ten o’clock
Next morning we spent in looking about the town -- Cork is a fine town , contains seventy thousand inhabitants , more or less-safe in that -- and three hundred thousand pigs , driven by herdsmen , with coarse grey greatcoats . The pigs are not so handsome as those in England , where the legs are short , and tails curly ; here the legs are long , the flanks sharp and thin , and tails long and straight . All classes speak with a deuced brogue , and worship graven images ; arrived at Cove to a large dinner and here follows a great deal of nonsense of the same kind . By the time it was half-past ten o'clock , I was preparing to turn in , when the master at arms called down to me , -- `` Mr Cringle , you are wanted in the gunroom . '' I put on my jacket again , and immediately proceeded thither , and on my way I noticed a group of seamen , standing on the starboard gangway , dressed in pea jackets , under which , by the light of a lantern , carried by one of them , I could see they were all armed with pistol and cutlass . They appeared in great glee , and as they made way for me , I could hear one fellow whisper , `` There goes the little beagle . '' When I entered the gunroom , the first lieutenant , master , and purser , were sitting smoking and enjoying themselves over a glass of cold grog -- the gunner taking the watch on deck the doctor was piping any thing but mellifluously on the double flageolet , while the Spanish priest , and aide-de-camp to the general , were playing at chess , and wrangling in bad French .