about seven o’clock in
the evening
This said troubling of the waters was neither more nor less than a waterspout , which again is neither more nor less than a whirlwind at sea , which gradually whisks the water round and round , and up and up , as you see straws so raised , until it reaches a certain height , when it invariably breaks . Before this I had thought that a waterspout was created by some next to supernatural exertion of the power of the Deity , in order to suck up water into the clouds , that they , like the wine-skins in Spain , may be filled with rain . The morning after the weather was clear and beautiful , although the wind blew half-a-gale . Nothing particular happened until about seven o'clock in the evening . I had been invited to dine with the gunroom officers this day , and every thing was going on smooth and comfortable , when Mr Splinter spoke . `` I say , master , do n't you smell gunpowder ? '' `` Yes I do , '' said the little master , `` or something deuced like it . ''