fo'c's'le who did sleep properly, and turned out heavily and lumpishly in
the morning for breakfast.

The skipper had him on deck after the meal, but could make nothing of
him. To all his questions he replied in the strange tongue of the night
before, and, though our fellows had been to many ports, and knew a word
or two of several languages, none of them recognized it. The skipper
gave it up at last, and, left to himself, he stared about him for some
time, regardless of our interest in his movements, and then, leaning
heavily against the side of the ship, stayed there so long that we
thought he must have fallen asleep.

"He's half-dead now!" whispered Roberts.

"Hush!" said Bill, "mebbe he's been in the water a week or two, and can't
quite make it out. See how he's looking at it now."

He stayed on deck all day in the sun, but, as night came on, returned to
the warmth of the fo'c's'le. The food we gave him remained untouched,
and he took little or no notice of us, though I fancied that he saw the
fear we had of him. He slept again in the dead man's bunk, and when
morning came still lay there.

Until dinner-time, nobody interfered with him, and then Roberts, pushed
forward by the others, approached him with some food. He motioned, it
away with a dirty, bloated hand, and, making signs for water, drank it
eagerly.

For two days he stayed there quietly, the black eyes always open, the
stubby fingers always on the move. On the third morning Bill, who had