Thank God, I did not realise at that moment that I was doomed to spend a soul-killing _two and a half years_ on that desolate, microscopical strip of sand! Had I done so I must have gone raving mad.

It was an appalling, dreary-looking spot, without one single tree or bush growing upon it to relieve the terrible monotony.

I tell you, words can never describe the horror of the agonising months as they crawled by.

"My island" was nothing but a little sand-spit, with here and there a few tufts of grass struggling through its parched surface.

As a matter of fact the sand was only four or five inches deep in most places, and underneath was solid coral rock.
Think of it, ye who have envied the fate of the castaway on a gorgeous and fertile tropical island perhaps miles in extent! It was _barely a hundred yards in length_, _ten yards wide_, _and only eight feet above sea-level at high water_! There was no sign of animal life upon it, but birds were plentiful enough--particularly pelicans.