"Water, give me water," pleaded the rescued man. "My throat's parched, parched."
"You shall have some water as soon as we can get it," Captain Westfield assured him. There was something vaguely familiar to the old sailor in the man's queerly accented speech. It was more puzzling as he had no recollection of ever having seen the man before.
Considering his low condition the sailor recovered his full senses and a measure of his strength with astonishing rapidity. It was plain that he had not been deprived of either food or water for any great length of time. He was soon able to sit up and take notice of his surroundings. A curious look stole over his bronzed face as his gaze took in the two castaways.
"How did I get hyah?" he demanded.
Captain Westfield related the story of the rescue briefly.
The sailor's rough features worked with emotion. "I remember part," he cried. "Our vessel struck on Needle Rocks in the darkness an' went down like a stone. I had just time to throw myself on the hatch an' pass a rope around my waist. The crew," he shuddered—"must have all been dashed to pieces against the rocks. God knows how I escaped. An' yo' risked yo'r lives to save mine, yo' an' that boy. Mon, how could yo' forgive me enough to do such a deed?"
"Forgive you?" echoed the captain, puzzled. "I had nothin' to forgive."
"I am Rufus Sanders, the Key West sponger who refused yo'r appeals for help an' left yo' to yo'r fate," cried the man, excitedly.
"I did not know that, but it would have made no difference," said the captain, gently. "You were a helpless, shipwrecked man." He checked the flood of thanks on the sponger captain's lips. "You have nothing to thank us for," he declared. "We have only saved you from one fate to suffer a worse with us. We are hopelessly imprisoned on this island, an' we have no water. All we can do is endure, pray an' hope."