about eleven p.m.
Miss Turnbull and Miss Jemima Turnbull contributed in turn their share toward the evening 's entertainment by singing `` Hearts of Oak , '' `` The Bay of Biscay , '' `` Then farewell my trim-built wherry , '' and other songs of a similar character , to a somewhat uncertain accompaniment upon a discordant jangling old piano -- the chief merit of which was that a large proportion of its notes were dumb . Their gallant father meanwhile sipped his grog and puffed away at his `` church-warden '' in a high-backed uncomfortable-looking chair in a corner near the fire , utterly sunk , apparently , in a fit of the most profound abstraction , from which he would occasionally start without the slightest warning , and in a most alarming manner , to bellow out -- generally at the wrong time and to the wrong tune -- something which his guests were expected to regard as a chorus . The chorus ended he would again sink , like a stone , as abruptly back into his inner consciousness as he had emerged from it . So passed the evening , without the slightest pretence at conversation , though both Bill and Bob made several determined efforts to start a topic ; and so , as music , even of the kind performed by the Misses Turnbull , palls after a time , about eleven p.m. old Bill hinted at fatigue from the unusual exertions of the day , proposed retirement , and , with Bob , was shown to the room wherein was located the `` shakedown '' offered them by the hospitable skipper . The `` shakedown '' proved to be in reality two fair - sized beds , which would have been very comfortable had they been much cleaner than they were , and our two friends enjoyed a very fair night 's rest . Bob duly signed articles on the following morning , and then , in company with his shipmates , proceeded on board the _ Betsy Jane _ . Captain Turnbull put in an appearance about an hour afterwards , when the order was given to unmoor ship , and the brig began to drop down the river with the tide .