Under the Red Crescent: Adventures of an English Surgeon with the Turkish Army at Plevna and Erzeroum 1877-1878Ryan, Charles S. (Charles Snodgrass)
History
Under the Red Crescent: Adventures of an English Surgeon with the Turkish Army at Plevna and Erzeroum 1877-1878
Ryan, Charles S. (Charles Snodgrass)
Russo-Turkish War, 1877-1878 -- Personal narratives
In addition to the grave cases which involved the removal of an arm or
leg, we had a large number of minor injuries to attend to, especially
wounds in the hand, which were remarkably frequent. When the troops were
in the act of firing, their fingers and hands were naturally exposed;
and though later on, when the firing was mainly done from behind
entrenchments, finger wounds became far more frequent, still we had a
good many of them even after the first battle.
A splendid lesson in stoical fortitude was afforded by those fellows,
who tendered their maimed hands for operation without the slightest
flinching. The stump of a willow tree which had been cut down stood near
the bank of the stream, and here I was accustomed to take my seat, after
providing myself with a basin of water from the stream and a sharp
knife. I put a little carbolic in the water, and with these simple
preparations I was ready for my patients, who sat cross-legged in a row
close by me. There was no administration of chloroform by a skilled
anæsthetist, no careful dressing of the injury by a white-aproned nurse,
none of the usual accessories of the ordinary hospital; for my operating
theatre had a carpet of greensward starred with wild flowers, and its
ceiling was the deep blue sky of midsummer. Instead of the rows of
students who usually grace these scientific ceremonies, scores of the
snow-white doves that are considered sacred throughout Turkey paused now
and then in their cooings, as they fluttered round the minarets of the
ancient mosque above the willow grove and looked down upon the strange
scene below them. The wounded soldiers took their turns each in his
proper order; and as I sat on the willow stump a man with a thumb or
finger, as the case might be, mangled into a shocking pulp of festering
flesh, would hold up his injured hand to me as he sat on the grass at my
feet, and would look on without flinching while I cut away the rotting
flesh, trimmed up the place, and washed and dressed the bleeding stump
that still remained. I did over a dozen of these cases in one morning;
and later in the campaign, when the fighting in the redoubts began, I
have amputated as many as twenty-seven fingers in succession.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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