‘“’Twas Ensign Baynes of our parish.”—Ah, ah, Miss Charlworth, the one
Our Tom fought for a young lady? Come, now we’ve got into the fun!—
“I shouldered him: he primed his pistol, and I trailed my musket,
prepared.”
Why, that’s a fine pick-a-back for ye, to make twenty Russians look
scared!
“They came—never mind how many: we couldn’t have run very well,
We fought back to back: ‘face to face, our last time!’ he said,
smiling, and fell.