midnight
`` There she lays , in the Channel off the Boulder Bank , '' whispered the old man , pointing to the privateer , dull-black against the glitter . `` And it 's my belieft there 's not a sober man aboard of her . All stow 'd away dead drunk under hatches -- that 's my belieft , sir . They kep it up from dark till midnight -- dancin , drummin , fightin , and all manner . More like a cage full ? wild beasties from Bedlam than a Christian ship . And for the last hour she might ha been a hulk full o corpuses . ''