The crew of a vessel while at sea is generally divided in two portions, called the starboard and port watches. The former, in a merchant ship, is the captain's watch, but is frequently commanded by the second mate; the other, the larboard or port watch, falls to the chief mate; and the periods of time occupied by each part of the crew alternately, while thus on duty, are also termed watches.
One night, after Fogo—one of the Cape de Vere Islands—had been passed, with its volcano 9,000 feet above the sea, all aflame as it now generally is, after fifty years of silence, Mr. Rudderhead was so long of coming on deck to relieve Captain Talbot, who had the starboard watch from 8 to 12, that he sent Derval below to rouse him up.
Under all circumstances Derval disliked coming in contact with this man, who was a dark and repellent fellow, haunted in his sleep by nightmares and dreams, amid which ever and anon—as sometimes when he was irritated by day—he would mutter horribly of some ship going down with all hands on board.
As Derval entered the cabin, it was lighted only by a swinging lamp in the skylight, where, with the tell-tale compass, it vibrated to and fro with every roll of the ship, and as he made his way towards the berth, where the first mate lay fast asleep with his clothes on, all ready to turn out, he became aware that Rudderhead was in one of his drunken slumbers, for he had a store of spirits in his own baggage, and often imbibed so much as to endanger the ship when in his care.
He lay on his back, his repulsive visage half seen and half sunk in shadow by the partial light of the cabin lamp, and was evidently haunted by one of his peculiar dreams just then, and was muttering about a ship called the North Star.
At first he was actually smiling, and then an expression of intense cunning and gratification stole over his face as he muttered—
"Good, good; I understand ... the Marine Insurance must stump up ... all the boats gone save one, save one," he said, in a husky whisper; "all but mine—mine! ... alongside. Where's the auger? ... here ... now, now, through outer and inner sheathing ... there is one!" and his clenched hands revolved over each other as in fancy he grasped the cross handle of an auger, and in fancy—could Derval doubt it?—was piercing a ship's side. "Three, four, five ... off, off ... now she begins to settle in the water ... they find she is going down ... now to scull for the shore ... four miles ... How they shriek, and cry, and howl ... How pale their faces look in the moonlight ... they threaten, rave, and implore me to return ... no help for them ... down they go ... down, down, down, and now they all come up with their dead faces and white hands out of the green sea. They glare at me on every side ... they grasp the gunwale of my boat—they clutch me ... Merciful Heaven!"
His mutterings terminated in a wail of horror, then came prayers, with maledictions on himself and others, as he writhed on his bed; and in the agony produced by his dream, which seemed to reach a climax of unutterable horror, while a cold and clammy sweat distilled upon his brow, and his muscular limbs shivered like aspen twigs, he awoke and half sprang out of his berth; but the effect of his vision overcame him, and for a moment he sank back on the pillow, panting rather than breathing.
On seeing that Derval was regarding him, and conscious that he must have been muttering though knowing not what he might have said, a sudden expression of alarm, mingled with defiance and malevolence, came into his face, and he staggered up.
"I have been dreaming," said he.