“I surrender because I can’t help myself.”
“Hev you nary toothpick or bone-cracker in your pockets?”
“Any what?” replied Tom, whose dictionary seemed to be at fault.
“Nary pistol, knife, or any thing of that sort?”
“Nothing but my jackknife.”
“Any plunder?”
“We piled up our knapsacks and haversacks before we went into the fight. Here is my canteen half full of water; I gave the other half to one of your soldiers, when he was dying of his wounds.”
“Did ye?”
“Now will you be kind enough to tell me where I am?”
“You are inside the lines of our army, about three miles below Centreville,” replied one of the pickets.