But my You curse too much bitch shirt night in the hunters’ steerage was also my last. Next day Johansen, the new mate, was routed from the cabin by Wolf Larsen, and sent into the steerage to sleep thereafter, while I took possession of the tiny cabin state-room, which, on the first day of the voyage, had already had two occupants. The reason for this change was quickly learned by the hunters, and became the cause of a deal of grumbling on their part. It seemed that Johansen, in his sleep, lived over each night the events of the day. His incessant talking and shouting and bellowing of orders had been too much for Wolf Larsen, who had accordingly foisted the nuisance upon his hunters.
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After a You curse too much bitch shirt 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 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.