The answer was intelligible enough.

"I am a miner from Argentina. I have been among these Indians five

years. When their attack failed, I thought there was a chance of

escape. For pity's sake, señor, help me instantly, or I shall die from

the cold."

"Have the Indians gone?" asked Christobal.

"Yes. They thought to surprise you. When they come again it will be

by daylight, as they are afraid of the dark. But be quick, I implore

you. My hands are numb."

There was no resisting the man's appeal. A rope ladder was lowered,

and a Chilean sailor went down in obedience to the captain's order,

though he disliked the job, and crossed himself before descending. He

passed a rope under the fugitive's armpits, and, with aid from the

deck, hoisted him aboard. The unfortunate miner gave proof of his

wretched state by promptly collapsing in a faint, with a sigh of "Madre

de Dios!"

His only garments were a species of waistcoat and rough trousers of

untanned guanaco hide. The white skin of his breast and legs, though

darkened by exposure, showed that he had told the truth as to his

descent, notwithstanding the amazing daubs on his face. His hair,

stiffened with black grease, stood out all around his head, and the

same oily composition had been used to blacken his forehead, neck, and

hands.

Some brandy and hot water, combined with the warmth of the saloon, soon

revived him. He ate a quantity of bread with the eagerness of a man

suffering from starvation; but he could not endure the heated

atmosphere, although the temperature was barely sufficient to guard the

injured occupants from the outer cold. When offered an overcoat, he

refused it at first, saying: "I do not need so much clothing. It will make me ill. I only felt

cold in the water because it is mostly melted ice."

He was so grateful to his rescuers, however, that he took the garment

to oblige them when he saw they were incredulous. Christobal brought

him to the chart-house, where most of the others were assembled, and

there questioned him.

It was a most astonishing story which Francisco Suarez, gold-miner and

prospector, laid before an exceedingly attentive audience. As the man

spoke, so did he recover the freer usage of a civilized tongue. At

first his words had a hoarse, guttural sound, but Dr. Christobal's

questions seemed to awaken dormant memories, and every one noticed, not

least those who had small knowledge of Spanish, that he had practically

recovered command of the language at the end of half an hour.

And this was what he told them. He, with three partners and a few

Indians from the Pampas, had set out on a gold-prospecting expedition

on the head waters of the Gallegos River. They were disappointed in

their search until they crossed the Cordillera, and sighted the gloomy

shores of Last Hope Inlet, leading into Smyth Channel. They there

found alluvial sand and gold-bearing quartz, yielding but poor results.

Unfortunately, some natives assured them that the metal they sought

abounded in Hanover Island. They obtained canoes, voyaged down the

long inlet, crossed the straits, and struck inland towards the unknown

mountains beyond the swamps of Ellen Bay.




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