"That wus part o' the luck, Tom," he acknowledged, his accent that of
a cockney. "Did yer git eyes on thet new feller Manuel Estevan brought
back with him in the boat?"

"The one you and Jose carried aboard?"

"He's the lad. Thar wa'n't nuthin' the matter with the cove, 'cept he
wus dead drunk, an' he hed a bottle o' rum stowed away in every
pocket. But Manuel, he never knew thet. It wus just 'bout dark when he
cum staggerin' down ter the boat. We wus waitin' on the beach fer
Estevan, an' three fellers he hed taken along with him inter town, ter
cum back--the nigger, Jose, an' me--when this yere chap hove
'longside. He never hailed us, ner nuthin'; just clim over inter the
boat, an' lay down. 'Whar ye aimin' ter go, friend?' ses I, but by
then the cove wus dead asleep. I shook him, an' kicked him, but it
wa'n't no use; so we just left him lie thar fer Manuel ter say whut
wus ter be done with him. Only Jose he went thru his pockets, an'
found three bottles o' rum. We took a few drinks, an' hid whut wus
left in the boat locker."

"So that's how yer got it! Who wus the party?"

"Thet's mor'n I'll ever tell yer. I never got no sight o' him, 'cept
in the dark. 'Bout all I know is he wus white, an' likely a sailor,
judgin' frum the feel o' his hands. Maybe he thought that wus his boat
he'd stumbled inter--thar wus quite a few 'long the beach. Enyhow,
when Manuel got back, he just took a look at him in the dark, an' then
told us to haul the lad forrard out o' the way, an' fetch him along.
So we pulled out with the feller cuddled up in the bow. He was drunk
all right."