What a pitiable, forlorn, disconsolate being I was! My very aspect and garb told the tale of my despair. My hair was matted and wild⁠—my limbs soiled with salt ooze; while at sea, I had thrown off those of my garments that encumbered me, and the rain drenched the thin summer-clothing I had retained⁠—my feet were bare, and the stunted reeds and broken shells made them bleed⁠—the while, I hurried to and fro, now looking earnestly on some distant rock which, islanded in the sands, bore for a moment a deceptive appearance⁠—now with flashing eyes reproaching the murderous ocean for its unutterable cruelty.