the hour of three
When the sun set upon the little city on the 9th of November there seemed to be a rift in the storm cloud that had for so many weeks hung over it , and the city had apparently resumed its wonted quiet . Far out on Dry Pond , in the old `` Wigwam '' a gang of men had met , who ere the sun should set upon another day would make Wilmington the scene of a tragedy astonishing to the State and to the nation . They had gathered to await the signal to begin ; they had good rifles and a plentiful supply of ammunition , and their tethered steeds standing about the old `` Wigwam '' were pawing and neighing for the fray . The clock in the old Presbyterian Church on Orange street dismally tolled out the hour of three . Teck Pervis arose , yawned , walked up and then down the floor among the men who lay asleep with their weapons beside them . He made a deep , long , loud whistle ; the men began to arise one after another , and soon the room was in a bustle . Some were washing faces , others sipping coffee as a forerunner of something hotter that would stimulate and give force to the spirit of deviltry that the work of the day required .