six o'clock
We sleep in a room in the heart of the lighthouse . The stairway leading to it is so steep that we find it necessary to hold on to a knotted rope as we ascend . Hundreds of little birds , no larger than sparrows , dash by the windows , flying into the face of the gale that rages during the night , keeping up all the time a sharp , high note that sounds like wind blowing on telegraph wires . Every morning , at six o'clock , Ah Ming clambers up the perpendicular stairway , with tea and toast . We swallow it hurriedly , wrap a sarong about us , and take a dip in the sea , the while keeping our eyes open for sharks . Often , after a bath , while stretched out in a long chair , we see the black fins of a man-eater cruising just outside the reef . I do not know that I ever hit one , but I have used a good deal of lead firing at them .