It was a sublime conception, my boy—it was a sublime conception, and rich with strategy.
Like panthers surrounding their unsuspecting prey, the wily Mackerels swept noiselessly across the bridge, applied their axes with the quickness of thought, and in a moment the doomed structure fell splashing into the water. It was beautiful to see Villiam's honest exultation at this moment; his eyes brightened like small bottles of brandy with the light shining through them, and says he:
"We have circumvented the Confederacy. Ah!" says Villiam, proudly; "the United States of America is now prepared to continue in the exchange business, and—"
He paused. He paused, my boy, because he suddenly observed that Captain Bob Shorty had commenced to scratch his head in a dismal manner.
"I'm blessed," says Captain Bob Shorty, in a cholerical manner—"I'm blessed if I don't think there's some mistake here, my military infant!"
"Ha!" says Villiam, with dignity; "do you discover a flaw in the great chain woven by the United States of America around the doomed Confederacy?"
Captain Bob Shorty again scratched his head, and says he:
"I don't wish to make unpleasant insinuations; but it seems to me that this here body of infantry has left itself on the wrong side of the stream!"
And so it had, my boy. By one of those little mistakes which will sometimes occur in the most victorious armies,
the Conic Section had thoughtlessly crossed the bridge before destroying it, thus leaving themselves on one side of the river, while the riotous Confederacies were on the other.