"Steward," asked the skipper, after we had nearly finished our meal, "how is your patient this morning?" "It's enough to make any body out of patience, sar, to fall ober de cabin table. So tan't werry first rate." "No, so I perceive; but I mean, how's the man who came on board us last night?" "Oh, dat's him--excuse me, sar. Well, sar, he's quite smart dis mornin'." "Fetch him out here, I wish to ask him some questions; give him a shirt and trowsers of mine, and fetch him out." The steward soon made his appearance again, in company with the stranger, who, now dressed clean, looked to be a stout, powerful man, apparently about thirty-five; but his long, tangled, black hair and whiskers so concealed his features, that their expression could not be discerned. He bowed as he entered the cabin, and in good English thanked the captain for his care. "Sit down upon the stool yonder," said the skipper, "and tell us the name and nation of your vessel, and by what miracle you escaped; and afterward you shall have some breakfast." "The name of the vessel, senor, was the San Diego, the _guarda-costa_ upon this station. I was on deck when your ship was first seen, and I climbed half way up the main shrouds to look out for you, by the captain's order. When you struck us, I found myself entangled in your jib-boom rigging, and held on, though much bruised, and half-drowned by the seas which ducked me every minute, until I succeeded in laying in upon your forecastle. I had had time to notice your rig, and knew you to be an American." "How many were your crew?" asked the mate. The sailor started, and for a moment eyed the querist closely. "Oh! senor, only about fifty souls in all." "Good God!" cried the captain, "fifty lives lost--fifty souls sent into eternity with scarcely a moment's warning!" "Don't regret it, captain," said the sailor, bitterly, "many of them were only convicts; the government will be much obliged to you." "Were you a convict?" asked the mate. "I was, senor, as my dress and appearance would have told you, even if I had been disposed to lie. I was drafted from the Matanzas chain-gang to the guarda-costa some six month ago." "The Matanzas chain-gang!" cried the mate, eagerly, "pray, my good fellow, do you know a convict by the name of Pedro Garcia?" The man rose to his feet--"Why, senor, do you?" he inquired. "I do, indeed," answered Mr. Stewart, impatiently; "but tell me--answer my question, sir." The convict brushed back his long hair. "I was once called Don Pedro Garcia," said he; "tell me," he added, as all four of us rose involuntarily at this startling announcement, "with whom do I speak?" "Good God!" cried the mate, making one jump for the convict felon, and throwing his arms around him, "I'm Ben Stewart, alive and well."