At the siege of Petersburg, one bored private, Michael DeLacy, of the Irish 63rd New York challenged the rebs. "Say Johnnies? You are a low lived lot of spalpeens. You face the Yankees in the open and we'll knock the devil out of yees. We can lick yees every time." Insulted by DeLacy's incessant taunts, a temporary truce was arranged between the two sides. Men climbed out from their trenches and rifle pits to watch as each side's champion met with fixed bayonet in no-man's land. The plucky DeLacy would either be struck down as a braggart or emerge as a victor crowned with glory. The Confederate thrusted and DeLacy ducked. He riposted with a butt stroke which struck the Confederate's chin, knocking him to the ground. Planting his foot atop the hapless Confederate's chest, DeLacy stood menancing over him with his bayonet ready to plunge into his foeman. Having made his point, DeLacy lowered his bayonet and allowed the fallen man to rise. Men on both sides cheered as DeLacy returned to his side.
Vigilantibus et non dormientibus jura subveniunt. Molon Labe!