After a sleepless night, I arose weak and in agony, to hobble
through my second day on the Ghost. Thomas Mugridge routed me out
at half-past five, much in the fashion that Bill Sykes must have
routed out his dog; but Mr. Mugridge's brutality to me was paid
back in kind and with interest. The unnecessary noise he made (I
had lain wide-eyed the whole night) must have awakened one of the
hunters; for a heavy shoe whizzed through the semi-darkness, and
Mr. Mugridge, with a sharp howl of pain, humbly begged everybody's
pardon. Later on, in the galley, I noticed that his ear was
bruised and swollen. It never went entirely back to its normal
shape, and was called a "cauliflower ear" by the sailors.

The day was filled with miserable variety. I had taken my dried
clothes down from the galley the night before, and the first thing
I did was to exchange the cook's garments for them. I looked for
my purse. In addition to some small change (and I have a good
memory for such things), it had contained one hundred and eighty-
five dollars in gold and paper. The purse I found, but its
contents, with the exception of the small silver, had been
abstracted. I spoke to the cook about it, when I went on deck to
take up my duties in the galley, and though I had looked forward to
a surly answer, I had not expected the belligerent harangue that I
received.

"Look 'ere, 'Ump," he began, a malicious light in his eyes and a
snarl in his throat; "d'ye want yer nose punched? If you think I'm
a thief, just keep it to yerself, or you'll find 'ow bloody well
mistyken you are. Strike me blind if this ayn't gratitude for yer!
'Ere you come, a pore mis'rable specimen of 'uman scum, an' I tykes
yer into my galley an' treats yer 'ansom, an' this is wot I get for