two o’clock in the morning
Here I found our trio of the railway-car , snugly ensconced under an extemporized awning , artfully constructed with railway-rugs and greatcoats , supported partly against the luggage , and partly upon several oars , purloined from the boats , and turned into tent-poles for the nonce -- which made the skipper swear wofully when he found it out some time after . The three were even more cheery and boisterous on board than they had been on shore . From what I could make out in the dark , they were discussing the contents of divers bottles of liquor ; I counted four dead men dropped quietly overboard by them in the course of the hour and a half we had to wait for the arrival of the mail-train , which was late , as usual on this line . At last we were off , about half-past two o'clock in the morning . It was a beautiful , clear , moonlit night , so clear , indeed , that we could see the Dover lights almost from Calais harbor . But we had considerably more than a capful of wind , and there was a turgent ground-swell on , which made our boat -- double-engined , and as trim and tidy a craft as ever sped across the span from shore to shore -- behave rather lively , with sportive indulgence in a brisk game of pitch-and-toss that proved anything but comfortable to most of the passengers . When we were steaming out of Calais harbor , our three friends , emerging from beneath their tent , struck up in chorus Campbell 's noble song , `` Ye Mariners of England , '' finishing up with a stave from `` Rule , Britannia ! ''