ten o'clock
The Arab at the tiller holds up his hand , and says one word : -- '' _ Simba _ -LRB- lion -RRB- ! '' We all sit up and listen . Then it comes again , a slow , majestic sound , that thrills us to the marrow . `` To-morrow by ten o'clock , '' I say , `` we ought , if the Captain is not out in his reckoning , which I think very probable , to make this mysterious rock with a man 's head , and begin our shooting . '' `` And begin our search for the ruined city and the Fire of Life , '' corrected Leo , taking his pipe from his mouth , and laughing a little . `` Nonsense ! '' I answered .