The Amputation Bench

When we entered the house we also found it filled with wounded and tormented men. Bloody and nasty. Pain and anguish that was every bit as bad as Hiroshima. Severed limbs. Buzzing flies. Open wounds. Bullets being picked out from ripped flesh. The living lying next to the dead or soon-to-be dead. And the smell. Blood, excrement, sweat, and the ever-present stench of the dead which reminded me of rotten beef. We immediately fell back into line helping the medics and surgeons with the poor soldiers. Mrs. Weikert brought out all of the linens, cotton, and muslin she could find.

          “Rip this up, Kyla,” said Mrs. Weikert handing me a pile of thin linen sheets. “Tear them into strips and the doctors will use ‘em as bandages.”

          I was impressed with Mrs. Weikert’s devotion to the soldiers. She sacrificed all of her sheets and blankets without a second thought for these poor men. The surgeons took these strips of cloth as fast as we could rip them up. Once all of the linens had been torn into strips Tillie and I went outside with pots of water to where more of the injured were lying. A few days earlier such scenes would have sent me reeling back into a vomit-induced panic. Now, after seeing so many terrible scenes of war, I think I was becoming almost numb to these gory sights. At least I thought that was the case until we went out to the amputation benches.

Just outside the basement door was one such worktable. As I approached carrying a pot of fresh water I saw the medics and a couple black helpers lifting an injured soldier onto the table. They laid him down and gave him a drink from a bottle of whiskey. Tears were falling from his eyes and his hands were trembling greatly. They put a cattle horn over his mouth through which they administered chloroform. They did this in hopes of producing unconsciousness. In this case I don’t think they quite succeeded before the doctor began his dreadful work.

The soldier’s left leg had a ghastly wet wound just below the knee. His pants had been cut off at the thigh leaving the bottom part of his leg exposed. A large gash filled with what looked like raw meat and bone was poking out from the skin below the knee. The two assistants held down the soldier’s other leg and his arms while the surgeon pulled out a bloody saw. He went to work on his butcher’s task, sawing off the leg while the man groaned and attempted to writhe about under the strong hold of the assistants.

“Don’t stare, Kyla,” Tillie whispered to me.

I hadn’t even noticed how obvious my staring was. I quickly turned around and nervously walked away before remembering I hadn’t dropped off the water yet. I went back to the table and left the pot of fresh water on the ground. I picked up the bowl of red water the doctor had been using since morning. It was filled with nasty bits of flesh and gruel. Big black flies were buzzing all around it.    

Just beyond the fence that surrounded the yard on the south side of the house was where the doctors threw all of those sawed off arms and legs. This pile of limbs was the most horrifying and atrocious thing I had ever seen. The pile was actually higher than the fence. Arms, legs, toes, and hands. Bones and blood. The common theme. Flies swarmed around it like a dust cloud. A bird landed on one of the legs and began picking dark red tissue out from the open end. This pile represented what it was these soldiers were giving up for the war as well as any other gruesome image I could think of. 

TIME TRIP ADVENTURE 4

KILLING FOR COUNTRY  

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TIME TRIP ADVENTURE 1

THE JOURNEY TO ANCIENT GREECE 

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TIME TRIP ADVENTURE 2

A RIDE ON THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD

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TIME TRIP ADVENTURE 3

WITNESS TO THE FIRST THANKSGIVING 

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