“’Tis four of the clock, master,” said the look-out man.
“Ah, Tom Tarpaulin,” answered the lieutenant, quickly, for it was necessary to give his orders with promptitude; “life is but short: let us live well on the road, says the gentle shepherd of Salisbury plain. Strike eight bells!”
“Ay, ay, Sir!” replied Tarpaulin.
Quick as thought, he skipped up the poop, and ran to a frame of wood-work, about three feet high, that stood in front of the compass-box. From this hung a large bell, which he seized round the top; and taking up a hammer that lay beneath, he struck on the inside of the bell eight distinct taps, thereby signifying to the crew, in the manner they best understood, that it was four o’clock.
Hardly had the bell given utterance to the eighth stroke, when Halyard, turning his face towards the forecastle, desired the men forward to give a call for the boatswain. The boatswain, however, being within hearing, forestalled all further calls, and presented himself on the quarter-deck before any voice had been raised but the lieutenant’s.
“Ay, ay, Sir!” he cried.
“Pipe all hands to heave up the anchor,” said the lieutenant.
“Ay, ay, Sir!” answered the boatswain.
And while the accents were yet on his lips, he drew forth an earthenware whistle, gaily trimmed with silver, from the waistband of his canvas trousers, and, raising it to his mouth, made the air ring with its shrill and ear-piercing notes.