I get a chuckle out of the image of 14 year old George trotting along on his old mare in a state of excited bliss. His chest puffed with pride in his new uniform which was three sizes too big. Pants rolled into his boots, cloak flopping over his saddle, his too large hat obscuring his view as he rode proud as a peacock back to the farm. Just as my boys play dress-up as their favorite superhero, George seemed to be playing dress-up as a soldier.
He arrived home on one of those breathtaking days that only early fall in New England can claim. It was the 17th of September when he rounded the corner to see his family waiting for him. They had been alerted by the stage-driver that George had successfully enlisted and been mustered in.
Lizzie May and her mother had been crying but their tears turned to giggles as they caught sight of their young “soldier”. He looked more like a rag-a-muffin than a soldier, a pile of clothes atop a broken down mare. They told themselves that no outfit would ever accept him and that George would be sent straight home. Even so, Lizzie continued her plaintive pleas to her favorite step-brother begging him not to go. It was one thing to lose Charley, but George too?
In his memoirs George wrote:
“And father said, after looking me all over:”Well, if they have mustered you in, after they see you in that uniform it will be muster out, my boy”
But George was not only mustered in, he received his orders to report to Augusta,Maine. This just proves how desperate the War had turned. Men were dying in great numbers from battle and disease. New recruits were eagerly sought and immediately sent off.
me and lizzie may 