nine o'clock
`` Thank you , general ! _ Au revoir _ -- and laurels to us all ! '' With a wave of his hand to Cleave , he was gone , crashing through the thinning pines to the broomsedge field and his waiting men . It was nine o'clock , hot and clear , the Stone Bridge three miles away . The First Brigade went at a double quick , guided by the sound of musketry , growing in volume . The pines were left behind ; oak copse succeeded , then the up and down of grassy fields . Wooden fences stretched across the way , streamlets presented themselves , here and there gaped a ravine , ragged and deep .