about
four o'clock
Most of the really important things in life -- such as love and death -- happen unexpectedly . I know that my escape from Dartmoor did . We had just left the quarries -- eighteen of us , all dressed in that depressing costume which King George provides for his less elusive subjects -- and we were shambling sullenly back along the gloomy road which leads through the plantation to the prison . The time was about four o'clock on a dull March afternoon . In the roadway , on either side of us , tramped an armed warder , his carbine in his hand , his eyes travelling with dull suspicion up and down the gang . Fifteen yards away , parallel with our route , the sombre figure of one of the civil guards kept pace with us through the trees . We were a cheery party !