noon
`` I come on them in bed sometimes , and sometimes from behind when they 're not looking '' -- the words rang in my ears , and could not be muffled by the bed-clothes ; whilst , if I began to doze , the dreadful burthen of his song -- `` And the devil has got his due , my lads -- Sing ho ! but he waits for you ! '' -- With the peculiar catch of its lilt , would suddenly make me start up , wide awake , with every nerve in my body dancing to its grisly measure . At last , towards noon , I dozed off into a restless slumber , but only to see each sight and hear each sound repeated with every grotesque and fantastic variation . Dead Man 's Rock rose out of a sea of blood , peopled with hundreds of ghastly faces , each face the distorted likeness of John or the Captain . Blood was everywhere -- on their shirts , their hands , their faces , in splashes across the rock itself , in vivid streaks across the spume of the sea . The very sun peered through a blood-red fog , and the waves , the mournful gulls , the echoes from the cliff , took up the everlasting chorus , led by one silvery demoniac voice -- `` Sing ho !