four in the afternoon
Fog comes dense on us at Port Glasgow , and incoming steamers , looming large on the narrowed horizon , steer sharply to the south to give us water . Enveloped in the driving wraiths we hear the deep notes of moving vessels , the clatter of bells on ships at anchor , and farther down , loud over all , the siren at the Cloch , bellowing a warning of thick weather beyond the Point . Sheering cautiously out of the fairway , we come to anchor at Tail of the Bank to wait for our ` pier-head jumps . ' At four in the afternoon , a launch comes off with our recruits and our whipper-in explains his apparent delay . `` Hilt nor hair o ' th ' men that left ye hae I seen . I thocht I 'd fin ' them at ` Dirty Dick 's ' when th ' pubs opened ... but no , no ' a sign : an ' a wheen tailor buddies wha cashed their advance notes huntin ' high an ' low ! I seen yin o ' them ower by M'Lean Street wi ' a nicht polis wi 'm t ' see he didna get a heid pit on 'm !