"Twenty paces or no fight!" insists the Adjutant's second. "Twenty paces; one, two, three----" And the seconds trod off as best they could the distance, the pieces were loaded, the several bipeds took a drink all around from an ample jug of the R. G. they brought for the purpose, and then began the memorable duel. The principals were placed in their respective positions, to rake down each other; and from a safer point of the compass the seconds gave the word. "Bang-g-g!" went the Adjutant's piece, knocking him down flat as a hoe-cake. "F-f-f-izzy!" and the Lieutenant's piece hung fire. The seconds flew to their men; a parley took place upon a "question" whether the Lieutenant had a _right_ to prime and fire again, or not. The Adjutant being set upon his pins; declared himself ready and willing to let the Lieutenant blaze away! The point was finally settled by loading up the Adjutant's piece, and priming that of the Lieutenant, placing the men, and giving the word, "One, two, three!" "Wang-g-g-g!" "Fiz-a-bang-g-g-g!" The seconds ran, or hobbled forward, each to his man, both being down; but whether by concussion, recoil of their fusees, force of the liquor, or weakness of the knee-pans, was a hard fact to solve. "Hurt, Wash.?" "Not a bit!" cries the Adjutant, getting up. "Hit, Dick?" "No, _sir!_" shouts the Lieutenant; "good as new!" "Set 'em up!" "Take your places, gentlemen!" cry the seconds. All ready. Wang! bang! go the pieces, and down ker-_chug_ go both men again. The seconds rush forward, raise their men, all safe, load up again, take a drink, all right. "Make ready, take aim, fire!" "Wang-g-g!" "Bang-g-g!" Both down again, the Lieutenant's coat-tail slightly dislocated, and the Adjutant dangerously wounded in the leg of his breeches! Both parties getting very mad, very tired, and very anxious to try it on at ten paces. Seconds object, pieces loaded up again, principals arranged, and, "One, two, three, fire!" "Wang-g-g-g!" "Bang-g-g!"