eight o'clock
Get out ! '' The barkentine Retriever , lumber laden from Astoria to San Francisco , lay under the lee of Point Reyes in a dead calm . It was a beautiful , moonlit night , with the sea as smooth as a fishpond , and Captain Michael J. Murphy , albeit a trifle surprised at his proximity to the California coast -- the result of three days and nights of thick fog , which had suddenly lifted -- was not particularly worried . At eight o'clock he turned in , after warning the mate to call him in case the Retriever should drift inshore . `` Never fear , sir , '' the mate replied . `` We 'll have a puff of wind about daylight at the latest , and the current sets north and south here rather than toward the beach . '' For two hours after Captain Murphy had retired the Retriever rose and fell gently on the slightest swell , her booms and yards swinging idly amidships , her sails and cordage slatting listlessly as the vessel rolled .