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VI. Jonahs and Beats. Good people, I'll sing you a ditty, So bear with me all ye who can; I make an appeal to your pity, For I'm a most unlucky man. 'Twas under an unlucky planet That I a poor mortal was born; My existence since first I began it Has been very sad and forlorn. Then do not make sport of my troubles, But pity me all ye who can, For I'm an uncomfortable, horrible, terrible, inconsolable, unlucky man. old song. In a former chapter I made the statement that Sibley tents furnished quarters capacious enough for twelve men. That statement is to be taken with some qualifications. If those men were all lying down asleep, there did not seem much of a crowd. But if one man of the twelve happened to be on guard at night, and, furthermore, was on what we used to know as the Third Relief guard, which in my company was posted at 12, midnight, and came off post at 2 A. M., when all were soundly sleeping, and, moreover, if this man chanced to quarter in that part of the tent op