Like a majority of the homes of Georgia mountaineers, the house in which the ceremony was to be performed was about sixteen feet square, and constructed of logs. A large fireplace, extending nearly across one end of the building, was piled with wood that crackled and roared as the ruddy blaze encircled and devoured it. It sent back into the room a delightful glow, lighting up the dusky nooks and corners of the old cabin, now flickering up to the ceiling and again dying away, leaving the inmates in the dancing shadows. A bed occupied the opposite side of the room. Opposite the only entrance was one small window. The other furniture consisted solely of a rough pine table and a few chairs.
The assembled company composed a group that if faithfully drawn would insure to any artist the reputation of a first-class caricaturist. The guests, numbering between thirty and forty persons of both sexes, filled the room to overflowing. Immediately in front of the fireplace stood the bride and groom, hand in hand.
The costume of the bride was not such as Paris would have prescribed for such an occasion. Durability and comfort rather than a desire for artistic effect, had evidently been the ruling considerations in its selection. The material was calico, bright colors predominating, and it was made up without any of the furbelows and jimcracks called "trimmings." No unsightly hoops (then everywhere in vogue) concealed the outlines of the girl's well-developed form. Upon her feet were worn good, substantial leather shoes and woolen stockings. Her "waterfall" was made up of her own luxurious hair, held in place by a horn comb. No ornament of any kind or description, not even a sprig or flower, was permitted to relieve the chaste simplicity of her costume. Standing there by the side of her chosen husband, she looked substantial and durable, rather than beautiful.
The groom, resplendent in all the glories of a white shirt and clean homespun jacket and trousers, seemed to be as happy as is often permitted to mortals.
Grouped around the room, in various grotesque attitudes, were the members of the Home Guards. Some were standing, resting their chins upon hands folded across the muzzles of their muskets; others were standing in the position of a soldier at ordered arms; others were squatted on the floor, with their guns lying across their laps. Sitting on the bed and on the few chairs, were some of the women, while others mingled with the soldiers, quite regardless of appearances.
Everything being in readiness, the clergyman took his place, and in a few words pronounced the marriage ceremony—which, whether performed in palace or hovel, is so fraught with good or ill, to both the parties concerned.
For a moment after he had concluded, all were silent. The grave deportment of the minister combined with the peculiar circumstances attending upon the marriage, acted like a spell upon the audience, compelling even the most reckless to yield to its influence. The silence was rudely broken by the young husband, who, taking his bride by the chin, by this means getting her face in position, gave her a rousing smack on the mouth, exclaiming: "Well, Mary, how do you like gitt'n' married?"
"I like it fust rate. I wouldn't mind gitt'n' married every day," was her reply.
The scene that followed beggars description—such pulling and hauling and kissing of the bride; such kissing of everybody who would submit to being kissed, and of some who wouldn't; such screaming and laughing; such jostling and mixing, surely never were seen before.
For an hour or more the carnival continued. At length they were tired out by their wild play and boisterous mirth. Quiet was restored. Songs were called for. Spencer, a good singer, gave them the song, "Who will care for mother now?" I followed with "Old Irish Gentleman" in my best style, my music resembling the notes of a jay bird alternated with those of a wild goose, with an occasional note resembling the filing of a saw. The songs, however, were received with applause about equally divided, although I heard a pretty widow remark that she thought Spencer the better singer, and I could not dispute her taste.