"Ah!" says Villiam, understandingly, "you have acquired French in one easy lesson, and—"
Here an orderly rode up with an order for the Mackerels to fall back from the edge of the Lake immediately, leaving their artillery, bayonets, havelocks, and baggage behind them; and Villiam was obliged to conduct the movement, which was a part of the strategical scheme of the General of the Mackerel Brigade. As we retreated back into Paris, my boy, we were joined by the Conic Section, and shortly after by the Anatomical Cavalry, both of which had succeeded in leaving all their accoutrements on the field.
As we all rushed together before head-quarters in perfect order, and while the Confederacy was eating some provisions, which we had refrained from bringing off the late scene of conflict, the General of the Mackerel Brigade came from under a tree, where he had been tanning himself, and says he:
"My children, we have whipped them at all points, and the day is ours."
"Ah!" says Villiam, abstractedly, "the day is hours."
"My children," says the General, in continuation, "we have pushed the enemy to the wall without fracturing the Constitution, and have only put the war
back six months. We can say with pride, my children, that we belong to the Army of Duck Lake, and shall have no more Bull Runs. My children, I love you. Accept my blessing."
We were reflecting upon this soul-stirring speech, my boy, and silently admiring the strategy which had brought us all together again so soon, when the sound of drum and fife called our attention to a club of political chaps who had just arrived by steamer from the Sixth Ward, and were filing past us to a platform recently erected in the very centre of Paris.
"I do believe," says Captain Bob Shorty, whisperingly, "I do believe we're going to have a mass meeting."
Onward went the political chaps to the platform.