CHAPTER XIV.
Night had long since drawn her circling mantle over the
western hemisphere; and deeper, far deeper than the gloom
of that night was the despair which filled every bosom
of the devoted garrison, whose fortunes it has fallen to
our lot to record. A silence, profound as that of death,
pervaded the ramparts and exterior defences of the
fortress, interrupted only, at long intervals, by the
customary "All's well!" of the several sentinels; which,
after the awful events of the day, seemed to many who
now heard it as if uttered in mockery of their hopelessness
of sorrow. The lights within the barracks of the men
had been long since extinguished; and, consigned to a
mere repose of limb, in which the eye and heart shared
not, the inferior soldiery pressed their rude couches
with spirits worn out by a succession of painful
excitements, and frames debilitated, by much abstinence
and watching. It was an hour at which sleep was wont to
afford them the blessing of a temporary forgetfulness of
endurances that weighed the more heavily as they were
believed to be endless and without fruit; but sleep had
now apparently been banished from all; for the low and
confused murmur that met the ear from the several
block-houses was continuous and general, betraying at
times, and in a louder key, words that bore reference to
the tragic occurrences of the day.
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