They’d been gathered longer than a month moving from place to place while waiting for some orders to march to the north. The politicians and generals haggled while the men sat in camp sharpening tomahawks and knives and rubbing their guns until they knew every scratch and nick on the barrels. The men had shown up in the camps ready for battle. They brought their own horses and guns and wore an almost identical uniform from home of a hunting shirt with a fringe border and Kentucky jeans. A leather belt held a pocket for their tomahawks while another strap of leather across their shoulders held the powder horns and a bullet case and a sheath for the butcher knife no Kentuckian would go to war without. Brice had been given a commission as surgeon in the second regiment of volunteers. He’d encouraged Nathan to stay with him as his assistant, but as soon as they reached camp, the boy had enlisted in the regiment for six months on his own. Once the men had enlisted there was nothing to do but wait for orders and talk about fighting.
