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. 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.