They rose, however, in great clouds the next day, much to my regret, and as they soared heavenwards I could not help envying them their blessed freedom.
I kept count of the long days by means of pearl shells, for I had not used up the whole cargo in the walls of my hut.

I put shells side by side in a row, one for each day, until the number reached seven, and then I transferred one shell to another place, representing the weeks.

Another pile of shells represented the months; and as for the years, I kept count of those by making notches on my bow.

My peculiar calendar was always checked by the moon.
Now, I am not a superstitious man, so I relate the following extraordinary occurrence merely as it happened, and without advancing any theory of my own to account for it.

I had been many, many months--perhaps more than a year--on that terrible little sand-spit, and on the night I am describing I went to bed as usual, feeling very despondent.