The captain interlarded his speech with many oaths, which, of course, we omit. This, coupled with his rude manners, induced Jarwin to suspect that the vessel was not a pleasure-yacht after all, so he wisely held his peace.
“Where do you belong to?” demanded the captain.
“To Yarmouth, sir.”
“What ship did you sail in, what has come of her, and how came you to be cast adrift?”
“I sailed in the Nancy, sir, from Plymouth, with a miscellaneous cargo for China. She sprung a leak in a gale, and we was ’bliged to make a raft, the boats bein’ all stove in or washed away. It was barely ready when the ship went down starn foremost. Durin’ the gale all my mates were washed off the raft or died of exposure; only me and my dog left.”
“How long ago was that?” asked the captain.
“Couldn’t rightly say, sir, I’ve lost count o’ time, but it’s more than a year gone by anyhow.”
“That’s a lie,” said the captain, with an oath.
“No, ’taint, sir,” replied Jarwin, reddening, “it’s a truth. I was nigh starved on that raft, but was cast on an island where I’ve bin till a few days ago ever since, when I put to sea on the raft that now lays a-starn there.”
For a few seconds the captain made no rejoinder, but a glance at the raft seemed to satisfy him of the truth of what was said. At length he said abruptly—