meted to him the hideous terrors of an existence infinitely worse
than the death that persistently refused to claim him.

Paulvitch had taken to the jungle when he had seen the beasts of
Tarzan and their savage lord swarm the deck of the Kincaid, and in
his terror lest Tarzan pursue and capture him he had stumbled on
deep into the jungle, only to fall at last into the hands of one
of the savage cannibal tribes that had felt the weight of Rokoff's
evil temper and cruel brutality. Some strange whim of the chief
of this tribe saved Paulvitch from death only to plunge him into a
life of misery and torture. For ten years he had been the butt of
the village, beaten and stoned by the women and children, cut and
slashed and disfigured by the warriors; a victim of often recurring
fevers of the most malignant variety. Yet he did not die. Smallpox
laid its hideous clutches upon him; leaving him unspeakably branded
with its repulsive marks. Between it and the attentions of the
tribe the countenance of Alexis Paulvitch was so altered that his
own mother could not have recognized in the pitiful mask he called
his face a single familiar feature. A few scraggly, yellow-white
locks had supplanted the thick, dark hair that had covered his
head. His limbs were bent and twisted, he walked with a shuffling,
unsteady gait, his body doubled forward. His teeth were gone--knocked
out by his savage masters. Even his mentality was but a sorry
mockery of what it once had been.

They took him aboard the Marjorie W., and there they fed and nursed
him. He gained a little in strength; but his appearance never
altered for the better--a human derelict, battered and wrecked,
they had found him; a human derelict, battered and wrecked, he
would remain until death claimed him. Though still in his thirties,