I

The Tennessee River



Massive rain plummeted down from a leaden, overcast, frigid February sky and pelted the shoulders of Silas Mechums India rubber waterproof and soaked the blue wool forage cap he wore, sending rivulets of freezing winter precipitation along his beardless face as he hunched over and leaned into the torrent in an attempt to protect himself and his utility bag of possessions from the deluge.

Often during the early months of his enlistment in the Federal army, Silas had heard veteran soldiers speak of trudging or slogging along during the difficulties of muddy road marches, and now he understood the explanations they put forth in relating the plight of the common infantryman. Now as he tugged and heard the sucking sound the thick muddy earth made as he withdrew his boots from the sticky surface, he grasped the reasoning that lay behind the mens malcontented grumbling and constant cursing of the officers who usually were mounted.

Silas thought how great it would be riding a fine horse through this type of weather rather than being afoot. Secretly, he prayed for a mount. After all, even though he had been in the cavalry a short time, he recognized that a cavalryman needed a subtle, sure-footed steed to travel over the mud and deep rutted roadways or paths that led between the huts and tents that ran through the cantonment area. With a horse, the man became a cavalryman and not a common soldier. Silas missed the proud feeling he had obtained and the swagger that he possessed when mounted on a fine, well-trained mount. He enjoyed the smell of new leather and worn and oiled reins and bridles, even hemp halters, and viewed with expectation the return to these aromas. The youth missed the salty, sweat soaked girths, cavalry riding accouterments, and the creaking of a McClellen saddle as a horse moved. He even longed to be leading a mount at the walk.

He tried to ignore the absence of the warmth of an animals back against his legs and the pungency of its body smell rising upward, the toss of a proud head throwing salvia with a total lack of concern, the pull of the reins in his hands, and the horses neigh with its innumerable meanings usually unknown to the rider. Moreover, he missed the occasional nostril and lip-fluttering noises made by a horse as if complaining of the necessity of carrying a man, even a skinny seventeen-year-old Indiana farm boy.

Silas knew the animal obeyed the nudging of the blunt army-issued brass spurs or even those fitted with the sharp pointed rowels was a stark, terrifying reminder of prehistoric days when the horses native instinct reminded the animal of the fear and danger of a predator attacking its back. Flight and bucking wildly were the only means of escape or survival for the creature. He was aware of the rumors of Union troopers pillaging Southern homes for clocks, not for the value of them as timepieces or their beauty, but in order to get the cog wheels inside the mechanism to fashion them into sharp spur rowels. The youth wondered why riders had to resort to all that when merely a prod in the flanks from a boot heel or a shift of weight in the saddle and a well-trained animal obeyed instructions from the rider with fidelity and no hard reflections.

For the life of him, he never understood men who were mean and hurtful to horses. In no way did he condone maltreatment of a horse. Certain animals needed firm training and had to learn the rider was in control, but any display of inhuman behavior towards a horse brought an uncontrollable rage in the youth who had been riding since he was a child.

Silas approached a table on the porch of one of the towns buildings where a sergeant was sitting checking in the new arrivals. He took Silas name and handed him a piece of paper assigning him to a unit and giving the location and number of the hut in which he was to be quartered.

Treading through the quagmire, Silas body shook from the cold downpour. He wore his issued flannel underwear, light blue wool trousers, short dark blue Federal shell jacket with its yellow piping identifying Silas as a cavalryman under his waterproof and great coat with its over-the-shoulder length cape. He felt the blasts of near freezing air that rose and fell seemingly without warning from between the rows of shelters. Each of the crudely constructed log huts had a chimney and the majority of the smoke shafts were topped off with an oaken barrel that apparently was used to improve the draft. White smoke drifted lazily from each chimney. He was amazed at the number of buildings and the layout of the camp, and Silas had never been in a cantonment area as large as this one.

The trees surrounding the camp were felled recently and stumps dotted the entire landscape. Far upward towards the hills the youth observed pine and cedars mixed with hardwoods. The limbs of the evergreens were heavy with rainwater and the hardwoods, barren of leaves, scratched lifeless arms and fingers against the dismal dull sky.

Off from the main section were more huts and he judged them to be the officers quarters and the main headquarters since guidons or flags identifying the units were positioned in front of several of the buildings. He adjusted the bag slung over his shoulder and inspected the numbers nailed to the doorway of each logged hut. Occasionally, parts of the walkways were made of slim saplings painstakingly laid side by side to keep the soldiers feet out of the slimy soil but most of the path was muck.

Tramping on, Silas thought of the Secesh girl he had seen at the Waterloo, Alabama boat landing. She was a thin, frail sweet-faced snippet of a girl wearing a faded threadbare cloak that practically covered her face. Whiffs of blonde hair slipped from beneath the edge of the hood and her sad penetrating brown eyes captured his eyes for a moment and Silas possessed a perception the youth had never experienced. Muscadine, his mother had called those kinds of deep brown slightly greenish eyes. A sudden attraction grasped Silas entire being and he felt a tender closeness to the girl though he had never seen her before that moment.