nine o'clock
`` All aboard , sir ! '' said the mate . `` Then stand by to let her go . '' It was nine o'clock on a Wednesday morning . The good ship _ Spartan _ was lying off Boston Quay with her cargo under hatches , her passengers shipped , and everything prepared for a start . The warning whistle had been sounded twice ; the final bell had been rung . Her bowsprit was turned towards England , and the hiss of escaping steam showed that all was ready for her run of three thousand miles .