Meantime, Captain Dodd had the patient taken to his own cabin, and he
and his servant administered weak brandy and water with great caution
and skill.

There was no perceptible result. But at all events there was life and
vital instinct left, or he could not have swallowed.

Thus they hovered about him for some hours, and then the bath was ready.

The captain took charge of the patient's clothes: the surgeon and a
sailor bathed him in lukewarm beef-tea, and then covered him very warm
with blankets next the skin. Guess how near a thing it seemed to them,
when I tell you they dared not rub him.

Just before sunset his pulse became perceptible. The surgeon
administered half a spoonful of egg-flip. The patient swallowed it.

By and by he sighed.

"He must not be left, day or night," said the captain. "I don't know who
or what he is, but he is a man; and I could not bear him to die now."

That night Captain Dodd overhauled the patient's clothes, and looked for
marks on his linen. There were none.

"Poor devil" said Captain Dodd. "He is a bachelor."

Captain Dodd found his pocket-book, with bank-notes, two hundred pounds.
He took the numbers, made a memorandum of them, and locked the notes up.