I am myself stranded on a cheerless island where, against my
will, I am kept captive--for how long a time I cannot guess.
I was brought here at night, only forty-eight hours ago, and
landed from a vessel which almost immediately departed whence
it had come, into the darkness. My captors left me to go with
the vessel, the chief of them threatening to return every week
to torment me unless I obeyed his slightest command. I stand in
great fear of this man, who is tall and bearded, for he brings
with him instruments of torture and bottles containing, without
doubt, poison.

Can you imagine my joy when, tottering down the beach this
morning, supporting my frame upon two sticks, I beheld your bottle
cast up on the sands? Now, thought I, I can unburden myself to
these three unfortunate men, obviously in even greater distress
than my own, and we can, perhaps, ease each other's monotonous
maroonity. Scholars, too, I perceive you to be,--witness the
Latin following your signatures. Ah well, _Grata superveniet quae
non sperabitur hora_, as the poet so truly says, and I cannot
express to you how eager, how happy I am, in the thought of
communicating with some one other than the natives of this
desolate isle. These inhabitants, though friendly on the whole,
are uncouth and barbaric. They spend their entire time fishing
from boats which they build themselves, or squatting beside their
huts mending their fishing implements.

The good soul with whom I am lodging is calling me to my scanty
repast. In the rude language of the place she tells me that there
is "Krabss al ad an dunny." How can I live long, I ask, on such