teaching his uniformed companions how to march by the left leg, and to get reeling drunk by sundown; otherwise he did n’t amount to much in the community; his house was unpainted, his fences were tumbled down, his farm was a waste, his wife wore an old gown to meeting, to which the captain never went; but he was a good trout-fisher, and there was no man in town who spent more time at the country store and made more shrewd observations upon the affairs of his neighbors.  Although he had never been in an asylum any more than he had been in war, he was almost as perfect a drunkard as he was soldier.  He hated the British, whom he had never seen, as much as he loved rum, from which he was never separated.

The company which his son commanded, wearing his father’s belt and sword, was about as effective as the old company, and more orderly.  It contained from thirty to fifty boys, according to the pressure of “chores” at home, and it had its great days of parade and its autumn maneuvers, like the general training.  It was an artillery company, which gave every boy a chance to wear a sword, and it possessed a small mounted cannon, which was dragged about and limbered and unlimbered and fired, to the imminent danger of everybody, especially of the company.  In point of marching, with all the legs going together, and twisting itself up and untwisting breaking into single-file (for Indian fighting), and forming platoons, turning a sharp corner, and getting out of the way of a wagon, circling the town pump, frightening horses, stopping short in front of the tavern, with ranks dressed and eyes right and left, it was the equal of any military organization I ever saw.  It could train better than the big company, and I think it did more good in keeping alive the spirit of patriotism and desire to fight.  Its discipline was strict.  If a boy left the ranks to jab a spectator, or make faces at a window, or “go for” a striped snake, he was “hollered” at no end.

It was altogether a very serious business; there was no levity about the hot and hard marching, and as boys have no humor, nothing ludicrous occurred.  John was very proud of his office, and of his ability to keep the rear ranks closed up and ready to execute any maneuver when the captain “hollered,” which he did continually.  He carried a real sword, which his grandfather had worn in many a militia campaign on the village green, the rust upon which John fancied was Indian blood; he had various red and yellow insignia of military rank sewed upon different parts of his clothes, and though his cocked hat was of pasteboard, it was decorated with gilding and bright rosettes, and floated a red feather that made his heart beat with martial fury whenever he looked at it.  The effect of this uniform upon the girls was not a matter of conjecture.  I think they really cared nothing about it, but they pretended to think it fine, and they fed the poor boy’s vanity, the weakness by which women govern the world.