Hands Like An Angel
Article by Carter Cada - 9/1/2023
He loaded another round of ammunition into his rifle. Taking steady aim, he leveled the gun at the other end of the field. He hurriedly dragged his sleeve across his brow in a vain attempt to remove the beads of dirty sweat that lingered there, dripping into his eyes.
Again, he took aim. Accuracy was impossible: there was too much smoke, and every few seconds dirt would leap from the earth and shower the men when the ground was struck by enemy artillery fire. Finally able to make out a sillouette in the smoke, he fired…and missed.
Hands now trembling, he went to load another round, this time, his hands slipping and dropping the shell into the dirt. Not wasting time to find it, he reached for another from his satchel. This time, he took greater care not to lose it.
Gun redied, he once again took aim. He could no longer see the sillouette, but he remembered its approximate location. Steadying his breath, he squeezed the trigger. The yelp that coincided with his shot told him his aim was true.
Before he had any time to celebrate, however, he was knocked onto his back, striking his head. Before he had time to register what happened, a searing pain shot into his foot.
He let loose a cry of agony, as now he could feel a simalar burning sensation searing through his shoulder. “Man down!” He could hear the cry around him. Woozy and in pain, he tried to see who had shouted. Three or four men swarmed to him, and began dragging him away from the battle.
“Th-thank you” he forced the words out. One of the men, a youth of seventeen smiled at him. “No thanks needed, brother, I’m sure-” his thought was cut short by a loud whizz, then a solid thud before the youth doubled over in pain. “Bartamaeus!” One of the older men shouted. Bartemaeus waved him off. “I’m fine! Get this man to the medics!”
He then took a few steps back. They were to be his last, as an artillery shell made contact with the ground mere inches behind him. The men shielded thier eyes from the plume of dirt, nothing remaining when the spot was once again still. “My boy!!” The older man cried out, now delerious.
The two remaining men continued dragging the injured man while a father bereaved the loss of his son. A little while later, a groan could be heard from the injured man. “What is your name?” One of the two questioned him. “Caleb”. It took all of Caleb’s strength just to get out the word. “Well, Caleb” the man responed. We’re going to get you fixed up right. We’re taking you to the angel of the battlefield”.
Caleb felt his boot dragging against his foot, now. It was heavy, and soaked in his blood, but it was stuck on in a way that wrenched his foot painfully. He would have cried out in pain if he could, but the blow to his head had been hard. “Yessir. The angel, and they’ll get you fixed right up.” The man continued speaking, oblivious to the new and excruciating development.
Angel of the Battle field? Caleb scoffed internally. What man would be idiot enough to come all the way out to Antietum just to watch the injured die? Some doctor had some kind of death wish, or maybe they just wanted to expiriment on the perishing.
Finally, the three arrived at a row of tents, from many of which could be heard the sound of surgery, sawing, and shouting. Lots of shouting. “Nurse, nurse!” One of the two called out. Caleb couldn’t tell which anymore.
A figure came out to meet them, and a rapid exchange of questions and answers flowed between them. Caleb’s vision was fuzzy, but something seemed…off about this man. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The next thing he knew, the three lifted him onto a cot, and before long, he had passed out.
Several hours later, he awoke. His head was throbbed like strokes of thunder, he was incredibly thirsty, and he still felt a dull pain in both his foot and shoulder. That said, he was pleasantly surprised to be alive.
One of the two men from earlier stepped into his tent. “Glad to see you’re gonna make it after all, Caleb.” Caleb grinned. “I s’pose I got you to thank for that. Say, I didn’t catch your name earlier..?” The man grinned sheepishly. “Well, the name’s Joshua, and t’other was by cousin Judah…but, uh…I don’t think we are the ones you need to thank.”
Of course, the doctor. “Yes, I’d like to thank my doctor as well. Where is he?” Joshua reddened before answering. “Well, uh, just outside the door, but, erm…” Just then, a figure stepped into the tent. Even though his vision hadn’t been good, he recognized the badge, doctor’s bag, dress…
Dress?
The lady smiled at Caleb before setting the bag on the ground beside his cot. “Well, Caleb, I’m happy to report that you are due to make a full recovery. Something to be thankful for, indeed. be sure to take extra care to wash the wounded foot…”
“I’m sorry, ma’am?” Caleb stuttered. She paused a moment to look at him. “Yes?” He didn’t know what to say. He had so many questions for her: why would a woman come to such a bloody battle? Why would a woman come to serve in a war at all? Who did she think she was usurping a good, male doctor? “Why…why…” He struggled to get the words out. “Yes? She asked again.
“Why…thank you, ma’am. I dont s’pose I could get the name of my doctor, could I?” She smiled at him. “Clara Barton” she said, outstretching her hand. Caleb took it, to find she gave a surprisingly firm shake. He wasn’t the first to be saved by the “Angel of the battlefield”, and he certainly wasn’t the last.
Clara Barton, time and time again throughout her life, had to fight against the discrimination of the very people she wanted to help. It is fitting that she would be the one to establish the American Red Cross.
Clara Barton
The great majority of us have been to a hospital, clinic, or some other medical institution at some point in our lives. Maybe we had an injury, maybe a checkup, or maybe just at your birth.
Regardless of why we were there, we enjoyed a luxury we probably didn’t even think of: availability. If you needed a medication, or an IV, or even just a bandage, it was there for you.
But what if you didn’t have availability to those things? What if you couldn’t get a bandage, or a crutch? What if you needed a blood transfusion, but there was none to be had? Today, we look at the woman who, for millions, has made availability possible.
Why Clara Barton?
I remember first hearing about Clara Barton from my grandmother, who had been a nurse for many years. Outside of a few remarks, however, I didn’t know much.
I knew she had a reputaion for being courageous in that she went to the frontlines of the civil war, and that she had played a part in both the founding of the red cross as well as modern nursing in general.
As I grew older and began a greater student of history, I learned about some of the more nuanced implications of history. One of those was how male-dominated the medical proffession was in the 1800’s. As a child, I had thought nothing of a nurse being a woman, something quite common today.
However, not only was Clara a nurse in the traditional sense, she also played doctor, and even surgeon when the role called for it, all with knowledge she had garnered through helping others from youth.
Interestingly, Clara did not begin her professional career as a nurse. Instead, her first choice was to be a schoolteacher. As a teacher, Clara was driven by a passion for helping children who needed it most.
“Encourage” was Clara’s philosophy of education. In stark contrast to many teachers who prefered caning their pupils to teaching them, Clara did what it took to really solve problems (an ideal shared by another notable teacher…read about it here!).
Despite her attempts to make a change in her students’ lives, Clara faced what most women of her age faced - Discrimination.
Slavery is amongst the most deplorable deeds ever committed by mankind. This is real persecution.
Without going into detail regarding every situation (because, beleive me, there are way to many from her life), suffice it to say that, whether she was teaching or treating, men resented her intrusion into what they considered their field.
Just like George W. Carver (link to our article on him here!), Clara had to fight the very people she wanted to serve just to get a chance to help them. More than once, it brought grief. In one instance, it caused her to have an actual nervous breakdown.
Yet, never once did she give up. Why? Because unlike many others, Clara didn’t do what she did for praise, or even for profit.
Clara did what was right, regardless of what culture told her.
When I realized this about Clara, I knew I had to make her one of our first legends.
Nothing has really changed since Clara’s day. There are still many, MANY people who have strong opinions on what people should or shouldn’t be able to say, even in a country where free speech is protected in the most foundational document of our country.
Nevertheless, many are frightened out of doing or saying what is right for fear of cancel culture or hateful opinions, now more than ever.
Even here, on my own website, I have to make a conscious choice everyday to write what is true and right, not what others want to hear said. In my personal life, too, I’ve had times where speaking the truth cost me dearly. Yet, when I learned what Clara knew about doing right, it encouraged me to do the same.
“It irritates me to be told how things have always been done. I defy the tyranny of precedent. I cannot afford the luxury of a closed mind.”
Who was Clara Barton?
Born December 25th, 1821, Clara was born daughter to Cpt. Steven Barton of a local militia, as well a a man heavily involved in his local politics.
She grew up better aquianted with boys than other girls (of whom there were few in the community), and became something of a tomboy as a result.
Concerned about this, her parents tried to curb these traits by sending her to boarding school, something that did not sit well with Clara, who was timid by nature.
Eventually, Clara’s parents resigned themselves to her ways, and taught their daughter to be a kind, moral, and patriotic woman. Because of her varied background, they succeeded in raising a woman who could hold her own with both men and woman, poor and rich, educated and illiterate.
While she began her career in teaching, several years of discrimination and persecution pushed her into various occupations until the beginning of the American Civil War, at which point she joined the effort as a nurse. After the war, she oversaw the development of the American Red Cross in response to needs she had seen while serving.
Why was Clara Barton important?
Clara could have easily given up at any point during her career. She could have gone home, married, raised a family, and the world would have thought the best of her. She might even have been known as an innovator. Yet, she didn’t. She pushed on in spite of difficulties. But why?
To put it in her own words:
“You must never so much think as whether you like it or not, whether it is bearable or not; you must never think of anything except the need, and how to meet it.”
Clara Barton played a crucial role in the founding of the American Red Cross, short answer. But the why is what made her really important. A desire to serve others, even when they actively made it difficult for her to do so. Any parent knows exactly what I mean here.
As I’ve gotten more involved in public life, developed my online presence, and put in many, many hours to make something useful or encouraging to others, I’ve found that it can be difficult to keep what really matters in focus.
I imagine that Clara must have had the same issue. Yet, she single-mindedly pursued her goal.
It’s funny how we can hear a name so many times throughout our lives, and never grasp the significance. You’ve heard names like George Washington or Abraham Lincoln probably hundreds of times.
You can even think you know a story quite well, such as that of Alexander the Great, or Napoleon Bonaparte. Again, names you know, but may never grasp the significance.
But once you do, it changes not only the way you look at them. It can change the way you live. So what did I learn about Clara? Her secret to determination:
She let the needs of others, not culture, dictate her life
Clara had vision better than most. She could see something everywhere that many cannot see at all: the needs of others. She spent her life surrounded by others who couldn’t, and thought her course foolish.
It reminds me of the end of the movie The Polar Express, where the boy receives a bell from Santa which can only be heard by those who beleive. His parents can’t hear it, and one by one, his freinds lose the ability to hear it as well. But the boy never, never stops hearing it.
For Clara, the needs of others was the same way. Every day, and in every profession, she saw the needs, and couldn’t leave “well enough” alone. She was determined to make a difference, and make a difference she did.
Closing Thoughts:
My goal in life, and really, all of our goals, should be a lot more like Clara’s. To see needs. To meet them. To never give up until they’ve been met.
Maybe you’re stuck learning to even see the needs of others. Maybe you’re just not sure how to meet them. Or maybe you’re doing both of those, but the forces compelling you to quit are overpowering, in which case, this guy would have some GREAT advice for you.
At the end of the day, what we learn from Clara’s life is this:
I must live selflessly; not to earn praise, and not fearing discrimination.
So how about it? We all know people. Everyone, everyone has a need, no matter how invincible they seem. So will you meet the needs of the world, one by little one? You might find that, in the doing, you become bold. you become empowered.
You become inspired.
About the author
Carter John Cada is the founder of and main author for Quips from the Quiver. In his free time, he loves to read, spend time with his 10 siblings, read, work out, read, work on his manuscript, read, and read.
He also enjoys eating.
