"Fix bayonets!" The sharp steel clashed on the muzzles.
"FORWARD, CHARGE!" For one wild minute shining steel at arm's length did its awful work.
Then three-score Rebels fled back to their leafy lair, and as many blue-coats with drew into the cedars, pulling the guns after them.
"Pick up the Lieutenant, there, some of you who can do a little lifting," said Kent, as they came to where the boy-artillerist lay dead.
"This prod in my shoulder's spoilt my lifting for some time.

Lay him on the gun and we'll take him back with us.

He deserves it, for he was game clear through.

Harry, that fellow that gave you that beauty-mark on the temple with his saber got his discharge from the Rebel army just afterwards, on the point of Abe's bayonet." "Is that so?
Did Abe get struck at all ?" "Only a whack over the nose with the butt of a gun, which will doubtless improve his looks.

Any change would." "Guess we can go back now with some peace and comfort," said Abe, coming up, and alluding to the cessation of the firing in their front.