seven o'clock
`` Cheyne says we can camp at Leichhardt Ponds that night , push on early in the morning , and wait for our man at Rocky Waterholes , where he is sure to camp for the night . '' `` He 'll want a good rest if Aulain does him up to-night , '' said Capel with an evil grin . Nearly a hundred noisy but contented diggers filled Vale 's hotel and store , all talking at once ; and outside in the yard , seated on boxes , barrels , etc. , were as many more , equally as well satisfied as those within . The impromptu and `` free feed '' of freshly-killed beef had been a great success , and now at seven o'clock , what Vale called `` the harmony '' began -- to wit , music from a battered cornet , an asthmatic accordion , and a weird violin . There were , however , plenty of good singing voices in the company , and presently a big , fat-faced American negro , with a rich fruity voice , struck up a well-known mining song , `` The Windlasses , '' and the diggers thundered out the chorus : `` For I love the sound of the windlasses , And the cry , ` Look-out , below . ' '' At its conclusion there was much applause , and then the negro , who was an ex-sailor , was pressed , very literally , for another song . One digger gripped him around the waist , and another seized his woolly poll and shook him .