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Authors: Lawrence Dorr
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in one sweeping motion at the middle of the upper arm. Quickly wiping off the blade with his apron, he cut the biceps muscle. “Now extend the elbow so I can cut the triceps while it is relaxed.” Slicing that muscle obliquely off the humerus bone, McGuire used his bare hand to push the cut muscles upward an inch or two. To hold back the muscles and allow McGuire to remove his hand, Thomas slipped a piece of linen with a small hole cut in its middle over the bone, which protruded through the cloth.
McGuire wiped Jackson’s blood off on his apron and, picking up a square-shaped saw with his right hand, used a fingernail of his left to mark a place on the bone where he wanted to begin his cut. Placing the blade just above his fingernail, he slowly drew the saw backward with a long, gentle movement, creating a smooth cut. An even edge to the bone was critical for wound closure, especially since there was not enough time to snip off bone fragments with the bone nippers. Judah started to shift his position to get a stronger hold on the arm, but McGuire cautioned, “Judah, don’t move. If you bend the arm, it will splinter.” Beads of sweat from McGuire’s brow dripped into the wound. He knew too well the consequences if he failed to save Jackson’s life. Judah held fast and McGuire quickly finished his cut, thankful the end of the bone stayed smooth.
Having completed the amputation, McGuire grasped the brachial artery with the forceps, tied it off with a ligature, and removed the tourniquet. Sponges soaked in warm water cleansed the cut surface of the stump and removed coagulated blood. Thomas released the linen holding the muscle, fat, and skin so that these tissues could cover the cut bone end. McGuire made sure the wound edges were aligned, then applied strips of adhesive plaster across the stump to keep the edges together. He finished the dressing by covering the adhesive with linen cloths. Turning his attention to Jackson’s right hand, he quickly removed the musket ball.
McGuire’s work was done for now. All he could do was pray that he had done his best to execute God’s plan for his patient.
Stonewall Jackson had little chance of survival. He had lost so much blood from his artery that he would have died on the field if his junior officer had not acted quickly. Without the oxygen carried by that lost blood, his lungs were laboring hard and fast, while his heart pumped furiously to deliver what blood he had left to his tissues. His breathing was raspy and his weakened chest muscles could not expand his lungs.
Jackson lived one week after the operation, long enough for his wife and daughter to travel from their Virginia home to be with him. He was moved to the Fairfield plantation at Guinea Station, a safe distance from the battle, and housed in an office building of the plantation owner. His troops gathered on the lawn to keep vigil and conduct prayer sessions for their beloved general.
Pus built up in Jackson’s lungs and blocked the lung cells from delivering oxygen to the blood. His fever escalated, further dehydrating him, and he began talking nonsense to his wife, who sat with him daily. His delirium cleared for brief moments, and in one of these he recognized his daughter. “My sweet girl,” he said and then fell back on the bed.
His last words were haunting, as if he knew he was leaving this world: “Let us cross over the river,” he said, “and rest under the shade of the trees.” At 3:15 p.m. on Sunday, May 10, 1863, Stonewall Jackson was dead from pneumonia, often known as “Captain of Men’s Death.” It was a foe neither the doctors nor Jackson, the best general in the Confederate Army, could resist.
Chapter Seven
TEMPTATION
P atrick awoke the seventh day after his injury thinking of Katherine. I wonder if Katherine knows where I am. If she knows what happened to me.
He reached down and felt his left leg to be sure it was there. This first week , Patrick thought, must be what
McGuire wiped Jackson’s blood off on his apron and, picking up a square-shaped saw with his right hand, used a fingernail of his left to mark a place on the bone where he wanted to begin his cut. Placing the blade just above his fingernail, he slowly drew the saw backward with a long, gentle movement, creating a smooth cut. An even edge to the bone was critical for wound closure, especially since there was not enough time to snip off bone fragments with the bone nippers. Judah started to shift his position to get a stronger hold on the arm, but McGuire cautioned, “Judah, don’t move. If you bend the arm, it will splinter.” Beads of sweat from McGuire’s brow dripped into the wound. He knew too well the consequences if he failed to save Jackson’s life. Judah held fast and McGuire quickly finished his cut, thankful the end of the bone stayed smooth.
Having completed the amputation, McGuire grasped the brachial artery with the forceps, tied it off with a ligature, and removed the tourniquet. Sponges soaked in warm water cleansed the cut surface of the stump and removed coagulated blood. Thomas released the linen holding the muscle, fat, and skin so that these tissues could cover the cut bone end. McGuire made sure the wound edges were aligned, then applied strips of adhesive plaster across the stump to keep the edges together. He finished the dressing by covering the adhesive with linen cloths. Turning his attention to Jackson’s right hand, he quickly removed the musket ball.
McGuire’s work was done for now. All he could do was pray that he had done his best to execute God’s plan for his patient.
Stonewall Jackson had little chance of survival. He had lost so much blood from his artery that he would have died on the field if his junior officer had not acted quickly. Without the oxygen carried by that lost blood, his lungs were laboring hard and fast, while his heart pumped furiously to deliver what blood he had left to his tissues. His breathing was raspy and his weakened chest muscles could not expand his lungs.
Jackson lived one week after the operation, long enough for his wife and daughter to travel from their Virginia home to be with him. He was moved to the Fairfield plantation at Guinea Station, a safe distance from the battle, and housed in an office building of the plantation owner. His troops gathered on the lawn to keep vigil and conduct prayer sessions for their beloved general.
Pus built up in Jackson’s lungs and blocked the lung cells from delivering oxygen to the blood. His fever escalated, further dehydrating him, and he began talking nonsense to his wife, who sat with him daily. His delirium cleared for brief moments, and in one of these he recognized his daughter. “My sweet girl,” he said and then fell back on the bed.
His last words were haunting, as if he knew he was leaving this world: “Let us cross over the river,” he said, “and rest under the shade of the trees.” At 3:15 p.m. on Sunday, May 10, 1863, Stonewall Jackson was dead from pneumonia, often known as “Captain of Men’s Death.” It was a foe neither the doctors nor Jackson, the best general in the Confederate Army, could resist.
Chapter Seven
TEMPTATION
P atrick awoke the seventh day after his injury thinking of Katherine. I wonder if Katherine knows where I am. If she knows what happened to me.
He reached down and felt his left leg to be sure it was there. This first week , Patrick thought, must be what
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