Mangawhawz, where there was a well of fresh water and plenty of all kinds of fish, I put up a hut, and remained there several months alone. I had now passed so many years in this sort of way—more I should think than five-and-twenty—and had got so much accustomed to the kind of life, as to have forgotten the use of my own language, and began to be careless about every thing civilized, fancying I could never return to a better kind of existence, or to the intercourse of any other society than that of the tribes, if I was again forced into communication with them. I had ascertained from the natives long before, that the Calcutta had left the bay, and that the first settlement had been abandoned. I often looked towards the sea, thinking I might observe some vessel passing; but no, not one; for at that time there was little voyaging round the coast,—South Australia, and the other settlements, not having been formed, and ships from Sydney keeping well off the land, few of them passing through the Straits at any time. Although so desolately placed, I, for a long time, fancied myself comparatively happy, and that I could gladly have ended my days there. If I had had books they would have been totally useless, having forgotten all the little knowledge I had learned in my early days; therefore I could only seek my food,—eat, drink, and sleep; but how I could have passed so long a time in such a way, is to me now a matter of bewildering astonishment. It is related in the fabulous history of Robinson Crusoe, that he was fortunate enough to save a Bible from the wreck of his ship, and by that means
