I hallooed to our picket not to fire that it was "me," the videt.

I went back, and says I, "Who fired those two shots ?" Two fellows spoke up and said that they did it.

No sooner was it spoken, than I was on them like a duck on a june-bug, _pugnis et calcibus_.

We "fout and fit, and gouged and bit," right there in that picket post.

I have the marks on my face and forehead where one of them struck me with a Yankee zinc canteen, filled with water.