ten o'clock
Occasionally , when for a minute or two there would come an accidental break in the firing , his lips could be seen to move as if he were speaking to himself . Not one knew why he stood there following each shot so anxiously , or little recked that , when there was not one to fasten his attention , he saw instead a pair of dark eyes shadowed by long lashes , delicately pencilled eyebrows , a low fore-head surmounted by a wealth of darkest brown hair , a little straight nose , cheeks scarcely ever two minutes the same tint , and lips that , whether they spoke or no , wooed as never words yet did . And as each time the vision flashed out before him , he would half mutter , half sob a prayer : -- `` Oh , God , rob her of her beauty if you will , but do not let disease or shot kill her . '' It was he , watching as no other man in all those lines watched , who suddenly , a little after ten o'clock on the morning of the 17th , shouted : -- `` Cease firing ! '' Every man within hearing turned to him , and then looked to where his finger pointed . On the top of a British redoubt stood a red-coated drummer , to the eye beating his instrument , but the sound of it was drowned in the roar of the guns . As the order passed from battery to battery , the thunder gradually ceased , and all that could be heard was the distant riffle of the single drum , sounding `` The Parley . ''