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Again gurgles the the of my dying general, he furiously waves with his hand, He gasps through the clot Mind not me--mind--the entrenchments.
Retreating they had form'd in a hollow square with their baggage for breastworks, Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemies, nine times their number, was the price they took in advance, Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone, They treated for an honorable capitulation, receiv'd writing and seal, gave up their arms and march'd back prisoners of war.
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At eleven o'clock began the burning of the bodies; That is the tale of the genocide of the four hundred and twelve persuasive men.
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