The good spirits, if such existed, would not dare the storm, but had retreated to cover.

All the illusion was gone, he was just a lonely boy on a lonely island, listening to the wrath of a hurricane, a ship might or might not come, most probably never, or if it did it would be another pirate.
The storm did not seem to abate as the evening went on, perhaps it was the climax of the season.

Tired of hearing its noise he lay down on his couch and at last fell asleep.

He was awakened from slumber by an impact upon the drum of his ear like a light blow, but, sitting up, he realized that it was a sound.

The storm had not abated.