It was nearly morning before Simon and I could compose ourselves sufficiently to turn in, and when, after a short time of slumber broken by most disagreeable dreams, I leaped out of the swinging bed, it was only to find the men in such a mental condition as it is difficult to describe.
The crew of the America, who had deemed themselves a fit match for twice their number of Britishers, were vanquished by a defective spar, and a something the character of which I could not then decide upon.
Nor was it possible for Simon and I to laugh at their fears.
We knew full well that there had been a form in the hatchway which showed itself even amid the gloom, and no one could give it a name.
Perhaps, if Mr. Fernald had not made an immediate search, we might have persuaded ourselves that some one of the crew had been playing a trick; but as it was, there had not been sufficient time elapse from the vanishing of the apparition until the first officer went below with the lantern for any mischief-maker to have concealed himself.
It is not my intention to make any attempt at setting down here all that was said on the subject during the day. There is not time enough in my life to write all the foolishness I heard before nightfall.
Both my comrade and myself had given little heed to the carrying away of the topmast on Friday; but the whiteness in the hatchway was something which disturbed us greatly, and I literally trembled when we were forced to go into the dark hold to feed the prisoners.
The day passed without mishap or important event, however.
From the officers we heard nothing whatsoever concerning the matter, and the men talked about it altogether too much to please me.