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 it.

Nex' time you can go to 'ell, say I, an' I've a good mind to give you what-for anyw'y." So saying, he put up his fists and started for me.

To my shame be it, I cowered away from the blow and ran out the galley door.