e
smiled as his fingers closed gently upon my wrist to feel my pulse.

"So, senor," he said, "you have recovered your senses at last! There
was a moment when I almost began to fear that you would slip through my
fingers."

"And pray, senor, who may you be, and where am I?" I asked.

"To reply to your questions in their regular order, senor," answered the
Spaniard, "I am Miguel Fonseca, the surgeon of this brig, the name of
which is the _Barracouta_; and you are the prisoner, or the guest, I am
not quite sure which, of her commander, Captain Ricardo."

"Captain Ricardo!" repeated I. "What is his other name?"

"Ah, senor, that I cannot tell you! We know him only as Captain
Ricardo," answered my companion.

"Thank you very much for your information," said I. "But there are one
or two matters of much greater importance to me than your captain's
name. Can you tell me, for instance, what has become of my schooner and
her crew?"

"Assuredly, senor," answered the surgeon. "We beat her off, with great
loss, and, taking advantage of the fact that you had dismasted us with
that last venomous broadside that you poured into us just as we ran
alongside you, your people made good their escape. But I doubt very
much whether they will ever reach a port; indeed it is most probable
that they have all gone to the bottom by this time, for the schooner was
terribly cut up, and appeared to be making a great deal of water when
she hauled off and made sail."

"They will get in all right, senor," said I. "I have very little fear
of that. If they managed to get from under your guns without being
sunk, they will somehow contrive to keep the schooner afloat until they
reach a port. And now perhaps you can tell me how it is that I happen
to be here. Does your captain take care of his wounded prisoners and
nurse them back to health, as a rule?"

"By no means, senor," answered Fonseca with a grin. "His usual
practice, after a fight, is to fling the wounded and dead alike to the
sharks, while the unwounded are afforded the option of joining us or--
walking the plank. Why he has made an exception in your case, senor, is
more than I can tell; it is a mystery which I will not attempt to
fathom. Nor should I care to hazard a guess as to whether his action
bodes you good or evil; all I know is that he happened to be standing by
when, after the retreat of your schooner, our people were clearing the
decks of the dead and wounded, and