DESCRIBING THE REMARKABLE STRATEGICAL MOVEMENT OF THE CONIC SECTION, UNDER CAPTAIN BOB SHORTY.

WASHINGTON, D.C., March 28th, 1862.

The most interesting natural curiosity here, next to Secretary Welles'

beard, is the office of the Secretary of the Interior. Covered with spider-webs, and clothed in the dust of ages, my boy, sit the Secretary and his clerks, like so many respectable mummies in a neglected pyramid. The Department of the Interior, my boy, is in a humorous condition; the sales of public lands for the past year amount to about ten shillings, the only buyer being a conservative Dutchman from New Jersey, who hasn't heard about the war yet.

These things weigh upon my spirit, and I was glad to order up my Gothic stallion, Pegasus, the other day, and rattle down to Mana.s.sas once more.

Upon reaching that celebrated field of Mars, my boy, I found the General of the Mackerel Brigade in his tent, surrounded by telegraphic instruments and railroad maps, while the Conic Section was drawn up in line outside.

"You appear to be much absorbed, my venerable Spartan," says I to the General, as I handled the diaphanous vessel he was using as an act-drop in the theatre of war.

The General frowned like an obdurate parent refusing to let his only daughter marry a coal-heaver, and says he:

"I'm absorbed in strategy. Eighteen months ago, I was informed by a contraband that sixty thousand unnatural rebels were intrenched somewhere near here, and having returned the contraband to his master, to be immediately shot, I resolved to overwhelm the rebels by strategy.

Thunder!" says the General, perspiring like a pitcher of ice-water in June, "if there's anything equal to diplomacy it's strategy. And now,"

says the General, sternly, "it's my duty to order you to write nothing about this to the papers. You write about my movements; the papers publish it, and are sent here; my adjutant takes the papers to the rebels; and so, you see, my plans are all known. I have no choice but to suppress you."

"But," says I, "you might more surely keep the news from the rebels by arresting the adjutant."

"Thunder!" says the general, "I never thought of that before."

Great men, my boy, are never so great but that they can profit occasionally by a suggestion from the humblest of the species. I once knew a very great man who went home one night in a shower, and was horrified at discovering that he could not get his umbrella through the front door. He was a very great man, understood Sanscrit, made speeches that n.o.body could comprehend, and had relatives in Beacon-street, Boston. There he stood in the rain, my boy, pushing his umbrella this way and that way, turning it endways and sideways, holding it at acute angles and obtuse angles; but still it wouldn't go through the door, nor anything like it. By-and-by there came along a chap of humble attainments, who sung out:

"What's the matter, old three-and-sixpence?"

The great man turned pantingly round, and says he:

"Ah, my friend, I cannot get my umbrella into the house. I've been trying for half an hour to wedge it through the door, but I can't get it through and know not how to act."

The humble chap stood under a gas-light, my boy, and by the gleams thereof his mouth was observed to pucker loaferishly.

"Hev you tried the experiment of _shutting up_ that air umbrella?" says he.

The great man gave a start, and says he:

"Per Jovem! I didn't think to do that."

And he shut his umbrella and went in peacefully.

The Conic Section was to make its great strategic movement, my boy, under Captain Bob Shorty; and, led by that fearless warrior, it set out at twilight. Onward tramped the heroes according to Hardee, for about an hour, and then they reached a queer-looking little house with a great deal of piazza and a very little ground-floor. With his cap c.o.c.ked very much over one eye, Captain Bob Shorty knocked at the door, and was answered by a young maiden of about forty-two.

"Hast seen any troops pa.s.s here of late?" asked Captain Bob Shorty, with much dignity.

The Southern maiden, who was a First Family, sniffed indignantly, and says she:

"I reckon not, poor hireling Hessian."

"Forward--double-quick--march!" says Captain Bob Shorty, with much vehemence; "that ere young woman has been eating onions."

Onward, right onward through the darkness, went the Conic Section of the Mackerel Brigade, eager to engage the rebel foe and work out the genius of strategy. Half an hour, and another house was reached. In response to the captain's knock a son of chivalry stuck his head out of a window, and says he:

"There's n.o.body at home."

"Peace, ignoramius!" says Captain Bob Shorty, majestically; "the United States of America wishes to know if you have seen any troops go by to-night."

"Yes," says the chivalry, "my sister saw a company go by just now, I reckon."

"Forward--double-quick--march!" says Captain Bob Shorty, "we can catch the Confederacy alive if we're quick enough."

And now, my boy, the march was resumed with new vigor, for it was certain that the enemy was right in front, and might be strategically annihilated. A long time pa.s.sed, however, without the discovery of a soul, and it was after midnight when the next house was gained.

A small black contraband came to the door, and says he:

"By gorry, mars'r sogerum, what you hab?"

"Tell me, young Christy's minstrel," says Captain Bob Shorty, "have any troops pa.s.sed here to-night?"

The contraband turned a summerset, and says he:

"Mars' and misses hab seen two companies dis berry night, so helpum G.o.d."

"Forward--double-quick--march!" says Captain Bob Shorty. "Two companies is rather heavy for this here band of Spartans, but it is sweet to die for one's country."

The march went on, my boy, until we got to the next house, where the inmates refused to appear, but shouted that they had seen _three_ companies go past. At this Captain Bob Shorty was heard to scratch his head in the darkness, and says he:

"This here strategy is a good thing at decent odds: but when it's three to one, it's more respectable to have all quiet on the Potomac. Halt, fellow wictims, and let us wait here until the daily sun is issued by the divine editor."

The orb of light was calmly stealing up the east, my boy, when Captain Bob Shorty sprang from his blanket and observed the house, before which the Conic Section was encamped, with protruding eyes.

"By all that's blue!" says Captain Bob Shorty, "if that ain't the werry identical house where we saw the vinegar maiden last night!"

And so it was, my boy! The Conic Section of the Mackerel Brigade had been going round and round on a private race-course all night, stopping four times at the same judge's stand, and going after their own tails, like so many humorous cats.

Strategy, my boy, is a profound science, and don't cost more than two millions a day, while the money lasts.

Yours, in deep cogitation,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER x.x.xVIII.

INTRODUCING THE VERITABLE "HYMN OF THE CONTRABANDS," WITH EMANc.i.p.aTION MUSIC, AND DESCRIBING THE TERRIFIC COMBAT A LA MAIN BETWEEN CAPTAIN VILLIAM BROWN, OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, AND CAPTAIN MUNCHAUSEN, OF THE SOUTHERN CONFEDERACY.