They're just plain sweepings of hell--" Here his speech was broken off by the spectacle that greeted him on Number Two hatch.

Sprawled out on the hatch were five or six men, among them Larry, the tatterdemalion who had called him "old stiff" earlier in the afternoon.

That Larry had not obeyed orders was patent, for he was sitting with his back propped against his sea-bag, which ought to have been in the forecastle.

Also, he and the group with him ought to have been for'ard manning the windlass.
The mate stepped upon the hatch and towered over the man.
"Get up," he ordered.
Larry made an effort, groaned, and failed to get up.
"I can't," he said.
"Sir!" "I can't, sir.

I was drunk last night an' slept in Jefferson Market.