The dark church again, my battle-orders, Friday's reunion

           ...He had no sooner given his father these raisins but I saw him come out of the boat and run away as if he had been bewitched, he ran at such a rate.He was the swiftest fellow on his feet ever I saw, even with his odd gait. He was out of sight in an instant, and tho’ I called and hallooed out after him, away he went.
           This action put an end to our pursuit of the canoe with the other savages, who were now got almost out of sight.  It was happy for us we did not, for it blew so hard within two hours after, and before they could be got a quarter of their way, and continued blowing so hard all night, I could not suppose their boat could live, or that they ever reached their own coast.

            Yet at the time I did not know this.  As I bethought myself my concerns, Friday's father raised a weak hand and pointed at the great totem of the dark church, the cuttel fish figure of my dreams.  He cry’d out many words, which had an awful memory to me, and I did recall across the years those words my parrot Poll had cried out before his death.  Altho' now one of these words was not foreign to me, for I had discust it with my man Friday many times, and that word was Kathooloo.  This did cause me great discomfort, and the beast howl'd within my skin, and I was pleased when the old man let his hand drop and became silent again.

            In a quarter of an hour I saw Friday come back again, tho’ not so fast as he went.  As he came nearer, I found his pace slacker, because he had something in his hand.  When he came up to me, I found he had been to the summer house, which was nearer the dark church than my castle, for an earthen jug to bring his father some fresh water, and he had two more cakes or loaves of bread.  The bread he gave me, but the water he carried to his father.  The water revived his father more than all the rum or spirits I had given him, for he was just fainting with thirst.

            When his father had drank, I called to him to know if there was any water left.  He said "Yes," and I bade him give it to the poor Spaniard, who was in as much want of it as his father.  I sent one of the cakes to the Spaniard too, who was indeed very weak and was reposing himself upon a not as red place under the shade of a tree, which had one of the old symbols carv'd in its bark.  When I saw he sat up and drank and took the bread and began to eat, I went to him and gave him a handful of raisins.  He look'd up in my face with all the gratitude and thankfulness that could appear in any countenance, but was so weak, notwithstanding he had so exerted himself in the fight, he could not stand up upon his feet.  By way of signs he made it known to me that his name was Olegario, and I gave him my name as well, which brought a relieved smile to his face.

            Friday came back to me presently, and we two stepped away to the great totem.  It was plain he did not like the thing, for he look'd most reluctant to approach it.  "Friday," said I, "do you know this man?"

            He shook his head, which I first took as a denial of knowledge, but then reflected that he objected to my calling the cuttel fish figure of the totem a man.  "What is this?" I asked.

            Friday look'd at me with his large, dark eyes and trembled.  "That great Kathooloo," said he, "who sleep and dream beneath the sea."

            Tho' I suspected as much, this did make me tremble myself, and I repeat'd the question in the hope I had misunderstood my man, or he had misspoke to me.  He said again the name, and seem'd at sorts to be confronted by his former god.  After some moments his eyes met mine and he said "All things say O to him."

            I was aware of a noise, and saw that the father, Walla-kay, again had his hand point'd at the totem and was repeating his words, altho' now as a penitent man says his prayers...