entirely lost count of time, post up my diary, or rather commence my
narrative. So far as I can learn from the jargon of the strange and lost
people among whom Providence has cast me, this is, in their speech, the
last of the month, Thargeelyun, as near as I can imitate the sound in
English. Being in doubt as to the true time, I am resolved to regard to-
morrow, and every seventh day in succession, as the Sabbath. The very
natives, I have observed with great interest, keep one day at fixed
intervals sacred to the Sun-god, whom they call Apollon, perhaps the same
word as Apollyon. On this day they do no manner of work, but _that_ is
hardly an exception to their usual habits. A less industrious people
(slaves and all) I never met, even in the Pacific. As to being more than
common idle on one day out of seven, whether they have been taught so
much of what is _essential_ by some earlier missionary, or whether they
may be the corrupted descendants of the Lost Tribes (whom they do not,
however, at all resemble outwardly, being, I must admit, of prepossessing
appearance), I can only conjecture. This Apollon of theirs, in his
graven images (of which there are many), carries a bow and arrows, _fiery
darts of the wicked_, another point in common between him and Apollyon,
in the Pilgrim's Progress. May I, like Christian, turn aside and quench
his artillery!

To return to my narrative. When I recovered consciousness, after the
sinking of the Blackbird, I found myself alone, clinging to the mast. Now
was I tossed on the crest of the wave, now the waters opened beneath me,
and I sank down in the valleys of the sea. Cold, numbed, and all but
lifeless, I had given up hope of earthly existence, and was nearly
insensible, when I began to revive beneath the rays of the sun.

The sea, though still moved by a swell, was now much smoother, and, but
for a strange vision, I might have believed that I was recovering my