The Indians rescued him at once, and in a few seconds he lay like one
dead on the deck. I saw at a glance that the stranger in Indian clothes
was a white man and an American.
A pretty stiff dram of liquor brought him to slightly. He opened his
eyes, looked up at the rigging, and closing his eyes, he murmured:
"Thank God!--'Frisco--Polaria!"
I had him undressed and put into my berth. He was shaking as with an
ague, and when his clothes were off we plainly saw the reason--he was a
skeleton, starving. I went on deck at once to make some inquiry of the
Indians about our strange visitor, but their boat was just disappearing
in the twilight.
The man gained strength, as we gave him nourishment in small, frequent
doses, and talked in a disjointed way of everything under the sun. I sat
with him all night. Toward morning he seemed to sleep longer at a time,
and in the afternoon of yesterday fell into a deep slumber, from which
he did not waken for nearly twenty hours.
When he did waken, he took nourishment in larger quantities, and then
went off into another long sleep.
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