water, close to my ear, I fell off again in a
sleep, and began to dream; and, of course,
dreamed of Captain Jan Fagel.

It was a wild and troubled sleep, that I had;
and I am sure, if any one had been standing
near, they would have seen me starting and
turning uneasily, as if in grievous trouble.
First, I thought I was ashore again, in a
sheltered haven, safely delivered from
all this wretched tossing. And I recollect
how inexpressibly delightful the feeling
of repose was, after all these weary
labours. By-and-by, I remarked low-roofed
old-fashioned houses all about, seemingly
of wood, with little galleries running round
the windows. And I saw stately burghers
walking, in dresses centuries old, and ladies
with great round frills about their necks, and
looking very stiff and majestic, sat and talked
to the burghers. They were coming in and out
of the queer houses, and some passed quite close
to me, saluting me, as they did so, very
graciously. One thing seemed very strange to me.
They had all a curious dried look about their
faces, and a sort of stony cast in their eyes,
which I could not make out. Still they came
and went, and I looked on and wondered.
Suddenly I saw the little Dutch houses and the
figures all quivering and getting indistinct,
and gradually the picture faded away until it
grew slowly into the shape of the cabin where
I was now lying. There it was, all before me,
with the canons' stalls and the dull swinging
lamp, and I myself leaning on one hand in
the carved crib, and thinking what a weary
voyage this was! How monotonous the
rushing sound of the water! Then my
dream went on, and it seemed to me that I
took note of a canon’s stall in the centre,
something larger and better-fashioned than
the others—the dean’s, most likely, I
concluded wisely, when he comes to service.
And then on that hint, as it were, I seemed
to travel away over the waters to ancient
aisles, and tracery and soft ravishing music,
and snowy figures seen afar off duskily amid
clouds of incense. In time, too, all that
faded away, and I was back again in the oak
cabin, with the sickly yellow light suffusing
everything, and a dark misty figure sitting
right opposite. He caused me no surprise or
astonishment, and I received him there as a
matter of course, as people do in dreams. I
had seen figures like him somewhere. In
Rembrandt's pictures, was it? Most likely;
for there was the large broad hat, and the
stiff white collar and tassels, and the dark
jerkin; only there was a rusty, mouldering
look about his garments that seemed very
strange to me. He had an ancient sword,
too, on which he leaned his arm; and so sat
there motionless, looking on the ground.
He sat that way I don't know how long: I,
as it seemed to me, studying him intently:
when suddenly the rushing sound ceased, and
there came a faint cry across the waters,
as from afar off. It was the old cry:
“Yo, yo! Jan Fagel, yo!” Then I saw
the figure raise its head suddenly, and the
yellow light fell upon his face—such a
mournful, despairing face!—with the same
stony gaze I had seen in the others. Again
the fearful cry came—nearer, as it seemed;
and I saw the figure rise up slowly and walk
across the cabin to the door. As he passed
me he turned his dead, lack-lustre eyes full
upon me, and looked at me for an instant.
Never shall I forget that moment. It was
as if a horrid weight was pressing on me.
I felt such agony that I awoke with a start,
and found myself sitting up and trembling
all over. But at that instant; whether the
dreamy influence had not wholly passed away,
or whatever was the reason I don't know;
I can swear that, above the rushing sound
of the waves and the whistling of the wind,
I heard that ghostly chorus “Yo, yo! Jan
Fagel, yo!” quite clear and distinct.

[THE BEGUILEMENT IN THE BOATS. THE OLD SAILOR'S STORY]

An old Seaman in the Surf-boat
sang this ballad, as his story, to a curious
sort of tuneful no-tune, which none of the
rest could remember afterwards.

I HAVE seen a fiercer tempest,
Known a louder whirlwind blow.
I was wreck’d off red Algiers,
Six-and-thirty years ago.
Young I was,—and yet old seamen
Were not strong or calm as I;
While life held such treasures for me,
I felt sure I could not die.

Life I struggled for—and saved it;
Life alone—and nothing more;
Bruised, half dead, alone and helpless,
I was cast upon the shore.
I fear’d the pitiless rocks of Ocean;
So the great sea rose—and then
Cast me from her friendly bosom,
On the pitiless hearts of men.

Gaunt and dreary ran the mountains
With black gorges up the land;
Up to where the lonely Desert
Spreads her burning dreary sand:
In the gorges of the mountains,
On the plain beside the sea,
Dwelt my stern and cruel masters,
The black Moors of Barbary.

Ten long years I toil’d among them,
Hopeless—as I used to say;
Now I know Hope burnt within me
Fiercer, stronger, day by day:
Those dim years of toil and sorrow
Like one long dark dream appear;
One long day of weary waiting;
Then each day was like a year.

How I curst the land—my prison;
How I curst the serpent sea,—
And the Demon Fate, that shower’d
All her curses upon me:
I was mad, I think—God pardon
Words so terrible and wild—
This voyage would have been my last one,
For I left a wife and child.