As he seemed to rest peacefully I did not mean to disturb him, but the slight noise I made in raising myself on my elbow caused him to start and look round.
"Well, Ralph, awake at last, my boy; you have slept long and soundly," he said, turning towards me.
On beholding his countenance I sprang up in anxiety.

He was deadly pale, and his hair, which hung in dishevelled locks over his face, was clotted with blood.

Blood also stained his hollow cheeks and covered the front of his shirt, which, with the greater part of dress, was torn and soiled with mud.
"Oh, Bill!" said I, with deep anxiety, "what is the matter with you?
You are ill.

You must have been wounded." "Even so, lad," said Bill in a deep soft voice, while he extended his huge frame on the couch from which I had just risen.

"I've got an ugly wound, I fear, and I've been waiting for you to waken, to ask you to get me a drop o' brandy and a mouthful o' bread from the cabin lockers.