Rambling Anecdotes

The curmudgeon meets the Petersburg Volunteers (War of 1812)

We drew up, in military array, at the base of the hill on which the great house was erected. About half way down the hill stood a very homely old man, dressed in plain Virginia cloth, his head uncovered, and his venerable locks flowing in the wind. Some of our quizzical clique at once marked him as a fit subject of fun. "I wonder," said one, "What old codger that is, with his hair blowing nine ways for Easter Monday." "Why, of course, said another, "it is the overseer, and he seems to be scared out of a year's growth. I suspect he never saw gentlemen volunteers before." But how we were astonished when he advanced to our officers and introduced himself as THOMAS JEFFERSON! The officers were invited to a collation while we were marched off to the town, where more abundant provisions had been made.
 
Proof that we are all reincarnated...

How many of us pick up discarded brass while we're at the range? I do. I figure even if it's no good, I've got brass that I can get melted for other projects like triggerguards, buttplates, sideplates or what nots. Brass is brass whether you buy it from a metal supplier or scavenge it. The same for lead. How many of us pick up lead when we're inspecting our targets? I'm not ashamed to admit it.

Well, there are historical precedents to lead scavenging and we need only look to our family feud of the 19th Century: The American Civil War. E. Porter Alexander, who was the general commanding the artillery in Longstreet's Corps, was known to offer rewards for recovered lead. He was known to have picked up lead and placed it in his haversack for return to their arsenals for recasting as fresh minie balls. Little boys were paid good money for bringing in buckets of lead they found around Gettysburg. Here's Confederate General Dabney Maury's account where the lead pickers weren't given money but a day off.

We expended daily from twelve thousand to thirty-six thousand rounds of rifle cartridges; our supply was not great. The enemy poured a constant stream of lead into our lines, and Gibson gave every man who would bring in so much lead paroles of twenty-four hours to visit Mobile. A number of enterprising fellows eagerly pursued this traffic and greatly enjoyed the reward.
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O.K. So it's not quite proof that we're reincarnated, but that's as close as I can prove it. :p Until next entry, be good.
 
Another dog story

Earlier I related a dog story whereby some Union soldiers tricked their officers into eating a dog. Here's the Confederate counterpart:

"As I have finished the campaign of 1863, I will continue this chapter with a joke that some of the boys got on a lieutenant in one of the Georgia Brigades, as it was told to me by a responsible man of Hill's corps. He said that it was certainly the truth, or I would not tell it.

He said they had a regular rear guard commanded by a bigoted lieutenant (as we will call him D--). He would take everything he could from the boys who had been out foraging. He kept this up for some time till all of the boys got to hating him. They went out, caught and killed a real fat dog, dressed him nicely, cut off one of his hind quarters, cut off the foot, wrapped it up and came up in the rear of the guard in a real suspicious way, apparently trying to conceal something.

The ever vigilant lieutenant saw that they had something and asked them what it was. The fellow stepped back a few steps and the lieutenant cursed him and went to see. The man apparrently gave it to him very reluctantly, and said it was a piece of lamb. The lieutenant took it and gave it to his negro cook and told him to cook it for his supper. The boys went on to their camp well pleased.

The negro cooked some and the lieutenant sat down to eat it. He cursed the negro and told him that he had poisoned it, for he had never eated as strong mutton as that was. The lieutenant then cooked some himself, but it was no better. The next day he asked the man whom he had taken it from what it was. He said in a low, drawling way, 'Why Lieutenant, it was a piece of dog.' Such a laugh as that raised!

It was such a good joke it was all over the camps in a few hours. Men would hollow out, 'Who eat the dog?' and you would hear answered from all over the camps, 'Lieutenant D.' My friend told me they run that so far till 'D' ran away and quit the army."
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Boys will be boys.
 
War Paint

A Union Artilleryman observed one Massachusetts colonel apply war paint:

The water in the spring had been roiled, so I searched for another higher up the run. While searching for it I saw a colonel of inantry put on his war paint. It was a howling farce of one act - one brief act of not more than twenty seconds' duration, but the fun of the world was crowded into it. This blond, bewhiskered brave sat safely behind a large oak tree. He looked around quickly. His face hardened with resolution. He took a cartridge out of his vest pocket, tore the paper with his strong white teeth, spilled the powder into his right palm, spat on it, and then, first casting a quick glance around to see if he was observed, he rubbed the moistened powder on his face and hands, and then dust coated the war paint. Instantly he was transformed from a trembling coward who lurked behind a tree into an exhausted brave taking a little well-earned repose. I laughed silently at the spectacle, and filled my canteens at a spring I found, and then rejoined my comrades, and together we laughed at and then drank to the health of the blond warrior. That night I slept and dreamt of comic plays and extravagant burlesques; but in the wildest of dream vagaries there was no picture that at all compared with the actual one I had seen in the forest. That colonel is yet alive. I saw him two years ago.
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Too bad the author never identified the brave colonel.
 
A Fisherman Goes to War.

Those of us who are rifle shooters, sniping enthusiasts and students of small arms will recall Herbert McBride's A Rifleman Went to War. It's a classic account of trench warfare and sniping during The Great War. McBride, an American, is impatient to enter the fray and so he crossed the border into neighboring Canada and enlists as an infantryman. Originally an officer, he resigns his commission so as to see the elephant. He becomes a member of a machine gun unit but quickly moves into sniping, remaining in sniping school only long enough to get a scoped rifle. Then he goes out to hunt the Hun. Good reading. However, this story is of a different nature. It concerns a fisherman and is told to us by Sir Baden-Powell, founder of the Boy Scout movement.

Dynamite bombs were made up in small potted meat and milk tins for use as hand grenades, with slow match fuzes, with complete success by Lieutenant Feltham. Sergeant Page, champion bait thrower of Port Elizabeth, by using a whip stick and a short line was able to throw these with accuracy over a distance of 100 yards.
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Fool them every time.

Here's an amusing anecdote from the past.

Confederate soldiers seen on the other side of our picket line presented an appearance comic and woeful, from the poverty of their apparel, each one wearing such garments as suits his fancy (or necessity.). Yet they are of the elite of State troops, being a sort of militia composed of planters and merchants. They have remarked that our men seemed to average small in stature, so with the laudable desire to improve our reputation, one of the Company A's tall men, when on post neareset the enemy, having on a long overcoat, took gigantic strides back and forth as the "rebs" tall man (conspicious by his red pants and hieght at about seven feet) was accustomed to do. Upon returning to his post behind the trees our tall man noticed that the faces of all the "rebs" seated opposite were turned toward him and seemed to be considering the matter. One of the Union men said "sometimes we would play a joke upon the 'rebs' by placing a small man upon the shoulders of a tall man, and then throwning a blanket over them, as a shawl; the small man would shoulder his musket and the combination would march up and down in full view of the enemy, and when the curiousity of the Confederates was at it highest the small Yankee would suddenly throw off his blanket and jump from his seat, and all hands would cheer.
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Who's the better marksman?

Reported in one Richmond Paper during the Civil War:

A Tragic Affray in Hardin county, Ill.
--A dispute arose in Hardin county, Ill., on the 23d ult., between Captain Vaughn and Arch. Rutherford, as to their science as marksmen, which resulted in a set-to at fisticuffs, in which Rutherford proved the better man, when Captain Vaughn's son- in-law, William Norton, interfered and shot Rutherford, seriously wounding him. An attempt was made on the part of David Denton to arrest Norton, who fired on Denton, killing him almost instantly, the ball from the pistol having entered his head. It is thought that Rutherford will recover. Norton has not been arrested.
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Better to hold a friendly shooting match that resort to fisticuffs and gunfights.
 
Knife fight?

Here's something about the First Battle of Manassas (Bull Run to the Yankees). Truth or fiction? You decide.

A Zouave's account of bowie-knife fighting.
A Washington correspondent of the Baltimore Sun writes:

One of the New York Fire Zouaves, who was wounded at the battle of Manassas on Sunday week, a stalwart, hardy fellow, of considerable intelligence, passed through this city yesterday, en route homeward, remaining here several hours waiting for the cars.--He, of course, has the privilege, like all others, of telling his own tale, without apprehending, for the present at least, successful contradiction. From him I obtained a thrilling narrative of a rencontre between his regiment and a regiment of Mississippians.

After the battle had been raging for some hours, according to the account of this Zouavian hero, he saw an immense body of Mississippians, accompanied by some (believed to be) Baltimoreans, rush furiously ever the Confederate ramparts. They at once saw the conspicuous uniform of the Zouaves, and made at them. The Mississippians, after approaching near enough, sent a terrible volley from their rifles into the Zouave ranks. This done, they threw their guns aside and charged onward until each contending enemy met face to face and hand to hand, in terrible combat. The Mississippians, having discarded their rifle after the first fire, fell back upon their bowie-knives. These were of huge dimensions, eighteen to twenty inches long, heavy in proportion and sharp, or two-edged at the point. Attached to the handle was a lasso, some eight or ten feet in length, with one end securely wound round the wrist.

My informant says when these terrific warriors approached to within reach of their lasso, not waiting to come in bayonet range, they threw forward their bowie-knives at the Zouaves after the fashion of experienced harpooners striking at a whale. Frequently they plunged in, and penetrated through a soldier's body, and were jerked out, ready to strike again whilst the first victim sunk into death. On several occasions the terrible bowie-knife was transfixed in a Zouave, and the Zouave's bayonet in a Mississippian, both impaled and falling together. So skillfully was this deadly instrument handled by the Mississippian that he could project it to the full lasso length, kill his victim, withdraw it again with a sudden impulse, and catch the handle unerringly.

If by any mischance the bowie-knife missed its aim, broke the cord fastening it to the arm, or fell to the earth, revolvers were next resorted to and used with similar dexterity.--The hand-to-hand closing in with both pistol and bowie knife, cutting, slashing, carving and shooting almost in the same moment, was awful beyond description. Blood gushed from hundreds of wounds, until, amid death, pitiful groans and appalling sights, it staunched the very earth. My Zouave champion says himself and comrades did hard fighting, stood up manfully to the murderous conflict, but never before knew what undaunted bravery and courage meant. He felt no further ambition to engage in such rencontres. Having been shot through the wrist by a revolver, after escaping the fearful Mississippi weapons, and disabled from further active participation in the struggle, he willingly retired to reap the glory won, convinced that to fight against Mississippians, with bowie knives and pistols, after receiving a volley of their sharp-cracking rifles, is no ordinary fun.

This same informant states, though not with certainty, that several Baltimoreans were with the Mississippians, and amongst those of them left dead on the field was a young man named Wm. H. Murry, a Captain of the Maryland Guard--at least such was the name told him — and another, who he thinks was called Polk, both of Maryland.
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That's the story and I'm not going to change it (after all, I'm just quoting). Here's a rebuttal printed in the same paper:

A comment.
The Baltimore South, commenting on the above, says:

In the correspondence of a morning paper, upon no better authority than that of a New York Zouave, whose comrades have shown that they can lie much better than they can fight, a young gentleman of this city, now a Captain in the Confederate army, is mentioned as having been "left dead upon the field," although the next breath, the same Zouave discredits everything that he says, by a monstrous story about a regiment of Mississippians harpooning their adversaries with bowie-knives, eighteen to twenty inches long, fastened to their wrists with a lasso some eight or ten feet in length. Certainly, since Sunday we have been favored with a variety of accounts of the battle by the Northern journals, many of them sufficiently minute, and in which no effort was spared to magnify the horrors of the scene; many of these very Zouaves have told their tale, or had it told for them by some ingenious correspondent; but not one word have we heard of a mode of fighting at once so terrible and so peculiar, that had it been resorted to it must have attracted universal attention, until this single Zouave whispers it in the ear of the Washington correspondent, who publishes it to the world.
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Scottish Fowl...ymmmm

A story is told of a certain Scotschman who, shortly after arriving form his native land, procured a position at the Furnace and one day shot some turkey buzzards while wandering around in Pond Creek bottom, mistaking them for a bird he had eaten in Scotland. With these he prepared a surprise dinner for his friends. All enjoyed the meal very much until the "Scoth Fowl" was indulged in. Many commented on the peculiar flavor of the meat, but, fearing they might offend their host by declining to eat abundantly of his much-prized dish, they partook freely. They begged to know more about this peculiar "Scotch fowl." After some persuasion he proudly told them where and howhe had captured this most palatable of birds. The guests threw up their hands in horror. They not only refused to continue the meal, [/b]but even declined to keep what they had already accepted![/b]
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So, the next time a kindly country Scotman offers you dinner, ask for Haggis and a lot of it. :p
 
Lawd's Prayer

This was composed by L. D. Griggs, of Company D, 25th Indiana Volunteer Infantry, while his unit was part of the besieging army before Atlanta:

"Our Father Abraham, who art in Washington, honored be thy name. Thine administration come. Thy will be done in the South, as it is done by the Republicans in the North. Give us this day our daily ration of hard tack, beans and bacon. And forgive us our foraging, as we forgive those who forage upon us. And lead us not into the field of battle, but deliver us from the land of the enemy: for thine is the administration, and the power, so long as thou are in office. Eight men."

Source: History of Muhlenberg County by Otto A. Rothert. fn on page 280.
 
Wood cannon (or kids, don't try this at home)

Definitely do not try this at home. Taken from the History of Muhlenberg County (pages 295-296). Muhlenberg County is in Kentucky. Some background first. Earlier some (pro-Union) youngsters staged several fake raids as if they were members of (Confederate) Nathan Bedford Forrest's cavalry. They chased "shot" down or captured the fleeing Unionists (their buddies) who previously warned the locals of Forrest's approach. This caused much alarm and left many timid folks shivering. So, along that line, another group of enterprising youths decided to have their share of fun:

There were some youngsters who thought if the bogus cavalry could play "Forrest," they could play "Buckner." When Geneal Buckner passed through the county he had several little brass cannons with him, that were greatly admired by all the young fellows who saw them. These boys concluded that they wanted a cannon to shoot and scare the timid natives. Three or four of the youngsters got together and called on Edward O. Pace, then a blacksmith near the Pisgah neighborhood, and asked him if he could help get up a cannon. He said that he could. Pace was then a young man, and although he had been married a few years he nevertheless enjoyed the fun and prank of boys. So he told the youngsters to go to the woods and cut out a black gum log eight or ten inches in diameter and about three feet long and bring it to his shop, and he would manufacture a cannon for them.

A log was procured, taken to Pace's shop at night, and the work on the cannon was commenced at once. The bark was shaved off nicely. Pace had a two-inch auger with a long shank, and with this he bored a hole in the endo fhte log down to a depth of fifteen or sixteen inches; he then had a half-inch auger with a long shank, and with this he bored a hole through the log to the bottom end of a touch hole. He had a lot of old wagon-tires in his shop, and out of these he made a number of bands and drove them on the wooden cannon as close as he could conveniently get them. He then loaded the big gun with some powder and made a trial shot to test its strength. It stood the test and was pronounced ready for "warfare."

The youngsters carried the cannon to a field near Pisgah Church. They procured all the powder they could get, and one night commenced a regular cannonading. They put in heavy charges of powder and the report fairly shook the earth; the noise rolled and reverberated in the distance like thunder. The whole neighborhood became alarmed. Some of the people were badly scared, for they thought Buckner or some other army was right in their midst. James Jones, of Long Creek, who happened to be visiting the nearby house of W. C. Martin, became so frightened at the first shot that he crawled under the bed and remained there for some time. The whole neighborhood was dumfounded a the loud shooting. The roaring of this cannon was heard in Greenville, over on Pond River, and near the Christian County line. The next day there was a considerable stir among the natives, for most of them inquired about the shooting. No one seemed to know who had kept up such a cannonading. In the meantime the boys were reaping the pleasure of having played "Buckner" so well.

After the cannon had rested a while it was taken over on the upper Hopkinsville Road, where some repairs were made on it at the James Rice blacksmith shop, then run by W. H. and E. Rice. E. Rice did the work for the boys, and a few nights later the cannonading was carried on inthat neighborhood, where it caused considerable alarm.

The cannon was next carried near to the house in which Billy D. Rice then lived. There it was again put into service, but before discharging it, E. Rice loaded it with a shop-hammer for a ball and aimed the barrel at a nearby tree. The cannon went off with a tremendous roar and sent the shop-hammer deep into the trunk of the tree, where I presume it has remained buried ever since.
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Fall in for Militia Muster!

Get your guns, powder horns, scalp'n knives and tomahawks out boys! We're going to conduct a militia muster. It's for the safety of hearth & home, our loved ones, our community and for our nation.

...from the year 1825 until the law obliging all men to drill was abolished, the musters were more or less a farce. The laws regulating the militia of the Commonwealth were amended and changed so often that, as a consequence, they became more complicated than the maneuvers were unmilitary. Humphrey Marshall, in 1824 ("History of Kentucky, Vol. 2, page 14), wrote: "It is in vain to suggest tha tneither officer nor soldier will ever trouble himself to know the law, when it may, and probably will, be changed before he has an opportunity of reducing his knowledge to practice." Musters became gatherings in which everybody participated, regardless of age or social position. The men who attended were not so much prompted by a desire to drill, and thus live up to that article of the Constitution, as they were to take advantage of the chance to mingle with the crowd of men, women, and children, renew old friendships, make new ones, hear the news, see the races, trade horses, partake of a good dinner, and incidentally have a good time at "the big to-do."
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Sounds like our modern rendezvous, don't they? Read on.

The military features of these affairs grew insignificant as compared with those of their social, political, and business nature. The ordinary picnic basket was too small for these gatherings. Trunks and boxes packed with fired chicken, boiled ham, roasted pork, pies and other edibles, with coffee-pots and whiskey-jugs, were brought to the place of rendezvous in wagons, and everybody was welcome to their contents. Gunsmiths were in abundance. Since the greater number of people came in wagons or on horseback, there was neccesarily a large aggregation of horses, from colts and two-year-olds down to worn-out plow-horses, and from carefully groomed quarter-nags to neglected horses whose tails and manes were filled with burrs. This led to the appearance of blacksmiths, who repaired wagons and shod horses. It also resulted in much "horse swapping," which in turn gave occasion for betting and horse-racing. The combination led to drinking, and drinking frequently brought on "fist and skull fights" and other disturbances.

In those days, as in the earlier days, every man furnished his own gun - muzzle-loaders of any sort, flintlock rifles, muskets, shotguns, or horse-pistols. Those who had no firearms to bring, or who had forgotten them, would enter the drills with a trimmed sapling or a cornstalk - consequently the name, the Cornstalk Militia.

When the captain was ready to order his company into ranks he usually mounted a convenient stump, rail fence, or empty barrel and called out: "Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! All you who belong to Captain So-and-So's company (giving his name) fall into ranks and parade!" The "Oh, yes," it might be well to add, is derived from the old French "oyez" - "hear ye." Hence the Court of Oyer and Terminer - to hear and to finish. If the captain's first order failed to move his men he would again appeal to them - "Everybody in my company, off the fence there and fall into line! Now come on, men, come on, everybody, and let's get started with our revolutions!" After all, or nearly all, of his company had responded to his call, he ordered ""Tention, the whole!" after which most men gave him more or less attention. Right or left dress was usually lengthened into the command to "Look to the left and dress!" or right, as the case might be. "Stop!" or "Hold!" was the command for halt. It is also said that although keeping step was a matter indifference or beyond the control of some of the privates, they were nevertheless permitted to remain in ranks and follow as best they could or would through the drills.

Company, battalion, and regimental drills were conducted on the Russell Old Field from May to October, making a total of at least six different musters on that tract every year. It became a great gathering place, especially when a Big Muster (a battalion or regimental drill) was scheduled. Horse-races on such occaisons were then by far the most prominent feature on the program, and they soon became more frauds than the drills were farces...
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There's a lot more to this. In our next installment, you'll read more about what happened during a militia muster. Don't miss out on our next exciting installment of Rambling Anecdotes. Brought to you by Rich Lucibella and the staff of TFL.
 
Militia Muster, Part II

We continue our tale of the militia muster.

Every nation has a memorable day - a day of songs and rejoicings. With us the fourth of July, twenty-second of February, and Christmas, are all holidays, or days of joy and pleasure. But of all the grand days in this martial old Commonwealth of ours, those set apart for militia training are (at least in the estimation of militia captains) the grandest and most exciting. If you should happen within ten miles of a mlitia muster on one of those eventful days, every step you took, and every object that met your gaze, would remind you of war, with its glorious and thrilling panoply, its noise and wild tumult. Boys, negroes, and men, on foot and on horseback, in cart, wagon, and carriage, single, double, and treble, are crowding from every direction and hurrying with anxious speed toward the scene where mimic battles are to be fought and won. Old shotguns, rustly rifles, long-untried fowling-pieces, cornstalks, and hickory sticks are in great demand, while the Sunday fineries, drawn from their secret hiding-places, adorn the martial forms of their proud-treading owners. Cider-wagons, ginger-cakes, apples, whiskey, and all the other et ceteras of the camp, are rushing pellmell into the place of rendezvous. Arriving at the parade field, your ears are greeted with every imaginable noise - the squealing of pigs, neighing of chargers, barking of dogs, braying of asses, laughing of happy negroes, and hoarse commands of military chieftains being mingled together in the most harmonious concord of discord. Jingling spurs, rusty sabers, black cockades, and the fierce little red plume, everywhere meet your wandering eye and fill up the interstices of this moving, animated scene.

Such an exhibition of warlike enthusiasm might have been seen, if you had only been present, dear reader, at Pleasant Grove, on the morning after the night described in our last chapter. Noise and wild confusion were the order of the day. The thrilling fife and a cracked drum were pealing forth their stirring notes, and calling loudly upon the brave sons of old Kentucky to shoulder their arms and sustain the glory of their ancestors. Generals, colonels, majors, captains (we have no lack of titled gentry in Kentucky), and privates were mingled together in a confusd mass, talking, laughing, shouting, swearing, drinking, and eveyr now and then taking a pleasant knock-down, merely to vary the bill of entertainment, keep up the excitement, and cultivate a proper military ardour. Candidates were there, too (like all other aspirants for office), shaking hands, treating, speaking, and making known to the warlike assembly the past, present, and future (they were no prophets, merely reasoning from cause to effect) glory and renown of Kentucky and her gallant sons. Horse-racing, cock-fighting, rifle-shooting, wrestling, and boxing, upon this occaison, all had their votaries, and all were busily engaged in their respective amusements. Bable, in her planiest day, was a mere "tempest in a teapot" compared with a militia muster in the backwoods of Kentucky. The Carnival at Rome or the ancient Saturnalia of the Romans, in the very height of their revelling, would be tame and insipid when placed in juxtaposition with such an occasion. We know of nothing that can be compared, for noise and wild confusion, with a regiment of boisterous, merrry, reckless militia, along with their chivalrous leaders, adorned with flowing red sahs, bullet-button coats, tin-foil epaulets, and stiff, ragged, red plumes, just preceding or succeeding "the training."

But suddenly a great change comes over the moving, tossing mass gathered on the battlefield at Pleasant Grove. Some order (a devilish little, by-the-by, if it can be called order at all) takes the place of the late disorder, and a comparative calm - in a figurative sense - settles down upon this raging storm. The commanding officer of the day, strippling his saddle of its red girth, belts on his trusty, trenchant blade, dons his swallow-tailed blue, adorned with bullet-buttons and red tape, borrows the best charger he can find, scrambles on his back with the assistance of a stump or a kind hand, and, when once safely moored, waves his plumed beaver around his warlike head and shouts his order to parade. Now comes a busy, stirring, wild and moving panorama. Men, before ignoble and unknown from the common herd, draw from their bosoms, pockets, and hats the red plume and sash (that is if they are so lucky to have any), and soon become leaders and chieftains of the day. A fierce struggle now commences who shall get their companies first formed into a line, or who shall first gain a preemption right to the shade of a tree, under which to marshal and form. Although each company has, or rather has had at some former time, a captain and inferior officers (for they often assemble on parade-ground with out any), in reality every man in the corps, being fully competent to command, takes the responsibility of giving orders.
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In our next installment, we'll learn more about how the companies form up and drilled.
 
Militia Muster (final installent)

In our final installment, we learn the difficulties of the militia.

It may be thought an easy matter by the inexperienced to form a company of men into a straight line; but if it is so, our militia captains have never discovered that fact. They commence at one end of the winding line, and with threats, entreaties, and much trouble to get a tolerably fair and straight row, especially if there be any corn-ridges in the immediate neighborhood, but, unfortunately, before they reach the other extreme, their soldiers having a predisposition for Mahometanism, are generally in a crescent, and then they are compelled to begin afresh. And thus we have seen them go on for hours and hours, and at last end of their labours, not being in much better array or condition than at the beginning of their arduous and impossible undertaking. Tall, low, long, short, thin, and fat, old and young, men and boys, clothed with fur and wool hats, caps, and no hats at all; cloth coats and jeans, calico and linsey, and no coats at all; boots, shoes, and moccasins, and no shoes at all; new and old pants, white, black, and striped, and no pants at all; shirts ruffled and unruffled, white, black, green, and gray, cotton, linen, and calico, and no shirts at all - are all mingled together in the most beautiful and checkered confusion, giving a motley and ludicrous appearance to the ununiformed, straggling, and crooked corps.

The officers are generally the most silly and ignorant men of the community, for none but such will seek a command in so farcical a concern as a militia company; and most frequently elected, as the saying is, unanimously, for they are considered most “unanimous fools,” and no one will vote either for or against them. As for a knowledge of military tactics, they never dream of any such thing. They are unable (with a few exceptions, of course) to form even a straight line, unless they have the assistance of a ditch or a corn-row, and as for giving any other orders save “About face!” to which they add “right!”) “March!” it is a thing not only unknown but unheard of. Those who can read are accustomed to carry “Scott’s Tactics” in their pockets, from which they read out the different commands for manoeuvres, but as for knowing what it is then to be done, after spelling through the various movements, they don’t think of such a thing, for it is none of their business. They are placed there to give the orders, and it is the duty of the company to obey; and if they fail to do so, then it is their own fault, for their skilful captains have read out all the necessary instructions as plain as Scott himself could give them.
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If militia musters were like this, I'd attend too for fun & food.
 
Armed robbery story

From the dustbin of history, we have a Western tale of an almost train robbery and then a consolation stick-up.

One of the few old stories occasionally told around the mines is of what is known as the "Dovey Robbery." One day during the summer of 1881 a stranger came to the Dovey mines at Mercer, then operated by John Dovey and his sons William and George B. Dovey. He asked for employment, and was told that he could go to work in a few days. In the conversation that followed he inquired in a casual way as to when the railroad pay-train would be due and was informed that it had passed through the morning before. John Dovey incidentally remarked that the following day was pay-day for their miners, and that William Dovey had gone for the money and would return some time during the night. The next morning, after all the miners had gone to work, three strangers entered the Dovey store. Two of them immediately stepped in front of the building and guarded the place, while the third remained int he store and with cocked pistol in hand demanded the contents of the safe. George B. Dovey unhesitantingly opened the safe and proceeded to hand out all it contained - about thirteen dollars in cash and a gold watch with his father's name engraved on it. William Dovey, expected home the night before, had been delayed and had not yet arrived with the pay-roll money, which would have been in the safe had he come back at the time he orginally intended to return. In the meantime two men and a woman, living near the mines, came to the store to make purchases. They entered the building, little suspecting that the two starngers in front were guarding the place. Immediately after they had stepped in, one of the strangers followed and with drawn pistol politely requested them to sit down and keep quite while "young Mr. Dovey was transacting business with his friend." (George B. Dovey was then nineteen years of age.) After the robbers were satisfied that they had gotten all the cash and the only watch in the store, they quietly walked out of the building. By the time the three customers and George B. Dovey had recovered sufficiently from the shock to step to the front door the three strangers were nowhere to be seen. However, an investigation made shortly after showed that the robbers had gone toward Pond Creek, then to Rosewood, and across the cliffs into Logan County. It was not known until about a year later that Jesse James was the man who had robbed the store, and that he had come to Mercer for the purpose of robbing the pay-train. In April, 1882, when Jesse James was killed, the John Dovey watch was among the things found in his posssesion, and his administrator, seeing the name engraved on it, located the Doveys and returned the stolen property.
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It confirms that Jesse died, didn't it? At least he isn't in hiding along with Elvis.
 
Fraternal love among officers and men...

"Gen. Granger is very rough on this march. He whipped an infantry man with a rope & was going to do so to Corp. Cogswell of No. I; but Cogswell tried to get hold of the Gen to choke him & it finally ended. Sheridan choked a lieut. of Bat A 1st Ill. at Chickamauga creek, & came very near being shot for it..."
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Letter of George E. Dolton to his wife. Published in The Path of Patriotism, page 105.

Can't find it now, but there's an account of Union Gen. John Geary berating the men and a couple of them responding by beating him up, dashing into the crowd before he could retaliate. Of course, no one saw what happened.
 
Feed that cat!

"A bullet has just passed, making as great a noise & similar to a cat when hurt. These cause such remarks as, "Feed that cat." "Keep your cats at home." "Poor Johnnies got nothing for your cats to eat" etc. etc. - I suppose that over 200 of these rebel messengers have passed us within 24 hrs..."
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From The Path of Patriotism, Civil War letters of George E. Dolton, ed. by Theodore A. Dolton. page 144.
 
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