He was a source of genuine aggravation and annoyance.

It was worse than useless to shout at him or apply offensive epithets to him--he only took these things for applause, and strained himself to make more noise.

Occasionally, during the day, I threw potatoes at him through an aperture in the bulkhead, but he only dodged and went on crowing.
The first night, as I lay in my coffin, idly watching the dim lamp swinging to the rolling of the ship, and snuffing the nauseous odors of bilge water, I felt something gallop over me.

I turned out promptly.
However, I turned in again when I found it was only a rat.

Presently something galloped over me once more.