A white face suddenly appeared upon the shore in front of Paul--the face of a white youth whom he knew.
The figure was in rags, the clothing torn and tattered by thorns and bushes, and the hair hung in wild locks about the white face.

Face and figure alike were the picture of desolation and despair.
The white youth staggered to the very edge of the water, and, lifting up a tremulous, weeping voice, cried out to those on the boat: "Save me! Save me! In God's name, save me! Don't leave me here to starve in these dark woods!" It was a sight to move all on the boat who saw and heard--this spectacle of the worn wanderer, alone in that vast wilderness, appealing to unexpected rescue.

Fear, agony, and despair alike were expressed in the tones of Braxton Wyatt's voice, which carried far over the yellow stream and was heard distinctly by the emigrants.

To hear was also to heed, and the great flatboat, coming about awkwardly and sluggishly, turned her square prow toward the southern shore, where the refugee stood.
Braxton Wyatt never ceased to cry out for help.

His voice now ran the gamut of entreaty, hope, despair, and then hope again.