I attended the first drill, my boy, and found the oppressed Africans standing in a line about as regular as so many trees in a maple swamp.
Captain Bob Shorty whipped out his sleepless sword, straightened it on a log, stepped to the front, and was just about to give the first order, when, suddenly, he started, threw up his nose, and stood paralyzed.
"What's the matter, my blue and gilt?" says I.
He stood like one in a dream, and says he:
"'Pears to me I smell something."
"Yes," says I; "'tis the scent of the roses that hangs round it still."
"True," says Captain Bob Shorty, recovering, "it does smell like a cent; and I haven't seen a cent of my pay for such a long time, that the novelty of the odor knocked me. Attention, company!"
Only five of the troops were enough startled by this sudden order, my boy, to drop their guns, and only four stooped down to tie their shoes. One very reliable contraband left the ranks, and says he:
"Mars'r, hadn't Brudder Rhett better gub out the hymn before the service commence?"
"Order in the ranks!" says Captain Bob Shorty, with some asperity, "Attention, Company!—Order Arms!"