about eleven o'clock
was my comment to the ladies . Tongue revenge is poor , but it is something . Except in such moments , however , the war seemed farther away than it had for months and months . But about eleven o'clock we began to find the way scored by the fresh ruts of heavy wheels and the dust deepened by hundred of hoofs . The tops and faces of the roadside banks were newly trampled and torn by clambering human feet . Here was a canteen , smashed in a wheel-track ; yonder a fragment of harness ; here lay a broken hame , there was the half of a russet brogan and yonder a ragged sock stained and bloody . `` Why , what does all this mean ? ''