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Florence, my eldest sister, made sketches of every place interesting to us, and, finally, we bade adieu to "YR YNYS UNYG." Seated on the deck we saw the lovely island fade from our sight, with mixed feelings certainly but no regret. We had none for it, because we could only think of the happiness opening before us.
They made for "YR YNYS UNYG" as a last chance, knowing that few but themselves were aware that the great Anaconda was dead, and they trusted that the fear of it would prevent any one from landing on the island. Their intentions were all frustrated by finding us all perched upon the rock, and it became a matter of policy to get rid of us somehow.
So then we fell upon conjecturing what we should have done to save ourselves under similar circumstances, which gave rise to so many bloody-minded schemes and horrible intentions of torture, that no respectable snake would have ventured near us. What! has a year gone? Are we celebrating the day of our arrival at YR YNYS UNYG? More, much more, days flee away, weeks speed on, months glide by us.
I had the casting vote in giving a name to the house, but, previously, I thought it as well that we should give a name to our island. "Certainly, certainly," was said on all sides, and also most voices decided it should be a Welsh name; therefore, in a glass of lime punch, after a long discussion, we christened our island "YR YNYS UNYG," the last word, Unyg, being pronounced as inig.
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