"People pay the doctor for his trouble; for his kindness they still remain in his debt." -Seneca
-o-
With not much to do while Connor was off getting himself killed, Jacqueline reluctantly retreated to the medical tent on Putnam's suggestion. It was the largest shelter that side of the hill, including Putnam's own quarters. When she pushed back the canvas flap to go inside, the strong stench of blood and death struck her with such choking force she gagged. Inside, men with severed legs or more serious injuries were lying on naught more than pieces of clothe on the ground, hardly even cots.
Picking her way through the bodies, she honestly couldn't tell if some of them were dead or not. The weeping ones were alive at least. There was one man standing amidst the carnage. He was skinny and lean, in maybe his early thirties, with brown-ginger hair that stuck out at odd angles. An apron smeared with blood was tied around his middle. On the table in front of him was a man with a large shard of wood through his arm.
"Get the pliers, boy, quickly!" The doctor snapped at his sweating assistant who couldn't be more than seventeen. "What do you want?"
"I wanted to see if you need h—"
"Put this on your face you mad woman, or you'll get dust in that." The doctor tossed a cloth at her and turned back to his patient to speak over his shoulder. "Of course I need help. Do you see this? Do you see all this shit? It's me and Bernard here taking care of all these poor souls who've got next to no chance of living anyway."
"What?!" The man on the table shrieked.
"Sir, lower your voice. Come here with those." The boy, Bernard, handed him pliers and the doctor put a chew in the soldier's mouth. In one quick, practised move, he ripped the shard out of his arm. The man screamed past the leather bit for a moment and then promptly passed out.
Jacqueline pressed the cloth to her skinned cheek. "I know how to treat wounds."
"So does half of the Colonies nowadays." The doctor continued working, now with a saw.
Jacqueline looked away from the arm that was becoming quickly detached from the rest of the body in a most violent manner. She waited until he was finished and tossed the amputated arm away. He sighed and turned around, using his apron to wipe his stained hands.
"Look, it's kind of you to try, but I'm honestly just doing my job. I get my hands a little dirty and I get to eat another night. It's nothing against you at all. French, female, I don't care. Hell, if women served this war would already be over."
"That's an enlightened view on things." She noted, pleasantly surprised.
"Then call me da Vinci. Or don't, actually. Name's Martin O'Callaghan." They shook, which left a bloody smear on Jacqueline's hand. "Now, if you're really so insistent on being a good bloody Samaritan, you can take care of a couple of those poor bastards." He tossed her a roll of gauze and a tweezers.
She caught the supplies and knelt at the soldier at her feet. He had been shot in the leg. With the little pinchers, she pried the wound open, getting a yell of pain while she dug the round out. "Why does this camp have but one doctor and apprentice?" She asked. "This is wartime."
"Oh, sure it is." Martin replied, tying the stump of an arm off and moving him aside. "But the big people, the ones with power, they could care more about a goat's arse. We're the little people. Who cares if a soldier or two dies a horrible death? As long as they're still sleeping warm in their houses and eating fine foods."
"You judge too harshly." Jacqueline decided, wrapping gauze around the bleeding hole in the soldier's arm. "The rich are not all amoral and the impoverished are not all saints."
"Aren't they? Sure how it looks from this side of the war. You think any one o' them in New York or Boston would willingly come out here and get shot to meat? Now I'm not saying there aren't foul people in the country and fine folks in the cities. Just different perspectives, is all."
"You seem to be an educated man, doctor." She said after a pause. "Why are you here and not in a city?"
"They need doctors." Martin sighed simply. He splashed his hands in a bucket of water and rubbed the blood off with a rag. "It wasn't exactly my first choice. My wife threw a fit, of course, when I was recruited. Maybe a gruesome death here is better than returning to that storm."
Now that he had settled down somewhat, it was clear that his accent was a little more refined and less cockney. From his pocket he produced a tiny pair of spectacles and placed them on his nose, then ran a hand through his mad hair. "What are you doing here is a better question. One doesn't normally see women storming the front lines."
"Do I look like I'm storming the front lines?" Jacqueline asked sarcastically. She moved on to the next man in the row only to find he was dead.
Martin chuckled. "No, but you're dressed the part."
"I suppose I'm here to do the same as everyone else—fight the English. I have my own reasons and alliances, and if it's not too rude I'd prefer to keep them my own." She slid the man's cold eyelids shut and removed the clothe from under him to drape it over his body.
"Of course, of course." He nodded understandingly.
"Please help me!" One of the soldiers cried, clutching his shoulder.
Martin jolted and looked around. "Now where did that boy run off to? Mind helping me?"
"It's what I'm here for." Jacqueline stood and helped him put the man up on the operating table. She removed her cape and rolled up her sleeves.
For the next hour or so, she helped him amputate and euthanise and sanitise the various injured soldiers. It was morbid work, but it gave Jacqueline plenty of time to muse. There was something comforting and robotic about caring for injuries. The soldiers were a pleasant sort most of the time, and she enjoyed getting more experience with treating injuries from a real doctor.
Speaking of whom, Martin was a good conversationalist when he wasn't stressed. If there was a particularly angry or pushy soldier under the knife, he became agitated and his accent took on a thick brogue that her French ears had a hard time deciphering.
The long, unending conversation was engaging for both parties. On the one hand, Jacqueline was interested in his work as a doctor. He had a family; a wife named Clarissa and a daughter named Sophia. The family had moved from Ireland. Bernard was his apprentice who he had taken in when he reached the Colonies. On the other hand, Martin was insatiably curious about her opinion on politics and the war from the female perspective. It was clear he wanted to know how she had gotten into the war in the first place, but to his credit did not pry.
The apprentice, Bernard, appeared at one point, and that was a bad move. Martin looked up and frowned. "Where have you been, you mite?"
"I, uh, I…I wanted to see the battle." He admitted, hanging his head. "I'm sorry. I should not have left."
"Damn right you shouldn't have left, this kindred spirit's been taking care of your work! Now go wash out that bucket and get back in here right quick before I tan your sorry hide!" Martin nodded to the bucket of bloody water, and a flustered Bernard snatched it up and bailed. "That lad's going to be the death of me, I just know it." He sighed and returned to work.
They were tending to a man with a broken leg when Bernard suddenly burst back into the tent, out of breath. The bucket of water swung, empty, at his side. "Doctor, doctor!"
Martin straightened up. "What is it?"
"The news has just arrived! Someone's killed General Pitcairn! Murdered him right on his horse, right under the nose of his own men!"
Jacqueline stopped tying the splint to the man's shin and looked at him. "You're kidding."
"No ma'am. The Regulars are in quite the bad humour, doctor. General Putnam has ordered a full retreat. We're to take any still alive and leave early." Bernard wiped his forehead and grinned. "We can get out of here now!"
Jacqueline clipped on her cape and pulled her gloves back on. "I need to leave. Thank you for your hospitality."
"Ah, thank you for the company, lass. Perhaps our paths will cross again. If you're ever in Boston, come visit the mizzes and me. We'll be glad to have you." Martin adjusted his spectacles and nodded to her.
"Goodbye, doctor." She smoothly exited the tent.
-o-
-So this chapter was, ah, quite short. This is a bit of a transition, but that's not to say this wasn't an important chapter. The next one will be a return to the Homestead, and then stuff is really gonna get crazy. Which is why this one is finished so quick!
-I really loved writing Martin, in case you didn't notice. His character and Bernard's were based on two similar people in the film Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World, which you should watch because it's amazing.
-Don't forget to review!