nine o’clock
One morning Bottles had been out buck hunting with the scratch pack kept in those days by the garrison at Maritzburg . The run had been a good one , and after a seven or eight-mile gallop over the open country they had actually killed their buck -- a beautiful Oribe . This was a thing that did not often happen , and Bottles returned filled with joy and pride with the buck fastened behind his saddle , for he was whip to the pack . The hounds had met at dawn , and it was nine o'clock or so , when , as he was riding hot and tired up the shadier side of broad and dusty Church Street , a gun fired at the Fort beyond Government House announced the arrival of the English mail . With a beaming smile -- for to him the English mail meant one if not two letters from Madeline , and possibly the glad news of sailing orders -- he pushed on to his quarters , tubbed and dressed , and then went down to the mess-house for breakfast , expecting to find the letters delivered . But the mail was a heavy one , and he had ample time to eat his breakfast , also to sit and smoke a pipe upon the pleasant verandah under the shade of the bamboos and camellia bushes before the orderly arrived with the bag . Bottles went at once into the room that opened on to the veranda and stood by calmly , not being given to betraying his emotions , while slowly and clumsily the mess sergeant sorted the letters .