Then the pipeclayed breeches--but that was a sore job; many a weary arm did they give me--beat-beating camstane into them.
The pipeclaying of the breeches, I was saying, was the most fashious job, let alone courtship, that ever mortal man put his hand to.

Indeed, there was no end to the rubbing, and scrubbing, and brushing, and fyling, and cleaning; for to the like of me, who was not well accustomed to the thing, the whitening was continually coming off and destroying my red coat, or my black leggings.

I had mostly forgot to speak of the birse for cleaning out the pan, and the piker for clearing the motion-hole.

But time enough till we come to firing.
Big Sam, who was a sergeant of the Fencibles, and enough to have put five Frenchmen to flight any day of the year, whiles came to train us; and a hard battle he had with more than me.

I have already said, that nature never intended me for the soldiering trade; and why should I hesitate about confessing, that Sam never got me out of the awkward squad?
But I had two or three neighbours to keep me in countenance.