one o'clock
There was no conversation among them ; some of the artillerymen seemed to be asleep ; some sprawled belly-deep in the ferns , chewing twigs or idly scraping holes in the soil ; a few lay about , eating the remnants of the morning 's scanty rations , chewing strips of bacon rind , and licking the last crumbs from the palms of their grimy hands . Along the bush-hidden parapet of earth , heaps of ammunition lay -- cannister and common shell . She recognized these , and , with a shudder , a long row of smaller projectiles on which soldiers were screwing copper caps -- French hand grenades , brought in by blockade runners , and fashioned to explode on impact -- so close was to be the coming slaughter of her own people in the road below . Toward one o'clock the gunners were served noon rations . She watched them eating for a while , then , nerveless , turned back into the single room of the cabin and opened the rear door -- so gently and noiselessly that the boyish staff-major who was seated on the sill did not glance around until she spoke , asking his permission to remain there . `` You must n't open that door , '' he said , looking up , surprised by the sweetness of the voice which he heard now for the first time . `` How can anybody see me from the pass ? ''