Tom Hammond had obtained some planks, and, laying these on the flour barrel, had contrived a sort of circular table, round which the parties sat with their backs to the wall, on boxes, empty preserved potato tins, rum kegs, and portmanteaus.

There was no room for Tom to enter the tent, so the full dishes were handed in through the entrance, and the empty ones passed out.

Each guest of course brought his own plate, knife, fork, spoon, and drinking tin.

As for a change of plates, no one dreamed of such a thing.
Outside, the night set in wet and gloomy, but four tallow candles stuck in bottles threw a grand illumination.
The first course was pea-soup.

It smelt good, but it had a suspicious appearance, globules of grease floated upon its surface.