eight o'clock
Dim-eyed , I stared at the passing troops , the blurred colors of their uniforms ever changing as the regiments succeeded each other , now brown and red , now green and red , now gray and yellow , as Massachusetts infantry , New York line , and Morgan 's Rifles poured steadily by in unbroken columns . Wrapped in my chamber-robe , head supported on my hand , I sat by the window , dully content , striving to think , to realize all that had befallen me . The glitter of the passing rifles , the constantly changing hues and colors , the movement , the noise , set my head swimming . Yet I must prepare to leave within the hour , for the stable bells were ringing for eight o'clock . Cato scratched at the door and entered , bringing me hot water , and hovering around me with napkin , salve , and basin , till my battered body had been bathed , my face shaved , and my bruised head washed where the Seneca castete had glanced , tearing the skin . Clothed in fresh linen and a new uniform , sent by Schuyler , I bade him call Sir Lupus ; who came presently , his mouth full of toast , a mug of cooled ale in one hand , clay pipe in the other . He laid his pipe on the mantel , set his mug on a chair , and embraced me , shaking his head in solemn silence ; and we sat for a space , considering one another , while Cato filled my bowl with chocolate and removed the cover from my smoking porridge-dish .