The sailor begins to feel cold on the stone floor, on which the wind
spreads itself like water; he tosses about, folds his legs under
himself, draws his head into his shoulders, gropes for his imaginary
clothes, but is unable to wake up--his intoxication produced by a two
days' spree is heavy and severe. But now the wind whines more
powerfully than before; something heaves a deep groan. Perhaps a
part of a destroyed wall has sunk into the sea. The quivering yellow
spots commence to toss about upon the crooked wall more desperately,
and Khorre awakes.

He sits up on his mattress, looks around, but is unable to
understand anything.

The wind is hissing like a robber summoning other robbers, and filling
the night with disquieting phantoms. It seems as if the sea were full
of sinking vessels, of people who are drowning and desperately struggling
with death. Voices are heard. Somewhere near by people are shouting,
scolding each other, laughing and singing, like madmen, or talking
sensibly and rapidly--it seems that soon one will see a strange human
face distorted by horror or laughter, or fingers bent convulsively. But
there is a strong smell of the sea, and that, together with the cold,
brings Khorre to his senses.

"Noni!" he calls hoarsely, but Haggart does not hear him. After a
moment's thought, he calls once more:

"Captain. Noni! Get up."

But Haggart does not answer and the sailor mutters: