“My name is Georgio Rhodojani.  I am a Greek by birth, and have been a sailor all my life.  I was seaman on board the ship which was wrecked last night on your horrible coast.  The ship belonged to Bristol, and was homeward bound, but I know neither her name nor the name of her captain.”

At this strange opening, amazement fell upon all.  For myself, the wild incongruity of this foreign tongue from lips which I had heard utter such fluent and flute-like English swallowed up all other wonder.

After a pause, seeing the marvelling looks of his audience, the witness quietly explained—­

“You wonder at this; but I am Greek, and cannot master your hard names.  I joined the ship at Colombo as the captain was short of hands.  I was wrecked in a Dutch vessel belonging to Dordrecht, off Java, and worked my passage to Ceylon, seeking employment.  It is not, therefore, extraordinary that I am so ignorant, and my mouth cannot pronounce your English language, but show me your list of ships and I will point her out to you.”

There was a rustling of papers, and a list of East Indiamen was handed up to him:  he hastily ran his finger over the pages.  Suddenly his face lighted up.

“Ah! this is she!—­this is the ship that was wrecked last night!”

The coroner took the paper and slowly read out—­“The James and Elizabeth, of Bristol.  Captain—­Antonius Merrydew.”

“Ah, yes, that is she.  The babe here was the captain’s child, born on the voyage.  There were eighteen men on board, an English boy, and the captain’s wife.  The child was born off the African coast.  We sailed from Colombo on the 22nd of July last, with a cargo of coffee and sugar.  Two days ago we were off a big harbour, of which I do not know the name; but early yesterday morning were abreast of what you call, I think, the Lizard.  The wind was S.W., and took us into your terrible bay.  All yesterday we were tacking to get out.  Towards evening it blew a gale.  The captain had been ill ever since we passed the Bay of Biscay.  We hoisted no signal, and knew not what to do, for the captain was sick, and the mate drunk.  The mate began to cry when we struck.  I alone got on to the jib-boom and jumped.  What became of the others I know not, but I jumped on to the rock by which you found me this morning.  The vessel broke up in a very short time.  I heard the men crying bitterly, but the mate’s voice was louder than any.  The captain of course was below, and so, when last I saw them, were his wife and child, but she might have rushed upon deck.  I was almost sucked back twice, but managed to scramble up.  It was not until daylight that I knew I was on the mainland, and climbed down to the sands.”