one o'clock
I can just see that I trace a line . There are thistles in this straw ! Last night I saw a lost soul . Rousing , as I often do , at one o'clock , I stood at the door of the tent , admiring Orion in the east and the constellations overhead . I heard a little murmur of complaint , and saw a man come stumbling down the street , his bare feet softly thudding on the stones , and drawing from him this sad sound as he came shivering along in pajamas . He was stooping at each tent and peering in to discover his lost place . So he passed out of my sight , but when I once more turned to admire Orion I saw the same unhappy phantom wandering along the next company street , still stumbling , still shivering , still silently searching for his couch .