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He might have slept two hours, when a cold wind blowing over his face, and a roaring, as of oncoming waves, aroused him from his happy state of oblivion. The sky was darkened anew. A flash, like that which had ushered in the first storm, lighted up once more the surrounding region, and he fancied he had another vision of the strange ship, that was now poised for an instant on the crest of an enormous wave close to the Steenfoll cliffs, and then appeared to shoot suddenly into the rocky chasm. He continued to stare after the phantom, as the sea was now illuminated by unceasing flashes of lightning, when suddenly a water-spout rose from the valley, near where he lay, and dashed him so violently against a rock as to deprive him of his senses. When he recovered consciousness, the weather had cleared, the sky was bright, but the lightning still continued.

He lay close at the base of the mountains that shut in this valley, feeling so badly bruised that he had no desire to stir. He heard the quieter beating of the surf, mingled with a solemn melody like that of a psalm. These tones were at first so faint that he thought they must be an illusion; but they occurred again and again, each time clearer and nearer, and at last he thought he could distinguish the melody of a psalm which he had heard on board a Dutch fishing-smack the Summer before. Finally he could also make out voices, and he seemed to be able to distinguish the words of the song. The voices were now in the valley, and he pushed himself, with difficulty, to a stone, upon which he raised his head, and perceived a procession of human figures, evidently the singers he had heard, and who were coming directly towards him. Care and grief were expressed on the faces of these people; and water was dripping from their clothes. Now they were close to him, and their song ceased. At their head were several musicians; then followed some seamen, and after these came a tall and strong man in a costume richly decorated with gold, apparently belonging to a past age. A sword hung at his side, and he carried in his hand a stout Spanish cane with a gold head. At his left side walked a negro boy, who, from time to time, handed his master a long-stemmed pipe, from which the latter would take several grave puffs and then walk on. He stopped bolt upright before Falcon, while other men, less splendidly dressed, ranged themselves on either side of him. They all had pipes in their hands, not, however, as costly as that of their leader. Behind them came still other persons, among them being several women, some of whom had children in their arms or at their apron-strings, and all in costly foreign costumes. A crowd of Dutch sailors brought up the rear of the procession, each one having a quid of tobacco in his mouth, and holding between his teeth a little cutty-pipe, which he smoked in gloomy silence.

The fisherman shuddered as he looked at this singular assembly; but his expectation that something would come of it all kept his courage up. For some time the strange people stood around him thus, and the smoke from their pipes floated over them like a cloud, through which peeped the stars. The men closed in on Falcon in an ever-narrowing circle; the smoking became more and more vehement, and the clouds that arose from pipe and mouth increased in density.

Falcon was a bold, daring man; he had prepared himself beforehand for extraordinary occurrences; but when he saw this innumerable crowd pressing in on him as if to crush him by their numbers, his courage failed him, great drops of sweat stood out on his forehead, and he thought he would perish in a spasm of fright. But one may imagine his horror when, as he chanced to turn his eyes, he saw, sitting motionless and erect, close by his head, the little old man in the yellow linen suit, looking just as he had the first time except that now, as if making fun of the whole assembly, he, too, had a pipe in his mouth. In the mortal fright that now took possession of him, Falcon cried out to the leader of this assembly: