‘You were saved,’ said Edgar. ‘You are not dead, and you ought to be thankful. It was not the captain’s fault, for he was a brave man, and a good seaman. I knew him well, and he was incapable of a cowardly action.’
‘I knew him once,’ said Captain Manton, ‘but it must have been a very long time ago. He’s dead now, and you say I am alive. Strange how little I remember of Manton, for I must have known him well.’
‘You did,’ said Edgar. ‘Have you forgotten? Can you not remember that you are Captain Manton, and that I saved your daughter Eva?’
‘Eva,’ said Manton, with a deep sigh, ‘I know the name very well—Eva; yes, I once knew little Eva.’
He spoke in such pathetic tones that both Edgar and Wal Jessop were affected.
Suddenly Manton began to talk rapidly.
‘I remember now,’ he said; ‘the captain went down with the ship. I was tossed about on the rocks—washed on and then off again. A huge wave rolled me back into the sea, and I clutched a broken spar. The captain clutched that spar, too, but I pushed him off—ah, ah! I pushed him off because there was only room for one; but he came up again and sat beside me, and I had not strength to push him off again. He did not try to push me off. Out to sea we were taken, and then I recollect nothing until I awoke on board a small craft, and the captain was not there. He must have fallen off the spar, and been drowned. I was starved on the boat, for they had very little to eat. When they landed on some island, they went away and left me. The natives were kind to me and gave me food. I have lived here many years. I do no one any harm, and I want to stay here. You will not take me away?’ he said suddenly, turning to Edgar and Wal, with an imploring look in his eyes.
Edgar evaded the question, and said:
‘I will tell you what happened on the night the Distant Shore was wrecked, and how Wal Jessop here saved me and your daughter Eva.’
‘My daughter Eva!’ said Manton, with a soft smile—‘my daughter Eva!’