nine o’clock at night
-- in this , at the time I write of , most primitive community ; and the idea of bidding farewell to it , most likely for ever , sank deep . However , I was His Majesty 's officer , and my services and obedience were his , although my feelings were my own ; and , accordingly , stifling the latter , I prepared for my departure . On the very day whereon I was recalled , a sister of mine host 's -- a most reverend mechanic , who had been fourteen years married without chick or child -- was brought to bed , to the unutterable surprise of her spouse , and of all the little world in Panama , of a male infant . It had rained the whole day , notwithstanding which , and its being the only authenticated production ever published by the venerable young lady , the piccaniny was carried to the Franciscan church , a distance of half a mile , at nine o'clock at night , through a perfect storm , to be christened , and the evil star of poor Mangrove rose high in the ascendant on the occasion . After the ceremony , I was returning home chilled with standing uncovered for an hour in a cold damp church , and walking very fast , in order to bring myself into heat , when , on turning a corner , I heard a sound of flutes and fiddles in the street , and from the number of lanterns and torches that accompanied it , I conjectured rightly that it was a Function of no small importance -- no less , in fact , than a procession in honour of the Virgin . Poor Mangrove at this time was pattering close to my heels , and I could hear him chuckling and laughing to himself . `` What dis can be -- I say , Sneezer '' -- to his never-failing companion `` what you tink , John Canoe -- after Spanish fashion , it mosh be , eh ? ''