If you survive a duel you want to survive it in such a way that the memory of it will not linger along with you through the rest of your life and interfere with your sleep.

Aim at your man's leg; not at the knee, not above the knee; for those are dangerous spots.

Aim below the knee; cripple him, but leave the rest of him to his mother." By grace of these truly wise and excellent instructions, Joe tumbled Fitch down next morning with a bullet through his lower leg, which furnished him a permanent limp.

And Joe lost nothing but a lock of hair, which he could spare better then than he could now.

For when I saw him here in New York a year ago, his crop was gone: he had nothing much left but a fringe, with a dome rising above.
[Sidenote: (1864.)] About a year later I got _my_ chance.