Having ascertained by spiling that the contents of the casks were _real Jamaica_, he went down into the cabin to announce what he knew would be most grateful intelligence.
It was some time before Newton could rouse his stupefied senior.
"Spars--wrecked!" "What spars?
D--n the wreck!" growled old Thompson (for such was his name), as he turned his back in no very ceremonious manner, and recommenced his snore.
"There's a trunk besides, sir--a large trunk; but I did not open it, as you were not on deck.

A large trunk, and rather heavy." "Trunk!--well, what then?
Trunk!--oh, d--n the trunk!--let me go to sleep," muttered the master.
"There's two large casks, too, sir; I've spiled them, and they prove to be puncheons of rum," bawled Newton, who pertinaciously continued.
"Eh; what ?--casks! what casks ?" "Two puncheons of rum." "Rum!--did you say rum ?" cried old Thompson, lifting his head off the pillow, and staring stupidly at Newton; "where ?" "On deck.

Two casks: we picked them up as we were standing off the land." "Picked them up ?--are they on board ?" inquired the master, sitting upright in his bed and rubbing his eyes.
"Yes, they're on board.

Won't you come on deck ?" "To be sure I will.

Two puncheons of rum, you said ?"--and old Thompson gained his feet, and reeled to the companion ladder, holding on by _all fours_, as he climbed up without his shoes.
When the master of the sloop had satisfied himself as to the contents of the casks, which he did by taking about half a tumbler of each, Newton proposed that the trunk should be opened.