midday
On the flush quarter-deck of the frigate , by the raised signal lockers abaft , stood a bronzed old quarter-master , a spy-glass resting on his arm , through which every minute he peered around the harbor , giving an eye , too , occasionally to the half-hour glass , whose sands dribbled steadily into the lower bulb on the locker beside him . What cared he -- no wife or child to cheer him ! No cares save but to see that the ensign did not roll foul of the halyards , that the broad pennant blew out straight , that the half-hour glass did not need turning , and that no boat approached the frigate without his reporting it to the officer of the watch . Naught else save , perhaps , whether the other old quarter-master , Charley Holmes , down below there on the gun-deck , had wiped from his lips the moisture of the midday grog , and would be up in time to take the relief while the pea soup was warm . Nothing else . The lieutenant of the watch briskly paced the solid deck , scrubbed white as milk with lime-juice and molasses , the even seams between the planks glistening like the strands of a girl 's raven tresses as his profane and rapid feet pressed upon them . What thought he in his careless walk , with the gleaming bunch of bullion on his right shoulder , sword by his side , white trowsers , and gilt eagle buttons on his navy-blue coat ?