eleven o'clock
For three hours of the morning , struggling men had braved the storm and fought to reach their places of business . Shouts , curses , calls , laughter , the screams of boys , at first ; and then defeat , silence and the roar of the wind . Street-cars were piled on their sides , and the tracks jammed with debris and mountains of snow . At eleven o'clock , from Manhattan there was no Jersey or Brooklyn . The ferries were still . The great dead Bridge hung swaying in the dark sky , a white festoon of ice and snow , like a jeweled garland swung from heaven to soften the terrible beauty of a frozen world . The waters below were lashed into a white smother of spray .