Monck’s orders were promptly obeyed. The table was cleared of the debris of the dessert, and pipes, tobacco, cigars, brandy and whiskey set upon it; and two candles stuck into black bottles, were placed beside them. Lastly, four or five huge pine logs were thrown upon the fire, which now burst into a broad flame, illumining the whole room with a cheerful light.
Colonel Rosenthal, seeing these preparations for “making a night of it,” arose from his chair to leave the table.
But Monck, with friendly earnestness, laid his sledgehammer hand upon the prisoner guest’s shoulder and forced him back into his seat, saying cordially:
“No, no, no! Don’t often get a boon companion, and can’t let you go! You needn’t drink, since you don’t like it! but you have no German blood in you, as your name would indicate, if you don’t like a good smoke! Sit down and try some of these cigars.”
Thus pressed, Colonel Rosenthal resumed his seat.
An hour went by, during which the blazing wood-fire roared and crackled in the chimney, lighting up the whole room in which Monck and his prisoner sat at table—Monck smoking and drinking, his prisoner smoking and thinking.
Occasionally, as through the day, officers and men came to make reports and receive instructions and went away to execute orders. These were the only interruptions, and they were very brief ones. And at length these also ceased. The tattoo was beat, the guards set, and the camp subsided to repose, and the guerrilla chief and his guest were left in peace.
But not for any long time. Another hour was passing slowly by, when the stillness was broken by an unusual noise without.
Monck took the pipe from his mouth, and turned his head to listen.
The noise increased and became uproarious. A great clatter of horses’ hoofs, as from a large body of cavalry dashing into the camp, mingled with loud cries, oaths and curses, and a confusion of strange sounds, filled the air, and nearly deafened and bewildered those who tried to listen and understand.