Brockman shot away all his cannon-balls--he had sixty-one--and drew back while he sent to Quincy for more.

He'd killed three of our men.

Sunday and Monday we swopped a few shots.

And then Tuesday, along comes a committee of a hundred to negotiate peace.
Well, Wednesday evening they signed terms, spite of all I could do.
_I'd_ 'a' fought till the white crows come a-cawin', but the rest of 'em wasn't so het up with the Holy Ghost, I reckon.

Anyway, they signed.