The Mackerel Brigade was at once formed in line-of-battle-order—the line being not quite as straight as an ordinary Pennsylvania railroad—while the fleet menaced the water-front of the city from Duck Lake.
You may not be able to find Duck Lake on the maps, my boy, as it is only visible after a heavy rain.
Previous to the attack, a balloon, containing a Mackerel chap, and a telescope shaped like a bottle, was sent up to reconnoitre.
"Well," says Villiam to the chap when he came down, "what is the force of the Confederacy?"
The chap coughed respectfully, and says he:
"I could only see one Confederacy, which is an old woman!"
"Scorpion!" says Villiam, his eyes flashing like the bottoms of two reversed tumblers, "I believe you to be an accursed abolitionist. Go instantly to the rear," says Villiam, fiercely, "and read the Report of the Van Wyck Investigating Committee."
It was a terrible punishment, my boy, but the example was needed for the good of the service.
The Orange County Howitzers now advanced to the front, and poured a terrible fire in the direction of a point about half way between the nearest steeple and the meridian, working horrible carnage in a flock of pigeons that happened to be passing at the time.
"Splendid, my glorious Prooshians!" says Villiam, just escaping a fall from his saddle by the convulsive start of Euclid, that noble war-horse having been suddenly roused from a pleasant doze by the firing—"Splendid, my artillery darlings. Only," says Villiam, thoughtfully, "as the sun is a friendly power, don't aim at him so accurately next time."