seven o'clock
It was a brilliant day , with a glorious blue sky overhead and a bracing breeze out of the east . Just beyond Long Island a low stratum of miasmic gray was the only shred of the usual fog to be seen on the whole horizon . In the little roadstead the vessels , black-hulled or white , rode eagerly and gracefully at their moorings , the bright sun bringing out the red , yellow , green , blue , and brown of the dories nested amidships . At seven o'clock the steamer _ Grande Mignon _ blew a great blast of her whistle , cast off her lines , and cleared for St. Andrew 's and St. Stephens . Tooting a long , last salute , she rolled out into Fundy and out of sight around the point . For these men breakfast was long past , but there were the myriad last details that could not be left undone ; and it was fully eight o'clock before the last dory was swung aboard and the last barrel stowed . Then there came the clicking of many windlasses and the strain of many ropes , and to the women and girls who lined the shore these noises were as the beatings of the executioner 's hand upon the cell-door of a condemned man .