LETTER II.
Pineville, August 29th, 1842.
Dear Sir,
Jest as I spected, only a thunderin’ sight wurse! You know I said that we wer gwine to have a betallion muster in Pineville. Well, the muster has tuck place, and I reckon sich other doins you never hearn of afore.
I come in town the nite afore, with my regimentals in a bundle, so they couldn’t be siled by ridin’, and as soon as I got my breckfast, I begun rigin’ out for the muster. I had a bran new pair of boots, made jest a purpose, with long legs to ’em and a shaperdebraw, with one of the tallest kind of red fethers in it, a blu cloth regimental cote, all titivated off with gold and buttons, and a pair of yeller britches of the finest kind. Well, when I went to put ’em on, I couldn’t help but cuss all the tailors and shoomakers in Georgia. In the fust place, my britches like to busted and wouldn’t reach more’n half way to my jacket, then it tuck two niggers to git my boots on; and my coat had tail enuff for a bed-quilt, and stood rite strait out behind like a fan-tail pidgin—it wouldn’t hang rite no how you could pull it. I never was so dratted mad, specially when thar was no time to fix things, for the fellers were comin’ in in gangs and beginnin’ to call for me to come out and take the command. Eckspectation was ris considerable high, cause I was pledged to quip myself in uniformity to the law, if I was lected Majer.
Well, bimeby I went to the dore and told Bill Skinner and Tom Cullers to fix ther companys, and have ’em all reddy when I made my pearance. Then the fuss commenced. Thar wasn’t but one drum in town, and Bill Skinner swore that should drum for his company, cause it longed to that beat; and Tom Cullers swore the nigger should drum for his company, cause he longed to his crowd. Thar was the old harry to pay, and it was gittin’ wurse. I didn’t know what to do, for they was all comin’ to me bout it, and shinin’ and disputin’ so I couldn’t hardly hear one from tother. Thinks I, I must show my thority in this bisness; so says I, “In the name of the State of Georgia, I cummand the drum to drum for me. I’s Majer of this betallion and I’s cummander of the musick too!” The thing tuck fust-rate; thar was no more rumpus bout it, and I sot the niggers a drummin’ and fifin’ as hard as they could split rite afore the tavern dore.
It was monstrous diffikil to git the men to fall in; thar hain’t been none of them deformed drunkerds down here yit, and the way the fellers does love peach and hunny is ’mazin’. Bimeby Bill Skinner tuck a stick and made a long strate streak in the sand, and then hollered out, “Oh, yes! oh, yes! all you as belongs to Coon-holler beat is to git in a strate line on this trail!” Tom Cullers made a streak for his beat, and the fellers begun to string themselves along in a strate line, and in about a quarter of a ower they wer all settled like bees on a bean-pole, pretty considerable strate. Arter a while they sent word to me that they was all reddy, and I had my horse fetched up to tother side of the tavern; but when I cum to him, the bominable fool didn’t know me sumhow, and begun kickin’ and prancin’, and cavortin’ about like mad. I made the niggers hold him till I got on, then I sent word round to the drummer to drum like blazes as soon as he seed me turn the corner, and to the men to be reddy to salute. My sword kep rattlin’ agin the side of my hors, and the fool was skeered so he didn’t know which eend he stood on; and kep dancin’ about and squattin’ and rarin’ so I couldn’t hardly hold on to him.
The nigger went and told the men what I sed; and when I thought they was all reddy, round I went in a canter, with my sash and regimentals flyin’ and my red fether wavin’ as graceful as a corn tossel in a whirlwind; but jest as I got to the corner ther was a fuss like heaven and yearth was cumin’ together. Rattlebang, wher-r-r-r-r went the drum, and the nigger blowed the fife rite out strate, till his eyes was sot in his hed—harra! hey-y-y! hurra! went all the niggers and everybody else—my horse wheelin’ and pitchin’ worse than ever, rite up to the muster—and, fore I could draw my breth, bang! bang! bang! de bang! bang! bang! went every gun in the crowd, and all I knowed was, I was whirlin’, and pitchin’, and swingin’ about in the smoke and fire till I cum full length rite smack on the ground, “in all the pride, pomp, and circumstances of glorious war,” as Mr. Shakspeare ses.
Lucky enough I didn’t git hurt; but my cote was split clear up to the coller, my yaller britches busted all to flinders, and my shaperdebraw and fether all nocked into a perfect mush. Thunder and lightnin’! thinks I, what must be a man’a feelin’s in a rale battle, whar they’re shootin’ in good yearnest! Cum to find out, it was all a mistake; the men didn’t know nothing bout military ticktacks, and thought I ment a regular forth of July salute.
I had to lay by my regimentals—but I know’d my caracter was at stake as a officer, and I tarmined to go on with the muster. So I told Skinner and Cullers to git the men strate agin and when they was all in a line I sorted ’em all out. The fellers what had guns I put in frunt, them what had sticks in the rare, and them what had no shoes, down to the bottum by themselves, so nobody couldn’t tramp on ther tose. A good menny of ’em begun to forgit which was ther rite hand and which was ther left; and sum of ’em begun to be very diffikil to manage, so I termined to march ’em rite out to a old field, whar they couldn’t git no more licker, specially sense I was bleeged to wear my tother clothes.