered into the chaos of war. I?m a doctor. I see death all the time, but never on such a large scale. If and when my fellow Confederates get back to their families, they will undoubtedly be telling glorified tales of this day. I think this is an injustice to those who died, especially Union soldiers, who gave their lives fighting for what they believed in. Will backed slowly away from the scene. He turned and walked until he reached the woods, and then he broke into a run. He knew he would be shot if anyone saw him running, so he ran as fast as he could, and when he felt he could run no more he sat down on a nearby stump and drank from his canteen. Then he got up and ran more. I won?t stop until I get home, even if it takes all day and all night.
Eight days later, Will sat in his nice Centreville house. He had heard no news of the war since the time he left, and he did not wish to know what was happening. He wished people could find another way to work out their problems, and he wished they would not resort to violence. For they had resorted to violence at Bull Run, and left so many dead. So many lives wasted.