Free Abner & Me by Dan Gutman Page A

his way.
    I was starting to get frustrated. Why did this happen every time I traveled through time? I would always wind up somewhere near the person I was trying to meet, but not right next to him.
    Willie Biddle looked like he was running out of patience, and so was Mom. She’d never had much interest in finding Abner Doubleday in the first place. As we walked around the Union camp, she became increasingly concerned with the dirt and filth the soldiers were living in.
    â€œLook at this!” Mom said, aghast. “The latrine runs right into the source of their drinking water. No wonder men are dying of dysentery and diarrhea. I can only imagine the medical facilities around here. Where are the ambulances?”
    â€œMom,” I whispered, so Willie wouldn’t hear, “this is 1863. They didn’t have ambulances.”
    â€œThere’s an ambulance right over there, ma’am,” Willie said.
    The “ambulance” was a large wooden wagon pulled by horses. There were six or seven ragged-looking Union soldiers in it. Some of them were moaning, and others were crying out for their wives, their girlfriends, or their mothers. One of them just sat there silently, like he was in shock. They all had a look of fear in their eyes.
    â€œFood, please,” one of the wounded men begged the driver. “I haven’t eaten in two days.”
    â€œRations go first to those men who are fit for fightin’,” said the driver. “Orders from General Meade.”
    Mom walked right up to the driver.
    â€œI’m a nurse,” she said. “Can you take us to the hospital?”
    â€œMa’am, that’s directly where I’m goin’,” he said. “Hop on.”
    â€œNot the hospital !” moaned one of the injured soldiers. “I don’t want to go! Let me die here.”
    â€œYou’ll be fine,” my mother assured him, and she climbed up next to the driver.
    â€œMom, I want to find Abner Doubleday,” I complained.
    â€œDoubleday can wait,” she replied. “There are men dying here.”
    â€œI’m getting out of here,” said Willie. “Doctors scare me.”
    I said good-bye to Willie Biddle and climbed up next to Mom. It didn’t take long to get to the hospital, but the road was unpaved and the ride was bumpy. Every time the wheels hit a rut, the soldiers in the back cried out in pain. I felt sorry for them.
    The driver stopped the wagon outside a big tent. I only knew it was the hospital because there were a bunch of soldiers lying on the ground outside, moaning and screaming in pain. Some of them looked like they were in really bad shape.
    â€œDreadful conditions,” Mom said as we climbed off the wagon.
    â€œI need some help in here!” somebody shouted from inside the tent.
    â€œMom, don’t!” I said, holding her back. “It’s not your job.”
    â€œYes it is.”
    â€œWell, I’ll wait out here,” I said. “There’s too much blood around here, and a lot of it is on the outside of people instead of inside, where it belongs.”
    â€œI want you to come with me,” Mom said, pulling me into the tent. “If we get separated, we may never find each other again.”
    It was horrible in there. It looked horrible, it sounded horrible, and it smelled horrible.
    There were no beds or curtains or flowers in this hospital. A wounded soldier was lying across a big plank of wood that was supported by two wooden crates. That was the operating table. The plank was covered with a rubber sheet. Underneath the table was a tub splattered with blood that had dripped down from the plank.
    The doctor was sweating. His sleeves were rolled up, and his white shirt and apron were soaked with blood. There was a wooden box next to him filledwith weird-looking medical instruments.
    â€œI’ve been working for six straight hours,” he said wearily. “I could use a