A contribution by Lee2

A late summer’s evening in 1778.

With a long day’s march behind you, you settle in, exhausted, as best you can around the fire for a meager dinner of hard bread and cheese. The sun sets quietly over the grassy hills, illuminating the clouds with gold in these precious moments before darkness; you sense a summer storm rolling in, thunder on the horizon. If you listen hard, you can make out the distant yet unmistakable sounds of artillery, far away—but not far enough.

You don’t know what tomorrow will bring. For now though, at least, the grass is soft, the insects sing, and the wind whispers a prayer for the poor souls you left behind. Quiet moments are few and far between these days, so you savor them while you can. Across from you, with a mug of ale in his hand, your fellow soldier hums a familiar tune:

How stands the glass around?
For shame, you take no care, me boys
How stands the glass around?
Let mirth and wine abound….

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