three o'clock
The boats were soon among the seals , and the bang ! bang ! of the guns could be heard from down to leeward . The wind was slowly rising , and by three o'clock as , with a dozen seals in our boat , we were deliberating whether to go on or turn back , the recall flag was run up at the schooner 's mizzen -- a sure sign that with the rising wind the barometer was falling and that our sailing-master was getting anxious for the welfare of the boats . Away we went before the wind with a single reef in our sail . With clenched teeth sat the boat-steerer , grasping the steering oar firmly with both hands , his restless eyes on the alert -- a glance at the schooner ahead , as we rose on a sea , another at the mainsheet , and then one astern where the dark ripple of the wind on the water told him of a coming puff or a large white-cap that threatened to overwhelm us . The waves were holding high carnival , performing the strangest antics , as with wild glee they danced along in fierce pursuit -- now up , now down , here , there , and everywhere , until some great sea of liquid green with its milk-white crest of foam rose from the ocean 's throbbing bosom and drove the others from view .