eight
o'clock
`` By God , lieutenant , that 's what we 'd a been doing but for your order . '' It was the sergeant who spoke . And at that very hour there was excitement at Fort Emory . At eight o'clock the colonel was on his piazza looking with gloomy eyes over the distant rows of empty barracks . The drum-major with the band at his heels came stalking out over the grassy parade , and the post adjutant , girt with sash and sword-belt , stood in front of his office awaiting the sergeant-major , who was unaccountably delayed . Reduced to a shadow , the garrison at Fort Emory might reasonably have been excused , by this time , from the ceremony of mounting a guard , consisting practically of ten privates , three of whom wore the cavalry jacket ; but old `` Pecksniff '' was determined to keep up some show of state . He could have no parade or review , but at least he could require his guard to be mounted with all the pomp and ceremony possible .