nine o'clock at night
Perhaps the surface of the red brick , long unpainted , had scaled off a little more here and there . There might have been a slight accretion of the moss and lichen on the shingled roof . But the tall tower , with its four-faced clock , rose as majestically and uncompromisingly as though the land had never been subjugated . Was it so irreconcilable , Warwick wondered , as still to peal out the curfew bell , which at nine o'clock at night had clamorously warned all negroes , slave or free , that it was unlawful for them to be abroad after that hour , under penalty of imprisonment or whipping ? Was the old constable , whose chief business it had been to ring the bell , still alive and exercising the functions of his office , and had age lessened or increased the number of times that obliging citizens performed this duty for him during his temporary absences in the company of convivial spirits ? A few moments later , Warwick saw a colored policeman in the old constable 's place -- a stronger reminder than even the burned buildings that war had left its mark upon the old town , with which Time had dealt so tenderly . The lower story of the market-house was open on all four of its sides to the public square .