"Hallo, my friends," said Captain Phillips, as he held his lantern up, and took a rapid survey of them all, "so you are awake, I see. What the deuce has been doing here, that we are all turned up in the night, or rather the middle of the morning watch, in this way, eh?"
"I don't understand what it is all about, sir," replied Tom Bartelot; "but a few minutes ago, in my sleep, I heard a terrible cry."
"Who was it that bit the gentleman?" asked Phillips, angrily.
"I did, your honour," replied Noah Gawthrop, looking over the edge of his hammock, and twitching his grizzled forelock.
"You—and you acknowledge it!" said the captain, turning towards him with angry surprise.
"Yes; and I hope as I have left the marks o' my blessed grinders in him, that's all."
"The fellow is mad," said Mr. Basset in an undertone.
"Do you think so?"
"Who else would talk thus?"
"Likely enough, sir," whispered Joe, the steward; "for I heard that old one this morning saying that he was tormented by a marine drummer, and shouting for all hands to reef topsails. He seemed to think himself on board a man-o'-war."