It
drew toward eleven o'clock. The moon was high, the women and children
all housed, the oldest men, spent with the strain of the day, also gone
to their homes, or their friends' homes. The Volunteers and a faithful
few were left. They could not sleep; if war was going to be always as
exciting as this, how did soldiers ever sleep? There was not among them
a man who had ever served in war, so the question remained unanswered. A
Thunder Run man volunteered the information that the captain was
asleep--he had been to the house where the captain lodged and his mother
had come to the door with her finger on her lips, and he had looked
past her and seen Captain Cleave lying on a sofa fast asleep. Thunder
Run's comrades listened, but they rather doubted the correctness of his
report. It surely wasn't very soldier-like to sleep--even upon a
sofa--the night before marching away! The lieutenants weren't asleep.
Hairston Breckinridge had a map spread out upon a bench before the post
office, and was demonstrating to an eager dozen the indubitable fact
that the big victory would be either at Harper's Ferry or Alexandria.
Young Matthew Coffin was in love, and might be seen through the hotel
window writing, candles all around him, at a table, covering one pale
blue sheet after another with impassioned farewells. Sergeants and
corporals and men were wakeful. Some of these, too, were writing
letters, sending messages; others joined in the discussion as to the
theatre of war, or made knots of their own, centres of conjectures and
prophecy; others roamed the streets, or down by the river bank watched
the dark stream. Of these, a few proposed to strip and have a swim--who
knew when they'd see the old river again? But the notion was frowned
upon. One must be dressed and ready. At that very moment, perhaps, a man
might be riding into town with the order. The musicians were not asleep.
Young Matthew Coffin, sealing his letter some time after midnight, and
coming out into the moonlight and the fragrance of the locust trees, had
an inspiration. All was in readiness for the order when it should come,
and who, in the meantime, wanted to do so prosaic a thing as rest?
"Boys, let us serenade the ladies!"

The silver night wore on. So many of the "boys" had sisters, that there
were many pretty ladies staying in the town or at the two or three
pleasant old houses upon its outskirts. Two o'clock, three o'clock
passed, and there were yet windows to sin