midnight
Two of the men quietly slacken the ropes which hold the body in position , another pulls off the flag , and the dark mass on the planks plunges downward into the oily sea . Another pause , while I picture it rushing `` down to the dark , to the utter dark , where the blind white sea-snakes are , '' and the Chief motions furtively with his fingers . In a few minutes we are under way . * * * * * It is eight bells , midnight , once more . The sky to the southward is a jet-black mass of clouds , and the windsail is yawing in a strong , cool breeze . Away to the westward the moon still throws her glory over the face of the waters and I go below , thinking of the night coming , when no man shall work . And so ends our Christmas Day .