three o'clock
The week passed somehow , unpleasantly enough for most of the persons concerned in this veracious history , but Saturday night came at last , and brought with it a series of events which modified the existing situation . Gouache was on duty at the barracks when orders were received to the effect that the whole available force in Rome was to march soon after midnight . His face brightened when he heard the news , although he realised that in a few hours he was to leave behind him all that he held most dear and to face death in a manner new to him , and by no means pleasant to most men . Between two and three o'clock on Sunday morning Gouache found himself standing in the midst of a corps of fifteen hundred Zouaves , in almost total darkness and under a cold , drizzling November rain . His teeth chattered and his wet hands seemed to freeze to the polished fittings of his rifle , and he had not the slightest doubt that every one of his comrades experienced the same unenviable sensations . From time to time the clear voice of an officer was heard giving an order , and then the ranks closed up nearer , or executed a sidelong movement by which greater space was afforded to the other troops that constantly came up towards the Porta Pia . There was little talking during an hour or more while the last preparations for the march were being made , though the men exchanged a few words from time to time in an undertone .