The comparative quiet of the night before had very much recovered our hero, and when the hammocks were piped up, he was accosted by Mr Jolliffe, the master's mate, who asked, "whether he intended to rouse and bit, or whether he intended to sail to Gibraltar between his blankets." Jack, who felt himself quite another person, turned out of his hammock and dressed himself.

A marine had, by the captain's orders, attended Jack during his illness, and this man came to his assistance, opened his chest, and brought him all he required, or Jack would have been in a sad dilemma.
Jack then inquired where he was to go, for he had not been in the midshipmen's berth, although five days on board.

The marine pointed it out to him, and Jack, who felt excessively hungry, crawled over and between chests, until he found himself fairly in a hole infinitely inferior to the dog-kennels which received his father's pointers.
"I'd not only give up the ocean," thought Jack, "and my share of it, but also my share of the Harpy, unto anyone who fancies it.

Equality enough here! for everyone appears equally miserably off." As he thus gave vent to his thoughts, he perceived that there was another person in the berth--Mr Jolliffe, the master's mate, who had fixed his eye upon Jack, and to whom Jack returned the compliment.

The first thing that Jack observed was, that Mr Jolliffe was very deeply pockmarked, and that he had but one eye, and that was a piercer; it appeared like a little ball of fire, and as if it reflected more light from the solitary candle than the candle gave.
"I don't like your looks," thought Jack--"we shall never be friends." But here Jack fell into the common error of judging by appearances, as will be proved hereafter.
"I'm glad to see you up again, youngster," said Jolliffe; "you've been on your beam ends longer than usual, but those who are strongest suffer most--you made your mind up but late to come to sea.