Villiam leaned upon his blade, and kindly remarked:
"His head is broken; I heard it crack."
"'Tis false!" says Captain Munchausen, gloomily; "that is an old crack—I've had it ever since I was a boy."
"Ah!" says Villiam, airily, "I'm afraid my blow has caused more than one funeral in the inseck kingdom, for the cut went right through the hair. Have a comb?" says Villiam, pleasantly.
Captain Munchausen made no reply, my boy, but motioned for his men to bear him from the field. It was noticed however, that, as he was being carried into the wood, he asked a gentleman in remarkable tatters, to take him to the last ditch.
As the Southern Confederacy disappeared, Captain Villiam Brown hammered his sword straight with a bit of stone, forced it into its scabbard, and turned majestically to Company 3, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade, several members of which were engaged in the athletic game of pitch-penny.
"Let the band be awakened," says Villiam.
A Mackerel at once proceeded to break the slumbers of the orchestra, by shaking a bottle near his ear—that experiment having never been known to fail in the case of a pronounced musical character.
"Ha!" says Villiam, with much spirit, "we will march to the national airs of our distracted country!"
After sounding several cat-calls on his night-key bugle, in the manner of all great instrumentalists who wish to know about their instruments being in tune, the band struck up "Ale to the Chief," and we marched to quarters like so many heroes of ancient Rum.