Another chap had got my jack-nife, and was amusin’ hisself by slashin’ holes in my bloo cotton umbreller, which two other Muskeeters had shoved up, and was a settin’ under, engaged in tyin’ my panterloon legs into hard nots.

Another scallawag had jammed my coat part way into my butes, and was pourin’ water into ’em out from the wash-pitcher, and I am sorry to say it, evry darned Muskeeter was up to some mean trick, which would put to blush, even a member of the New Jarsey legislater.

Suddenly the Kernal hollered: 

“To arms!”

And every Muskeeter fell into line about my bedside.

“Charge bagonets!” said the Kernal.  At which the hul lot went for me.  Their pizened wepins entered my flesh.

They charged onto my bald head.  Rammed their bayonets into my arms—­my back—­my side—­and there wasen’t a place bigger’n a cent, which they diden’t fill with pizen.

There I lay, groanin’ for mercy.

But Jersey Muskeeters, not dealin’ in that article, don’t know what it is.

Like the new collecter MURFY, when choppin’ off the heads of FENTON offis holders, mercy hain’t their lay, about these times.

At this juncture a company of draggoons clinchin’ their pesky bills into me, dragged me off onto the floor.

And then such a horrible laff they would give, when I would strike for them and miss hittin’.

There I lay on the floor, puffin’ and blowin’ like a steem ingine, while the hull army was dancin’ a war dance around my prostrate figger, and the old Kernal was cuttin’ down a double shuffle on the wash-stand, which made the crockery rattle.

I kicked at ’em as they would charge on my feet and l—­limbs.  I grabbed at ’em, as they charged on my face—­arms—­and shoulders.

Slap! bang! kick! sware!

I couldn’t stand it much longer.

As a big corpulent feller, who, I should judge, was gittin’ readdy to jine a Fat mans club, went over me, I catched him by the heel.

I hung on to him with my best holt

He dragged me all over the floor.

My head struck the bedposts, and other furniture.

3 other Muskeeters got straddle of me, and as if I was a hoss, spurred me up purty lively.

All of a sudden the Muskeeter I was hangin’ to give a yank, and drew out his foot, left his bute in my hand.

Brandishin’ the bute about my head, I cleared at lot of Muskeeters.

Jumpin’ to my feet I made things fly for a minuit, pilin’ up the killed and wounded in a promiscous heap.

Seein’ the Kernal settin’ up there enjoyin’ the fun, I let fly the bute at him.

Smash! went the lookin-glass.

The venerable commanding Muskeeter had dodged, and was settin’ on the burow, with his thumb on his nose, wrigglin’ his fingers at me in a very ongentlemanly manner.

There I was again unarmed, dancin’ about, swelled up like a base ball player on match day.