ation. I was on deck when your ship was first seen, and I
climbed half way up the main shrouds to look out for you, by the
captain's order. When you struck us, I found myself entangled in your
jib-boom rigging, and held on, though much bruised, and half-drowned
by the seas which ducked me every minute, until I succeeded in laying
in upon your forecastle. I had had time to notice your rig, and knew
you to be an American."

"How many were your crew?" asked the mate.

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

Very unluckily, at this moment the ship gave a violent lurch, and the
two fell, and, locked in each others embrace, rolled over to leeward;
the skipper, who was unguarded in his astonishment, followed Langley's
former wake over the table, which, yielding to the impulse, fetched
away, capsized, and with the captain, also rolled away to leeward; the
steward, as in duty bound, ran to his superior's help.

At this juncture, Brewster, hearing the unusual row, poked his head
through the skylight slide, and demanded--"What's the matter? Mutiny!
by G----d!" he shouted, catching sight of the prostrate forms of his
fellow officers, struggling, as he thought, in the respective grasps
of the rescued convict and the steward. Off went the scuttle, and down
came the valiant Brew