About midnight
The fog that was slowly rising when the boat-owner took his station on the little quay below had crept nearer and nearer into shore , and finally enveloped everything and hidden it . So dense it was that from his bench on one side the circular pavilion the Judge could barely make out the white pillars on its opposite side . A lamp had been lighted in the roof but against this Mrs. Stark had vehemently protested , because it made that wall of white mist seem closer and more impenetrable , and without it she fancied that her eye could still pierce the distance , still discover any incoming craft . About midnight the wind rose and the fog began to thin and scatter . The boatman on the pier had long ago left it , forced off by the rising tide , and now sat floating in one of the row-boats fastened there . He had put on his oilskins and set his oars in readiness for the first sign of distress on the face of the waters ; but he had about given up hope of his pretty `` Digby Chicken . '' That a couple of touring lads , even though one had protested that he was a good sailor , that these should come safely through a night like this seemed unlikely ; but now that the wind was rising and the fog lifting , he drew his boat close under the pole at the pier 's end and lighted the lantern which swung there .