Well, arter I got ’em all fixed, ses I, “Music! quick time! by the rite flank, file left, march!” they stood fer bout a minit lookin’ at me—“by flank mar-r-r-ch!” ses I, as loud as I could holler. Then they begun lookin’ at one another and hunchin’ one another with ther elbows, and the fust thing I know’d they was all twisted up in a snarl, goin’ both ways at both ends, and all machin’ through other in the middle, in all sorts of helter skelter fashion. “Halt!” ses I, “halt! wher upon yeath is you all gwine!”—and thar they was, all in a huddle. They knowed better, but jest wanted to bother me, I do b’lieve.
“Never mind,” ses I, “gentlemen, we’ll try that revolution over agin.” So when I got ’em all strait agin, I splained it to ’em, and gin ’em the word so they could understand it. “Forward march!” ses I, and away they went, not all together, but two by two, every feller waitin’ ’til his turn cum to step, so fore the barefoot ones got started, I couldn’t hardly see to t’other eend of the betallion. I let ’em go ahead ’til we got to the old field, and then I tried to stop ’em; but I had ’em in gangs all over the field in less than no time. “Close up!” ses I, as loud as I could holler; but they only stood and looked at me like they didn’t know what I meant. “Git into a strait line again,” ses I. That brung ’em all together, and I told ’em to rest a while, before I put ’em through the manuel.
’Bout this time out cum a whole heap of fellers with sum candidates, and wanted I should let ’em address the betallion. I told ’em I didn’t care, long as they didn’t kick up no row. Well, the men wer all high up for hearin’ the speeches of the candidates, and got round ’em thick as flies round a fat gourd. Ben Ansley—he’s the poplarest candidate down here—begun to show by gittin’ on a stump, and takin’ his hat off rite in the brilin’ hot sun.
“Feller-citizens,” ses he, “I spose you all know as how my friends is fotched me out to represent this county in the next legislater—I am posed to counterfit money and shinplasters; I am posed to abolition and free niggers, to the morus multicaulis and the Florida war, and all manner of shecoonery whatsumever! If I’s leeted your respectable representation, I shall go in for good munny, twenty cents for cotton, and no taxes, and shall go for bolishin’ prisonment for debt and the Central Bank. I hope you’ll all cum up to the poles of the lection, and vote like a patriot for your very humble servant—Amen.”
Then he jumped down and went round shakin’ hands. “Hurra for Ben Ansley! Ansley for ever!” shouted every feller. “Down with the bank—devil take the shinplasters and all the rale-roads!” ses Captain Skinner. “Silence for a speech from Squire Pettybone!” “Hurra for Pettybone!”
Squire Pettybone was a little short fat man, what had run afore, and knowed how to talk to the boys.
“Frends and feller-citizens,” ses he, “I’s once more a candidate for your sufferin’s, and I want to splain my sentiments to you. You’ve jest hearn a grate deal ’bout the Central Bank. I ain’t no bank man—I’m ’posed to all banks—but I is a frend to the pore man, and is always reddy to stand up for his constitutional rites. When the Central Bank put out its munny it was good, and rich men got it and made use of it when it was good; but now they want to buy it in for less nor what it’s worth to pay ther dets to the bank, and they is tryin’ to put it down, and make the pore man lose by it. What does they want to put the bank down for, if it ain’t to cheat the pore man who’s got sum of it? If I’s ’lected, I shall go for makin’ the banks redeem ther munny in silver and gold, or put every devil of ’em into the penitentiary to makin’ nigger shoes. I’s a hard munny man and in favor of the Vetos. I goes for the pore man agin the rich, and if you ’lect me that’s what I mean to do.”
Then he begun shakin’ hands all round. “Hurra for Squire Pettybone! hurra for the bank and the veto!” shouted some of the men—“Hurra for Ansley! down with the bank!” “Silence for Mr. Johnson’s speech!” “Hurra for Harrison!” “Hurra for the Vetos!” “Hurra for Jackson! I can lick any veto on the ground!” “Silence!” “Hurra for Ansley, no bank!” “Whar’s them vetos what’s agin Ansley—let me at ’em!” “Fight! fight! make a ring! make a ring!”—“Whoop!” hollered Bill Sweeny, “I’m the blossom—go it shirt-tail!” “Hit ’em Sweeny!”—“ ’Tention, Betallion!” ses I, but it want no use—they was at it rite in the middle and all round the edges, and I know’d the quicker I got out of that bilin’ the better for my wholsum. Thar they was, up and down, five or six in a heap, rollin’ over and crawlin’ out from under, bitin’ and scratchin’, gougin’ and strikin’, kickin’ and cussin’, head and heels all through other, none of ’em knowin’ who they hurt, or who hurt them—all the same whether they hit Ansley or veto, the blossom or Pettybone. The candidates was runnin’ about pullin’ and haulin’, and tryin’ ther best to stop it; but you couldn’t hear nothin’ but cussin’, and “bank” and “veto,” and “let me at ’em,” “I’m your boy,” “let go my eyes!” and sich talk for more’n twenty minits, and then they only kep ’em apart by holdin’ ’em off like dogs till they got dun pantin’.
It want no use to try to get ’em into line agin. Some of ’em had got manuel exercise enuff, and was knocked and twisted out of all caracter, and it would be no use to try to put ’em through the manuel in that situation. Lots of ’em had ther eyes bunged up so they couldn’t “eyes right!” to save ’em, so I turned ’em over to ther captains, accordin’ to law, and ain’t sponsible for nothin’ that tuck place after I left. No more from
Your frend, ’til deth,