Uncle Jim set a Big Ben alarm clock down on one of the spool tables for me.
"I've set the clock for half-past three. That will give you half an hour to make your hypothetical ship in ... you'll have to jump up and stop the clock, anyhow. It'll keep on ringing till you do."
My first morning on shipboard was spent scrubbing cabin floors, washing down the walls, washing dishes, waiting on the captain and mates' mess ... the afternoon, polishing brass on the poop and officers' bridge, under the supervision of Karl, the former cabin boy.
"Well, how do you like it?" asked the cook, as he stirred something in a pot, with a big wooden ladle.
"Fine! but when are we sailing?"
"In about three days we drop down to Bayonne for a cargo of White Rose oil and then we make a clean jump for Sydney, Australia."
"Around Cape Horn?" I asked, stirred romantically at the thought.
"No. Around the Cape of Good Hope."