A Bend in the River

The young soldier had willingly, if not eagerly, joined the Federal Army to do battle with the "sesechers" or "sesech boys," as he had learned Union forces frequently called soldiers of the Confederate States of America. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder what being out here—in the open, in this heat, trudging along through the dust and grime of this God-forsaken track—had to do with the war. No one in his right mind would have been, he thought. But crazy as it may have seemed, Christiaan and the others hadn’t been given a choice. After all, they had raised their right hands and pledged allegiance to the United States. They had indicated their commitment to be part of an infantry unit to defend the Union against those seeking to destroy it. They were obligated to do so even if it meant killing or being killed. This meant that Christiaan and his comrades were now tiny cogs in their nation’s giant killing machine—an impersonal, indifferent monster created to crush a rebellious confederacy of southern states bent on destroying the Union. Christiaan and the others knew that wherever the 25^th was ordered to go, they would go. Their movements from one place to another were no more a matter for them to ponder than were the reasons for their being out there in the first place. Still, Christiaan and most, if not all, of the other soldiers believed their participation in the war was not without noble purpose—was their moral responsibility. Yet that did nothing to lessen his fear. Lofty mission or high-minded duty aside, he was not happy being out here, in the open, exposed to the strong possibility of guerrilla ambush.

Companies A, B, C, E, G, H, and I of the 25^th were probing the back roads of Henry and Owen Counties. They had been ordered to do so by General Jeremiah T. Boyle, Union Commander of the Kentucky District. Colonel Orlando Hurley Moore, commander of the 25^th, led the detachment. The companies marched in alphabetical order, Christiaan’s Company I taking up the rear. Each was formed into columns of four and led by their respective captains, William Dowd in the case of Company I. The detachment had yet to find even the slightest bit of evidence of any enemy troops in the area, neither the expected bands of guerrillas nor the less likely regular Confederate soldiers. That lack of action, preferable as that may have been to being shot at, was not without its downside. First was that endless marching. And the heat. Most of all, the tension: When would shots ring out from behind the rocks and trees? Who would be first Blue Coat to fall? Would those left standing be able to prevail against whoever was firing on them? And, Christiaan wondered, How will I do when the minié balls start to fly? Will I do my part? Will I have what it takes to aim at a Rebel and bring him down? Or will I hide? Or worse, run? If I stand to fight, will I survive?