eight o'clock
The `` very tall friend '' gives over to me the watch that I must keep till four o'clock ; and the sailors on duty , but half awake , make a chain in the darkness , to haul on board all my fragile luggage . September 18th . I intended to sleep late this morning , in order to make up for my lost sleep of last night . But at eight o'clock three persons of the most extraordinary appearance , led by M. Kangourou , present themselves with profound bows at the door of my cabin . They are arrayed in long robes bedizened with dark patterns ; they have the flowing locks , high foreheads , and pallid countenances of persons too exclusively devoted to the fine arts ; and , perched on the top of their coiffures , they wear sailor hats of English shape tipped jauntily on one side . Tucked under their arms , they carry portfolios filled with sketches ; in their hands are boxes of water-colors , pencils , and , bound together like fasces , a bundle of fine stylets with the sharp and glittering points . At the first glance , even in the bewilderment of waking up , I gather from their appearance what their errand is , and guessing with what visitors I have to deal , I say : `` Come in , Messieurs the tattooers ! ''