Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
16th Feb 2014 from TwitLonger
#DailyLines #MOBY #WRITTENInMYOwnHEARTSBlood #Book8 #OutJUNE10th #triage
“Mrs. Fraser,” he said coldly. “I have just been telling your Quaker friend that there is no room inside the church for cunning-women or—“
“Claire Fraser is the most skilful surgeon I have seen operate!” Denzell said. He was flushed and fairly bristling with anger. “You will do your patients great harm, sir, by not allowing her t0—“
“And where did you obtain your own training, _Doctor_ Hunter, that you are so confident of your own opinion?”
“In Edinburgh,” Denny said through his teeth. “Where I was trained by my cousin, John Hunter.” Seeing that this made no impact on Leckie, he added, “and his brother, George Hunter—_accoucheur_ to the queen.”
That took Leckie aback, but unfortunately also got up his nose.
“I see,” he said, dividing a faint sneer evenly between us. “I congratulate you, sir. But as I doubt the army requires a man-midwife, perhaps you should assist your…colleague—“ and here he actually flared his nostrils at me, the pompous little swine—“with her seeds and potions, rather than—“
“We haven’t time for this,” I interrupted firmly. “Dr. Hunter is both a trained physician and a duly-appointed surgeon in the Continental Army; you can’t bloody keep him out. And if my experience of battle—which I venture to suggest may be somewhat more extensive than your own, _sir_—is anything to go on, you’ll need every hand you can get.” I turned to Denzell and gave him a long, level look.
“Your duty is with those who need you. So is mine. I told you about triage, did I not? I have a tent and my own surgical instruments and supplies. I’ll do triage out here, deal with the minor cases, and send in anyone requiring major surgery.”
I had a quick look over my shoulder, then turned back to the two fuming men.
“You’d best go inside and be quick about it. They’re starting to pile up.”
This was not a metaphorical expression. There was a crowd of walking wounded under the trees, a few men lying on makeshift stretchers and sheets of canvas…and a small, sinister heap of bodies, these presumably men who had died of their wounds en route to the hospital.
Fortunately, Rachel and Dottie appeared at this moment, each lugging a heavy bucket of water in each hand. I turned my back on the men and went to meet them.
“Dottie, come and put up the tent-poles, will you?” I said, taking her buckets. “And Rachel—you know what arterial bleeding looks like, I imagine. Go and look through those men and bring me anyone who’s doing it.”