"He gave you a hard crack, my lad; but he didn't kill you."
"He might as well," I replied, tightly closing my eyes in my efforts to steady the scene around me.
"Not a bit of it, Phil, lad. One live man's worth half a dozen dead ones any time. You'll feel better by and by."
"I feel better now," I added, as things began to be a little more substantial. "The mate means to kill me, I believe, before he has done with me."
"He didn't make anything by that crack he gave you. We're rough in for'ad here, Phil, but we know what's right. The men all like you, Phil. They say you are smart, and that the mate is down on you. They are all on your side, every one of 'em, even to the second mate, though he daresn't say so."
"I am very much obliged to them for their good will; but I'm afraid they can't help me much while Mr. Waterford is down upon me."
"Perhaps they can, my lad. At any rate, that crack the mate gave you made you more than a dozen friends. We sailors always go for the bottom dog."
"I feel better now; I believe I will get up," I added, thinking of my money, and wondering whether Waterford had examined my trunk again while I lay senseless in my bunk.
"No, lad; don't get up yet. Keep quiet. I've wasted half a pint of good spirits on your head."
"Where did you get it?"