The Pacific Coast Steamship Company's steamer Los Angeles, in command of Captain H.D. Leland, arrived yesterday from San Pedro. It is Captain Leland to whom praise is due for the kind manner in which he cared for the suffering survivors of the captain's boat of the lost King James. The Los Angeles sighted the boat on April 5 off Point Hueneme, changed her course, took Captain Drummond and his three companions aboard, tendered them every comfort of the steamer and landed them safely at Redondo. Both Captain Leland and his crew are much impressed with the sight that met their eyes when the King James boat was hauled alongside of the Los Angeles. On the bottom of the little craft and amidships were four human forms cut, bruised and bleeding raising their emaciated arms for aid but unable to utter a sound. One of the men, Edward Flint, was lying with his head against the port gunwale, his tongue swelled in his mouth and protruding between his parched lips, giving him a ghastly look and impressing his rescuer with the idea that he was dead. Another's hand dragged listlessly in the water, from which he struggled to raise it, as if fearing to be dragged bodily into the sea, which broke restlessly over him and darted its white foam on its intended victim like froth from the jaws of a wild beast. This was Sperry. Near him was John Mueller, whose sufferings had nearly rendered him a raving maniac, and in whose eyes great tears of anguish had gathered. He gesticulated frantically and gazed with horror at the swelling waters when lifted on deck, as though fearing that in the hour of his rescue he might by some unforeseen accident be cast back to his death. Captain Drummond had more strength than his companions, and was able to raise himself slowly when kind hands assisted him in the chair which swung him aboard of the Los Angeles. He placed bis hands to his head and tried to express bis gratitude to those about him when he reached the deck, but his words were lost and died away in incoherent mutterings, while he broke down completely and sobbed like a child. It was a sight never to be forgotten by the little group of passengers of the Los Angeles and the vessel's willing crew. Women turned away, unable to stand the sight of so much suffering, while many a drop of brine gathered on the cheeks of hardened men of the sea which did not come there from the spray of the ocean. Everything possible was done for the sufferers, and with good medical attendance, plenty of wholesome food and warm clothing they were soon revived sufficiently to tell their story. Captain Drummond's boat was amply provisioned, but on March 31, at 7 o'clock, the wind blew into a squall and raised a fearful, choppy sea. The boat was headed toward the gale and an endeavor made to keep her bow on to the seas. Just a few seconds before the boat was capsized William Drummond, son of the captain and second mate of the King James, called out to the men to swing her about to meet a heavy cross sea which was rolling upon her from the starboard. The crew obeyed with alacrity, but the wind was so strong that the boat's bow could not be brought about in time. On, on came the great wave, a monster wall of green water. It caught the tiny fabric and for a moment it seemed that she would ride the sea in safety, when with a hiss and a roar the roller combed over at the crest, broke and filled the boat with wafer, capsizing it. Peter Petersen and William Baize, sailors, were washed away some distance from the upturned boat, then thrown back within a few yards of it by another wave. They succeeded in catching hold at the bow and clung on with the rest of the crew for three hours before the boat could be righted. This was done with difficulty and when accomplished it was discovered that all the provisions had fallen out. For twelve hours the boat was full of water most of the time. Seas continually broke over it, and most of the men were so overcome with exposure and exhaustion that they lay down in the bottom of the boat with nothing but their head, arms and shoulders out of the water. In this position one man died and his body was consigned to the waves. The third day part of the water was bailed out. The weather had moderated, and an occasional sunbeam found its way through the clouds and imparted a little warmth. Too late! Hunger, cold and thirst bad begun work long hours before. Two more men died and a third had but a short while to live. The remaining men raved, cursed and beat the water with their hands, imploring heaven to end their existence. Those who remained rational were afraid to sleep lest their insane shipmates might kill them. The fourth day came and still no sail in sight. Another man died in the morning and during the day two more, including Third Mate Drummond, the captain's son. He raised himself on his elbow and tried to call to his father, fell back and expired with a moan. Captain Drummond laid his head upon his dead son's breast and sobbed pitifully. The remaining survivors could scarcely gather strength enough to throw the bodies overboard, but finally succeeded in doing so. Another day of agony, during which Flint and Sperry were in a semi-conscious condition, and the following morning the Los Angeles was sighted. Captain Drummond raised himself with the greatest exertion, signaled frantically to the steamer, then dropped, more dead than alive, in the bottom of the boat. The names of the men who died are: William Drummond, third mate; Oliver Robinson, John Johnson, William Spence, Peter Petersen, John Williams, William Baize, Second Mate David Ireland. John Christy, Stephen Breeden, Frank Kenyon and Henry Bruce. . . . San Francisco Call, Volume 73, Number 131, 10 April 1893