But bowed his comely head
Down as upon a bed.

Brer Fox, he lay low.

And when he came to, he was flat on his back on the beach in the freezing sand, and it was raining out of a low sky, and the tide was way out.

He had been looking like a dead fish. He now looked like a deader fish, one of last year's, cast up on some lonely beach and left there at the mercy of the wind and tides.

He dropped, — more sullenly than wearily,
Lay stupid like a cod, heavy like meat,
And none of us could kick him to his feet;
— Just blinked at my revolver, blearily;
— Didn't appear to know a war was on,
Or see the blasted trench at which he stared.

He felt like an old sponge steeped in paraffin and left in the sun to dry.

His descent was like nightfall.

Does he normally just lie on the floor like that without moving?

He was a duck sitting on a pond, and they raised the level of the pond.

He trembled with his head hung low.

He offered a prayer so deeply devout that he seemed kneeling and praying at the bottom of the sea.

He drowned his sorrows, though like other drowned things they had a habit of floating to the surface when least expected.

He looked just like a groundhog coming up for air when he crawled out of his bedroll in the morning, and he didn't look a hell of a lot better now... His legs was bowed so bad that if you was to straighten them up he would be twice as tall.

He made him a hut, wherein he did put
The carcass of Robinson Crusoe.
O poor Robinson Crusoe!