" A large tub of whisky-punch, the gift of
the commanding officer, had been brewed by Von Vottenberg,
for their mid-day revel, and this, all had been unanimous
in pronouncing the best medicine the doctor had ever
administered to them; and now in small social messes,
seated round their rude tables, covered with tin goblets,
and pitchers of the same metal--the mothers with their
children at their side or upon their knees, and the
fathers and unmarried men puffing clouds of smoke from
their short pipes--which they filled from two others
placed on an elevated settle--one in each block house
--which the happy Ronayne had given them on the occasion.
Even the guard was moderately supplied, and the sentries
alone, pacing to and fro in their limited walk, felt the
bitterness of privation, as they counted the minutes that
must elapse before they could join in the festivities
which the loud voice and ringing laugh, occasionally
wafted to their ears, told them were in progress.
In the rooms of the commanding officer there was more
than the usual manifestation of the anniversary.
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