It is after tattoo.
Parson Strong's prayer meeting has been dismissed an hour, and the camp is as
quiet as if deserted. The day has been a duplicate of yesterday, cold and
windy. To-night the moon is sailing through a wilderness of clouds, now
breaking out and throwing a mellow light over valley and mountain, then
plunging into obscurity, and leaving all in thick darkness.
Major Keifer,
Adjutant Mitchell, and Private Jerroloaman have been stretching their legs
before my fireplace all the evening. The Adjutant being hopelessly in love,
naturally enough gave the conversation a sentimental turn, and our thoughts
have been wandering among the rosy years when our hearts throbbed under the
gleam of one bright particular star (I mean one each), and our souls alternated
between hope and fear, happiness and despair. Three of us, however, have some
experience in wedded life, and the gallant Adjutant is reasonably confident
that he will obtain further knowledge on the subject if this cruel war ever
comes to an end and his sweetheart survives.
SOURCE: John
Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, pp. 81-2
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