The staff tents were grouped around,
with their solid chimneys of rock. The "cavalry head-quarters" was
complete--a warm nest in the woods. Couriers came and went; sabres
rattled; spurs jingled; the horses whinnied from their stables, woven
of pine boughs, near by; and in and out of the general's tent played
his two boisterous setters, Nip and Tuck, the companions of his idle
hours. We all messed together, under a broad canvas, at one table:
music resounded; songs were sung; Sweeney, soon, alas! to be dead, was
yet king of the woodland revels; Stuart joined in his songs, to the
music of the banjo; and not seldom did the bright faces of fair ladies
shine on us, bringing back all the warmth of the summer days--the blue
sky, the sunshine, and the smiles!
Such was good old "Coon Hollow." I recall it with delight. The chill
airs cut you to the bone when you ventured out on horseback from the
sheltered nook; but in Coon Hollow all was warm and bright. In the
woods on the crest above, the winds sighed: but in the hollow below,
the banjo rattled; laughter resounded; great fires roared; and, as
though in open defiance of winter and its tempests, Stuart, carolled in
his clear and sonorous voice, his favorite ditty,
"The dew is on the blossom."
So we sang and laughed all those long winter evenings.
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