_Hope's Wharf_ was connected with _Port Erskine_, a pool about twenty
yards long by three or four wide, and communicated with the side of
the lighthouse by _Watt's Reach_, a distance of about thirty yards.

About eight o'clock that morning the bell rang for breakfast. Such of
the men as were not already up began to get out of their berths and
hammocks.

To Ruby the scene that followed was very amusing. Hitherto all had
been calm and sunshine. The work, although severe while they were
engaged, had been of short duration, and the greater part of each day
had been afterwards spent in light work, or in amusement. The summons
to meals had always been a joyful one, and the appetites of the men
were keenly set.

Now, all this was changed. The ruddy faces of the men were become
green, blue, yellow, and purple, according to temperament, but few
were flesh-coloured or red. When the bell rang there was a universal
groan below, and half a dozen ghostlike individuals raised themselves
on their elbows and looked up with expressions of the deepest woe at
the dim skylight. Most of them speedily fell back again, however,
partly owing to a heavy lurch of the vessel, and partly owing to
indescribable sensations within.

"Blowin'!" groaned one, as if that single word comprehended the
essence of all the miseries that seafaring man is heir to.

"O dear!" sighed another, "why did I ever come here?"