The reception of the colonel was now also gone through, and he rode in very stiff dignity, with his legs sticking out on each side of his steed, very much like a pair of open compasses, toward the line, with his peacock tail of a staff trailing behind him. Taking, then, his station, with his horse (tickled constantly by the spur) making uneasy motions, as if itching all over, he gave utterance to a few shouts, made hoarse for the occasion, which were followed by convulsions of carrying, presenting, and supporting arms, on the part of the soldiers, some together, and some not, just as it happened. Preparations were then made for the march to the village-green, where the exercises of the day were to take place. The music was all collected in front, and the order was given to wheel into platoons. Each man performed this manœuvre at his own time and “on his own responsibility,” and consequently such a fluttering took place as to throw the whole scene into confusion. The feat was, however, at last performed, the drums began to mark time—the men ditto, (after a fashion,) and the order from the colonel was, “by platoons, march!” the last word uttered with most tremendous emphasis. The order was taken up and sent along from company to company in every variety of tone, from a growl to a squeak, ending at last like a faint echo at the extremity of the array. The whole regiment then moved, the drums still keeping up their preliminary tapping. At length the music burst out into a terrific explosion of sound, and onward marched the martial pageant. The sight was ludicrous enough. Some had started with the right foot foremost, and were entangling their legs in the most unjustifiable way, with those of their neighbors, endeavoring to change to the left foot; some, owing to the extreme tightness of their belts, (these were principally in the uniform companies,) hitched along as if their hips went on rusty hinges, and others, owing either to the want of a musical ear, or recklessness, sauntered along in their natural gait, which didn’t happen to suit the air, and consequently carried disorder along the whole rank. In the former class was a little irascible-looking fellow, who, starting the wrong way and endeavoring to get right, and who being met in his efforts at precisely the wrong times by a lank genius next him, kept hopping testily from one foot to the other, whilst his companion did the same at alternate moments, until the legs of both went backward and forward like a quick cat’s-cradle. On swept the array, the colonel looking sterner than forty Napoleons on a field of battle. Conspicuous in the front rank of “the music” was Joe Lippett, chinning his fife, whilst amidst a row of drums came my friend with the red feather, working his mouth in the most emphatic manner, and looking down upon his instrument as if he thought that the withdrawal of his eyes would cause an instant paralysis of his sticks.
Then followed the artillery and rifle companies, and in the midst of the regiment, who should appear but little Billy Waddle, staggering up under the enormous regimental standard. Billy, in being the bearer of the silken honor, had allowed his ambition to run away with his discretion. He was evidently supplying his strength from the very depths of his despair, humoring in a variety of ways the blue flaunting tyrant which held him completely under control, bracing against its frequent lurches with efforts that made him grin like a death’s-head, and struggling up convulsively as it plunged downward with pitchings and totterings worthy an animal afflicted with the blind staggers.
With wonderful efforts, however, he continued to keep the flag somewhat in order, until he arrived opposite my office. A beautiful basswood was growing there, on the outer verge of the side-walk, and spreading its broad branches considerably over the street. The regiment swept underneath these branches in its progress upward to the village-green. Billy saw the impediment and lowered his standard. He did it, however, with such quick effort, that he lost all control over its descending weight, which pitched the luckless manikin forward so irresistibly that the steel points of the staff struck with somewhat of an emphasis right into the calf of Jim Thompson’s leg, who happened to be marching directly before. Never shall I forget Jim’s hop on the occasion, or the terrified look he cast backward. It appeared as if he thought that the rear rank had suddenly taken it into their heads to charge bayonet upon those in front, and that he was to be the first victim. But his look changed as he perceived the cause, and the glance of contempt and vexation which he shot at poor Billy, as he commenced limping along rubbing the offended part, was ludicrous in the extreme.
The regiment now arrived at the green, where it was to be inspected. The Inspector was an imperturbable, square-built Dutchman, bestriding a horse as imperturbable and donkey-like as himself. He now appeared upon the ground, as the regiment, after performing half the circuit of the green, was halted in the order it had marched.
Dismounting, the inspector gravely commenced his task. Moving from man to man, he examined the musket and other accoutrements of each, the inspected bringing his piece to a present with a quick jerk as the inspector presented himself, and the latter trying the lock with a sharp click, and making the ramrod jump with a keen jingle in the barrel. Occasionally, some piece, loaded by its wag of an owner, would explode with a loud report as the inspector drew trigger, followed by a great snickering and chuckling on the part of those near by, but the inspector never relaxed his heavy muscles for a moment. Thus he went from man to man, and rank to rank, until the whole process was completed.
In the meanwhile the music had gathered in a cluster at a little distance, surrounded by the boys and “loafers” of the village. Now and then the muffled sound of a tattoo, beat upon the cords of the drum, arose, with the comic squeak of a fife accompanied by loud laughter from the idlers around, and sometimes a single “boom” from a blow upon the bass-drum.
But the inspector, having left his last man, the word “attention the whole,” was loudly sounded, and the scene was changed in an instant. Those who had been lounging “at ease” upon their guns, stood erect and soldier-like—those seated upon the grass sprung to their places—the band hurried to its station at the head, and, in a short time the whole regiment was in marching order.
The time had now arrived to pass in review before the colonel. With his staff upon either hand, that redoubtable hero had now stationed himself at the head of the green for the regiment to march past him. The command of “march” was given, the music struck up, and the regiment moved. Playing most obstreperously, the band passed the colonel, who sat, chapeau in hand, and then fell upon one side. The sight now became comic. The officers as they approached, prepared with great solemnity and very apparent consciousness of the importance of the manœuvre, to salute with their swords the puissant presence of the commandant, and the “rank and file” to perform the same ceremony with their presented guns. The first officer, who was a captain from the wilds of Lumberland, was so taken up by the immensity of the act he was to perform, that he forgot to perform it at all until quite past the colonel. Remembering himself then, in his nervous hurry, he brought his sword up so quickly to his face that he knocked his hat off, and stooping to recover it, he received such an impetus from his front rank, who were too intent upon their part of the performance to see any thing, that he was pitched without ceremony, in the most headlong and sprawling manner, after his hat.
The next officer was but a little more fortunate. He had witnessed the performance of his predecessor, and being nervous, was thrown into a considerable flurry thereby. Determined not to be caught in the predicament of delaying his manœuvre, he went to the opposite extreme. Miscalculating his time in his agitation, and seeing the colonel’s eye fixed upon him, he, some distance before he reached that functionary, brought his sword up with a great flourish, and saluted. By the time he reached the colonel, his part was, of course, performed, and the air of sneaking and deprecating consciousness with which he slunk past was so marked, as to cause a smile even upon the grim features of the commandant himself. After this, things went on pretty well, until a tall, awkward, rawboned lieutenant, who “tended saw-mill for a liven” on the Sheldrake Brook, approached the colonel. Fixing his eyes on his officer, he thrust his sword out horizontally, as if to charge bayonet. Not seeing where he was going, so intent was he upon his staring, that, meeting with some obstruction, he stumbled, pitched forward, and before he could recover himself, he had run his sword half way into the soft turf of the green, with the hilt striking against his breast with an emphasis that made him gasp like a frog in an exhausting receiver. He was the last officer, and with this interesting exhibition of soldierly grace and dignity, the ceremony closed. The colonel clapped his chapeau on his head, and, attended by his staff, once more took his place in the regiment, and, after a short march, the order was given to form a “hollow square,” for prayer and a speech from the judge advocate. After considerable trouble the square was formed, with all the officers in the middle. The prayer was offered by the “learned and pious” Dr. Stubbornthought, and at the conclusion, the colonel proclaimed, in a pompous tone, that the judge advocate would now commence his address. Instantly this functionary spurred from the side of his superior to perform this duty. He was an ambitious young sprig of the law, always on the look-out for distinction, and seeking where he could make a speech turn up with all the keenness and avidity of a hound on the track of a deer. He was withal very irascible. With his usual ambition, he had now selected the most fiery and run-away steed in the village, being convinced that he was as good a horseman as he was a speaker, and that, let me tell you, is saying a great deal. Direct upon his announcement, as before observed, he made his way in the midst of the square, and endeavored to settle himself in his saddle to commence his address. But this was more difficult than he imagined. Having given a severer dig with his spur into the side of his animal than the latter bargained for or relished, it began to testify its anger by a series of prancings and curvettings decidedly more ornamental than either useful or agreeable. Grasping his bridle, however, firmly, and knowing that delay in endeavoring to soothe his horse might ruin his speech, the youngster, after giving birth to a loud preliminary h-e-m, commenced.
“Fellow-soldiers, (whoe, Jim,) I appear before ye, (whoe, I say,) on this occasion to address you briefly upon the duties of the citizen soldiery of our country. The duty of defending our homes and firesides, (whoe, whoe, you brute you,) our homes and firesides, (whoe, you rascal,) homes and, (well, I never saw such a devilish creature in my life, whoe, I say,) homes and firesides is a paramount duty. Who—would—evade—it! Who—wou-wou-wou-wou-would, (whoe, whoe, who-o-o-e—you most infernal of all devils,) who would sh-sh-sh-shun or fly”—here the question bolted out at broken intervals, occasioned by the thumping in his saddle from the prancing of his excited horse, was to the great horror of the square, answered practically by the questioner himself. If no body else would fly he, or rather his steed, showed that he would. Giving a tremendous leap, Spitfire (the horse’s name, and a capital one, too,) broke through an opening in the square and “rattle-te-clatter,” (as Loafing Joe, in describing the scene afterward to a knot of the village young men in Wiggins’s bar-room said,) “the way he streaked it over the green, was nothen to nobody’s folks. He went like a shot from a shovel past Old Cheese’s as if he was a goen to pitch right into John P.’s donyard. But old Spitfire catty-cornered round so quick that “little Blackberry” (the rider’s nickname in the village, from his dark complexion,) swung sideways like old Lummocks when he’s slewed, and then, Lordjersees Massies, if he didn’t slap it down the turnpike in a hurry, with little Blackberry a hold of the mane, and a grinning like a wild-cat, you may say to my face that I’m a liar, that’s all. Howsever, Spitfire couldn’t git past Wiggins’s, no how you can fix it, for he’s eat too many oats there, so he gives another sheer so that little Blackberry’s right leg stuck out like a pump-handle, and bolt he went under the shed, and brought up all standen. Little Blackberry pitched into the manger, and the hoss began to eat hay as if nothen had been the matter, and that, boys, is the eend on’t. Who’s a goen to treat!”