The sailor started, and for a moment eyed the querist closely. "Oh! señor, 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, señor, 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, señor, 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."