But with visions of four o'clock in the morning, the hour assigned us to begin our work, I returned to the bunkroom to go to bed.
Hiram Strong had moved neither hand nor foot, but his breathing was more normal. A dark blue light was the only illumination in the place, giving to everything a mere shadowy appearance. I was glad to notice that the place was well ventilated, fairly clean, and likely to be free from vermin.
At three-thirty in the morning a heavy hand was laid on us, and we were told to roll out to go on watch. To my surprise, young Strong responded at once, with much yawning and stretching. Now and then he would sigh deeply, ending in a sort of dismal moan, hard to tell whether from resignation or abandon. He spoke for the first time after I had tumbled out and had begun pulling on my shoes. He seemed to recognize me in the uncertain light.
"Do we get anything to eat before we go to work?" he asked, leaning against his bunk dressed in the correct street attire in which he had slept.
"Yes, I think by going aft to the ship's kitchen we can get something; coffee, anyhow," I replied, stripping down to my underwear.
"Is that the way you go to work?" he asked, quickly noticing my matter-of-fact preparations.
"Yes."
"Why?" he asked, surprised.
"Well, it's pretty hot down there; and besides, it's very dirty," I replied, pleasantly but convincingly. "Shoes, pants and undershirt are about all you can stand," I added.