"El Cubano, or the Cuban; for so my shipmates termed me, and I have no other name."
"Quick, my lads," said Hislop; "lay out on your oars."
We were soon alongside the Eugenie, and had our castaway hoisted on board, when, for a time, an end was put to our queries, but not to our surmises, by his becoming insensible. We had questioned him already perhaps too much, considering the weakness of his condition.
He adhered to his original story in every particular when examined by Weston and Hislop a day or two after; that he belonged to the Spanish merchant brig, Marshal Serrano, the same craft which had worked with us out of the road stead of Santa Cruz; that she had foundered in a storm, being overmasted and overladen, and that he alone had escaped of all the crew; that when his dog became mad, he had slain the animal and cast the carcase into the sea; and that he had been a week floating about in an open boat, without food and without aught to cool his parched tongue, save the heavy tropical dew of heaven, when we found him; and to the truth of all this, he was ready to swear over two crossed knives, in the fashion of his country.
In short, we were obliged to content ourselves with his narrative, which Hislop duly engrossed in the ship's log, while expressing great disbelief as to its authenticity.
In the first place, our mate denied that any such storm as that in which the Cuban alleged his brig perished had ever existed; and he deduced from his favorite theory that we were, and had been, in the direct track of such a storm, and must have felt its influence long ere this.
Hence he thought it more probable that the man had deserted in the night, perhaps in consequence of committing some crime, or for the same reason had been marooned and set adrift.
The crew were divided in opinion, and Tom Lambourne openly expressed his disbelief that the blood which covered the clothes of the Cuban and the thwart of the boat ever came from the veins of a dog; and others asserted that he must have quarrelled with an unfortunate shipmate, and killed him; or had perhaps assassinated him in sleep for the horrible purpose of prolonging his own existence.
Amid these unpleasant surmises as to his character and position, in a few days the Spaniard joined the crew in working the ship, and proves himself to be a steady, industrious, and able seaman; and as three of our hands were on the sick list, his services were the more valuable.
On remarking this to Tom Lambourne,