four
o’clock in the morning
or do I really see a black speck floating on the dazzling whiteness of the waters , a speck that can not be a rock ; because it rises and falls with the heaving motion of the billows ? But the moon once again becomes overclouded ; the sea , is darkened , and I return to my uneasy couch close to the larboard shrouds . DECEMBER 6th . -- I must have fallen asleep for a few hours , when at four o'clock in the morning , I was rudely aroused by the roaring of the wind , and could distinguish Curtis 's voice as he shouted in the brief intervals between the heavy gusts . I got up , and holding tightly to the purlin -- for the waves made the masts tremble with their violence -- I tried to look around and below me . The sea was literally raging beneath , and great masses of livid-looking foam were dashing between the masts , which were oscillating terrifically . It was still dark , and I could only faintly distinguish two figures on the stern , whom , by the sound of their voices , that I caught occasionally above the tumult , I made out to be Curtis and the boatswain .