Observing the ship, now helplessly fallen into a current, with enchanted sails, drifting with increased rapidity seaward; and noting that, from a lately intercepted projection of the land, the sealer was hidden, the stout mariner began to quake at thoughts which he barely durst confess to himself.  Above all, he began to feel a ghostly dread of Don Benito.  And yet, when he roused himself, dilated his chest, felt himself strong on his legs, and coolly considered it—­what did all these phantoms amount to?

Had the Spaniard any sinister scheme, it must have reference not so much to him (Captain Delano) as to his ship (the Bachelor’s Delight).  Hence the present drifting away of the one ship from the other, instead of favoring any such possible scheme, was, for the time, at least, opposed to it.  Clearly any suspicion, combining such contradictions, must need be delusive.  Beside, was it not absurd to think of a vessel in distress—­a vessel by sickness almost dismanned of her crew—­a vessel whose inmates were parched for water—­was it not a thousand times absurd that such a craft should, at present, be of a piratical character; or her commander, either for himself or those under him, cherish any desire but for speedy relief and refreshment?  But then, might not general distress, and thirst in particular, be affected?  And might not that same undiminished Spanish crew, alleged to have perished off to a remnant, be at that very moment lurking in the hold?  On heart-broken pretense of entreating a cup of cold water, fiends in human form had got into lonely dwellings, nor retired until a dark deed had been done.  And among the Malay pirates, it was no unusual thing to lure ships after them into their treacherous harbors, or entice boarders from a declared enemy at sea, by the spectacle of thinly manned or vacant decks, beneath which prowled a hundred spears with yellow arms ready to upthrust them through the mats.  Not that Captain Delano had entirely credited such things.  He had heard of them—­and now, as stories, they recurred.  The present destination of the ship was the anchorage.  There she would be near his own vessel.  Upon gaining that vicinity, might not the San Dominick, like a slumbering volcano, suddenly let loose energies now hid?

He recalled the Spaniard’s manner while telling his story.  There was a gloomy hesitancy and subterfuge about it.  It was just the manner of one making up his tale for evil purposes, as he goes.  But if that story was not true, what was the truth?  That the ship had unlawfully come into the Spaniard’s possession?  But in many of its details, especially in reference to the more calamitous parts, such as the fatalities among the seamen, the consequent prolonged beating about, the past sufferings from obstinate calms, and still continued suffering from thirst; in all these points, as well as others, Don Benito’s story had corroborated not only the wailing ejaculations of the indiscriminate multitude, white and black,