"You see, we had a party of Congressmen in camp, and were cracking some
champagne bottles in the adjutant's tent. We considered it a military
necessity to floor the legislators, you know; but one old senator was
tough as a siege-gun, and wouldn't even wink at his third bottle. So the
corks flew about like minié balls, but never a man but was too good a
soldier to cry 'hold, enough.' As for that old demijohn of a senator, it
seemed he couldn't hold enough, and wouldn't if he could; so we directed
the main battle against him, and opened a masked battery upon him, by
uncovering a bottle of Otard; but he never flinched. It was a game of
_Brag_ all over, and every one kept ordering 'a little more grape.'
Presently, up slaps a mounted aid, galloping like mad, and in tumbles
the sleepy orderly for the officer of the day.

"'That's you, Tim,' says I. But Tim was just then singing the Star
Spangled Banner in a convivial whisper to the tune of the Red, White,
and Blue, and wouldn't be disturbed on no account.

"'Tumble out, Tim,' says I, 'or I'll have you court-martialled and
shot.'

"'In the neck,' says Tim. But he did manage to tumble out, and finished
the last stanzas with a flourish, for the edification of the mounted
aid-de-camp.

"'Where's the officer of the day?' asked the aid, looking suspiciously
at Tim's shaky knees.

"'He stands before you,' replied Tim, steadying himself a little by
affectionately hanging on to the horse's tail.