I was
physically tired. The last thing I saw as I closed up the house was the
gleam of the moonlight on the muskets of the picket pacing the road, and
the first thing I heard, as I waked suddenly at about four, was the
crunching of the gravel as they still marched there.
I got up at once. It was the morning of Friday, the 4th of September. I
dressed hurriedly, ran down to put the kettle on, and start the coffee,
and by five o'clock I had a table spread in the road, outside the gate,
with hot coffee and milk and bread and jam. I had my lesson, so I
called the corporal and explained that his men were to come in relays,
and when the coffee-pot was empty there was more in the house; and I
left them to serve themselves, while I finished dressing. I knew that
the officers were likely to come over, and one idea was fixed in my
mind: I must not look demoralized. So I put on a clean white frock,
white shoes and stockings, a big black bow in my hair, and I felt equal
to anything--in spite of the fact that before I dressed I heard far off
a booming-could it be cannon ?--and more than once a nearer
explosion,--more bridges down, more English across.
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